Beadle's Half Dime Library (no. 664) (1890 04 15)
The text was read from the page scans by machine (OCR), so it has mistakes and its columns may run together. See the pages · About this title · At the Internet Archive
Page 1
a Bei a eer IS Mo, “ : a : - {Vm ih i a SS AKA Un Tas eee all K\ | ut ft tn an a rl an UO, bz'Entered at the Post Office at New York, N. Y., at Second Class Mail Rates. Copyright 1890, by BrapLE AND ADAMS, April 15, 1890, $2.50 PUBLISHED WEEKLY BY BEADLE AND ADAMS. Price, No. 664. a Year. No. 98 WILLIAM STREET, NEW YORK. 5 Cents. Vol, XXVI. tn iH Me ii I = iin A \\ \ / \\ oe WITH ONLY A SLIGHT COMPRESSION OF THE LI PROFFERED HAND. NTNU Bunnie, Il Hilt HiT 7, } a \ \= tA MW HA SE rn i iy) \ \ i} ‘ Wh ’ \ Mi) The Life Racket at Rattlesnake Ridge. A CHRONICLE OF CALIFORNIA, —_—— BY PHILIP 8. WARNE, AUTHOR OF ‘HAPPY HARRY'S BIG FIND,” “OKLAHOMA HI,” “BILLY BLAZES,” “ JIM DANDY,” ‘KEEN CLEM,” ‘‘ LARIAT LIL,” ETC., ETC., ETC, CHAPTER I. “THE SPECIAL,” * You see,” said Charley Kenyon, in the light, chatty way that newspaper men get, “ I have the misery to be a mill-horse for an ungrateful public, which never greets me but with the P, CHARLEY Pewron TOOK THE charge to the Wandering Jew—‘Go faster!’ I can’t enjoy even a bit of @ pasear like an
Page 2
ed ordinary tired Christian; but I must keep my eye open for pcints.” “Pints!” repeated Billy Boston, the stage- driver, somewhat dubiously, as if he hadn’t quite ‘‘oot on” to the stranger yet. ‘ Waal, that jest depends, Thar’s some as kin give ye pints in one thing, an’ some as kin give ye pints in another. Now, what might your specialty be, if isa fair question?” ‘Why, I’m an ink-slinger for the press—dirty work enough, I can tell you. You have to in- terview fellows that you’re aching to wipe your feet on—the scum of the riffraff of the great city, that come to the top because they are bigger thieves and liars than those whose work leaves them less time to acquire such accomplishments. Then, when the very shoemakers roll up their aprons and call ita day’s work, you have just begun, As for stopping, nobody knows when or where a reporter sleeps; nobody ever saw one eating except perched ona high stool before a lunch-bar,” Bill glanced out of the corner of his eye at the lively speaker, and as he changed his quid into the other cheek, quietly dropped the comment: “Hm! I’ve hyeared say as they ain’t slow themselves at drawin’ the long bow, them fellers what ye’re talkin’ about.” Charley laughed. ““We have to keep up with the rest of the world, to besure, And then, though truth may be stranger than fiction, it isn’t always so enter- taining; and that’s what our masters want. All of which brings me round to my excuse for fore- ing my unimportant self upon your notice, They tell me there is no place like the mountain country for acquiring skill in the art_of romanc- ing; and for a story taller than Og, Gog, or Magog, apply to ‘che man on the box.’” Charley looked into his companion’s eyes with such a good-natured twinkle in his own that Billy cottoned to him at once, ““T reckon we git credit fur more’n we -de- sarvo,” he replied. ‘* But thar’s.stories as come to band what don’t need much enlargin’, an’ that’s a fact.” *That’s just what I’m after! Lipp heap, would suit me better than some spicy notes for a letter to the Sunday Chronicle. What's this [hear about Sarpent Sam, as you call him! Some worthless blow-hard, tame enough, I reckon, if you were St him with a brierwood pipe for a pis- tol, ‘Don’t you try it, stranger—not ef you kin help it.” “Bh? Why not? Is he such a terrible fellow after all?” ‘* He’s a bad man—I will say that.” ** You know him, then?” “Tve had a chance to size him up a bit; an’ my advice to you is, let him alone.” ‘Oh, J sha’n’t trouble him, if he don’t trouble me. But what is there interesting about him?” ‘Waal, ye see, when a man gits a hard name in this byar country, thar’s plenty to lie about him; an’ tke bigger the whopper, the more thar is to swaller it,’ “*That’s so the world round!” “Tyreckon. So, like’s not, most that they say about Sarpent Sam is wind. But thar’s a good Pag 0 smoke; an’ I reckon thar’s a mite 0’ re. “Give us the smoke and the fire both!” peti- tioned Charley, rubbing his hands in pleased ex- pectancy. ** Waal, thar’s bis handle, to begin with.” ‘* Snakes in his boots, eh?” _ “#f that was all, he wouldn’t be nothin’ out ° the common. But he carries ’em about in his Well, I don’t know whether to say that that is better or worse than the other. But I have known boys who did not shrink from having snakes in their pockets.” “Who said anythin’ about pockets?” “Why, you—didn’t you?” “Nary bit! J said clo’es.” “‘ Clothes?) But where in his clothes, if not in his pockets?” ““Anywhar. In his shirt; in his hat; in his trowser’s-legs, I reckon, ef they’d stay thar with- out wrigglin’ down into his boots.” *Faugh! Next to his skin?” ‘“‘ Waal, I reckon he hain’t got no clo’es stuck to bis hide sence last wash-day.” ‘‘ But he may wear underclothes.” “ What fur?” Charley dropped his jawand stared at this unexpected question, It opened up a new phase of life and habit. Of course, taking them the world over, more men go without underclothes than with them. ; ‘** An’ these hyar boys ye talk about,” went on Billy, contemptuously, before Charley quite re- } . { 4 Cheeky Charley, the Special covered, “* what kind o’ snakes did they cart around in their pockets mostly?” “ Why, garter snakes—harmless, of course.” “Garter snakes be blowed! Sam, he’s a grown-up man, he is.” “In evidence of which, he carries—what kind of snakes?” * Rattlers.” “Oh, nonsense! Rattlesnakes about his clothes! Why, man, there wouldn’t be whisky enough in the country to save him!” ‘‘ Rattlers I said, an’ rattlers I stick to.” “Well, then, it must be that he gets bit to force an inhospitable community to stand treat.” “T hain’t got nothin’ to do with hospitals,” persisted the stage-driver, doggedly. “What [ swear by, is what I see; an’ what | see, was rat- tlers—every time!” “Suppose we say,” suggested the reporter, smiling at bis companion’s misapprebension— “‘ just to bring it into your line, you know—tbat he has to neutralize his whisky with rattlesnake poison, in order to drink against some of you stubby fellows? I didn’t think of that.” “ A’ tenderfoot might do that, to a limited ex~- tent, with advantage; but I reckon Sam kin hold his own with most, without no sich bracin’, But the pint is, he don’t git bit.” ‘Ts it possible! Ihave heard of people having this power of taming even the most venomous reptiles; but for my part, the only good snake is like the only good Injun: the deader, the better. But do you really mean to say that you have rson?” ‘“‘ That’s what I said.” “ Well, I'll make a note of it; but you will ex- cuse mo if I say that I’m very much afraid most of my readers would have to see you, to believe it, You are a very carnest young man, when telling the truth!” , And Charley laughed gleefully. Taking no offense, Billy went on; “You may have a chance to see him yourself, ef you stay in this country long.” “No! Isthatso? I'd givea little something to—with the privilege of such distance as lends enchantment, of course, Does he hang outabout here?” ‘“* He does,” «And you know him—personally?” “Waal, I have drinked with him, an’ won his money at draw poker, but I never slep’ in the saine bed,” “A prejudice against rattlers, eh? So that is how he comes by his name? And I suppose it is the source of most of the yarns in circulation about him,” ‘Waal, I dunno.” ‘¢ What! You don’t believe them?” ‘| didn’t say that, an’ I didn’t say the tother thing.” *« But do you believe them, really?” “Which? Thar’s a pile: of ’em to choose from,” “Well, any of them. Is there such a place, for \. aruatin as Rattlesnake Ridge, in this vicin- ity ‘Oh, thar’s the Ridge, fast enough.” ‘“* A place that goes by that name, you mean?” ** Sartain.” ‘* But the snakes may or may not be there?” ** You can’t prove it by me,” “Why not?” “‘] never go huntin’ fur snakes, It’s bad enough to have ’em come huntin’ me, now an’ ag’in. “Oh! you have had them after you, then?” laughed Charley. ‘Waal, a man what drives a pop’lar coach has lots o’ friends, when he takes the notion to spree it fur a spell, I ain’t more’n human; an’ the stuff they vend in these parts would knock a man lined with boiler iron.” ‘““T'm sorry for you! But the Ridge—can we see it from any point on this road?” : ‘We jest kin, boss—from whar we set. Whoa- And Billy drew in his horses, and put on the brake, to give them a breathing spell. ‘* Dye see that thar line o’ peaks off yan?” “The middle one, with the clump of pines just a little to the left of the crest?” ‘Cedar, boss—red cedar, Spotted it the first clatter. That thar’s the Ridge. Leastways, it's some’rs about thar, I don’t jest put my finger on it.” , ‘ Like all wonders, its location is a little indef- inite,” laughed Charley. ‘**It must be ten miles away.” “ Twenty—an’ a good twenty, if a rod.” “Ts it ible? This clear mountain air is wonderfully deceptive. How could one get to it?” seen this man with living rattlesnakes on -¥ “Thar you've got me, boss,” “Have you never had even so much curiosity as that?” ‘““Nary! I was pryin’ when I wasa boy; but aman gits cured o’ that, or he gits buried be- fore long, in this country.” ‘* Pleasant prospect for a representative of the press! Now, we're nothing, if not curious. It is our business to get to the bottom of everything. AsI have already heard of this Sam and his doings I wish to investigate him more particu- larly—to interview him, in fact.” ‘Better take the next coach back whar you come from, stranger, Thar ain’t no room In this country fur a man what goes about seein’ things. Them lives the longest what has the nack o’ furgittin’ easy what they do see, what don’t belong to’em. It’s easier to git at the bottom of a high lot, than anythin’ else about a RL “Tl have to risk it. You can’texpect me to change my nature and training to accommodate myself to the peculiarities of this particular com- munity, And to begin with, what is the story about the Ridge?” Billy started up his horses before he began, ‘* Waal, they do say as Sam an’ his darter, which he uses as a decoy, has a nest 0’ rattlers what he cultivates up thar.” ‘*To kill his enemies with! That’s the most horrible story Lever heard. It can’t be possible that any one is so fiendish, Do you believe that he really uses them for such a purpose?” “Waal, Idunno, I don’t believe everythin’ I hyear, no more’n I swaller everythin’ I could git into my mouth.” “But, this decoy business? That’s worse yet. Where could he find a woman who would lend herself to such atrocity?” “Waal, 1 dunno, It’s my experience you kin git a woman to do almost anythin’, ef she sets @ store by ye.” “His daughter, you say?” ‘Some says that, an’ some says the t’other thing.” “A beauty, at any rate. Have you seen her?” ‘ve seen the girl what he calls his Black Bess.” ** And is she so beautiful as they make out?!” “‘ She’s immense! You can tie to that.” ‘1’ rather see her than her father.” ‘‘Tt’s more risky, I’ve a notion.” ““ Wecan’t be alan stopping because of risks, in this life,” ‘“No more we kin, But we ain’tsoapt to be stopped fur good, ef we take a fool’s advice once in a while,” “Black Bess! that’s romantic enough, A woman of that kind ought to have midnight bair: and the devil of wickedness, as well as of mischief, looks most attractively out of sloe- black eyes. I think I must manage to get a limpse of Black Bess, whatever the danger. I ancy she won’t charm me!” A light of dreamy tenderness came into Charley’s eyes, and he smiled confidently, as he ventured that observation. “Thar ain’t no tellin’ till ye try?” observed his copapenion, dryly. “Do you know of anybody who has been actually led away by her fascinations?” “‘ Waal, thar was one what swore be meant to foller her up ef it led straight into Tophet.” * And he was as good as his word?” ~ “He disappeared between two days.” “The same that brought in that story about Sam’s victims?” ** No; another one.” } “What! two? Well, that does begin to look bad, Was any investigation made?” ; “In this country? You hain’t lived hyar ong had i ‘But are men killed, or spirited off, here, and no questions asked?” LF ik sine gt got friends to pick it up, they may bury the other chap before you're cold. But who's goin’ to lose sleep an’ waste gunpowder— not to say reskin’ the gittin’ his skin made into@ strainer—fur a galoot he wouldn’t lend two bits ” “You beat me in the argument. Ihave noth- ing but old-time prejudices to fall back om. In civilized communities & man is frequently made more account of when he is dead than when he was alive, Queer world, this!” ? “Sich as it is, We kin take it, or leave it.” “ And Sam—did any one have the temerity to tax him with the fellow’s disappearance?” “ Oh, he was joked about it some.” “ And what did he say?” ¢ “He laughed, an’ told ‘em to.send on another to look up the first,” “ That was Cool, at any rate. And the first » tracked Sam to hig of all, who professed to have # 7 he RE tery ea etre « est an er
Page 3
lair, and actually{caught him at his tricks? He disa red too?” ** You bet!—quicker,” **Do you believe that Sam really spirited him off? He was a half idiot, by all accounts,” ‘* Waal, he was lackin’ in the npper story, an’ that’s a fact.” **Don’t you suppose, after he’d got up that yarn, be became frightened, and cut the country to escape being called to account by Sam?” ‘* He mought ’a’ done that, an’ not been so big a fool as when he blowed what he see—ef he did see anythin’.” ‘** [ suppose a man wouldn’t be held toa very strict account here, for shooting such a slan- derer?” **Nobody but a fool would tell such a yarn till he was ready to back it up fur all he was worth.” ‘Delightful country—for the fellow that’s quickest on the trigger! But, back of all this is that even more wildly improbable story I’ve heard of Sarpent Sam’s identity with Navajo Nate, and bis ruthless vendetta against the ministers of justice,” ‘*The which, boss? I reckonI didn’t never hyear nothin’ about no minister along o’ Sam,” ‘** About his trial for murder, his threat against judge and jury, his hanging and coming back to ife, and his making his word good on the bodies of all who had a hand in his execution?” ‘That's news to me,” **Oh, well, You’re behind the times, It seems to me I’m giving you more information than I get out of you.” “I'd like to even you up, boss, ef I was in such good practice.” Charley laughed at this insinuation, as glee- fully as he bad when he ‘“‘ got in” on Billy. “ll tell the story all the same, and you can take it, or let it alone.” “That’s everybody’s privilege in this com- ; mutiny. Great Scot, what a maw a man would i have to carry around, ef it wasn’t!” _ **No doubt! Well, Navajo Nate—One of the Toughest, they used to call him—had the mis- fortune to drop his meat a little too near the Pacific seaboard, where such amusement is of sufficient rarity to excite public notice. So he was tried, condemned, and hanged. So much is a matter of legal record. Now comes the story not quite so wellattested. It is said that, either by collusion on the part of the sheriff, or by accident, the knot was not properly adjusted; ’ * and instead of having his neck broken by the drop, Nate was slowly strangled. Under or- dinary circumstances this might be regarded as @ misfortune; but in Nate’s case it is said to have enabled his friends to resuscitate him.” : “A blame sight bigger misfortune than t/other!” growled Boston, “To imitate your form of answer,” laughed Charley, ‘‘some have held so, others not, But that as it may be. At any rate, it was recalled that, while he was being led out of court, after his conviction, Nate had shaken bis fist at judge and jury, and including them all in a general anathema, had sworn to bury every oue of them before he was shoved under ground. Since then, it isrumored, one by one the members of the jury have dropped out of sight, ang with the pros- ecuting attorney; so that there 1s no one left of all the snbjects of Nate’s vengeance but the udge. He, the gossips say, bas been reserved ‘ Pe tuo lack, ‘Wut do you think of that for a yarn?” “Waal, I’ve heard better, an’ I’ve heard worse,” ji ** Answered like the diplomat your are!” laugh- e) ed Charley. ** But do you believe it?” « 3 “ce H’m" And Billy fell to scratching his head. Before he made up his mind, the coach drove into a “city” with the classic name of Seven- up;and the dignity of bis office of course re- quired that he give his exclusive attention to the grand flourish with which he was expec to dash up to the door of the Dewdrop Inn, After supper, intent upon studying the “ hon- ) est miner” in bis native haunt, Charley Kenyon if dropped into the bar, where he had once more occasion to felicitate himself on the enjoyment of the ripe judgment of Billy Boston, the veteran stage-driver. The evening had progressed till the room was densley packed, not only all the seats at the tables being occupied, but the standing-room bemg \ filled with a shouldering and elbowing throng, when the outer door was thrown violently open, and a man appeared on the threshold, with the challenge :— ““Whoop! I’m a-comin’! Stand from under all ye what don’t want to scringe when the ‘ n + aleve Blechass drops!” ° Mae ; ie 1 Cheeky Charley, the Special. ** An’ thar ye have him,” said Billy Boston— **Sarpent Sam, as big as life!” CHAPTER II, SARPENT SAM. To see above the crowd, Charley Kenyon rose to his feet, thereby thrusting his head into the stratum of foul air that floated in contact with the low ceiling, drifting sluggishly out of the window which he had opened over the table where he sat, Through this blue cloud of tobacco smoke he saw aman full six feet in stature, with long, shaggy locks of hair and beard, as black asa raven’s wing, and small, scintillating eyes, set too close together, with a very peculiar fascina- tion about them, Was it because they were so intensely black, or because they were small, or because of some trick of penetrating scrutiny? They were restless, vigilant eyes, yet without the impression, which such eyes usually convey, of evasion, While they looked at you, their look was direct; but they seemed to probe so deep that it was not necessary to look long. In dress Sam presented no points of differ- ence from others of his class, He was heavily armed, especially the huge bowie-knife thrust down the back of his neck, which had a fellow in his bootleg. With a swagger in keeping with his bragga- docio announcement of himself, he strode into the saloon, grinning to see men shrink away at his prema ig “Gimme elbow-room, boys—gimme elbow- room. Thar ain’t nothin’ in this hyar world like plenty o’ elbow-room, ‘Ye’ve got to give a man room fur to die in, ef you don’t give bim room fur to live in. Bet yer sweet life thar’s one mortal in this hyar world what’s alluz goin’ fur to have Jots an’ slathers o’ room, livin’ or dead. An’, hyar’s one o’ my pets what has the same hankerin’ fur elbow-room. An’ he alluz gits it, too, you bet! It runsin.thefam’ly—hey, pardner?” And thrusting his hand into the bosom of his shirt, he drew forth a wriggling serpent, held by the middle, which, taking a turn about his wrist with the after part of its body, drew its head back as if to strike, and sprung the deadly rattle of the crotalus! Swinging this at arm’s length from side to side as he advanced, he cleared a path through the panic-stricken men, who surged apart with ejaculations of disgust and fear, for the most part, though some laughed with the brutal in- sensibility with which men of tbat class often make a scoff of death and deadly peril. “Hold on, Sam! I'll strike you fur whisky, ef that thar animile o’ yourn digs his p’ison fangs into my hide.” “Give Tim Barry a swipe, The snoozer hain’t said his prayers in so long, it won’t hurt him none to practice ’em a bit,” ‘Ts it pray-ers, thin? Sure, divil a wan o’ them will be said fur you, Joe Cammick, whin the Owld B’y gits the likes 0’ yees in Purga- tory.” ; “Luck at rion b Mahoney, will yees! Oh, Dinny! be ye fur thinkin’, mon, it’s the whisky? No, Dinny; that’s a r’ale snake, that wan. The others niver come singly.” ‘Well, I’m blessed if I wouldn’t rayther have a dozen o’ the otbers than wan o’ this, Give me the shnakes that good whisky brings. They do no hairum,” “Hark to that, pard!” cried Sam, stroking the bead of the ophidian, ‘* These hyar snoozers never had a gentleman come into their crowd before, an’ they don’t know how to appreciate him, Now, set up thar like a leetle man, an’ tell that thar shiverin’ whisky-slinger you takes your bitters straight.” , Putting his hat on the bar, Sam placed the hens in it, to coil for its deadly spring, erect its head, and run its quivering tongue out at the frightened bartender. : easuring its length with his eye, the man pom a respectful distance as he served the bev- age, “Ye see, gents,” laughed Sam, at the bar- keeper’s expense, ‘‘a doctor allus hates his own medicine, Now, bow many snakes do you ‘low as Jimmy Madden has handed over this hyar bar? But the minute one of ’em’s brung back to him—wagh! Jest look at that, now! He won’t put the glass within his reach. Do you low as he’s goin’ to pay you fur sarvin’ him, blast you! an’ then help himself?” “It’s no other way he'll take it out 0’ my hand!” declared Madden, edging still further off, p “Waal, this alluz was a blasted hole, ci way. One 0’ these days I'll start a bar myself, BATE A cla RRR tN ly Sie ee an’ then I'll guarantee a rattler in every glass, Thar won’t be no blanks in my lottery. ‘* Talkin’ about rattlers,” he went on, standing with his hands in his pockets and his feet wide apart, while he regarded the reptile critically, with his bead to one side, ‘‘ them’s the knowin’- est cusses you ever see. Now you wouldn’t ‘low as that thar chap, brung up as he has been, in the woods, would ’a’ got on to all the kinks an’ crotchets o’ genteel surciety; but he has, He's a teetot’ler, he is—blast my hide ef he ain't! Jest look a’ this hyar now.” Dipping his finger into the glass of liquor that had been set before him, Sam touched the quiv- ering tongue of the reptile with it. Instantly the creature drew back its head and sprung its deadly rattle. : ‘“*Stiddy! stiddy!” commanded Sarpent Sam, fixing his eyes upon the bead-like orbs, that seemed to flash fire in the ophidian’s head, For some moments it seemed to be a struggle between the venomous monster and the man, the reared head oscillating from side to side, and the rattle rustling ominously. But slowly the snake yielded, as if overpow- ered, and then the conqueror reached out his hand and stroked the sinking crest, Low murmurs of wonder and horror arose in the crowd. Those nearest Sam drew further away. With a chuckle the snake-charmer lifted the repulsive creature, and replaced it in the bosom of his sbirt. Tossing off his liquor at a gulp, be called for a second glass, and sent it racing after the first, Spitting some of the last on the floor, he said: ‘“*Psh! Thesarpent knows more’n his master, Nobody but a blasted fool would rot out his in’ards with that sort o’ stuff.” Meanwhile Charley Kenyon and Billy Boston were busy commenting on this exbibition. ‘“ What do ye think o’ that thar?’ asked the stage-driver, “I don’t know what to think about it yet,” answered Charley, watching Sarpent Sam closely. : Now you see he’d make an uncomfortable bed-feller. ‘*Undoubtedly. Does he stay about here much?” ‘*Oh, he comes an’ goes, jest as he takes the notion. He’s been hyar a oad 4 eonsiderable spell lately, though sometimes he’s gone fur weeks, or even months together.” ** Where does he go?” “Waal, that I can’t jest exactly say. To Frisco, likely, or off to s'uthard, maybe, once in a while, fur a change.” **Does he make himself conspicuous where- ever he goes, by such a performance as this?” ‘* That I couldn’t decide upon.” “You never heard of his doing where?” “* No; not to say as I ever did.” ‘* What does he do for a living?” “Gamble, mostly, Ireckon. He might pros- pect a bit, now an’ ag’in; or trade hosses—lifts em when he gits a good chance, maybe, Then thar’s road-agentin’, when a man’s hard up. [I reckon he’d take a turn at that before he’d go hungry or naked,” “Quite a versatile genius! This is a very an country, I should think, for the exercise of is talents,” ‘* None better in the world. Pluck your man, it else- an’ ef he squeals, plug him!” this way!” 7 ‘“* He’s comin “‘Sure’s shootin ‘Billy, I want you to introduce me to him,” ‘I'he deuce you do! Ye don’t mean it.” “Yes, Ido! Hush!” Charley said this last behind his hand, strok ing his mustache, But Billy Boston was not good at disguising his feelings, Save at poker, Then the face of a wooden man could not tell fewer tales, The astonishment had not faded from his very Open countenance when Sarpent Sam slouched up to the table, and he hung fire on the -s troduction till the matter was taken out of hig ands, ** T hope I don’t inconvenience nobody, gents,” said Sam, reaching into the bosom of his” shirt, and drawing forth two or three reptiles inter- twined and writbing about one another, ‘“ Ef you will allow me, I'll give these hyar pets 0’ mine a mite of an airin’, My washin’ days is a good ways apart; an’ I reckon they hain’t got a very sweet-smellin’ berth in this hyar ole raglan, I wouldn’t like to stay in thar myself, with my head, as a stiddy location; an’ J ‘low to treat my _triends es white as [’d have them treat me, ’ Hanging loose and baggy above where it was oo ‘ \ i
Page 4
“= — ae ee ae — ——~ girt in by his belt, an undulating motion of his shirt showed that it was a harbor for still more of the vipers. As he took them out, he put them on the table on either side of which Bharley Kenyon and Billy Boston sat. That is to say, the stage-driver had sat on his side when Sarpent Sam first made a motion which showed what he contemplated doing; but at sight of the first reptile Billy incontinently abandoned his place, crying: ‘¢Eixcuse me! No rattlers in mine, ef you please!” The young reporter, on the other hand, stood his ground, or rather sat it. He turned very pale, and involuntarily shrunk as far back as he could without arising; but he kept his seat, staring at the wriggling pests as if fascinated. It was plain that this fortitude—or let us call it hardihood—took Sarpent Sam by surprise, for he stopped drawing out the serpents before he had taken them all from their strange .re- ceptacle, ** Waal,” he declared, after be had stared at Charley for a little while, “you're a nervy one, anyway. Been in this hyar bus’ness on yer own account, I reckon.” “No,” answered Charley, ‘This is my first experience at such close quarters,” ‘Why in Cain don’t you light out, then, like the rest do?” “T prefer to remain whereI am. If you will excuse me, I fancy I have the right of the first comer.” *¢Oh, I ain’t disputin’ that. An’ you’ve got a perfect right to stand up fur your rights. Every ey in this hyar country has all the rights he in hang on to. But then thar’s rights an’ rights, Some folks ain’t so stiff-backed about one thing as they be about another. Mighty few stops to arguify with these hyar pets o’ mine. Cur’ous; but ye'll see a snoozer what’s got his back up most 0’ the time, along o’ other gents rubbin’ his fur the wrong way—ye’ll see him cave like a Missouri landslide, when it comes to these hyar leetle beauties.” * As you say, it is a matter of individual taste, I suppose.” “Say, pardner!” burst forth Sarpent Sam, ‘I like your style, blow me ef I don’t! Who be ye, anyhow; an’ whar d’ye hail from?” Aad seating himself in the place Billy Boston had so hastily vacated, the Terror of Rattlesnake Ridge thrust his hand across the table for a friendly shake. He extended it only half-way, so that his hand was not more than a foot directly above the heads of the snakes he had bunched on the table; and to meet it Charley would have to put his own in the same jeopardy. Of course it was a still further test of his nerve. Perhaps there was not another man in the room who would have hesitated to refuse such a chal- lenge, though most of them would have foughta duel across the table if the occasion demanded. With only a slight compression of the lips Charley Kenyon reached ovt and took Sarpent Sam’s proffered hand, “My name is Charles T, Kenyon,” he said, in a steady voice, lifting his eyes so as to meet Sarpent Sam’s, ‘I am one of those fellows who are known as ‘Our Special Correspondent,’” ‘‘ Waal, you be a special, fur a fact,” declared Sarpent Sam, giving the band a hearty shake, and then releasing it, as if dis not to run a good thing into the ground. ‘An’ Pll tell you what you want, pardner, an’ want it bad, ef you hain’t got it already. You want a special ban- dle, an’ I’m jest the chap to fit ye out with one.” ‘Thank you! What sort of a handle do you propose?” “Tm biddin’ fur Cheeky Charley. How’s that, boys? Won’t that fit?’ By the general assent that swept over the room, Charley knew that he was dubbed, for such time as he might remain in Seven-up, at any rate.” * But you don’t correspond with nary human what I’ve ever run acrost,” pursued Sarpent ne aye in Cain do you correspond with, er ne, | am a correspondent of the Frisco Chron- icle. ‘Waal, they’ve gota good one. Long ma ou correspond | But would you jest au lbaes ll me why you resked this hyar?” ow clingy: Using a little judgment, I in- fae that I should be in no greater dauger than “An? I knowed what I was about! Waal, gents,” turning to the crowd admiringly, “‘ that comes 0’ carryin’ a head-piece aro ith Go you an’ do Ukewien.” ses! mayt Cheeky Charley, the Special. As if satisfied, Sam gathered up the reptiles, and returned them to his shirt. Then addressing Charley: ‘* Ef you'll be pleased to nominate your p’ison, we'll drink to better acquaintance, I want to see more of sich a chap as you.” “T will smoke,” said Charley. drink,” “* You —nev—er—drink!” repeated Sarpent Sam, slowly rising from his seat, while be stared at the man who had the temerity to refuse to drink in that community, even after he had proved himself equal to rattlesnakes, ‘‘T never drink,” reiterated Charley, straight- ening buck a little in his seat, yet perfectly at éase, “Young man,” said Sarpent Sam, frowning blackly, ‘* you’re new to the country, I take it?” ‘“‘ Like my recent encounter with your charm- ing associates, this is my first experience.” “Then you don’t know what it means to de- cline a drink when a gent invites you?” “‘T know what it means in my own case.” ‘An’ what might it mean in your case, if I may make so bold as to ask?” The answer came in a perfectly quist tone, with none of the metallic ring of defiance that most men would have infused into it. ‘““ A respectful, yet inflexible, No.” “Ty never CHAPTER III, TO DRINK, OR NOT TO DRINK. a THE correspondent’s conversation was yea, yea, and nay, nay, with a vengeance, Sarpent Sam stared at him in perplexity, taking him in from head to foot, or rather from head to waist—so much of him as appeared above the table. His posture was of the easiest and most self- ssessed. He leaned lightly against the wall with his right shoulder and head. On taking his hand from Sam’s clasp, he had dropped it carelessly into the side-pocket of his sack-coat, There seemed to be no purpose in that at the time; but’ now, as his eye ran down to it, Sam asked, with quite a change in his voice: “ Pardner, do you go heeled?” ‘Not for assault,” answered Charley, readily. “ But when itcomes to defense, I hope I may never be found quite asleep—in th country !” He made that addendum with just a percepti- ble twinkle of the eye. “Maybe you've got the gall to unmask your battery,” suggested Sam, but as if he didn’t be- lieve what he said. ‘‘-You will find me always ready to indulge a reasonable request, respectfully put,” answered the quiet correspondent. And he lifted his hand sufficiently to bring in- to view from his pocket a small cocked revolver. A glance satisfied Sarpent Sam that it was in competent hands, He was looking as ee straight into the bore as he could calculate wit his eye, the weapon being somewhat in shadow. “How did you know as pistols would be next called fur?” ‘| didn’t suppose they wouid.” ‘Then what did you drop your hand on to that thar joker fur, the minute you let go 0’ mine?” A «¢ From forecast based on previous observation of human nature,” “ Eh?” I is eT thought whisky naturally followed a hand- shake, “Ob! An’ you was gittin’a good ready fur to decline?” “‘ Bxactly.” “Waal, that ag’in comes 0’ carryin’ a head- piece around with ye. Fur a tenderfoot, you’re doin’ right well, An’ you stick to it—you bea tenderfoct?” ‘Tn the strictest sense of the word.” “ Never was in this country before?” ‘¢ Never.” “ Nor any like it?” “ No ” “Then whar did you l’arn that thar trick?” “ What trick?” ©’ trainin’ that gun on a feller’s weather optic.” : “ By practicing before a piet glass,” ** Before—beg pardon—which 7” ‘‘ Before a long looking-glass. I aimed at the eye of my own reflection. Of course I could see when the figure in the glass aimed directly at my eye. Then I made sure of myself by shoot- ing at a mark in my room.” ‘ Gittin’ ready to come out hyar, eb, an’ slap the chops of us ole grizzlies?” “Oh, no, There are places in ’Frisco that a reporter has to visit, where it ishandy to be able —————$—$__$$ $$$ $$$ TT to say what you please, and back it up after itis said.” ‘‘What kind o’ places?” asked Sam, his eyes slowly contracting. ‘“Why, Murderer’s Lane, say,” answered Kenyon, carelessly, as if it were a locality taken atrandom, ‘‘ When there has been a butchery there at night, somebody must go in and find out all about it, or the dear public would miss the usual spicing of its breakfast coffee and rolls, Murderer’s Lane and the alleys of the Chinese quarter, at two o’clock in the morning, are as interesting places to visit as even the Dewdrop Inn, the Pride of Seven-Up.” ‘So you’ve been in Murderer’s Lane, eh?” ‘Often enough to be pretty well acquainted with the boys.” “?M—yes—well acquainted! Routed out a pile o’ murderers in your time, I reckon?” “A few—a few,” with an air of modesty. ‘Yes, a few,” rubbing his chin reflectively. Then, with an outburst and a penetrating scrutiny: ‘Say, Mister Man, how old be you, anyway?” “ An even quarter of a century.” “ Oh!—ah!—yes!—twenty-five! H’m!” The tension of Sam’s expression relaxed, He seemed again at his ease, Charley did not appear to notice anything un- usual in his manner, He now proposed, with a pleasant smile, as Sam’s ruminative pause left a good opening for a diversion: “Will you smoke with me, or shall I drink with you?” “You do drink?” exclaimed Sam, in surprise. “‘ When I feel like it, which isn’t often.” ** You don’t feel like it now?” “No. If our host will excuse me, I am some- what of a stickler for quality.” “‘ Waal, blast me ef you shall p’ison yerself with the stuff they give us hyar,” declared Sar- pent Sam, with a decision which showed that he was ready to maintain that position witb his ‘‘oun,” ‘* Barkeeper—” But here he was interrupted by the newspaper man: ** Allow me,” And he drew cigars from the inner breast- pocket of bis coat. Sam took one with an exaggerated affectation of gingerliness, smelt of it, and threw back his head with a vociferous: “Whoop! Wake snakes, fur the kingdom am a-comin’!” Lighting the weed, he spread his feet wide apart under the table, planted his elbows on the table, and turning the cigar round and round with both faands, gave himself up to its full en- joyment, mumbling between the whiffs: ** Puff! —'m !—puff!—'m !|—puff!” Seein a longing look on Billy Boston’s ex- pansive countenance, Charley invited him to & participation of the delights of the enchanting nicotine. But the crowd watched the favored trio with such undisguised watering of the mouth, that the correspondent took compassion on them, ‘Here, you ragamuffin!” he cried, seizing by the flaxen shock a barelegged urchin who had forced his way into the inner circle, to stare open-mouthed at the redoubtable Sam, and at the equally notable man who had braved bis ser- pents, ‘Find out where my room is, and fetch the gripsack yod find there,” : “ Will ye gimme one?’ demanded the urchin, “What! you?” “ Gimme one 0’ Jimmy Madden’s, then.” “TD give you a chuck out of the window, if you don’t do as I tell you!” *¢ And, as with all great men, no matter what the field of their sway, there was that in Charley Kenyon’s manner which commanded instant and unquestioning obedience. y Sassy Sol—as the boy was called, from his ir- repressible pertness—went off like a shot, con- soling himself with the reflection that he was at Jeast having the bonor to serve the pluckiést man who had presented himself at Seven-up for many a day. . P Receiving the gripsack, Charley opened it, dis- covering a cigat box, the lid of which he pried up with his knife. “Here!” he commanded, giving the box to Sok; “pass that to the barkeeper first, and then take it around through the crowd.” While the boy was executing this commission, Charley set torummaging idly—so it seemed—in the gripsack, which he held in his Jap below the level of the table. As be ran over the contents of the receptacle, he stopped to glance at this and that—it might be the superscription of an envelope, or a line or two of the contained epistle, or a keepsake which he turned over in —— : ~ ee ee ge i eg
Page 5
- 5 arta : a ~ ‘Shishand for the sake of the memories it called up. From time to time he glanced up at Sarpent Sam, with asmile of amusement at his exag- gerated enjoyment of his cigar. Who would have supposed, from his careless, absent air, that he was really comparing the face of the snake-cbarmer with a photograph which lay where his carefully—careless rammag- ing would not disturb it? The picture was a man in prison garb, with his face smooth-shaven, and his head “sand- papered.” Of course the differences between it ani the man before him were striking. Besides, it was oldand faded. If anything was likely to defy the changes of time and circumstance, it was theeyes. To these Charley gave particu- lar attention. Long before he was satisfied, his little hench- man returned with what were left of the cigars— not many—and set the box on the corner of the table, ‘‘ Now help yourself,” said the provider of this treat. “‘Itsa mighty bad thing fora boy of your years; but I reckon you, with your sur- roundings, are a poor subject for a temperance jecture.” The boy’s eyes opened and his face broadened with gratified astonishment. ‘* Kin I? he asked holding back with incredu- lity. %o be allowed to smoke what was delighting all the rest, seemed like too great a treat to be with- out some trick about it. “You can’t if you wait till I have changed my mind,” answered Charley. ‘On second thought—” But his second thought, if a serious one, which was doubtful, came too late. With a stroke as quick as one of Sarpent Sam’s rattlesnakes, Sassy Sol had snatched a cigar, and sprung back with a whoop. The reporter looked after him laughing, as he wedged his body into the crowd, ready for in- stant flight if called upon to yield back bis prize, but left his head, with its face like the mask of the aeey Momus, still protruded into the inner circle. * Pard,” interposed Sarpent Sam, who by this time had worn off the edge of first enjoyment sufficiently to find voice again, ‘‘ what be you doin’ in this byar country, anyway? Ef yer bumble sarvent kin put you up to anythin’, com- mand me.” ‘$1’m out here for an airing; and I want to see every striking view within a radius of thirty miles. I’m a bit of a painter when I have noth- ing else tu do, and I mean to take home with me asketch or two of rugged landscape. Unless you like tramping about in the mountains, with, nothing to do but stare at inaccessible peaks and down long reaches of valley, I don’t see bow you can help me ont any.” ‘*Oh! that’s your lay, is it? Waal, I tramp about some myself, only I set more store by what may chance to be found underground, than by what’s on top. I. kin see all the land- scape I haveany use fur through the bottom of a whisky glass.” ‘“We both feed our heads,” laughed Charley ; “only, what I take in, stops there. But that is mo reason why, if we chance to meet in the hills, we shouldn’t pass the time of day kindly.” Sarpent Sam admitted that this was what he called ‘‘ a fair proposition.” He would be glad, he professed, to take Charley by the hand at any time. However, as the reporter excused bimself gambling, as he had declined to drink, Sam’s powers of entertainment seemed to have reach- ed their natural limit, and he soon took himself off. * “What did you want to know him fur?” asked Billy Boston, in the confidential way that had sprung up between him and the correspon- dent of the ’Frisco Chronicle. rr looked him in the eye with a meaning smile. “I thought it might be well to have him know me,” was his answer, ; **?M!” responded Billy, making the most he could of it. In the morning, when he had to take his de- rarture, Charley Kenyon appeared with an artist’s portfolio under his arm, and @ sachel like a pilgrim’s scrip on his hip, as gay and jaunty asif he had nothing more serious 0n his mind than the mountain views he had told Sarpent Sete ¥ Y so long a face, my jolly hearse-driver™ was his hail to Billy Bain. 4 “T hate to leave you hyar—I do so!” declared Billy, with unmistakable sincerity in his lu- “gubrious voice. Ss 8 Cheeky Charley, the Special. “Eh? Why? Are you afraid I'll demoralize the place? Seven-up is a paradise—for land- sharks.” ‘Somethin’ tells me as you'll be chawed up before I git back,” ‘* And you don't like to lose me, old fellow? Pshaw! I didn’t suppose you were so tender- hearted, But, I say!—don’t you fancy they'll find me tough ‘chawing,’ eh? But there! I don’t mean to get into mischief—honor bright!” “ll bet my soul you do, before the day is out. Whar be you goin’?” “‘ Along with you, if you'll let me, There! isn’t that keeping out of mischief?” ** Along o’ me?” ‘*-You’'ll give me a lift; won’t you?” ** Whar to?” ‘Why, along the road you’re going, of course, : wouldn't ask you to go out of your way, would ” ““T don’t know what you'd do, ef the way I’m goin’ didn’t lead straight over toward Rattle- snake Ridge.” “No! Does it? Well, now, that’s what I call lucky. I meant to go over there one of these days; and why not to-day as well as any other? If you are going that way, it will be just the thing.” “Say, pard!—you can’t pull the wool over my eyes,” +é No 9 “* You bet your sweet life, you can’t!” ‘* Well, you are so confident, you tempt me to try it, some time when I have thought up a good way.” ‘“T tell you, the way you've already thought up won’t work,” : “Oh, come,now! You don’tmean to intimate that you deem me capable of anything so disin- genuous or premeditated—” ‘‘Discombobilation o’ the dictionary! Cut it short! Yow re goin’ to see that gal!” “Tn this dress?”—seizing the lower corners of his jacket, and ‘throwing it open, as he turned round for general inspection, to exhibit its in- appropriateness. ‘‘ No, sir! When I call upon the young lady in question—and 1 beg of you, correct your careless way of referring to her—L mean to go in evening dress, whatever the time of day. I tell you, I’m bound to make an im- pression! I say, Billy!—what would they do with a fellow who came out in a claw-hammer coat and white necktio and kids out here?” Charley was so gay that Billy’s grim face re- laxed, ** You’re too full o’ the deuce to talk sense to,” he said. ‘‘ But, that won’t save your bacon, ef you set Sarpent Sam on to saltin’ of it. Will you give me your promise that you won’t go to runnin’ after that gal, ef she jest happens around, with a view to scoopin’ you in?” “Kismet, friend Boston! You ought to understand that, with all the priestesses of hocus-pocus that harbor in your namesake city. Fate! Destiny! Promises are ropes of sand, Man proposes, and God disposes. If I am doom- ed to fall under the allurements of this enchant- ress, what is the use of my hedging against her baleful sway, with so frail a barrier as the promise of a young man of my age and—well, inclinations, that he won’t follow a pretty girl when he gets the chance? But I'll promise you this, if that will satisfy you—that it won’t be witha view to matrimony, as they say when they advertise for a fair correspondent between the ages of twenty and thirty-five.” Plainly the newspaper Man was determined not to talk sense that morning. “Git up hyar, blast you!” cried Pilly Boston, with that pretense of impatience which goes with a smile of affectionate indulgence, “* Catch!” cried Charley, giving his portfolio a twirl. “ Well, you area pretty fair short-stop, I thought you might muff it, and give me the trouble of picking it up on the other side of the coach. Now, give us your hand, will you?” _And with a step on the hub, another on the tire of the wheel, and a flying leap at the finisb he landed on the box beside his friend. : During the “lift” the stage-driver did not urge the matter furthér; but when, some miles out of Seven-up, Charley leaped down from his yerch, and turned his face toward Rattlesnake idge, Billy called after him: ‘*Now mind what I tell ye, Ef you go an’ git spoilt, ’'Illam all Cain Out 0? what’s left 0’ ye ag’in’ I come back!” Charley kissed his hand to him, and with a light laugh on his lips disappeared among the crags and frondage. f , As he approached the Ridge, the way became more and more rugged, till he soon had all the climbing he wanted, if that was what he was af- ter. The views, too, were magnificent in every - 5 direction; but though he stopped often and look- ed about, it was with the sharp glance of inspee- tion, rather than the lingerimg look of artistic a gi neo f a sudden, however, his whole manner changed; be stopped dead short, and ejaculated under his breath: “ By Jove!” CHAPTER IV. A QUESTION OF “ CHEEK,” By the craning of his neck and the look of eager interest on his face, any one would have said that the mountaineering correspondent had made a very acceptable discovery at last, whether or not it was what he had come to see. A glance over his shoulder in the same direc- tion must have put the groutiest old misanthrope in sympathy with his pleasurable excitement. What bad arrested him wasa spectacle for gods and men!—a young girl, with such a figure as the old Greek masters—who knew what was what, I can tell you, in their line!- most loved to chisel, standing on a bowlder, yet sustaining most of her weight by the strength of her arm, as, grasping a limb of a tree, she reached far out after ascarlet blossom that swung tantaliz- ingly just beyond her reach. Of course Charley’s first gallant impulse was to rush to her assistance. **Miss—ahem! I beg your pardon, but if you will allow me!” It would have been the neatest thing in the world, but for one consideration. That one consideration was sufficient to bold Charley back. Instead of discovering himself, he took pains to see that he was properly screened, if the girl should chance to Jook his way. Then he set himself to study her closely. From top to toe, she was dressed in buckskin, tanned a snowy white, and fringed and beaded with artistic taste. Even her hat, instead of be- ing felt, was of the same material. To her belt, which was rather a sash, was hung a small revolver, and on the right hip, most convenient to her haad, a poniard-like knife, But these did not complete the armament of this Rocky Mountain amazon; for against the tree leaned a short carbine, with a breast-strap runuiag from stock to barrel. In striking contrast with her white costume, a mass of raven-black hair fell loosely about the girl’s shoulders, the rogers’ | of which was es- pecially well exhibited by her present posture, which caused it to hang free, a cascade of rip- pling loveliness, As to her features, the hidden watcher could see only the soft curve of her neck rounding into the oval of her cheek, bronzed with the kisses of the mountain air and sunshine, yet flushed too with the roses that simple living gives; these and the tip of an eyebrow, the point of an appa- rently straight nose, the curve of a short upper lip, and the swell of a rather pronounced chin— such as old Rome often gave the world in its women—all seen from a point behind the line of profile view. Baffled in her attempt to reach the flower, the girl leaped down from the rock, and retreating a few paces, drew her revolver, and turned her quest into a test of skill, by shooting at the stem of the blossom, Whiff! crack! and it came fluttering into her geen iy hand, as she ran forward to catch it. “‘ By Jove! no mean shot!” ejaculated Charley Kenyon, admiringly. ‘I should Lai not to have her get the drop on me at twelve paces!” And he laughed lightly to himself, little dreaming that she would ever cause bim anxiety by such a menace. He could now see that her face was fully up to the promise of the half reveiation which bad added piquancy to her first pose. Slipping the flower through 2 button-hole in the bosom of her dress, and slinging her carbine at ber back, Black Bess, as Billy Boston had call- ed her, continued her stroll, all unsuspicious of the eyes that were upon her, With all the caution at bis command, Charley Kenyon set out to follow her. As he was behind, he could not see the expres- sion of her face, except the half glin pses she occasionally afforded him by turning partly round; but her manner showed that she was not out bunting, and he gradually came to the con- clusion that she was undergoing some painfu mental disturbance, At times she scemed overcome by profound sadness, when she would sit down, and gaze at the ground, or into the far distance. But this mood she shook off with determination, rousing ”
Page 6
i iY | te hy 6 3 Cheeky Charley, the Special. sia some passion within her that made her cheeks turn pale and her eyes flash, while her relaxed figure grew rigid with resolve, Once the dislodgement of a stone under Charley’s foot.caused her to look round, at first startled, but with the return of repose as she discovered nothing. After that, however, though Charley did not then attach it to this cause, her movements be- came more erratic. She would disappear and reappear in a way that made it difficult to fol- low ber without self-betrayal. It was not long before Charley lost her alto- gether. After waiting for some time for her re- appearance, without venturing too near, he was forced to go quite up to the spot where he had last seen her, or abandon the quest out and out. “Can it be some retreat that she has slipped into?’ he asked himself. ‘‘ There might be the mouth of a cave in the face of that cliff. But if it proves that she has only sat down to rest awhile, I shall get myself into hot water before long. Well, nothing ventured, nothing gained. Here goes!” Assuming his most careless air, and pretend- ing to be peering about as an artist might, he strolled along in such a way as to pass the spot where Bess had disappeared. As she was not to be seen, he kept on; but, con- vinced that she could not have gone in that di- rection, he returned to the spot, and essayed an- other way. Back again no wiser than when he set out, he now gave himself undisguisedly to a careful search. He examined the ground narrowly, for some signs of a trail; but her moccasined foot bad left no trace, “Hang it all!” he ejaculated, unguardedly aloud, ‘‘she can’t have gone down into the ground, nor up in the air. She must be some- where about,” This was most excellently reasoned, as ten steps further proved; for, searching in every direction, he all of asudden stumbled directly upon the object of his quest, “ Well, sir! are you satisfied?” asked Black Bess, coolly. “(Qh I-—indeed, my dear madam—Miss—I beg your pardon!” stammered Charley, for once in bis life taken aback, and losing the cool as- surance of his profession. “For what?” asked the girl, regarding him steadily, with two or three fine lines between her black eyebrows. “ For having followed me? or for having found me?” But by this time Cheeky Charley was him- self again, Sho wasn’t the first pretty girl he bad met in that encounter of the eye, by a good many. And then, he wasn’t in love with her; which makes all the difference in the world. He had found his hat, of course, in the first moment of abject apology; but nervously, and so, ungracefully. But now he swept her a bow as courtly in its ease as if he were in a parlor— on his native heath, so to speak, “Not for my determination to know,” he an- swered, in measured tones, ‘‘ but for the indis- cretion into which my diffidence—altogether un- usual, I assure you—betrayed me. If I had fol- lowed my first impulse, Tshould have sprung for- ward when I first saw you, and craved the privi- lege of getting that flower for you. By the way, how would it do to bestow it upon me, asa Con- stavt reminder of my delinquency? I shall con- tinue to do penance long after it has ceased to reproach me with its unfaded beauty, I beg you to believe.” Now, take it all round, this was a very hand- some speech. To begin with, it was the speech of a woman-tamer. It said, as plainly as words could have said: My dear, I am not at all afraid of you. Come! we are not going to make a mountain of a mole-hill, It was perfectly natural for a fellow in the lustihood of youth to follow a pretty girl with the respectful admira- tion I bring you: and it is equally in the nature of things for the pretty girl aforesaid not to be unappeasably wroth at finding herself the object of the beforementioned admiration, and hence followed, as had been stated! Don’t rustle your curl-papers at me. I’ve been behind the scenes! In the second place, it was an honest con- fession, without a shadow of evasion—or it ap- peared to be, He owned to having followed her for a good half bour. Just a dash of color came into the girl’s cheeks, which had been pale with displeasure; and the hard repellence in ber eyes softened. Sho ignored his allusion to the flower, how: ever, “May 1 ask why you have been following _ me?” she rather demanded, t 5 “To find out where you live,” he answered, with an open smile. ‘*- You are very frank, sir.” ‘‘*When you come to know me better, you will see that that is my leading characteristic. I suppose that accounts for its coming to the surface so early in our acquaintance.” ‘‘Tbere is no likelihood of my knowing you better.” “Ob, don’t say that! Of course I bave made a fool of myself, by not doing the gentlemanly thing ina gentlemanly way. I never yet al- lowed myself to be overcome by a lady’s—ah— presence, but I had oceasion to regret it, You see, I thought if I made sure of you by finding out where your home is, I could then secure a presentation in the usual form—in society, I mean, Anybody but an idiot, or an over-im- pressionavle booby, would have known that such formality could be waived in the delight- ful simplicity of rural life, and—” ‘So forth! You have made good choice of a subject for your laughter. If it should prove that I am not the simple rustic you imagine—” “Don't you suppose I knew that?” broke in Charley, with a frank smile that somehow worked like a charm in calming her flushed re- sentment. ‘* Come! what is the use of our play- ing at cross-purposes? I knew who you were the moment { saw you. Of course I have heard about you—the most extravagant stories !—ever since Icame into this section of the country. [ll be frank with you. My idea was—fiction, the Divine Huntress returned to earth; fact, an Amazonian young woman, muscular and—well, rosy. I am ashamed to say that I came_put bere with the flippant purpose of capturing chat young person, stripping her of romance, and holdiag her up—in guise probably no truer than that with which she had been invested by her idealizers—to the ribald derision of a jaded pub- lic. My only excuse is, that lam a newspaper man, and that we do the mean things of which we are sometimes guilty, not always for the same reasou why dogs delight to bark and bite, but because it isa matter of bread and butter to us; and we get it at anybody’s expense, “ When I saw you, I was—pardon me!—over- come, I thought you would see through me at a glance, and—if you will once more pardon the levity of the figure—refuse to be captured, with whatsoever humility my former irreverent pur- pose was repented of. “Now you know all, or nearly all—why I came, why I dared not present myself, why— Well, some day I may reveal the secret of my persistent quest, even after I had abandoned my ungenerous and ungentlemanly design. * And now, what should be the reward of ove who has made suchaclean breast of it? Do | pari i the murky air of his kitchen to the averted ear you remember the story Mark Twain tells, of the good little Johnny he read about in his Sun- day-school book, whose conscience 80 smote bim that he confessed to his mamma that he had stolen some jam? It didn’t work quite so satis- factorily, you remember, when Mark tried the same scheme with his mother. But then, of course, it wasa very wicked plot for so small a boy; and Mark richly deserved the whipping he got, in place of the recompense of more jam which rewarded the good little Johnny’s sincere repentance, But don’t you think that the sorry little Johnnies of real life ought to be encour- aged?” ‘Never did a man who had “‘ put his foot in it,” more gracefully make a virtue of necessity. Our special age eae had the:rare tact to know when to sail by the polar star of fact, just near enough to make it seem that he was telling the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, Who could suspect any reserve, when he went into the matter with such fullness and circumstantiality ? Then, he had managed to insinuate a compli- ment here and there as be went along, So deftly that it seemed necessary to the fullness of his explanation, Could a woman stand out in con- demnation of a man for what be bad thought of her before seeing her, when he bad recognized her as a superior being at the first glance? And what was that which he had left unsaid—his subsequent motive for persisting in his quest of her, after he had abandoned the purpose of mak- ing her the subject of a racy article for the Sun- day issue of his paper? Ob, well, of course she thought of that, but at once turned her attention another way! ‘‘You plead your cause very cleverly,” she said, smiling faintly. « Cconvincingly—movingly, I hoped you would say,” he urged, ‘* But we can’t stand looking at each otber in meditative silence while you are making up your mind whether or not you can consent to forgive me. Suppose we fill in the ! | | Jowed hands on bis sacre | had I to bribe. | dow that wretched man; but I got my money’s worth out of him, none the less, by scouring his time— But there,” stopping to smile at the girk deprecatingly, before opening the sachel which be unslung from his shoulder, ‘‘of course you won't for a moment think J think that the old quip about after-dinner favors applies to a wo- man, much less to a girl for whom the world is yet bathed in that light whicb never was on land or sea, Itis myself alone I am considering, as usual! The fact is, 1 never could bear repent- ance on an empty stomach. To bave an aching | void to two parts of one’s anatomy at one and the same time, and so closely adjacent at that, is not to be endured if it can be cured, That is | one of those delightful ‘rules which work both ways—don’t you think sot—especially delightful this way!” And, opening the sachel, he took from it and arranged in tempting array all the requisites of a truly dainty lunch, flying about in exaggerat- ed liveliness in keeping with his rattling far- rago. Bo be downright frank with you—and that, ou remember, is my leading characteristic—I ope to win you toa favorable consideration of my plea through the benign influence of picnic associations. The very word picnic ought to bring a smile to any girl’s lips. Then what should be the effect of such an Arcadian spread as this? Oh, a veritable napkin, which seems to have gone out of fashion in this truly rural re- treat of silvan simplicity. One of the effects of the won-n-n-n-derful climate, I have no doubt. But what I especially hope you will note is, what a very good little boy, bow promising @ young man, must I have been and still be, to have ac- quired and yet to retain such a taste for picnics, Sunday-school and other. Simplicity of heart, I beg you to believe, and an appreciation of— what do you think?—biscuits that do not smell ta heaven of mur—that is to say, of soda, Just look at that! Isn’t ita beauty? White as the snow on Shasta’s lofty—ah—lofty— You know what I mean. Oh, { break into song once in a while, in my inspired moments! 4 “ And, by the same token, what’s the reason there isn’t inspiration in that ? A bottle of wine to make her shine— But the biscuit, you say— how have I kept them from getting stale between ‘Frisco and here? Oh, thatis my secret. But [ll tell you, in confidence. I brought the flour, and made 'em myself! How’s that? Ye cook— ye jack-booted and revolver-burdened cook of ye Dewdrop Inn, ye incomparable hostlery of far- famed Seven-up—to be permitted to lay unbal- W ekillets and pans, bim. With a small fortune did I en- tinware full of holes. In vain do the impreca- tions of the potato-paring tyrant ascend through of Heaven. Never again will the accumulated grime of ages, tribute of their richness and savor | jeft by unnumbered dinners, stop the gaping mouths through which those long-suffering ser- vants of the stomach of man cry aloud for rest, sweet rest, that comes to all!—to them, that bat- tered and rusty repose which awaits in the sheo} of dilapidated culinary utensils. “There!” concluded the rhapsodist, standing off to gaze at his work with smiling complacency, while with outspread hands he submitted it to the criticism of bis companion, ‘‘ refuse me, if you have the heart " The color had been coming and going in the girl’s cheeks, as she watched the busy speaker and listened to his nonsense, till now sbe met his eye rather sbyly, with a starry luster lurking under her drooping eyelids, It was plain that the reporter’s devil-may-care assure ncee—respect- ful withal—had taken her fancy, where & more diffident approach might have left her in cold indifference. “Tf L accept your invitation,” she said, with just a trace of incertitude in her voice, ‘I sup- pose you will think that I am in the habit of doing such things with entire strangers.” “Oh, no!” he answered, brightly. ‘You don’t often get the chance.” d Now the color swept to the girl’s temples, not in anger, as before, but with embarrassment, He had conquered her. Her heart acknowl- edged his right of command. He could speak to her with this freedom, without rousing the im-. pulse of resentment. Instead, there sprun = a strong desire to yield to his overtures, an all into this confidential relation, Why not? she asked herself. She was his equal, He would not dare to presume on her indulgence, any, more than if he had met her, as he might have done, in a city drawing-room. This thought brought a flash of defiance to her eyes, and it was with something of his own ban- ter that she answered ; :
Page 7
‘‘ Having a chance—and being hungry, avail myself of it!’ Replied Cheeky Charley, gayly: ** An opportunity well embraced, Is a pretty girl with a taper waist! ‘* Sit ye down there, where I spread my hand- Vevchiel: over this log for your accommodation. I will seek the repose that requiteth honest toil on this stone, over against you. Now, then! the choicest shall be your meed, You honor me in the acceptance.” CHAPTER V. DIRTY WORK. THE gayety of the reporter was infectious. In spite of herself, the girl gradually relaxed her reserve. Long before their repast was over, he had her laughing and chatting with a freedom that, in odd moments when she stopped to think about it, astonished her and made her cheeks burn with confusion. He told ber who he was, and what he did, and what he purposed doing, and told her truly—up to a certain point. Many of the jolly times that relieve the rigor of a reporter’s life did he re- count, with the same airiness that made his cor- respondence so readable, Only once did he touch upon those terrible experiences which im- lied the carrying of his very life into jeopard jn the pursuit of his vocation, The girl’s chee blanched as he spoke, and she was not aware of the earnestness with which she let her eyes rest upon his. : To relieve this painful impression came a touch of pathos, which revealed the serious human sen- sibility uaderlying his outward sportiveness; then back again to laughter, in keeping with the eccasion. He gave the listener the same impression he had given Sarpent Sam—that he was a hard- worked newspaper drudge out on a lark, and de- termined to make the most of it. He seemed to be engrossed in himself and in the good time he had come to have, and to en- tertain no interest in the girl save as she might contribute to that good time. He displayed no prying curiosity. Indeed, be made no allusion to her, except to seek her sympathy in opinion or taste with his own views or predilections, as this, that, or the other came up in the conversa- tion. At the conclusion of their regalement, how- ever, he came out with a startling pro 1, “Do you know?—I want to sketch you. I have been looking at you—” But by this time the girl’s whole manner had changed, All the confidential ease died out of her eyes, and she froze into rigid repellence, through which gleamed a glance of reproach. ‘* Nonsense!” exclaimed the reporter, looking directly into her eyes with a sudden assumption of seriousness which he had not thus far mani- fested. ‘*‘ What do you tukeme for? I intend to give the sketch to you, of course.” Then her eyes fell in confusion, “TI was thinking of the trouble,” she stam- mered, “Oh, no you wereu’t!” be contradicted, with merciless insistence. ‘‘ But you were entirely right; only mistaken in the person,” ‘Do you blame me?” she asked, making con- fession, and at the same time appealing to him as a woman does only to one whom she would not estrange. ‘¢ Of course not,” he answered. Then, with a return to his bantering humor, he added: “Not so much as you will blame yourself when you come to know me better.” This assumption of continued acquaintance she did not now repudiate, as she had done at the outset; but very ies she conceded: “You are very kind. ou may make the sketch, if you wish to.” It was made, in the same off-hand way which was characteristic of the artist in all that she had seen of him, and proved to be so faithful a re- production of herself as to bring a flush of em- rrassed pleasure to ber cheeks. What a clever fellow he was! He seemed to have everything at command. “And now,” be asked, as he presented it to her, “don’t you think that such abstinence as mine deserves some acknowledgment? I have a mind to renew my request, once ignored,” What request?” she asked, with a slight re- turn of suspicious incertitude, a8 if she found it hard to believe that this plausible young man could really have no ulterior motive. Only @ pansy blossom!” he sung, in a bari- aephe ‘ ~ te nae T shall | tone which seemed to be not wholly without cultivation, unless nature had favored him in music as she seemed to have in most else. Then dropping back into the conversational ne: ‘What isthe name of the flower? I ought not to lose the opportunity to take back some botanical specimens with ne—don’t you think?” ‘“‘Your charming picture deserves a better return,” she said, withdrawing the flower from her button-hole, and presenting it to him, “T consider it a good bargain,” he returned, “loth as I confess I am to part with the por- trait,” She made no reply to this bit of gallantry; neither did she resent it. ** And now,” pursued Charley, ‘I ought to have something to show for this visit—to in- quiring friends, I mean; so I will jot down a bit of landscape; and, if you will favor me by waiting, you shall pass criticism on it.” In his off-hand way he dashed off, not one, but two scenes; and that which she liked the more he insisted on her accepting. Finally, after a momentary vacillation, the girl extended the portrait which he had first made, and with flaming cheeks said: “<7 will exchange with you—if you—care for —this! Itis a pity to rob you of all.” Then the reporter did a very handsome thing. He took off his hat, with that sudden assump- tion of seriousness which had been so effective before, and said: ** Miss Champney, I have unexpectedly—I hope not altogether undeservedly—secured two chief prizes atasingle drawing—your picture, and your confid nce! It will not be uncomplimen- tary to say that, much as [ value the former, I shall be even more solicitous to preserve the latter.” *‘T believe that it is not misplaced,” she said, looking him timidly in the face. And then a suprising thing took place—equal- ly unexpected to both of the participants in this scene, Cheeky Charley—blushed scarlet! If the girl could have read her companion’s thoughts at that moment, her wonder would have turned into amazement. ‘* What an infamous scoundrel I am degener- ating into!” ran his thoughts. ‘“‘My own mother would repndiate me, if she knew. If it were a man, it would be bad enough. But the betrayal of a woman’s confidence!” What, to her, could have been the meaning of such reflections, in one who had manifested only gentlemanly consideration from the first? As it was, his embarrassment only added to her confusion, It was natural that she should interpret it asthe outward manifestation of a sentiment responsive to that which made her own heart beatso high, ber frame tremble, her cheeks glow. She was nota little relieved when, with an affectation of careless laughter he said: ‘But time goeson apace! I have a walk of twenty miles beuween me and my bed, if [ miss the return coach, It was ratber addle-pated for me to run such a risk, by coming out here without a horse. Till we meet again!” And lifting his hat, he took a hasty leave, as if, in the embarrassment of the moment, be for- got the necessity of ascertaining where he was likely to find her. The fact was, that, under the prick of shame, Charley Kenyon had abandonded one part of the course of action he had marked out for him- self, resolving to carry forward the business that had brought him into this country without further implication of the girl who bad disarmed him by reposing confidence in him as a friend, To her, lacking this key to his movements, it seemed unlikely that either hurry or embarrass. ment should make him forgetful, or cause the sudden abandonment of the wish to know where she lived—after what had passed between them, Was this, then, a rusef Doubting her com- pliance—which, considering the stories he had probably heard about her, he certainly had good reason to doubt—was he seeking to throw her off her guard, with a view to once more essaying his skill at trailing her home? She tarned the tableson him, by following him—to her shame, as well as relief; for he trayed no such intention as she had suspected. Making his way directly to the mountain road, without <6 much as once looking round, he seat~ ed himself on the trunk of a fallen tree to await the passing of the coach. What made the girl’s heart flutter. and her cheeks burn, was to observe that he whiled the time of waiting by a close study of the por- trait he had drawn of her. He is not so mean as I!” she reflected, bitter- Cheeky Charley, the Special. ly. ‘* Why doI suspect him so persistently? He is the soul of honor—a perfect gentleman!’ But this reopened the question of his abrupt departure without the knowledge of ber home. All of a sudden the watcher’s heart stood still, so that she fairly reeled with the shock of a new interpretation. ‘‘ He loves another!” she panted, seizing a sap- ling to steady herself, while she pressed her hand upon her heart; ‘tor, at least, he is bound in honor by an engagement. He finds that he is not indifferent in. my presence, and so has re- solved to keep away from me! He no longer wishes to know where I live; he does not intend to seek me again!” Here were gentlemanliness and honor with a vengeance! She would have much preferred that he be less scrupulous. Gladly would she have taken her chance of winning him, against this supposititious rival. Here was just what was needed to fan into a raging flame of passion what might otherwise have been but a passing fancy, After the re- porter had climbed to a place beside the stage- driver, to be whirled away on the swaying vebicle, still without a backward glance to show that he cared for a last chance glimpse of the irl in whose society he had whiled a summer day, she ran a good mile, to climb a peak from whose apex she knew she could see the very last of the coach on its way to Seven-up. Then, when all was lost to vision, and the day, such as had never visited her before, was but a memory, she stood like a statue, outlined against the waning light of the sky, with a stony immo- bility of pain that transcended any manifesta- tion of grief, and said: ‘“‘T am my father’s daughter!—he will none of me! What is there left? Only this accursed heritage of hate! Then let it come, I dedicate myself to revenge!” ‘As if in that resolve she had sold herself to the powers of darkness, and bad no more to do with the light, she turned abruptly, and plunged downward into the gathering gloom of the lower mountain, Meanwhile Charley Kenyon had been received with a heartiness that found no boisterous out- ward expression, but glowed in the stage- driver’s steady gaze, and vibrated in the deep chest-tones in which he said: s Blowed ef I hain’t got ye back ag’in, pard- ner!’ “To transport to safer quarters, Billy, if that will be any satisfaction to you,” laughed the re- porter, “ Eh?’ ‘1 am going back to Seaver City with you.” To night?” “Tf you don’t refuse to take me.” ‘* But I thought you "lowed to put up byar @ -spell—not to be pokin’ my nose into—” “No offense. I’ve changed my mind.” ‘‘-You’ve seen her, then.” “ What!” ¢* You've seen her, I say.” ‘¢ What makes you think so?” “TJ see itin yer eye.” ‘Gammon! It’s in your eye! Ha! ha! ha! That’s not a bad joke.” The stage-driver turned his attention to his horses without pressing the matter further. He had had his say. It was not like him to “ crowd the mourners.” In his room Charley Kenyon stopped long enough to compare the portrait he had made with a photograph which lay next to that with which he had compared the harsh physiognomy of Sarpent Sam. “The same—the very same!” he ejaculated, “Ten years have not made so great a change in her, Ab, well! I don’t wonder much at the compliance of the sheriff, But she must have been a mere girl, scarcely more than a child— fourteen or fifteen, at most.” Then he knit his brows, with a return of his old compunction, “Dirty work—mighty dirty work for Charles T. Kenyon, Esquire!” be growled, putting both eeeeraph and portrait out of sight. “ But he end—ah, that’s the justification of every rascal, with a glimmering of self-respect left in him, since the world began! Yet, what can I do? If one must-be sacrificed, had it not better be the evil-doer? She is a sinner—confound her !—with all her beauty.” ‘ Then, the expression of his face changing, he said softly to himself: ‘My darling! My darling!” Down in the saloon, as"he was passing out to the waiting coach, he ran upon y Sol, and seized him with the same quick motion with which he bad secured him before. “Here, you little scalawag!”
Page 8
] t t f ' } ! : i ‘ ne f t E ee a Pe. 9 | " : I ty 14 x 4 bi tt q 1 ; i 3 "y t Bee. > 5 BT; ( vis i oF PY 4 i -~ ‘Lemme go! lemme go!” cried the lac, writh- ing to free himself, ‘*‘ What do you want o’ me? I hain’t done nothin’ to you.” “Do you know how to lie if you get caught in a scrape?” demanded the reporter To the ragamuffin of Seven-up this sounded like the preliminary to a business proposal; so he at once submitted himself to his captor, and grinning up into the face, chanted in reply a «stave of satirical doggerel through his nose, * Oh, no! I’m rather slow: Thar ain*t no go In yer Unele Jo! Tain’t a bit fly! T never could lie} An’ all the pie I'd take on the sly Ye could put in yer eyel— L hope to die!—” *$Come! come! that’ll do!” interrupted the reporter, shaking the poet, to fetch him to a full Stop. “Do you want to go along with me? With him!—with the man who had braved Sarpent Sam’s rattlers, and become the talk of the camp in consequence! ‘You bet!” replied Sassy Sol, with the promptness and utter disregard of possible con- sequences which marks the born Bohemian. Stopping for nofurtber preliminaries in the way of business arrangement, Cheeky Charley , dragged his little henchman along, and tossed him into the coach with as little ceremony as if he had been a grip-sack. Billy Boston took in this proceeding, out of the corner of his eye, but ventured no remark. Not more than half an hour behind. the coach, as it bowled along through the darkness on its way to Seaver City, rode a man and woman, The former had the colossal figure of Sarpent Sam; the latter, dressed in dark stuff that blended with the shadows, might have been his daughter. They made a detour, got ahead of the coach, and rode into Seaver City some time before it. CHAPTER VI. ‘‘ PUTTING HIS FOOT INTO IT.” “WHERE, oh, where in all the wide, wide world is there another such country? Talk of discomforts—miserable bodily privations!—when ou can havea feast of soul like this! Look! ook, papa! See where that bar of sunshine strikes aslant throuzh the rift between those grand old crags, filling all the canyon with splendor! And the contrast with the gloomy foreground! Isn’t it as if heaven were bursting through? Oh, please, please stup the carriage, for just one moment!” Mellie Maynard gave nearly everybody the benefit of her overflow of soul. If she made an exception, you might depend it was the fault of the person denied. Look at her fluffy blonde hair; at her clear blue eyes, that at once bespoke your confidence in her innocence and truth; at the polished surface of her cheek, ivory white in response, but warm- ed with a flitting tinge of color while she speaks; at her delicately chiseled lips, not vividly scarlet, as becomes a brunette, but of a dainty pink, like the palace walls of the chambered nautilus, Judge Maynard unbent his grizzled brows, whose frown had made many a criminal cringe, and smiled indulgently on his beautiful daugh- ter, It was not necessary for him to direct the ar- rest of the carriage. Mellie’s wish was law to every one about her. Jobn drew in his horses asa matter of course; and though there was so little of the artist about him that he saw only a black rock with a dash of yellow beyond it, he joined the others in so much of u sympathetic oe as a discreet servant might allow him- self, Clinging to her father’s shoulder to steady herself, the girl stood up in the carriage, and gazed with all her rapt soul at this exhibition of nature’s sublimity, her lips fallen apart, her breath suspended, her bosom dilated with the emotion that swayed her. Overburdened at last, she sat down with a profound sigh, averting her face from a scene that had so moyed her, and clasping her father’s arm to her side, rested her cheek against his shoulder. ‘Go on, please,” she said, in a low voice. “TI can’t bear to look at it, It is too much\” Nobody. made any reply to this, John obeying her direction with a light, glancing fleck of his whip-lash on the glossy flanks of his off horse. A very pale lady, with thin, though not pinched lips, who occupied the back seat of the Cheeky Charley, the Special. ee aS“ a“BM“—NO}W}. aw’ —————————————— Se EE a ar yi yy ‘ se hey carriage, gazed at the girl with a languid smile of tenderness, as if sympathizing with her emo- tion, yet deprecating the abandon with which she had yielded to it. Her mother, a glance proved; the beauty her daughter had inherited, refined, not faded, by invalidism, into an exqul- site delicacy, as attractive in its way as the young girl’s fresh loveliness, On his knees in the seat beside her, a boy, yet in knickerbcckers, was shouting over the back of the carriage at the occupants of a fol- lowing vehicle, swinging his hat with an in- fantile: ‘“‘ Hooray! hooray! hooray!” The second party was a merry one, consisting of two very fas ionably-dressed young ladies and their attendant gentlemen. The former had nothing about them requiring description, their frills and flummery, and little airs of affectation being exactly like the corre- sponding vanities of all their class, ‘‘Miss Cordelia Murchison’s friend "—* Gussie,” ag she called him—wore @ cuff around his neck, and sucked the end of a cudgel; Miss Winnie Claybourne’s adorer—Mr. Hugh Dann—was a short, stocky gentleman, with a double chin, and little tosay, ‘* gentleman was buttoned up so closely that he seemed to have increased in flesh since coming from the hands of the outfitter, “Oh, Mr. Framingham!” ** Dear Mr. Nesbit?” “ (hawming Mistah Fwamingham and adaw- able Mista Nesbit!” The cries came from the ladies, and froi Gussie in mimicry. They were addressed to two gentlemen who were dashing by on horseback, in a race for the leading carriage. Each had a lot of hastily-gathered flowers, to which one had added a vine with vividly scarlet blossoms, which trailed over his arm, So hurriedly, indeed, had these treasures been culled, that they dropped from the grasp of the racers, more intent on precedence than on their overflowing riches, which strewed the ground after them. They were both young men, with no unusual characteristics. Framingham was rud¢y and sandy; Nesbit was smalJl and dark, They were rivals for Miss Mellie’s favor, though everybody knew that Charley Kenyon led them by a length —his length, the standing joke went, since he was taller and of more imposing presence than either of them, “Isn’tit a burning shame,” lisped Miss Cor- die, with the sort of pout that was peculiarly be- coming to her, as it protruded her nether lip till it looked, as Gussie told her, like a ‘ stwawbeh- wy,” ‘to pass us withouta single flower! Pll remember NoWie Framingham for that!” “Oh, don’t! I pway you, forget him!” plead- ed Gussie. ‘‘ Would you dwive me to despehwa- tion? I assuah you, Othello, even as Salvini wendabs him, is nothing tome when I’m jeal- ous,” “Oh! you!” returned Miss Murchinson, giv- ing her infatuated slave a ‘‘killing” look from under her eyelids, ‘* You wouldn’t care a bit— you krow you wouldn’t!” ‘‘Would you have me pwotest, heah, in the cahwige? Hugh, deah boy, lend me your band- kehchief to pwotect the knees of my twowsehs, while I sweah—” “Oh, Mr. Waite! Are you going to swear?” cried Miss Claybourne, putting ber hands to her ears with affected dismay. ‘‘ Don’t let him, Hugh—ah—Mr. Dunn, I mean!” Dunn looked at Gussie, who was making ex- aggerated preparations for his pledge of passion, and the only response he could find handy was a dull: “ H’m !” Meanwhile the racers had dashed up to the foremost carriage, one on either side. ** Miss Maynard, your devoted slave!” shouted Framingham, throwing flowers and vine in a confused mass into the carriage, so as fairly to deluge the object of his gallantry in a shower of fragrance and color, ‘ Victory!” he cried, in the next breath, looking back over his shoul- der, as he dashed by, unable to check the speed of bis horse all at once, His headlong course occasioned a great career- ing of the carriage horses, so that for a moment all was commotion. Nesbit, who had been forced to take the side opposite to that on which Mellie sat, or to fol- low ingloriously at the heels of his successful rival, made the most he could of an adverse sit- uation, by attempting to regain by discretion what he had Jost 1n the race, Pulling up bis horse at the side of the carriage, His hair was cropped close enough for a prize-fighter, and pompadoured on top, while his rotund body Dennen ee ee ee familias himself, he tendered his flowers with a bcw as composed as he could command while out of breath. ‘** Miss Mellie, if you will accept these from my hand, I would not exchange my chagrin for Mr. Framingham’s triumph. Believe me, it is not J that was the laggard, but my horse,” “Ob, Mr. Nesbit, and you, Mr. Framingham!” exclaimed Mellie, receiving the tributes with an exquisite slryness, ‘it was a shame to have you attend to that foolish wish of mine. I never dreamed of your being to so much trouble, and even risking life and limb—” “Risk!” broke in Framingham, in his head- long way, having got his horse checked by this time and wheeled back to the carriage door, “‘ If I had had you with mein Switzerland, last year, I would have run some risk, in getting you the famed edelweiss, that would have been worth speaking about.” “T have not the advantage of experience in Alpine climbing,” said Nesbit, in his turn, mak- ing a point very quietly; ‘but lamsureI would do more than this to gratify you.” Mellie covered the embarrassment this gal- lantry in the presence of her parents caused her, by assuming an air of unconcerned gayety. ‘* You are a couple of naughty boys!” she de- elared; ‘‘and I shall be careful, in future, how I speak of flowers growing balf way down osed pices that it makes one sbudder to recall. Isup- posed that you had only gone for the columbine, But these daises and wild-brier, away down there on that dreadful ledge—I would not have let you go, if I had imagined that you could be so foolish.” ‘Not foolish, but one of its synonyms, Miss Maynard!” laughed Framingham, into w hose rattle brain flashed the correspondence of the word “ fond;” and it was like him not to with, hold it even in the presence of the grave pater- ‘‘ Meanwhile, allow me to repair the effects of my haste.” And swinging from the saddle to the step of the cariiage, he began to gather up the flowers he had strewn pretty much over everybody in it. He had avery active, if not altogether desir- able, assistant in Master Fred Maynard, of whose feet, judging from the number of flowers he crushed, it might be well said—‘* Their hame is legion!” Between them, Miss Mellie soon kad a lap full of flowers, none of which, however, could rival, in point of flower-like beauty, the roses in her cheeks, This was the party of excursionists that drove into Seaver City, followed by two large wagons, one of which was loaded with tents, bedding and other camp equipage, and the other witb provi- sions. There are a great many disagreeable things in the rude hospitality of the mountain district that these tourists were evidently prepared to avoid, Bp. Pe Notwithstanding its more pretentious title, the entertainment for man and beast in Seaver City fairly justified the criticism of one disgusted gojourner: ‘‘ Fair to middlin’ fur the beast, but blame rough on the man!” “This will never do, Emilia,” said the judge to bis wife, in an undertone, as they inshcetall what mine host had to offer in the way of a bed, though they werein nowis? curious to ssmple bis board, © ‘*For my part, [ would rather bave the bare ground, all to myself, than share that frowsy bunk with its unmentionable myriads!” ‘* George!” admonished his wife, laying a re- straining hand on bis arm, “You can’t mean to risk it?’ he persisted. “T thought it would be nice to go back toa bed in a house, if only for one night,” said Mrs, Maynard, faintly. ‘ But of course—” “Of course!” declared Mellie, closing the argument decidedly, ‘Mamma, we have come out here to build you up, as wellas to have a good time ourselves. But how are we to do it, pray, if you constantly thwart our efforts to give you the mountain air in theonly way in which it does any good?—through the walls of a tent, to be sure! The idea of going ®-gypsying, and sleeping in houses! Come away! come away, to the merry green wood!” And gayly dancing before her mother, she drew her away by the band. So they left the cluster of odorous pine shanties that were destined to serve as the nucleus of a mountain metropolis, some time in the next millennium, possibly, und pitched their tents beyond its gates, out of sight, and out of hearing of all but the loudest yells and the pis- tol-shots, Here, on a spot of Mellie’s own choosing, close bya erystal spring that sent its streamlet babbling down @ dell of delights, as Mellie | i | |
Page 9
aan uke : called it, they camped, and were soon in the full enjoyment of the creature comforts they had brought along with them. And here Sassy Sol found them, seeing, him- self unseen, and concluding, all things consider- | ed, that he could choose a better time and place to execute his mission, than venturing into the midst of so large a company of active-looking young men, Meanwhile, playing the detective so cleverly himself, as he supposed, it did not occur to Cheeky Charley that he might have reason to be on the lookout for any one spying upon him in turn. Yet it behooved him not to make himself a conspicuous figure in Seaver City, so as to be talked about, and thus, possibly, be brought to the notice of some member of the judge’s party. His first precaution, on arriving at that embryo metropolis, was to effect a complete change in his outward appearance, so that he could move about without attracting attention by any singularity of dress. He was soon rigged out in a flannel shirt and aslouch hat, so that his nearest friend might have passed him without recognition, if he did not get a fair look at his face. Even so, he moved about as little as possible, and allowed himself a view of the judge's party only from a safe distance. But this was an utlucky indulgence. At sight of Mellie, he lost his head. He must see her and hear the sound of her dear voice, at any cost short of self-disclosure, A hundred times he promised himself that he would not disturb her by letting her guess that he was nearer than the Pacific Coast, where she and all the others supposed him to be. “] will go out to their camp, and hover about in the darkness, just to get the chance to hear her sing, and to see her dear face in the firelight. There will be not the least danger of discovery. Iam glad, now, that Sol didn’t risk giving that note in the camp. Nothing can happen to-night. I myself will stand on guard till daylight.” He went, just as we all go where we ought not to; and one that he never dreamed of, fol- lowed him! And who was it trailing his footsteps? Who but Black Bess! Honestly, as she supposed, she had torn every thought of him out of her heart, before, she as- sured herself, it had had time to gain a lodg- ment there, But at sight of him in Seaver City, the mad surge of feeling that swept over her revealed, in lines of fire, the fact that her dedication of terself to revenge was nothing more than a verbal one, so far as the exclusion of other and tenderer sentiments was concerned, By an unlucky chance she saw Charley while be was looking at Mellie Maynard from afar; and the expression of bis face, and his inyolun- tary gestures, told her his secret more plainly than words could have done, “She! she!” panted the jealous watcher, ‘It is that tow-headed creature! What can he see to admirein such a bleached specimen of hu- manity as that? HowlI bate her! If it had been that other ’—with her eyes on Miss Clay- bourne—“ thera might have been some reason init. But that—that—Albino! She ought to be in a museum!” By allof whichit must not be argued that Black Bess was atall blind to the sylph-like loveliness of the judge’s daughter. On the con- trary, she was keenly alive toit. It is not un- usual for people to admire that which contrasts most strongly with themselves; and Black Bess secretly thought Mellie Maynard the most ex- quisitely beautiful person she had ever seen. And such taste as her dress displayed! A woman, Black Bess knew all about that, by in- stinct, From the moment he saw Mellie Maynard, Cheeky Charley walked the earth as a man with bis head in the clouds, with but the one idea, that he was not to make himself conspicu- ous, But, alas! it was also necessary that he look about him with intelligence; and because he did not, it was the easiest thing in the world for Black Bess to keep track of him, So she followed him out to the camp of the excursionists, he never dreaming of anything oe the moon save only sweet Mellie May- nar CHAPTER VII. A STOLEN INTERVIEW. As Charley Kenyon had sup , the ex- cursionists were entirely without apprehension, It never seemed to occur to any of them that precautions of any kind were necessary: Mellie, especially, was so used to the country, an Cheeky. Charley, the Special. that she felt as much at home out in these wilds as if she had been in the quiet village where her father’s country-seat was located. It was a bright moonlight night; and this creature, brimming over with sentiment, longed to be alone in the dreamy effulgence with her own thoughts, Unchecked, she stole out of the circle of the fireligbt, to follow the rippling water of the streamlet toa nook which she had picked out before the night fell. Here, on a mossy mound, with the thread of liquid silver making soft music at her feet, she sat her down, half in light, and half in shadow, As luck would have it, Charley Kenyon bad approached the camp from this side, so’that she came directly toward him. He was standing in dense shadow, out of the way that any one would be likely to puss, fol- lowing the stream; so he stood stock-still, al- most holding his breath, while she passed so near that he could have made her hear ina whisper. Seating herself as has been described, the girl at once drew from her bosom a photograph, which she pressed to her lips, and then to her cheek, with a low, crooning murmur of tender- ness, This was the last touch, if anything, indeed, was needed beyond her mere vicinity, After this the lover was not accountable for anything he might do. Discretion was cast to the winds, He only knew that the delight of his heart was where he could put bis hand upon her. His pulses leaped. An eestasy of passion set every nerve atingle, and made every muscle quiver like a harp-string. He must touch her hand; he must gaze into her eyes; he must feel her warm breath on bis face; he must hear her once—only once!—pronounce his name, Then he would goaway. He would not agitate her. He did not ask to hold her in his arms; to feel her warm lips on his; to have her cling to him, as she had done at that parting which would have broken her heart, but for her strong faith in him—faith that in the end he would compel her father’s admiration as be had constrained her love, In short, he proposed to do, and leave undone, what no thoroughly sane man would ever dream could be done and left undone, with one and the same _ person, at one and the same time. But what lover is thoroughly sane? worthy the name! The girl gazed at the picture, and sighed, and murmured tender nonsense to it, and laughed in delicious joyousness at ber own folly—as the world calls it. ** Oh, Charley-boy!” he heard her say, ‘if you were here! I would give—l would give— Oh, what?) What would I give to have my own true love beside me? In sucha perfect night, with all the fairies waiting for midnight, so that they can come forth and dance in the moonlight— Ha! ha! ha! how impatient some of them must be, with al] this moonlight gomg to waste! But what would I give? Are any of you little crea- tures listening? I would give—I would give” But her head drooped lower and lower, and her cheeks flamed scarlet at the thought that arose in her mind, and trembled on her lips. The listener could endure this no longer. With his head swimming, be broke silence. ‘Mellie! Mellie! what would you give?” he whispered. } The girl started violently, gazed about in alarm, and then dropped her face in her lap, in an ecstasy of shame that the tenderest senti- ments of her heart had been surprisel by some one who would make sport of them. She thought it was one of the gentlemen of the party. She was as angry with him, whoever he might prove to be, as it was in her gentle nature to be with any one; but she was SO overcome with humiliation that for the present she could not look into his face, ** Mellie, dear Mellie! don’t you know me? It is I!” breathed the lover, as if there could be but one I” in the world, In that he was not so far wrong. There was but one for her. She knew who it was, not- withstanding the incredibility of his presence so many miles from where she had supposed him to be. None ‘Hush! hush!” he breathed, as she pressed her, hand to her heart, and her lips fell apart. ‘* Not a sound! You Will betray me! My darling! May I come to you? Can you bear it now? Mellie !” ? The last was breathed into her ear, He had kept coming, while be craved the privilege. He wouldn’t have been much of a lover if be hadn’t, His arms were about ber. He felt her trembling in his embrace, as she yielded herself to him. 9 ** Not yet! not yet!” she whispered, as his lips hovered so close to hers that there could be no doubt that his pledges to himself of a moment ago were but ropes of sand. She let her head sink upon his shoulder, turned her face toward his neck, and so rested in per- fect quiescence, But it was joy enough for the lover, to feel the warm tears in which the excess of her emotion spent itself. They were the tears that sweeten life, instead of leaving the scars of their acrid course on the tablets of memory, And in this moment of ecstatic abandonment, neither felt the eyes that blazed upon them the baleful Jightnings of a jealous woman’s hate! ‘Oh, Charley!” murmured the girl at last, “how imprudent—how terribly imprudent!” **Could I keep away from you, my darling?” was his only plea. ¥ And what need had he for more? Could any other be more eloquent—in her ears? **But my father!—what would he say, if he knew?” “Ask your mother, dear, what her father would have said, under similar circumstances,” Than which, what argument could have con- contained more in the same space? Its effect was apparent, in that his ladylove, who till now had submitted passively to his embrace, threw her free arm about his neck, and strained him to her, ‘You are the same saucy fellow!” she said, with alow laugh. ‘I shall never be able to train you up in the way you should go.” ‘* And here I thought Peas going—or rather, coming—in just the way to please you!” ‘*' You have transported me, and broken my heart, at the same time!” : “Broken your heart? Mellie!” *Sha'n’t I have to part with you all over again, stupid?” ‘** A hundred times, my dear! Once for every time I get a chance to see you.” “And do you fancy, sir, that I will consent to have clandestine meetings with you?” ** Mellie, is it possible—” “That you haven’t conquered my self-respect, along with all the rest of me? Do you want to, Charley?” There was a reflective pause; and then the lover said, with a marked change in his voice— that sudden assumption of gravity which had subdued Black Bess: ** No, Mellie; [do not. I would not poison all our future with the reflection that T had led you into systematic deception of your parents, Of course I was beside myself, to think of so unen- durable a role fcr you, But you are not re- sponsible for this meeting; and Iam _ willing to take the odium of it upon myself, and make the most of it while it lasts,” He was laughing again—a trick he had of always covering his true deptbs of feeling with a mask of satire. But be got his reward for the soundness of heart that always showed itself when occasion demanded, by the gliding of the other arm about his neck, and the spontaneous approach of the lips that till now bad been withheld—not from lack of tenderness, but in maiden delicacy. **Oh, Charley!” they whispered, “if there is anything that can make me Jove you more than when you—you—lose yourself, dear!—ba—bha !|— itis whem you find yourself again! I always know you will, in the end.” _ But alas for their absorption in each other; and alas that the bank of that streamlet should have been carpeted so deep with yielding moss! The first footstep they heard wes almost directly upon them; and it was accompanied with an ejaculation of astonishment that showed they were discovered. With a low cry of dismay, Mellie tightened her clasp on her lover, and hid her face in his breast, She had no doubt that there was to bea dis- closure, followed by ascene that would wrench her heart-strings almost past endurance, Her parents, whom she loved beyond expres- sion, against the man about whom all the ten- drils of ber loving heart were entwined! But they could not tear her from him, when they saw that it would be uprooting all the garden of her life, leaving only a barren waste of miserable endurance. She would make a desperate fight for her happiness, between these conflicting loves, 'They who had done so much in the careful nurture of her life, should see that, without their reconcile- Ment, all that had gone before would pass for naught. They should see that they might de- stroy their own bandiwork, but they could never, never affect ber love! She who had seemed a thing that the winds of heaven might not blow upon too rudely, now de- a eee “se
Page 10
spicy pu ‘ si 4 thy Gy ere gt ey ES rh ed ry . SP irs & Porth mow ie | SRR a 5 bo r MENTS De Cipla eee) "f ue a ’ : b ‘ 7 : Cheeky Charley the Special. 10 moos TE Ta, ae ERE RES Pes: : aor - DEE St SS A SEER eta are amenable, to my — veloped a strengtn of purpose that would test the resolution of even the rock of determination that had stood unmoved in the path of crime, Charley Kenyon saw at a glance that it was too late to attempt escape. It would be equally futile to try to bide his identity. Miss Maynard had been discovered in the arms of a man with the outward appearance of a miner. Of course it would not be for a moment supposed that he was what he seemed; and his known relations with her would inevitably point him out as the only man who could possibly be in such a rela- tion with her. He rose to his feet, lifting her with him. ‘¢Mr. Dunn,” he said, addressing that gentle- man with tbe severe dignity the occasion de- manded, ‘‘I presume I need not introduce my- self to you otherwise than by the sound of my voice.” “You need not,” replied Hugh Dunn, with es coldness, Where sentiment had led Mellie Maynard to wander in the moonlight, Hugh Dunn’s phleg- matic disposition naturally led him to seek sol- itude, quite irrespective of the moon, Hence his inopportune presence, ‘Nor need I explain to you that, pending the approval of her parents, I regard the lady you find in my company in the light of my future wife,” ‘¢ That is sufficiently apparent.” “T beg your pardon, then, for suggesting tbat, according to the code current among gentlemen, this is hardly a case for outside interference.” “You are kind enough to think that I need reminding of such a code,” answered Dunn, with a natural touch of asperity. ‘Excuse me if lL find it necessary to Gall your attention to a fact which, under the circumstances, you may justly, perhaps, claim indulgence for overlooking—the fact that I am a guest, and as such have duties, also preseribed by code to which gentlemen ost. “T think that that can be adjustsd consistent- ly with your sense of what is due yourself. I have already had pointed ott to me, by the lady herself, the impossibility of a repetition of the meeting with which I havesurprised her. I need hardly tell you_that her will is my law in this matter, even if I had not come to see the indis- cretion of my conduct—not wholly without miti- ation, however, as I hope some day to be able o show you. As, then, the disclosure of what you have seen cannot reclaim the past, and can give nothing but unpleasantness as to the future, I hope you will find it possible to construe your duty with a liberality which will spare the per- son whom you have it in your power to wound most deeply.” This was a very clever way to put the_case. It was a question whether he should strike Mellie Maynard a blow fo the heart! A. wealt woman might have traded on her beauty, by adding her plea to this appéal. Few men can adjust the scales of honor with any great nicety, when the tears and soft pleadings of a beautiful woman are thrown into the bal- ance oyer against the law. Mellie Maynard lifted her face from her lov- er’s breast—without unwinding her arms, bow- ever—and fixed her blue eyes on Hugh Dunn’s gloomy face. There was no design in this; nor was she con- scious of any effect it might bave. It was only that she hung breathless on his decision, She was too proud to ask any man to sacrifice his honor to spare her no matter what degree of pain. “ With the assurance which you bave given me, I think I may rest content,” answered Dunn, ‘Tam sorry to have intruded upon you. I will bid you good-evening.” Too proud to add that the intrusion was wholly unintentional, as he had had no know- ledge of Mellie’s absence from the camp, nor any warning, of the vicinity of the lovers till he stumbled actually upon them, be was backing off with a bow, when Charley arrested him with his wonted impulsive cordiality, «‘ Not till I have thanked you, Dunn, from the bottom of my heart, and asked you to wait and allow Miss Maynard to return in your com- ny.” And he extended his hand with a heartiness that could not but dissolve the ice of formality that had formed between them in that trying interview. “J will walk on down the stream,” replied Dunn, in a much softer voice, as he returned the warm pressure of Charley Kenyon’s band; ‘and when you are ready for me, you can let me know as you pass.” ‘Well, now! would you have believed that?” asked Charley of his sweetheart, when what had .from her as much as possible. the judge with the direct, animal curiosity of a rustic, calm in the security of the distance that intervened between him and the irate fish- threatened to be so sore a marplot had left them Judge Maynard took the money out of his “That old fellow has | pocket, and said: P once more to each other. some of the milk of human kindness hidden away somewhere in his anatomy, after all. [ hope I may be forgiven for all my past un- charitableness to Miss Claybourne! It is only that she is clearer sighted than the rest of us.” “Oh, Charley, hush!” pleaded his sweetheart, ‘© Tf you felt as 1 do—as if life and everything had ‘just been in awful peril—you could not trifle.” “ And do you think I am really in the mood for trifling?” he asked, his voice now vibrating with the emotion he had but dissembled, ‘‘If f ever get chance a to repay Hugh Dunn for this, he will not have occasion to believe that Iremem- ber it lightly!” It seemed as if they could never say all that welled up from their hearts, in view of the final- ity of their separation; but the parting came at last; and when Charley Kenyon passed the silent figure that stood in the shadow further down the stream, with only a hurried grip of the hand and a mumbled * God bless you!” his voice was so husky that the words were scarcely intelligible, Hugh Dunn was not surprised _at not finding Mellie waiting to be accompanied by him back tothe camp. When he next saw her—not till the following morning—she was very pale, but otherwise self-possessed. , After one swift glance of gratitude, she avoid- ed his eye; and he spared her by keeping away Not so considerate was another witness of that stolen interview. 7 The morning had worn away, and the dinner- hour passed, when a woman in @ gingham sun- bonnet that hid her/face so that little else could be seen but that she was rather Gypsy-looking, a into the camp with a basket of berries to sell. And from under that convenient bonnet, seen only in flashes and glimpses, gleamed the deadly hatred of Black Bess, CHAPTER VIII. SASSY SOL EXECUTES HIS MISSION, Sassy Sou did not find his opportunity till the afternoon of the following day, when, after quite a display of skill at bushwhacking, he came upon the judge in solitude, whipping @ trout stream, Approaching with the affected awkwardness of a country lout, he was repelled by the angler with a frown of annoyance, 2 gf there, boy! It will do you no good : anging around ‘here. Make off with ou But instead of obeying, Sol took one hand from his pocket, dragged the sleeve across his nose, and then returned it, to stand staring at erman. Frowning, and muttering something that need not be transcribed or laid up against him, the judge moved on up the stream, The boy followed, keeping the same vantage of distance, asif an invisible bond bound him to the cbject of his curiosity, like his shadow. ‘‘onfound you!” cried the judge, at last, ‘if you don’t make off, and cease annoying me, 1 Il see if there is any virtue in « gad of a suitable size for your legs!” Sol looked down at his unhandsomely clothed shanks, as if to take their measure in the indi- cated relation. Then he Jooked at the frowning gentleman, and to his astonishment hailed him. “Say, mister!” “You young rascal!” cried the judge, indig- nantly. “Be you a jedge?” asked Sol, quite unmoved by the epithet that had been hurled at him, ““T am a judge of good birch!” replied Judge Maynard, jooking about in that threatening pa ge is more of a menace than a serious quest. ‘So be I,” Sol could not refrain from retort- ing, though this was somewhat out of character with the role of rustic simplicity he had assum- ed. ‘' I’ve tasted enough of it!” You'll be a better judgestill before long, if you don’t clear out. What do you want to fol- low me about for? Haven’t you ever seen any one fishing before?” “ Not with sich a geewhillikins-cracker pole as that thar, gov’nor!” “Come! I'll give you a quarter if you will go away.” ‘* Pitch us yer quarter,” “Come and get it.” “ Ugh—ugh!” grunted Sol, with a knowing shake of the head. ‘Well, then, plague take you! take it, and clear out!” And the judge threw the money at the pest. Sol caught it with the expertness of a dog wT at a piece of meat. ‘Hil Ireckon you've got a pile o’ that thar stuff. Ef you sling it around permiskus like, PR come back ag’in to-morrer fur some more,” “Tf you do, P’ll shoot you!” But that little touch altered the judge’s mood, and he laughed, Sol laughed, too, in sympathy. “ Aren't you going to keep to your bargain?” asked the judge, while he readjusted his fly. “Oh, yes! But say!” “ Well?” “You ain’t sich a bad sort, when you're on yer Sunday-best behavior.” Ashe talked, Sol’s native irsolence kept com- ing more and more to the surface; but instead of being annoyed, the judge was rather interest- edin him, It was the dull, beast-like stupidity of the curiosity he had affected, that had made him a thorn in the side of the man who did not like unintelligence, ‘Thank you,” he said. ‘* What's your handle?” asked Sol, abruptly. ‘‘My name, I suppose you mean?” “That's the ticket, judge, Let us have it, an’ give it to us straight.’ “Hl try to be truthful,” answered the judge, seeing that that there was nothing for it but to humor the boy, and beginning to be willing to study him as a curions development of. that wild life. ‘I am called Judge Maynard, at home,” “Ts thatso? Honor bright!” ** Honor bright!” “ Waal, I reckon you're the chap I’m lookin’ “Bh? What? Looking for me?” “Ef you was Jedge Lynch, now, it ’u’d be dif- fer’nt.” \ “T suppose so, But what do you mean by saying you are looking for me?” **T mean jest what I say. I alays do,” ‘¢ What are you looking for me for, then?” * Pve got a letter fur ye.” ** A letter for me?” “Straight asastring! Allin writin’.” “Most letters are in writing. But where did you get a letter for me; and why don’t you hand it over?” “Say ? “ Well?” Will ye gimme a dollar fur it—a hull dol- lar?’ «Give you a dollar, you young blackmailer!” *¢ Pll pass your quarter back, ef you will.” “Thank you! Ill see your letter first.” “Now ye see it!” said Sol, flashing a crumpled piece of brown paper into view from somewhere in his raglan; ‘an’ now ye don’t see it!” flashing it back again, with a grin. “What is that you bave there?” asked the judge, his curiosity piqued. ‘A letter, 1 told ye.” “* For me?” “You bet!” “Hor Judge Maynard? You are sure?” ‘Pur Jedge Maynard. I’m sure as shootin’.” “Then give it to me, at once!” “Gimme a dollar, an’ I will, Come, jedge!} You've got piles an’ slathers of *em salted down, to home—you know ye have; an’ I bgin’t got a blasted red, but the quarter you give me jest ow.” “Tf that is rgally a note directed to me, I'l} give you the dollar, But the chances are it is a swindle, like your going away.” “Ob, I'm goin’ away fast enough, fur the quarter—” ‘** Not so very fast, you must admit that.” “But you wouldn’t bave me go without givin’ you the letter, would you?” “Tt begins to look like it. Let me see it, you young rascal! Can’t you trust me? I say I will give you the dollar, if it is really a note to me, “Bf your name is on it?” “ ? “ Waal, I'll let you see the name.” Sol reproduc he paper—a soiled bit of wra ping-paper—and tore off a part of it. “Thar’s your Dame,” he said, sticking the scrap on a bush;*‘‘an’ you kin see the rest when you come down with the dollar. Pay as ye go, an’ then ye won’towe! That’s good enough gos, pel fur anybody,” A ees on hin “a ‘hy 7 |
Page 11
| _ the conclusion was a pilferer, And he hastily backed off, asthe judge ad- vanced to satisfy the curiosity now fully aroused, “The paper bore the inscription: ** JeG MANURD.” The writing wae exceedingly awkward—a fact which will presently be accounted for, ““Why, what is this?” exclaimed the judge. **T supposed it was from oue of my party.” ‘““Nary party,” responded Sol, ‘* Another 7” party. - Where did you get this from?” ‘*Gimme the dollar, an’ see fur yerself.” The dollar was tossed as the quarter had been, whereupon Sassy Sol stuck the remainder of the paper on the nearest bush and took to his heels. Still further mystified, the judge hastily pos- sessed himself of the paper, and glanced first at the signature, to see who his strange correspond- ent might be. The note was subscribed: * A friend in nead.” An anonymous note! What could it mean?” The judge had had enough to do with crime all his life to know that an anonymous note means mischief of some kind—usually mischief of the writer’s making, But the important thing was to get hold of the writer, who dared not show himself, Without stopping to read, the jndge set about the getting of some clew, ** Hallo, boy! Look here! Wait! speak to you!” But Sol had evidently got all he wanted. He showed only his heels, . Now, Judge Maynard had been an athelete in earlier days, and though sitting on the bench had ut him out of condition by adding considerably y the load he had to carry, and in many other ways he was not so young as he used to be, he had the spirit of battle in him yet, So, making agreat hue and cry, in the hope of attracting assistance, he set out in full career after the run- away. Sassy Sol had taken the precaution to ap- proach his intended victim from such a direction that he was now running away from the camp, and the idea of a man of the judge’s proportions catching such a greyhound of starvation as him- self only ‘‘ tickled his fifth rib,” In vain did the pursuer draw a revolver, shouting after the nimble fugitive: ‘Stop! stop! or I fire!” In vain did be make good the letter, though not the spirit, of his threat, firing in Sol’s di- rection, though of course not at him, “Tl give his pussy highness a mite of a run, est to stimulate his appetite,” laughed the boy, eeping just far enough ahead not to discourage the chase, But, the best-laid plans o’ mice an’ men gang aft aglee! Alas for our Ariel! he had not learn- ed that the battle is not always to tke strong, nor the race to the swift; he had not taken to himself the wisdom of the adage: “‘There’s many a slip betwixt the upper lip and the dipper!” In the hight of his glee, what was his conster- nation to hear his pursuer shout: ‘Framingham! Framingham! head off that young rasont forme! Stop him! stop him!” And to his dismay, Sol found himself rushing headlong into the arms of a very determined- looking young man—the very one whose active build bad contributed largely to determine him from taking the chance of capture by delivering his note in the enemy's camp. Framingham hastily leaned his rifle against a tree, and prepared to receive what he jumped to I want to A fugitive reasons quickly, Here was a fine young man from the city, all tricked out in sporting costume. He might be a good runner— he looked like it, But the question was—would he soil that immaculate suit without a moment’s hesitation; or would his personal appearance count for something to him? Quick as a flash, Sassy Sol leaped into tbe brook, quite regardless of his raglan, which, by the way, would be none the worse for a wash- ut what he could not be expected to reckon on, for want of knowledge, was the fact that Oliver Framingham was desperately in love with Mellie Maynard; so that, though it was true he thought with a pang of the hunting-snit in which he had been disporting himself for her alurement, he was even more desirous of pleas- ing her father, ; A flying leap, with the advantage of being Ienger than Sols; then flop, splash, flounder os ee a Q ay hsp i a = let) aot ks through the water. It was like a big fish after a little one. Sassy Sol lost by that operation. Then out, and away! How Sol’s heels did fly! But be had after hima man who knew enouga to keep bis mouth shut, and bis clinched hands up at his shoulders, How it might have ended, there is no know- ing; forSol was a good one. But all of a sud- den he heard a voice saying, mildly: ‘* Not so fast, my little man!” And, as if out of the earth, there arose directly in his path the figure of Hartley Nesbit. His appearance was so sudden and unexpected as he arose from a bush behind which he had secreted himself onseeing Sol take to the water to cross over to his side of the stream, that it was impossible for the fugitive to deflect his course, or check his headway. Plump into the arms of Mr. Nesbit he plunged, to be infolded in an embrace from which there was no escape, though he writhed like an eel. ‘*Gently! gently!” admonished the captor, ‘*T am the crack wrestler of my class; and can hold the devil and all his angels!” Sol soon found that he could hold him, at all events; and that was amply sufficient. _ CHAPTER IX, A SLIPPERY CUSTOMER, ‘““EVERY dog has his day!” quoted Nesbit, with a knowing smile at the dripping and cha- grined Framingham. ‘‘ Yours yesterday: mine to-day. How do you feel about it, chum?” “ My ardor is considerably damped,” confess- ed Framingham, taking the chances of fortune good-humoredly, j _ Judge Maynard came up, puffing and blow- ing. “The little scoundrel gave you a run,” ob- served Nesbit. ‘* What has he stolen?” “Stolen? Nothing, except my self-esteem. He has outwitted me from first to last,” laughed the judge, looking at the captive not without ad- miration. ‘*Outwitted you?” “You don’t know him yet. You'll get over your surprise on better acquaintance. Look Sharp after him till I glance over this paper. He’s a slippery customer, I tell you, in more ways than one.” ‘* He'll not give me the slip—at any rate, not without teaching me some new trick. **Say, jedge,” pleaded Sol, apparently very much frightened, ‘‘ you ain’t lowin’ fur to lam- baste me, be yet Thain’t done nothin’ to you. An’I wouldn’t be s0 mean as to make a row about a dirty dollar ef I had your scads, I wouldn’t so!” But the judge was busy with his note. It did not please him, for he knit his brows as he spelled it out. Tbe writing was so scraggly that its perusal was like riding on a corduroy road, And no wonder, for Sassy Sol might have said of it, with more truth than was usual with him: “This is a specimen of my handwriting,” ‘DEAR JEDGE,” it ran, ‘‘ keap yure wether optick pealed fur squewly wether. avvyho Nat is after you bigger’n a house. Heaze planted all the jury what give him the neck strecher in his Sgt berry- in’-ground, an’ heaze got a soker in pickle fur you, you bet. Ef I wuz youlde cut the country. That tharze the only way fur to save your bakun. Ef you don’tnowhoo Nayvyho Nat is lately, you ask after Sarpent Sam. Heaze the boy Og ve got to look out fur. Give him a wide burth. Thats his noo handle. Heazelryin’ fur youIno, [ ain’t giv- in’ myself away, but I don’t want you to git hurt. Sono more from yours truly. A frend in nead is a frend indead, as the Good Book says, an’ ef you stick a pin thar youle be all rite. “ Poseskrip don’t give me away.” From this scrawl] the judge looked up at Hart- ley Nesbit’s captive, with the frown he was in the Maes. of cowing the prisoner at the bar with. ‘Can you read writing?” be demanded, ‘“*No, sir,” answered Sassy Sol, without the quiver of an eyelash, though the truth was the note under examination was not only his verit- able handiwork, but to a considerable extent his literary composition. It had oceurred to Charley Kenyon that, in order to have the thing thoroughly in character, it might not be a bad plan to let Sol try his hand at it, after thoroughly posting him as ‘to what was to be done. The event proved that this piece of wisdom was like giving a horse his head on a dark and dangerous road. ‘ _ ‘*And you haven’t read this?’ continued the inquisition, ‘No, sir. But I kin read print some.” h st came in like the fullness of state- ment of a witness who is anxious to leave Cheeky Charley, the Special. il nothing unsaid that can have any bearing on the case, ** How did you know my name from the rest of it?” demanded the judge, sharply. “Why, it was at the top—an’ then he told me,” answered Sol, with every appearance of simplicity. ** Did he tell you what was in here?” “No, gir,” ** And you didn’t know, for yourself?” ** No, sir.” “Now, who told you? That is to say,” cor- rected the judge, ‘‘ how long have you been liy- in’? with him?” ** Livin’ with him? Who? I hain’t been liv- in’ with nobody! I’ve been livin’ all alone by myself, on what I kin pick up.” ‘ Where do you live?” **Oh, anywheres. Ive been knockin’ around up to Seven-up. But I’m down byar now.” **Down where?” ** Why, to Seaver City.” ** Well, who gave you this note?” “A man, E don’t «know him, him before,” a he pay you for fetching this note to me “* He gimme a plug o’ terbacker.” And fumbling in his raglan, Sol brought to light as disreputable a piece of plug tobacco as ever was displayed in a criminal! court, Nothing else that be could have done would have given such a color of truth to bis story. The judge looked at the note with a medita- ie frown. It was quite in keeping with Sol’s plug. **'You’re sure you’re not acquainted with this man?” ‘No, sir. Inever see him before in all my ife.” “You would know him if you were to see him again? Wait! Where do you expect to meet him, when you take the answer back?” “* Thar ain’t to be no answer.” ** How do you know?” “ He said so,” ‘* Just what were his instructions to you?” ‘*He told me to give that to you, an’ then to clear out as fast as my legs would carry me,” “You were very scrupulous about following that out to the letter. Now, let me see if you can be so obedient to me. I want you to find this man; and I will pay you for the service better than with a plug of tobacco, Do you see this oney? I will give you ten dollars to point out the writer of this to me,” Sol reflected that he could earn that money very quickly; but his face betrayed nothing of it, “Tl try to find him,” he said; “but I don’t know whar to look, no more than you do, I reckon he’s in Seaver City somewhar. Oh, I reckon I kin fied him,” be added, following the hand of the judge,with an eager glance, as it re- treated to his pocket, carrying the money out of sight with it. “Find bim, and the first, describe him to me,’ Sol shifted his weight from one foot to the other, reflectively, ““Waal, he looks a good deal like most men around hyar. He’s about as big as you be, only. not so big around, His hair is black like his’n, pointing to Nesbit; ‘‘ but his beard is about the color o’ that thar gent’s hair,” indicating the ruddy locks of Framingham, to his not slight disgust, The fact was, Sol was building up an idea character with the materials nearest at hand, “‘He had a shirt on,” he added— red, and breeches—waal, I reckon they was about as nigh the color 0’ mud as anythin’ you find. Then he had boots, an’ hat, an’ I reckon that’s about all,” “A very graphic description,” observed the judge. “We might hang about four men out of ve on such an identification, in this delightful country. But I suppose you can recognize him when you see him. “Framingham, I wish you would do me a favor.” “* Nothing could be more grateful to me, I beg you to believe,” protested the favored lover, with effusive eagerness, , “Oh, by the way, you'll want to change your clothes, of course. ‘I thought that you—” The speaker Jooked from Framingham to Nes- bit, making an evident comparison between them, not to the latter’s advantage. “If I could answer your purpose,” put in Hartley, with becoming modesty. : “Oh, hang the clothes!” cried Framingham, = wonted impetuosity. “ What’s to be done I never see money is yours. But
Page 12
‘* But you will take eold—” ‘* Never in my life!” ; “T want this urchin looked after,” broke out ; the judge, with an impatience born of his per- , plexity. ‘‘ He may be all right, and he may be all wrong. I don’t want to take any chances. ‘¢ Took here! I wonder if it wouldn’t be a good plan to take advice in this matter. Whatdo you make of this?” od And he submitted the anonymous note to the inspection of the younger men. ‘hey read it together, Framingham looking over Nesbit’s shoulder, the judge having handed it to the latter, who happened to be nearest him. They read it, the judge remarking: ‘Ordinarily I should pay no attention to such—” But—hey, presto!—their prisoner was gone! He had been standing so quietly, and had so taken the character of an ally, that Nesbit had let go the manacle-like grip on his wrist, and transferred his hold to the back of the neck of the shirt Sol wore. ft Ordinarily this would Be considered a pretty secure hold on a boy; but Sassy Sol had re- sources that his captors dreamed not of, Slipping his hand under the one suspender i that supported bis trowsers, be suddenly threw his arms above his head, and shrunk backward and downward,.leaving his shirt in the grip of his ‘captor, with the sleeves turned inside-out, Jike the skin of an eel. Back went the “ gallus” over his naked shoul- der, and he was away like the wind. Nesbit returned from the momentary diversion of attention that had cost him so dear, with a - stare of amazement at the empty garment he held, and another with bated breath after the fugitive. Then he dashed the useless shirt to the ground, Bt and set after his escaping prisoner with a look bis that bespoke determination ominous to Sassy Sol, He even forgot to yield up the note; but it j was safe in his iron grip, tr Of course Nollie Framingham was with him, Mi shoulder to shoulder, and the judge brought up the rear, no match for these young athletes. on But Sassy Sol was now ready to give them a i taste of his metal. He was in the lead, with no- | body to intercept him; and he ‘tran like a white-head.” Hartley Nesbit might be the champion wrestler of his set; it would have been more to the pur- pose if he had been the champion runner, He had pluck and determination; but Sol had the legs, Hartley had even the chagrin of seeing himself outstripped by Nollie Framingham, at the out- gt set. Butit was Nollie who, at the end of half {it an hour, when Hartley had overtaken him, and ae was about to pass him, cried: ‘Oh, hang it all, Nesbit! ain*t it about time si for us to pull out of this fora couple of fools! I What’s the chance of our overtaking that little fiend this side of the Golden Gate? I’m a will- ing horse as long as there is any show; but he’s got the legs of us, I tell you; and I, for one, am hy dead beat. Here goes to knock off, whether you do, or not,” And Framingham pulled up, and threw bhim- \ self on the ground out of breath. Nesbit stopped too, pretty well blown, but , good for another balf-hour at least, a Bea | What discouraged him was, not lack of wind, ve so much as the conviction that he might run on forever, and never get another sight of the boy who had given him the slip so cleverly. **Tt’s all well enough for you to say quit,” he growled. ‘‘It was I that lost him.” ** But could you help it, man? Good heavens! nobody would beso uureasonable as to expect you to holdon to his skin. But then, in any event, what’s the use of erying over spilt milk? He’s gone, and gone for good. Have you apy idea where he is? He’sas apt to be behind us, as before us, He’s been out of sight a good ten minutes, How do you know that he hasn’t pull- ed out of the road, and let us pass, while he laughed to see us go by?” ‘**[ don’t know,” admitted Nesbit, ‘ But one thing Ido know—if I ever get my hands on him again, I’ll break avery bone in his skin!” ““Tut! tut! tut!—for cutting his lucky when he got the chance? Wouldn’t you have done it yourself, if you had been in his place, and had ein had the wit and dexterity? I tell you that boy’s a genius! He'll make his mark in the ; world before he goes out of it, or I’m no prophet,” ** He'll make his mark on the gallows!” _, ‘Come, come, Nebby! there’s no use in bear- _ ing malice, Life’s too short; and then, there’s a a RO ~ ' — = _the whole thing ‘‘ rot.” xe at een tan » y eae n* Cheeky Charley, the Special. scarcely anything in the’ world worthit. Be- sides, have you more against him thanI? Ha! ha! Look at me! But what shall we say to the gov’nor, when he comes up? And what is it all‘about, anyway? I couldn’t make that dirty scrawl out; could you?” ‘“* We didn’t have much time. But here it is. I forgot to giveit back, Ab! that’s a name that hasn’t very pleasant associations for Judge Maynard.” And Hartley told the story of the trial and execution of Navajo Nate. Framingham whistled, and then pronounced He was in too riotous good bealth to take easily to apprehension. ‘*Tf we never haveanything to fear worse than men who have once been properly hanged,” he said, ‘*I, for one, don’t propose to lose much sleep fretting about resurrections. Let’s go back.” They returned till they met the judge. ** Well, gentlemen?” “No go!” declared Framingham, lightly. ‘‘He was winged with an evil conscience; and then, by Jove! he wasn’t handicapped with much clothes!” ‘‘Have you read the warning? What do you make of it?” ‘* A piece of nonsense—don’t you think so? Some miserable fellow is paying off an old grudge by trying to spoil the pleasure of your asear.” ‘* Ordinarily, I should give it not a second thought. Itis not the first time I have been threatened by criminals and their friends. But this isa wild country, if a man is disposed, to square a grudge.” = ‘* But you don’t suppose the fellow was actu- ally restored to life?” “No. It is some friend of his, most likely, if anybody at all, otber than some one, as yousay, who is getting a cheap revenge on me.” ‘Tt might be,” suggested Nesbit,;*‘ that some ruffian pretends to be Navajo Nate, for the sake of notoriety.” ‘Or some fellow has keard the story, and is amusing himself with a practical joke,” proposed Framingham. “That boy was instructed to avoid capture atall hazurds,” pursued the judge. ‘ But, come! there is no use in this fruitles speculation. We will not startle tke ladies till we are forced to; but it may be well for the men of our party to be puton their guard, For myself I have no great apprehensions; but remember, gentlemen, all that is dear to me in the world is here.” ‘Don’t worry on that account, my dear judge!” cried Framingham, seizing bis band, warmly. ‘‘ We can act asa bodyguard to the ladies without exciting their suspicions. If we can’t, there must have been some want of gal- lantry in the past.” And he laughed with bis imperturbable cheer- falness, Without disclosing the secret anxiety that was all in their minds, they returned at once to the camp, to find everybody there—but Mellie! Where was she? CHAPTER X. IN THE TRAP. ‘‘ BERRIES!” cried Mellie Maynard, at sight of what Black Bess hadin her basket. ‘‘The very thing for tea! How stnpid of us not to think of gathering them ourselves!” “ Berry-picking!” exclaimed Miss Murchison, elevating ber eyebrows, ‘ How charmingly like being a milk-maid in a quilted silk petticoat, I mean, at a fancy ball!” “* Nonsense!” ejaculated Mellie. ‘* You’re too ridiculously superfine for anything, coz! T shall go out the very first thing to-morrow morning. Won't it be fun? The only absurd thing is the substitution of condensed mi!k for cream. The idea of being in the country without cows! this is no country at all—in that particular line! ‘‘ But we must reward this good creature for the suggestion, as well as for her kindness in thinking about us. And don’t fancy that we will spoil your market by competing with you. No matter how many we pick ourselves, we will buy a basketful of you every day. And you shall show us where they are most plentiful, if ou will be so kind.” . If anything in the world could disarm a jealous woman, it must have been the engaging manner of Mellie Maynard, as she smiled into Black Bess’s face, trying to get a good view of what had excited her admiration. But, watching her opportunity, when it could be done without the sudden change in Mellie at- tracting notice, Bess gave a little tug to the girl’s dress, and uttered the—to her—magical name: 1S tabrhe ‘ ¢ Wee ema ; dhe hea ein a oh Pl A ‘ vi ? * ; ve RAs Bio AR 8 es iat hah me arith i Tilo ‘b- aw as) pene + ZA ** Kenyon!” Mellie gave a start, flushed scarlet, and stared into the face of the stranger, Bess looked straight into her eyes, with a glance of intelligence, and then turned away. Of course, after she had left the camp, she had not gone far when she was joined by a trembling, { pale-faced inquirer. ’ “‘ What is it?’ quavered Mellie, trying in vain i to control her anxiety; for love has a thousand \ alarms. ; ‘‘ What is what?” asked Bess, affecting igno- rance. ‘* Didn’t you give me a signal, a moment ago, that you wished to see me?” ‘Will you tell me your name? Are you Miss Maynard?” asked Bess, with the evasiveness of seeming caution, ‘Yes! yes! Hebassentyouto me? Has any- thing happened? Oh, tell me quickly!” ay it is Mr. Kenyon,” answered Bess, ‘‘ He wishes to see you, and at once, You are not to worry, and above all not to attract any one’s at- : tention to him. He can get along without help. It is nothing serious. You are not to feel distressed, and I am not to agitate you, but to fetch you without delay.” “ Aeis hurt! Ob, he is burt! What has hap- pened? Iwill get my father. He will know | what to do, Everything must be foregone, if my darling is in danger, I will H compel them to yield.” How her face lighted up with resolution! How her graceful, pliant figure straighteued and strenghthened to meet the emergency! There was no weak yielding to the helplessness of despair. She was all for action, The enemy, in whatever form, must be met and battled against with every resource at her command, ‘No! no!” objected Bess. ‘‘ He was particu- lar about that, He feared that, in your anxiety, you would betray him needlessly, I was to as- sure you that he is in no danger, though in con- siderable pain.” ‘*Ob, you are breaking it to me gradually! He is dving! Say it—say it! He is dying! Let us hasten; Where am I to go?” In her despair, Mellie would have rushed off in anv direction her guide chose to indicate, “You are needlessly distressing yourself,” in- sistea Bess, restraining her, ‘I think Mr, Kenyon is right. He may be laid up for three or four weeks; but beyond that, there is nothing to fear. But you must calm yourself. If we should meet any of your friends, your manner would excite their curiosity; and it would then be impossible for me to take you to the gentle- man. He insisted on that before everything else, I was to be careful not to mistake the per- son, and not to attract the notice of anybody else,” ‘But what has happened to him?” ‘““A fall among the rocks, He dragged him- self to our house, and then sent me, first for a surgeon who lives at Seaver City, and on my wavy back, for you.” Making a brave fight for it, Mellie restrained ; her tears, and all outward manifestations of dis- tress. She was helped in this by the fear of meeting some one from the camp, all of the gen- tlemen save Gussie being out hunting or fishing. So Bess led her victim for a distance of over two miles, and into an abandoned hut, which Mellie must have seen at a glance was uninhabi- ted, and indeed uninhabitable, but for the dis- traction of her wits. _ Once in the hut, the roof of which was falling in, ske stared about in amazement, and then at her guide, ‘*But, Mr. Kenyon? He is not here,” she ex- claimed, ‘““It will bea long time before he is bere,” an- swered Bess, with a complete change of manner, her black eyes now fixed upon Mellie with a pr ae that made the girl’s heart stand still, “ But—what do you mean—by—” “7 mean that I’ve got you, Miss; and we can now come toa full understanding as soon as you please.” “But I don’t understand you. Why do you look at me so? Whoare you; and why have you brought me to thisstrange place? This can- not be your bome. No one could live here, You have deceived me. “‘t won't deceive you any longer, Make your- self at home here. _ Y0u’ve come to stay.” “ But 1 will not!” “You won't, eh? Do you see this little toy?” drawing her revolver, “Jf you doubt my They love me, ability to use it with effect, try to make your escape,” 6 Vou would not dare to kill me,” Maybe I can convince you to the “Hal hal
Page 13
contrary by telling you why I have brought you ere. “Yes, why have you done anything so . wicked?” ‘*T have the misfortune to be in love with the man who favors you. Now do you doubt my courage to carry out what I have begun so desperately?” ‘But you do not mean—” “On the contrary, that is exactly what I do mean—that you shall never see him again in this world, or he you, unless it be your dead body. You bave that at your disposal.” ellie now stared at ber captor with the thought that she must have fallen into the hands of some maniac. That any sane person could become so desperate seemed to her incredible, “But if I do not attempt to escape,” she asked, ‘“* what do you purpose to do with e **-You will learn that soon enough. I shall not keep you— Ah! not so long as I feared.” ‘*Some one is coming!” panted Mellie, ‘I will appeal to him against you.” ‘*Do!” laughed Bess, ‘* You'll be the first one that ever thought of such a thing.” And well might she say that; for the approach- ing footsteps were those of a horse bearing to the hut the least promising man in such an puereney that poor Mellie could have dreamed of, “ Waal,” ejaculated Sarpent Sam, as he stopped on the threshold, “‘ what in blazes have you got hyar?” “You ought to recognize her,” answered Bess, **She is his daughter.” ‘But what be you doin’ with ber? She ain’t nothin’ to me. I’m after bigger game.” ‘“‘ She’s a great deal tome. For onceina way, I have been hunting on my own account.” “Do you mean to say that you’ve stole her away from her folks?” ‘«That’s what I mean to say.” Sarpent Sam uttered a round oath, that caused : are to start as a flash of lightning might have one, ‘“Why, blast ye!” he cried, you’re knockin’ my game in the head! I ain’t ready yet.” ‘*T’m ready,” answered Bess, coolly. ** An’ what be you lowing to do with her?” ‘* Add her to your specimens,” “Oh, gammon! I ain’t_ fightin? women. You'll turn her loose when I’ve fetched down my game, ef you hain’t flushed italready. Come! we've got to be stirrin’, We'll have to fetch him now, before he finds out she’s gone, whether we’ro ready or not. What in Cain put it into ie! head to knock my pins off the alley before got ’em all set up?” “Simply having a game of my own, which I have decided to play first.” “What?” _ ‘*Your game must wait, I say, till mine is played.” ‘“My—game—must—wait” Sarpent Sam’s amazement showed that his daughter’s enterprise was one in which he had no share, and moreover no interest, “Oh, sir!” cried Mellie, taking advantage cf this turn of affairs, ‘‘ 1 beg of you, save me from this mad woman! I have never harmed her; yet she has brought me here by a cruel decep- tion, and holds over me the most terrible threats if I try toescape her, My father will reward you for ary service to me—” But neither Sarpent Sam nor his daughter ' were paying any attention to her. ey went on with their contest as if she were not inter- rupti ng. * Your—game—must—wait,” retorted Bess, as deliberately as her father had spoken. ‘ ‘““What do you mean” demanded Sarpent am, “To have my way, for once, Have I, or have I ere you faithfully for ten years and more we “T bain’t complainin’ about what you have done.” “With very good reason! Well, after having hel you to gratify your hatred for so long Without question, the time has come when I de- Mand a return, I have & hate as bitter as yours,” : This byar girl?” (That girl there,” «, What's she to you?” ; ps grb ol ‘ " Oon't understand you. “It isn’t necessary that you should, just now, You Shall know when the time comes. oom ‘She says that she isin love with my deg put in Me lie, ‘and that she is determined separate us, Oh, go ’way!” cried Sarpent Sam. And looking at his daughter in surprise, he burst into a ruffianly guffaw. ‘* Who is the lucky man?” he asked. “That is nothing to you,” replied Bess, an- grily. ‘“*Tt is Mr. Kenyon,” said Mellie, “If you will not save me, oh, I beg of you to warn him against her.” “Kenyon? What Kenyon? Why, blast my two eyes into one, ef it ain’t his nibs! Bess, you hain’t been foolin’ with Cheeky Charley? Is your young man’s name Charley, my dear?” * That is bis name, sir!” answered Mellie, with an assumption of dignity repellent of his rude familiarity. “Oh, waal, now! ef you're as gally as he, we'll have trouble with you. You're a gay leetle bantam, an’ no mistake,” Then, turning back to his daughter: ‘* Ef you're foolin’ with Cheeky Charley, you’re layin’ fur high stakes. Take a fool’s advice, an’ et him alone,” “ Are you afraid of him?” “Waal, that jest depends. I’ve taken a bird’s eye view of his revolver; an’ it has a mighty good alignment.” ‘‘However that may be, I shall carry out “what I have begun.” “You'll have to play a lone hand, then; for I sha’n’t give up my layin’ fur the old man, fur apythin’ on top 0’ this round earth! I reckon you've cooked my goose with your tomfoolery; but Pm goin’ fur him while thar’s a single pin up. Here was an opposing current which Black Bess could not hope to stem, She must make some concession, ‘See here!” she said, ‘we must continue to act together. You help me, and I will help ’ u, “You help me, an’ I'll help you! The onl trouble with your proposition is, that it’s hind- side before.” “‘ But this girl must be disposed of first. She is already on our hands,” ‘Knock her in the head, then, That’s the quickest way. She ain’t no g to you, nor to me. Hyar, I'll do it fur ye, if you’re at all squeamish,” And Sarpent Sam reached for Bess’s carbine, which stood againt the wall, as if to brain their troublesome prisoner with its butt. + ‘* Ah! you would not murder me?” cried Mel- lie, shrinking from his malignant frown, “Stop!” said Bess, stepping between them, ‘*T don’t propose to leave any remains of her to be found, and betray everything. People al- ways inquire into motives, when a dead body is found. I mean that she shall disa ppear utterly, and no one ever be able to guess what has become of her, or why she left the camp.” ** But what be you ‘lowin’ to do with her jest now?” “We will bind and gag her, and leave her here till we have secured her father, if nothing phe do you but to proceed at once with his cap- ure. And this suggestion was acted upon, Mellie finding herself a helpless prisoner, and the night gathering round. CHAPTER XI. CAGING THE WRONG MAN. . Wuen Judge Maynard found that all the ladies of his party were in the camp, save only his daughter, his inquiries as to her whereabouts were at first very quiet, so as not needlessly to alarm her mother. . Mellie had been there, certainly not more than an hour before, She must be somewhere about. She was in the habit of wandering in the vicinity by herself, on the lookout for all sorts of curious things of nature’s handicraft, and for fine views. ‘“* That’s just it,” said the judge, taking his cue from this well-known interest of his daughter. ‘Let us hunt her up. I have found something unique for her to sketch. It will make a pretty sunset, fancy.” The young ladies joined him gayly, making the woods ring with their calls, trying elocution- ary effec‘s, and laughing at one another’s fail- ures, As no response was elicited, it was suggested by Miss Murchison that Mellie must have put her enthusiasm over berry-picking into instant execution, as the last seen of ber was shortly after that odd-looking woman visited the camp, Though this was only a satirical fling, it brought out the story of the berries; and the father looked grave, though he sought to dis- semble his feelings. ¥ But this could not long continue. The ladies soon began to remark that it was very odd that Cheeky Charley, the Special. “4 : Dex Yee > ~< 7 wt Mellie should. stray so far. The theory of a practical joke, with the truant in hiding, laugh- ing at their perplexity, was discussed and re- jected. Then Judge Maynard communicated his anx- es to Hugh Dunn, showing him the anonymous etter. bs Hugh could make nothing of the letter, but he persisted in the position be had taken from the first, discouraging the idea that there could be any real cause for alarm. Miss Maynard would come in of her own accord, presently, with her arms full of flowers, or with some new species of insect, or whatnot, that she had picked up. The fact was, Hygh was beginning to suspect that Charley had broken his promise, and that Mellie was hidden somewhere too near to dare to discover her whereabouts, But, taking this view of the matter, he could not keep the gloomy disapproval out of his face, and he proved but a Job’s comforter. Before long it was agreed that the gentlemen should go each in a different direction, and scour the whole vicinity in a systematic search, But when they once more assembled in camp, to see if anything had been ascertained, and the ladies ote § about with blanched lips, the anx- iety of all no longer disguised, then Hugh took the judge to one side, and communicated what he knew to him, ‘‘T have remained silent so long,” he conclud- ed, ‘‘in the hope and belief that nothing serious would come of her absence. I now break si- lence because I begin to fear that I have had too much faith in Mr, Kenyou’s integrity.” “Fear,” repeated the father, shrinking from what loomed up in his own mind, and preferring to have it first suggested by another. ‘* What do you fear, Mr. Dunn? Speak plainly, What can he have done?” ‘ But one thing, of course, I fear that he has persuaded Miss Maynard to elope with him.” “Impossible! She would not do it. My Mel- lie? Ob, no! no!” - Hugh Dunn bowed in grave acquiescence, **T hope that 1 am wrong, sir, for all our sakes. Not the least consideration with me is reluctance to find myself disappointed in the high estimate I had formed of Mr, Kenyon, My | fears are based on a knowledge of the strong at- tachment that exists between your daughter and him, and the understanding that you have dis- couraged his addresses, I beg your pardon for this intrusion.” “Do not think of looking upon it in that light,” protested Judge Maynard, seizing the hand of the silent man with warm appreciation, ‘““You areatrue friend, Mr. Dunn, and I will act on ee judgment.” ** Call it my worst fears, sir. My judgment is all the other way. I cannot believe that this would be done deliberately, but in a fit of des- peration, and only because the case seemed otherwise hopeless. But the judge did not stop to listen to Mr. Dunn’s refinements. If bis daughter was to Mp saved, it must be by prompt and vigorous ac- ion. Ina moment he bad communicated to every one the facts as far as known to him, to alla even greater apprebension. Then into the sad- dle, and away to Seaver City. It was not long before he had the whole place about bim, and it was spread broadcast that a bold abduction bad probably been effected. If many were disposed to smile at this designa- tion of a runaway match, none were indisposed to accept the judge’s money, and pursuing par- ties were organized under the lead of the judge himself, and of the three effective men— Framingbam, Nesbit, and Dunn. Nobody thought of Gussie any more than one of the ladies, in this capacity. But when they were ready to scatter, a man came rushing up with eager intelligence, ‘Say. Mister Judge! did you say it was this byar gally chap they call Cheeky Charley as run off with your girl?” : x His name is Charles Kenyon,” answered the judge, ““Then the quicker you make tracks up the road for Seven-up, the sooner you'll be likely to overhaul him. He’s sneaked out o’ the town, an’ give you the slip, not a quarter of an hour ago, Ef I’a knowed what was up, I could ’a’ put ye on to him sooner.” “You are sure it was he?” _ : “Sartain sure, I'll take my Bible affidavy on it.” ** Accompanied by a lady?” “Nary lady. He was goin’ it alone fur all he was worth.” A few hurried questions satisfied the judge of the fellow’s sincerity, and casual allusion to 13 —<
Page 14
14 : Sassy Sol brought out his relation to Charley Kenyon. Then the distressed father thought he saw it all, “Tt is a miserable plot!” he cried, ‘ The vil- lain had this scrawl delivered to mein order to throw us off the track.” The first thing was to capture the abductor. Where he had hidden Mellie could tnen be forced : out of him. # Into the saddle, and away like the wind! The * judge and his immediate friends were well mounted, and some of the men of Seaver City had good stuff under them, As the sun went down, the moon rose, so they had good light for their work, Half an hour’s hard riding brought them in sight. of the fugitive. Charley had taken the best horse he could find, which proved far short of his hopes, He had been knocking about Seaver City, waiting impatiently for the return of his mes- senger, and wondering if Sassy Sol had proved unequal to bis task, when the judge and his friends rode into the place with the intelligence of Mellie’s disappearance. At sight of their troubled faces Charley’s heart leaped into his throat. He ran consider- able risk of discovery to learn the truth witbout delay. Then, when he knew that she was gone, he had not the least doubt that this was the blow Sarpent Sam had contemplated. He would, first, at least, wring the father’s heart by robbing him of bis daughter, ‘* Fool!” cried the despairing lover, “Why did I not think of that? Mellie in the power of that fiend!” There was but one thing to do—to make every effort to intercept the abductor before he got to his horrible mountain den. If there had been nothing to implicate him, Charley would have discovered himself to the father, and taken a respectable party at his back; but he learned of tke cloud of suspicion under which he rested at the same time that he heard of Mellie’s disappearance, and feeling that nothing could be so fatal as the delay, if he was = beiieved, he resolved to do what he could alone. He soon found that he was eo and would eventually be overtaken, The one ho remaining was that he could keep out of the clutches of his pursuers long enough to reach Rattlesnake Ridge. If he was then ca tured, they would all be on the ground were recovery must be effected, What mattered it that he confirmed the suspi- cion against bimself by the madnessof bis flight? He plied lash and spur with the greatest despera- tion of his life. But, alas for his calculations! In his fear of capture before he had got near enough to the Ridge to induce Millie’s friends, even if they did not fully believe him, to carry out the course he advised, he overtaxed his horse. The animal grew wild, reckless, uncertain in his movements, and finally stumbled and went down with a crash, Charley Kenyon lay stunned on the road; and his pursuers gathered around him. They be- lieved that they had the head of ths plot, and he could not tell them what he had intended to. Back to Seaver City they carried him, and finally restored him to consciousness. Then the father confronted him, quiet, but with an iron determination, “ Where is my daughter?’ was his demand, “Oh, Mr. Maynard!” cried Charley, endeavor- ing to rise and seize the judge's hand, as soon as he realizeu the situation once more. ‘‘ Are you not mad to suspect me of such villainy as the abduction of your. daughter, whom I love as tenderly as you can? It is the warning I gave ou. This isthe work of the fellow who calls imself Sarpent Sam, I have every reason to ‘believe that he is mdeed the Navajo Nate who threatened you for sentencing him to the gal- Jows, and who is said to have escaped with his life, and to have avenged himself on the others concerned,” Judge Maynard passed over all but what he believed to be a slip of the tongue. “Why didn’t you fetch the warning yourself, instead of sending it by that boy?” **Can you ask? [ did not wish you to know that I was anywhere in this vicinity.” Naturally!” returned the judge, grimly. we You did send that message, then?” ellie’s Written in a disguised hand!” 6 'Yes,” “You are a very subtle liar, sir, I don’t quite see why you are making this confession ; | Sure you that I am speaking the truth, 2 By ote Pot Cheeky Charley, the Speciai. but, not to delay over details, I repeat my de- ine What have you done with my daugh- ter “ But, my dear sir, can’t you see that J have done nothing with her? I am as anxious to find out what has become of her as you are. But I fear it is too late now. How long have I lain here unconscious?” “That is of no importance, sir. Will you speak?” ** But [ cannot. you believe me? Will you listen to me? Will By all that I hold sacred, I as- If you refuse me credence, your obstinacy may result in, the very calamity I would give my life to avert,” ‘*Curse you!” cried the anguished father, ‘I will tear the heart out of your body, but [ will have your secret! You are delaying me here with talk while your confederates are carrying my child further and further away from me!” “Sir! sir! I adjure you! Where is Hugh Dunn? Fetch him here. I will try to convince him, You are beside yourself with grief, and—” ‘Peace, you villain! Were you not fleeing us, straining every effort to escape, but for the intervention of Providence to stay your rag- cality?” “1 was Folng to intercept Sarpent Sam, Oh, if you will listen to me, and send a party to search Rattlesnake Ridge, there may be some hope of recovering her before he has destroyed all hope forever.” The judge was growing more and more fre=¥ tic. It would not take long before, in his pain, he might lay violent bands on the man who, he believed, had wronged him so deeply. But Hugh Dunn, though not in sight, was within the sound of Charley’s voice. “Farnham,” he said, abruptly, ‘‘ will you ask the judge to step outside here? Do not mention my name, if you please,” Farnham did as requested and Judge Maynard came out of the shanty, “* My dear sir,” said Dunn, in that quiet tone of self-possession which gives weight, ‘to-day Sr were willing to be guided by my judgment, ask leave now to make a suggestion. e have Mr. Kenyon in security here, so that he can do no further mischief. What then prevents us from testing the truth of what he says? If it should be true, after all, we are losing valuable time, Harassed by fears whichever way he turned, the agonized father was glad to rest in the judg- ment of some one not so nearly concerned as he, ‘* Let it be so,” he said. ‘It isthe only thing left us.” y Nothing was said to Charley as to the acqui- escenca in his suggestion. 6 was left in sus- pense. Tied hand and foot, he Jay in a bunk, in the inner room of a shanty consisting of two apartments, The communicating door stood open, and in the outer room his guards were sta- tioned. It was not long before they beguiled the tedium of their watch by playing cards, and drinking and smoking. Racked by agonizing thoughts, the lover lay chafing at his helplessness. He cared nothing for the conversation he overheard, which inti- mated that there was a very strong sentiment being es se in favor of lynching bim, The fact was that the instincts of the man- hunter had been roused by the chase, and there were violent men in plenty only too ready to imbibe Judge Maynard’s feeling of exaspera- tion. But Charley's ona thought was the peril of the woman he loved. If he could get free, he might yet go in quest of her, where alone, he believed, she could be found, if found at all. An hour passed, when he heard a sound not coming from the room where his guards were gambling, A slight rattling, or flapping sound, drew his eye toward the fire-place, which took up almost the whole gable end of the shanty, and was in half-illumination from the light in the outer room. He saw the end of a rope dangling down the huge chimney, amply large to admit the passage of a man’s body, “The lynchers!” flashed through him iike an electric shock, CHAPTER XII. THE TURN OF THE TIDE. But then came the thought: ‘* Suppose it should be a friend?” What friend could resort to so crazy a means of effecting his release? There was not one chance in a hundred of success. It must be a Toe eae Tg siete NT CRT SET NN ST ere a ete Seca cats eon ok Made fe ora ae aiid pp aa’ ; Cee: —————_—— a brain utterly desperate, or else not very mature, : that would conceive sucha plan, It was more likely the scheme of a romantic boy than any- thing else, And where was there such a boy, if not Sassy Sol? Suppose it should prove to be he? What more likely than that, by so wild an adventure, he should try to gain prestige in the eyes of the man who had won his admiration by braving the rattlers of Sarpent Sam? This consideration was enough to keep Charley from giving the alarm to his guards, till he was sure of the issue, Some one was certainly descending the rope, He could tell by the wriggling of it. But. what was his amazeinent when the body, not of Sassy Sol, but of Black Bess, came into view! Without a sound the girl tip-toed to him, and cut his bonds, Without a sound he rose, and made his way up the rope, to where he found it made fast to the limb of a huge tree overhang- ing the shanty. The girl followed, hand over hand. Then together they descended to the ground at the back of the shanty, and made off into the darkness. “Miss Champney,” said Charley, when they were quite clear of the camp, ‘‘ I have to thank you for my release, But, may I ask, where are you taking me to?” ‘* No further than this,” the girl replied. ‘* We art here. My object is accomplished. You are ree,” ‘*T beg your pardon,” answered Charley, lay- ing hold of her wrist, “‘I shall be obliged to de- tain you.” “Detain me!” aii. “Till I regain possession of Miss Maynard,” | “ Ab ” It was a cry of rage and despair; and the girl gave a leap that might have released her from the grasp of any one but Cheeky Charley, The next instant he had caught her free wrist, and taken a knife from her hand, which but for his quickness might have been buried in his yy ee in the same movement he threw his arm about her waist, and deprived her of her revolver. : The girl disdained to struggle after that. She uttered not a sound, but resigned herself to her fate. “It is with the deepest regret that I repay you in this way,” he went on; ‘*but Ihave no, other recourse. When I regain possession of the lady you inveigled from her friends, I shall set you free, Please to consider that, not this, as my requital of your service,” And, with the very rope she had used to res- cue him, he bound her hands behind her back, and made her his prisoner, She had provided two horses; and on these he once more took up his course for Rattlesnake . Ridge. They had not proceeded very far, however, when up from the midst of a bush at the road- side, like a living Jack-in-the-box, popped the body—naked as far as it could be seen—of the irrepressible Sassy Sol. But, whatever the for- tunes of war, never was there a cheerier face than that with which emer Fave looked forth upon Cheeky Charley, leading Black Bess a prisoner. “Waal, 1 sw’ar!” he declared, “this hyar’s good enough!” “Ts that you, Sol?” cried Charley, pulling up at sight of bis friend and admirer, ** Bet yer sweet life it’s me!” returned Sol. ‘But, it’s a heap more’n me, Say! bow'll you trade gals? I’ve got one what you'll like a heap better’n that’n.” ‘* What's that you say?” exclaimed Charley, his heart beginning to leap, “T say I’ve got a gal—a live gal, all alone by myself; an’ the puttiest one you ever see in yer life, Ef you don’t want to trade, say 80, an’ I'l] dicker with the old gov’nor,” ‘* So], for heaven’s sake—” But, Charley could get no further. He was choking with emotion, a ‘Come right along,” said Sol. “‘ Pve got the one as’ll suit you. Didn’t I see bis nibs hangin’ around that thar camp, last night? Oh, you can’t git hat with yer uncle! My eye, ef [ had your chance!” oD ol, you have found her?—you have found her?” d “Bet yer boots! Come right along, Tommy} Never mind that thar piece o’ drygoods, Pi take her off yer hands. Hello, miss! I neyer was chief-cook an’ bottle-washer of such a con- cern as you be. I'd think you mighty scrump- tious, ef it wasn’t fur—” : But, having lea from his horse, dropping the tether by which he held his prisoner, Charley Kenyon seized Sassy Sol by the shoulder, and |
Page 15
snatching from his hand the rope he had picked up, commanded: ““Where is she? Lead me to her at once!” Sol had seldom made much quicker time than he did over the ground between the road and where he brought Charley Kenyon into the presence of the girl for whom his very soul was famishing, Taking advantage of her release, Black Bess spurred her horse into a run, ard dashed along the road with the rope dangling after her, at the risk of being jerked from the saddle by its catch- twisted till she freed her now lacerated wrists from their bondage. But, her late captor cared nothing for her. | He held his own true love in his arms, while Sassy Sol stood looking on, and ejaculating: ‘My eye! my eye! my eye! it’s a heap better’n a play rr eturning from his race with Messrs, Farm- ingham, Nesbit & Co., as he laughingly desig- nated the party from which he had effected his escape, Sassy Xol chanced upon Sarpent Sam, and ‘‘had the gall” ee track him to the hut into Sep Black Bess had inveigled Mellie May- nard, When Bess and her father left their prisoner | in temporary security, as they supposed, Sol took it upon himself to reconnoiter the hut, and see what they might have there. What was his surprise and gratification to find poor Mellie, almost dead with terror. He released her at once, of course; but then came the reaction. She had borne up against the fiendish malice of Bess and the brutal dev- ilisbness of Sarpent Sam; but now, when she stood on her feet, her head swam, and she sunk fainting into Sol’s outstretched arms. “Waal, hyar’s a go!” had been his reflection, Then he had actually taken the swooning girl on his back, and attempted to carry her to Seaver City. The release of the prisoner was not discovered by Black Bess, because, believing Charley Ken- ei in danger from the mob, she had staid in eaver City, watching her chance to release him; nor by Sarpent Sam, since, disgusted with his daughter’s abandonment of his service for her own, he cared nothing for her interests, and would have left Mellie to die of starvation be- fore he turned out of his way on her account. But now she lay secure in her lover’s arms, wholly unconscious after one faint utterance of his name. He never let her out of them till, bearing her boldly back to the sorrowing camp, he placed her in her mother’s embrace, assy Sol was supplied with a new sbirt, which fit'ed him qui e as well as bis own and sent on horseback in quest of the father, When Judge Maynard went to his daughter’s bedside, he found Charley Kenyon kneeling there, his hands fast locked in the clasp of the sleeping girl. Every once in a while she would start into wakefulness, with cries of terror, and was not to be soothed by anybody but ber lover. At — of her father, she threw ber arms about Charley’s neck, and begged that he be not torn from her. Touched by this evidence of ber love, and finally made to understand that Charley had come into that country and risked his own life in order to shield him from Sarpent Sam’s vengeance, J udge Maynard’s heart relented ; and he flooded two lives with sunshine by withdraw- ing his opposition to their union. : Nollie Framingham and Hartley Nesbit had their ‘ noses out of joint,” of course; but they be- haved very handsomely about it. Hugh Dunn found an appreciative place in the regard of several who before bad n rather indifferent to him. The young ladies, dissembling their real timidity, declared that they would have adventures of their own in that delightful coun- try; but they were secretly glad that it was de- cided to set out at once for San Francisco. Sarpent Sam and Black Bess disappeared from that section, and Rattlesnake Ridge prom- ised to pass into nothing more than a legend. Sassy Sol was “ fixed for life.” Charley Ken- yon took charge of him, with @ promise of giving him a better start in life tuan he was likely to get at Seaver City or Seven-up- Finally, as, side by side, Charley Kenyon and Mellie Maynard rode out of Seaver City, some one in the crowd yelled: “Three cheers fur Cheeky Charley! Raise ’er boys! Hip! hip THE END, Cheeky Charley, the Speci Beadle’s Half-Dime Library. BY PHILIP 8S. WARNE, 67 Patent-Leather Joe: or, Old Rattlesnake, the Charmer. 175 Captain Arizona; or, Patent-Leather Joe’s Big Game, 198 Captain Mask; or, Patent-Leather Joe’s Defeat. 219 Dexpard, the Duelist; cz, The Mountain Vempires. 888 A Tough Boy; or, The Dwarf’s Revenge. | 868 Little Tornado; or, The Outcasts of the Glen, RS ak ek pt pt B78 Little Jingo; or, the Queer Pard. 888 Little Oh-my 3 or, Caught in His Own Trap, 401 Little Sheo-Fly ; or, A Race fora Ranch. 408 Little Leather-Breeches ; or, Old Jumbo’s Curse, ing on some obstruction, while she writhed and | 481 Little Ab Sing or, The Curse of Blood. 451 Colorado Kate. A Tale of the olines. 480 Three Jolly Pards. d 51T Jim Gladden’s Deputy. 527 The Jolly Pards to the Rescue. 547 Sandy Andy; or, A Good Man Down, 556 Lariat Lil; or, The Cast for a Life. 574 Old Weansel-top, the Man with the Dogs, | 598 Keen Clem, the Ranch Imp. | 599 Jim Dandy the No-Name Sport. 618 Billy Blazes; or, The Skeleton’s Legacy. | 685 Oklahoma Hf, the Blue-Coat Scout, 648 liappy Harry’s Big Find. BY JOSEPH E. BADGER, JR. 2 Vellowstone Jack; or, The Tra oper. 48 Black John, the Road-Agent; or, The Outlaw’s Retreat, 65 Hurricane Bill; or, Mustang Sam and His Pard. 119 cea d Sam ; or, The King of the Plains. 186 Night-Hawk Kit; or, The Daughter of the Ranch. 144 Dainty Lance the Boy Sport. 51 Panther Paul; or, Dainty Lance to the Rescue. 60 The Black Giant; or, Dainty Lance ip Jeopardy. 68 Deadly Dash; or, Fighting Fire with Fire. 1 The Roy Trallers ; or, Dainty Lance on the War-Path. 13 The Roy Pards; or, Dainty Lance Unmasks, 211 Crooked Cale, the Caliban of Celestial City, 810 The Rarranca W olf’; or, The Beautiful Decoy. 819 The Black Rider; or, The Horse-Thieves’ League, 885 Old Double Fiat; or, The Strange Guide 1 ew 449 Kit Fox, the Border Boy Detective 625 Chinecapin Dan, the Boy Trailer. BY WILLIAM ". EYSTER, 190 Dandy Darke; or, The Tigers of High Pine. 210 Faro Frank; or, Dandy Darke’s Go-Down Pard4 BY COLONEL DELLE SARA, 108 The Lion of the Sean; or, The Vailed Lady. 186 Cool Desmond ; or, The Gambler’s Big Game, BY JAMES L. BOWEN 107 One-Eyed Sim; or, The Abandoned Forest Home, 110 The Black Steed of the Prairies, A Story of Texas. BY ©. DUNNING CLARK. 185 Captain Paul; or, The Boy Spy_ of the Mountains. 280 The Yankee Rajah; or, The Fate of the Black Shereef. BY GEORGE ©. JENKS. 455 Git Thar Owney the Unknown. 492 Git Thar Owney’s Pledge. 518 The Demon Doctor. 581 Double-Curve Dan, the Pitcher Detective, 59S Flute, the Singer Detective, 608 Drsar ener Detective’s Foil; or, Double Curve Dan’s ouble Play. 616 The Ocean Detective: or, The Last Cruise of the Black Bear, BY CAPT. ALFRED B. TAYLOR U. 8. A. 191 Buffalo Billy, the Boy Bullwhacker, 194 Buffalo Bill's Bet; or, The Gambler Guide, BY CHARLES E. LASALLE, 50 Burt Bunker, the Trapper. 52 The White Buffalo. A Tale of the Northwest. BY JOHN J. MARSHALL. 40 Roving Ben, A Story of a Young American. 97 The Outlaw Brothers; or, The Captive of the Harper BY MAJOR LEWIS W. CARSON. 278 The Three Trappers; or, The Mountain Monster. 288 Indian Joe; or, he White Spirit of the Huis. BY FRANK DUMONT. 120 The Branded Hand; or, The Man of Mystery. 127 Wild-Fire, the Boss of the Road. 140 Blne Blazes; or, The Break 0’ Day Boys of Roky Bar, 171 Ebony Dan; or, The Rival Leagues, 185 Evil Eye; or, The Vultures of the Rio Grande. BY CAPT. MARK WILTON. 256 Young Kentuck: or, The Red Lasso, 270 Bliz: d Be or, The Riot at K © 286 Josh, the Boy Tenderfoot. —, BY BRACEBRIDGE NHEMYNG. 89 Island Jim: or, The Pet of the Family. 91 The Captain of the Club; or. The Rival Athletes, 101 Jack Markaway in New York. BY W. J. HAMILTON, 68 The Red Brotherhood; or, The Twelve Aven 66 Single Hand; or, A Life fora Life. gers, 72 Mad Tom Weatern, the Texan Ranger. 887 Ben Bird, the Cave King; or, Big Pete’s Scoop, BY JACK FARRAGUT, 815 Ned, the Cabin Boy. 820 The Sea Sorceress; or, The Boy Skipper, BY LIFUT. Wf. D. PERRY, U. 8, N- 176 The Boy Runaway; or, The Buccaneer of the Bay, 180 The Sea Trailer: or, A Vow Well Kept. 192 Captain Kit; or, The Mystery of Montack Point. BY HARRY WAZARD. 828 Arkansaw Jack: oT, The Scourge of the Mines. 829 Red-Skin Tom} or, The Demon’s Trail. 842 The Mountain Devil; or, Yellow Jack, the Outlaw, ‘ BY COL. A, F. HOLT. 99 Black B X ked Moen of Death €. . 419 preeea ty ig Sty llaa ee age wih 485 Little Lightfoot, the Pilot of the Woods. al. 15 BY FREDERICK DEWEY. 818 Cimarron Jack, the King-Pin of Rifle-Sheta. 478 Tangemund, the Desert Detective. 542 The Canyon Pards. BY HARRY 8T. GEORGE. 80 Roaring Ralph Rockwood, the Ranger. 44 Rattling Rube; or, The Nighthawks of Kentucky, 59 Old Hickory ; or, Pandy Ellis’s Scalp. 108 Daring Davy ; or, The Trail of the Border Wolf, 166 Hickory Barey 3 or, The Trapper-Brigade’s Spy, 172 Thunderbolt Tom; or, the Wolf-Herder. SY WM. G, PATTEN. 489 The Diamond Sport; or, The Double Face of BY . Rocke 519 Captain Mystery ; or, Five in One, 581 Daisy ware the Sport from Denver. 5S7 Old Hombshell, the Ranger Detective, 604 Iron Fern, the Man of Fire, 619 The Boy Tramp Detective; or, The Doubie Grip Witness 629 Violet Vane, the Velvet Sport. 641 Dismal Dave’s Dandy Pard. BY J. W. OSBON. 469 The Rival Glants of Nowhar’. 498 Cactus Burr, the Man from Hard Luck, 587 Old Buckeye, the Sierra Shadow. 564 Powder Phil, the Boy Miner. 609 Bolly Dorrit, the \ eteran Detective. 620 Little Lightning’s League; or, The Mystery of tne Island, 688 Plucky Baul, the Boy Prospector, BY MAJOR E. L. ST. VRAIN, 292 Sancho Pedro, the Boy Bandit. 801 Leadville Nick, the Boy Sport. 812 Redtop Rube, the Vigilante Prince. 888 HKrimatone Bob, and His Lightning Horse Quartette, 852 Tombstone Tom, the Arizona Boy of “ Sand.’’ 859 Duraugo Dave, the Young Unantion Wrestler. 871 Kingbolt Chris, the Yung Hard-Shell Detective, 880 Avalanche Alf, the Foothills Guide. 890 Jaguar Joe, of the Mountain Mail-Line, BY EDWARD 8. ELLIS. Bill Blddon, Trapper. Seth Jones; or, The Captires of the Frontier, Nat Todd; or, The Fate of the Sioux Captive. Yrne Frontier Angel. The Boy Miners; or, The Enchanted Island. 182 The Nunted Hunter; or, The Strange Horseman, 254 The Half-Blood; or, The Panther of the Plains, 271 The Huge Hunter}; or, The Steam Prairie Man, E¥Sn0 BY GEORGE WALDU BROWNE, 86 Dandy Rock the Man from Texas. 90 The Dread Rider; or, The Texan Duelist. 99 The Tiger of Tuos; or, Dandy Rock’s Angel. 115 The Mad Miner; or, Dandy Rock’s Doom. 181 The Golden Hand; or, Dandy Rock to the Rescue, 164 Dandy Rock’s Pledge ; or, Hunted to Death. 178 Dandy Rock’s Rival; or, The tiaunted Maid of Taos, BY CAPTAIN MAYNE REID, 78 Blue Dick; or, The Yellow Chief's Vengeance. 87 The Land Pirates or, The League of Devil’s Island, 187 The Helpless Hiand ; or, Backwoods Retribution. 289 The Gold-seeker Guide; or, The Lost Mountain, MISCELLANEOUS AUTHORS, 4 The Wild-Horse Hunters. By Capt. Mayne Rela and Frederick Whittaker. 9 Adventures of Baron Munchausen, 12 Gulliver’s Travels. By Dean Swift. 14 Aladdin; or, The Wonderful Lamp. 16 Robinsen Crusoe. (27 Illustrations.) 18 Sindbad the Sailor. His Seven Voyages. 22 The Sea Serpent; or, The Boy Robinson Crusoe, By Juan Lewis, 88 The Ocean Bloodhound; or, The Red Pirates of the Carribees. By S, W. Pierce. 86 Fe Boy Clown; or, The Queen of the Arena. By Frank 8, Finn. BS Ned Wylde, the Boy Scout. By Texas Jack. 61 he Boy Rifles; or, The Underground Camp. By Archie + trons. 95 The Rival Rovers; or, The Freebooters of the Mississippi. By Lieut.-Col, Hazeltine. 98 Robin lood, the Uutlawed Earl; or, The Merry Men of Green- wood, By Prof. Gildersleeve. 105 Old Rube, the Hunter; or, The Crow Captive. By Captain Hamilton Holmes. 112 The Mad Munter; or, 'he Cave of Death. By Burton Saxe, 124 Tippy, the Texan; or, The Young Champion. By George Glerson. 128 The Young Privateer; or, The Pirate’s Stronghold. By Harry Cavendish. 148 Sharp Sum; or, The Adventures of a Friendless Boy. By J. Alexander Patten. 227 Dusky Darrell, Trapper; or, The Green Ranger of the Yel- lowstone. By Edward erson. 261 Fergus Fearnaught the New Y rk Boy. By G. L, Aiken. 266 Killb’ar, the Guide; »r, Davy Crockett’s ked Trail. By Ensign Cc. D, Warren. 298 Red Claw the One-Eyed Trapper; or, The Maid ot the Cliff, By Captain Comstock. 817 Peacock Pete, the Lively Lad from Leadville, By Lieu- tenant Alired Thorne. 828 The Sky Detectives or, A Boy’s Fight for Life and Honor, By Maior Mickey Free. 850 Ked Ralph, the River Rover; or, The Brother’s Re- venge. By Ned Buntline. 865 Baltimore Ben _ the Bootblack Detective. By A. P. Morris, 874 Seld-ibuss Tomy or, Ben’s Double Match. “By George H, More, 876 Callfornta Joe's First Trail, By Colone) Thomas 1B Bile yee hell, the Cl Climber. By F. 8, Win Bombshell, the mrer. By F. 5. throp, 475 The Biack Ship. By John S Warner, 484 Comanche Dick and His Three Invinetbles. Br Henry J. Thomas. S28 Wizard-Arm, the Dand ve By Arthur F. Holt. 582 The Cowboy Duke. By Edwin Brooke Forrest. B52 Ariel the Athlete. By David Druid, 585 Will Waters, the Bov Ferret. By H. Enton. 682 The Dead Detective’s Double. By Gerald Carlton A New Iasue Every Tuesdays The Half-Dime Library is for sale by sll newsdenlers, five cents per copy, Or sent by mail on receipt of six cents each. BEADLE AND ADAMS, Publishers, 98 William Street, New York
Page 16
by H BEADLE’S*H ALF-])IME*[_ IBRARY. Published Every Tuesday. Each Issue Complete and Sold at the Uniform Price of Five Cents. No Double Numbers. o_O _ BY EDWARD L. WHEELER. Deadwood Dick Novela. 1 Deadwood Dick, the Prince of the Road. 20 Double Daggers 3 or, Deadwood Dick’s Defiance, 28 Buffalo Ben; or, Deadwood Dick in Disguise, 85 Wilda Ivan, the Boy Claude Duval. 42 Phantom Miner; or, Deadwood Dick’s Bonanza, 49 Omaha OIL; or, Deadwood Dick in Danger, 57 Deadwood Dick’s Eagles; or, The Pards of Flood Bar. 73 Deadwood Dick on Deck; or. Calamity Jane, the Heroine, 7? Corduroy Charlie; or, Deadwood Dick’s Last Act. 100 Deadwood Dick in Leadville, 104 Deadwood Dick’s Device; or, The Double Cross Sign. 109 Deadwood Dick as Detective. 129 Deadwood Dick’s Double; or, The Ghost of Gorgon’s Gulch. 188 Blonde Bill; or, Deadwood Dick’s Home Base. 149 A Game of Gold; or, Deadwood Dick’s Big Strike. 156 Deadwood Dick of Deadwood} or, The Picked Party. 195 Deadwoed Dick’s Dreamy; or, The Rivuls of the Road, 201 The Black Ilills Jezebel; or, Deadwood Dick's Ward. 205 Deadwood Dick’s Doom; or, Calamity Jane’s Last Ad- venture. 217 Captain Crack-Shot, the Girl nee 221 Sugar-Coated Sam; or, The Black Gown. 282 Gold-Duat Dick. A Romance of Rough; and Toughs, 268 Deadwood Dick’s Divide; or, The Spirit of Swamp Lake. 268 Deadwood Dick’s Death Trail. 809 Deadwood Dick’s Big Deal; or, The Gold Brick of Oregon, 821 Deadwood Dick’s Dozen; or, The Fakir of Phantom Flats. 847 Deadwood Dick’s Ducats; or, Rainy Days in the Dig- ings. 851 Deadwood Dick Sentenced}; or, The Terrible Vendetta, 862 Deadwoed Dick’s Claim. 405 Deadwood Dick in Dead City. 410 Deadwood Dick’s Diamonds, 421 Deadwood Dick in New York;} or, A “Cute Case,” 480 Deadwood Dick’s Dust; or, The Chained Hand, 448 Deadwood Dick, Jr. 448 Nickel-Plate Ned; or, Deadwood Dick Jr’s Defiance. 458 Sunflower Sam, of Shasta; or, Deadwood Dick Jr’a Full Hand, 459 Flush Fan, the Ferret; or, Deadwood Dick Jr’s Big Ronnd- Up. 465 Philo Fly, of Phenix; or, Deadwood Dick Jr’s Racket at Claim 10. 471 Bozeman Bill or, Deadwood Dick Jr’s Corral. 476 Humboldt Harry the Hurricane; or, Deadwood Dick Jr’s Dog Detective. 481 Moll Mystery; or, Deadwood Dick Jr. in Deadwood. 491 Prince Pistol, the King of the West; or, Deadwood Dick Jr’a Compact. 496 Monte Cristo, Jr.: or, Deadwood Dick Jr’s Inheritance. 500 Deadwood Dick’s Megings 3 or, Dr. Death-Grip’s Swoop. 5608 Deadwood Dick’« Deliverance, 515 Deadwood Dick’s Protegee. 522 Dendwood Dick’s Three. - 9 Deadwood Dick’s Danger Ducks, 584 Deadwood Dick’s Death Hunt. 5639 Deadwood Dick Jr. in Texas. 544 Deadwood Dick, Jr. the Wild Weat Vidocq. 549 Deadwood Dick on Mis Mettle. 554 Deadwood Dick, Jr. in Gotham, 561 Deadwood Dick in Boston. 567 Deadwood Dick, Jr. in Philadelphia, 572 Deadwood Dick, Jr. in Chicago, 578 Deadwood Dick, Jr. Afloat. 584 Deadwood Dick, Jr. in Denver. 590 Dendwood Dick, Jr's. Decree. 595 Deadwood Dick Jr. in Beelzebub’s Basin, 600 Deadwood Dick Jr. at Coney Island, 606 Deadwood Dick Jr’s Leadville Lay. 612 Deadwood Dick Jr. in Detroit. 618 Deadwood Dick, Jr. in Cincinnati. 624 Deadwood Dick, Jr. in Nevada. 680 Deadwood Dick, Jr. in No Man’« Land. 686 Deadwood Dick, Jr. After the Queer, 642 Deadwood Dick, Jr. in Buffalo, 648 Deadwood Dick, Jr’s. Chase Across the Continent, Other Novels by E. L. Wheeler. 26 Cloven Hoof, the Buffalo Demon. 82 Bob Woolf or, The Girl Dead-Shot. 89 Death-Face, Detective; or, Life in New York, - 45 Old Avalanche; or, Wild Edna, the Girl Brigand, 58 Jim Bludsoe, Jr., the Boy Phenix. 61 Backhorn BI; or, The Red Rifle Team. 69 Gold Rifle, the Sharpshooter; or, The Koy Detective, 80 Rosebud Rob; or, Nugget Ned, the Knight. 84 Idyl, the Girl Miner; or, Rosebud Rob on Hand. 88 Phetograph Phil; or, Rosebud Rob’s Reappearance. 92 Canada Chet ; or, Old Anaconda in Sitting Bull’s Camp. 96 Watch-Eye; or, Arabs and Angels of a Great City. 8 Jack Hoyle the Young Speculator. 17 Gilt-Edged Dick, the Sport Detective 21 25 -_ Cinnamon, Chip, the Girl Sport, 5 Bonanza Bill, Miner. 88 Boss Bob the King of Bootblacks, 41 Solid Sam, the Boy Road-Agent. 45 Captain Ferret, the New York Detective. 61 New York Nell, the Boy-Girl Detective. 77? Nobby Nick of Nev aday or, The Sierras Scamps, 81 Wild Frank, the Buckskin Bravo. 09 Fritz, the Bound-Boy Detective, 218 Fritz to the Front; or, The Ventriloquist Hunter, 226 Snoozer, the Boy Sharp; or, The Arab Detective, 286 Apollo Bll, the Trail Tornado. 240 Cyclone Kit, the Young Gladiator. 244 Sferra Sam, tho Frontier Ferret, 248 Sierra Sam’s Secret; or, The Bloody Footprints. 258 Sierra Ss « Pardy or, The Angel of Big Vista. 258 Sierra Sam’s Seven} or, The Stolen Bride. 278 Jumbo Joe, the Boy Patrol; or, The Rival Heirs, 277 Denver Doll, the Detective Queen. 2S1 Denver Doll'« Victory. ; 255 Denver Doll's Decoy ; or. Little Bill’s Bonanza, 291 Turk, the Boy Ferret. 296 Denver Doll’s Drift; or, The Road Queen, 299 A No. 1, the Dashing Toll-Taker. 808 ’Liza Jane, the Girl Miner; or, the Iron-Nerved Sport. 825 Kelley, Hickey & Co.,, the Detectives of Philadelphia, 880 Little Quick-Shot; or, The Dead Face of Daggersville. 884 Kangaroo Kit; or, The Mysterious Miner, B89 Kangaroo Kit’s Racket, 848 Manhattan Mike, the Bowery Blood. 858 First-Class Fred, the Gent from Gopher. 868 Yreka Jim, the Gold-Gatherer ; or, The Lottery of Life 872 Yreka Jim’s Prize. 878 Nabob Ned; or, The Secret of Slab City. BS2 Cool Kit. the King of Kids; or, A Villain’s Vengeance, 885 Yreka Jim’s Joker; or, The Rivals of Red Nose, 889 Bleycle Ben; or. The Lion of Lightning Lode, 894 Yreka Jim of Yuba Dam. 400 Wrinkles, the Night-Watch Detective, 416 High Wat Harry, the Base Ball Detective, 426 Sam Slabaides, the Beggar-Boy Detective, 484 Jim Beak and Pal, Private Detectives, 4858 Santa Fe Sal, the Slasher. 456 Sealskin Sam, the Sparkler, (poh pr ch sh eh fr Sh ph rll BY COLONEL PRENTISS INGRAHAM, 7 The Flying Yankee}; or, The Ocean Outcast, 17 Ralph Roy, the Boy Buccaneer; or, The Fugitive Yacht, 24 Diamond Dirk; or, The Mystery of the Yellowstone. 62 The Shadow Ship; or, The Rival Lieutenants. 75 The Boy Dnellst; or, The Cruise of the Sea-Wolf. 102 Dick Dead-Eye, the Boy Smuggier. 111 The Sea-Devil; or, The Midshipman’s Legacy, 116 The Hussar Captain ; or, ‘The Hermit of Hell Gate. 197 Little Grit; or, nea the Stock-Tender’s Daughter. 204 Gold Plume} or, The Kid-Glove Sport. 216 Bison BIL, the Prince of the Reins. 222 Grit, the Bravo Sports or, The Woman Trailer. 229 Crimson Kate}; or, The Cowboy's Triumph, 287 Lone Star, the Cowboy Captain. 245 Merle, the Middy 3; or, The Freelance Heir. 250 The Midah{pman Mutineer; or, Brandt, the Buccaneer. 264 The Floating Feather; or, Merle Monte’s Treasure Island. 269 The Gold Ship; or, Merle, the Condemned. 276 mene Monte’s Cruise; or, The Chase of “The Gold Ship.’? 280 M arie Monte’s Fate; or, Pearl, the Pirate’s Bride, 284 The Sea Marauder; or, Merle Monte’s Pledge. 287 Billy Blue-Eyes, the Boy Rover of the Rio Grande. 804 The Dead Shot Dandy ; or, Benito, the Boy Bugler. 808 Keno Kits or, Dead Shot Dandy’s Double. 814 The Mysterious Marauder; or, The Boy Bugler’s Long ‘Trail. 877 Bonodel, the Boy Rover} or, The Flagless Schooner, 888 The Indian Pilot; or, The Search for Pirate Island, 887 Warpath WILL, the Boy Phantom. $98 Seawalf, the Boy Lieutenant. 402 Isvdor, the Young Consptrator; or, The Fatal League, 407 The Boy Insurgent; or, The Cuban Vendetta. 412 The Wild Yachtaman; or, The War-Cloud’s Cruise, 429 Duncan Dare, the Boy Refugee. 488 A Cabin Boy’s Luck; or, The Corsair. 487 The Sea Raider. 441 The Ocean Firefly 3 or, A Middy’s Vengeance, 446 Waphazard Harry ; or, The Seapegrace of the Sea, 450 Wizard Will: or, The Boy Ferret of New York. 454 Wizard Will's Street Scouts. ? 462 The Born Guldey; or, The Salior Boy Wandere-¢ Neptune Ned, the Boy Coaster, 474 Florays or, Wizard Will's Vagabond Pard. 488 Ferrets Afloat: or, Wizard Will’s Last Case, 487 Nevada Ned, the Revolver Ranger. 495 Arizona Joe the Boy Pard of Texas Jack. 497 Buck Taylor, King of the Cowboys. 508 The Royal Middy ¢ or, The Shark and the Sea Cat. 507 The Hunted Midshipman, 511 The Outlawed Middy. 5620 Buckskin BI, the Comanche Shadow, 525 Brothers in Buckskin, 580 The Buckskin Bowers. 585 The Bue skin Rovers. 540 Captain Ku-Klux, the Marauder of the Rie, 545 Lieutenant Leo, the Son of Lafitte. 550 Lalitte’s Legacy: or. The Avenging Son. 555 The Creole Corsair. 560 Pawnee BIII, the Prairie Shadower. 565 Kent Kingdon, the Card King, 570 Camille, the Card Queen. 575 The Surgeon-Scout Detective, 580 The Outcast Cadet; or, The False Detective, 586 The Buckskin Ave Pr. 591 Delmonte, tie Young Rover. 597 The Young Texan Detective. 602 The Vagabond of the Mines. 607 The Rover Detective; or, Keno Kit’s Champions. 617 Ralph, the Dead-Shot Scout; or, The Raiders and the Red Riders of the Rio, 644 The Hercules Highwayman. BY BUFFALO BILL (Hen. Wm, F. Cody). 8 Kansas King; or, The Red Right Hand. 19 The Phantom Spy: or, The Pilot of the Prairie, 55 leadly-Eye, the Unknown Scout. 68 Border Robin Hood; or, The Prairie Rover. 158 Faney Frank of Colorado; or, The Trapper’s Trost. BY CHARLES MORRIS, 118 Will Somers, the Boy Detective, 122 Phil Hardy, the Boss Boy. 126 Picayune Pete; or, Nicodemus, the Dog Detective, 180 Detective Dick; or, The Hero in Rags, 142 Handsome Harry, the Bootblack Detective, 147 Will Wildfire, the Th scoughbred. 52 Black Besa, Will Wildfire’s Racer. Mike Merry, the Harbor Police Boy. 2 Will Wildfire in the Woods, 5 Billy Baggage, the Railroad Boy. 0 A Trump Card3 or, Will Wildfire Wins and Loses, A Bob Rockett; or, Mysteries of New York. 9 Bob Rockett, the Bank Runner, j 8 The Hidden sends or, Will Wildfire’s Revenge, ? Fred Halyard, tle Life Boat Boy; or, The Smugglers, 89 Bob Rockett; or, Driven to the Wall. 96 Shadowed ; or, Bob Kockett’s Fight for Life, 206 Dark Paul, the Tiger King. 212 Dashing Dave, the Dandy Detective. 220 Tom Tanner; or, The Black Sheep of the Flock, 225 Sam Char¢oal the Premium Darky. 235 Shadow Sam, the Messenger Boy. 242 The Two “ Bloods”; or, Shenandoah Bill and His Gang. 252 Dick Dashaway : or, A Dakota Boy in Chicago. 262 The Young Sharps: or, Rollicking Mike’s Hot Trail, 274 Jolly Jim, the Detective Apprentice. 289 Jolly Jim’s Job; or, The Young Detective. 298 The Water-Hound; or, The Young Thoroughored. 805, Dashaway, of Dakotas or, A Western Lad in the Quaker City. oo "a wee eee ee eee PDRBIRLANAIAS 824 Ralph Ready, the Hotel Boy Detective. 841 Tony Thorne, the Vagabond Detective. 858 The Reporter-Detective; or, Fred Flyer’s Blizzara, 867 Wide-Awake Joe; or, A Boy of the Times. 879 Larry, the Leveler; or, The Bloods of the Boulevard, 408 Firefly Jack, the River-Rat Detective. 428 The Lost Finger; or, The Entrapped Cashier, 428 Fred Flyer, the Reporter Detective. 482 Invincible Logan, the Pinkerton Ferret. 456 Billy Brick, the Jolly Vaganond. 466 Wide-Awake Jerry, Detective; or, Entombed Alive. 479 Detective Dodge; or, The Mystery of Frank Hearty. 488 Wild Dick Racket, 501 Boots, the Boy Fireman or, Too Sharp for the Sharper, 566 The Seeret Service Boy Detective, 596 Jimmy the Kid; or, A Lamb" Among Wolves. 627 Tom Bruce of Arkansas; or, The Wolf in the Fold, er FT ee te, re 1 ae BY OLL COOMES. 5 Vagabond Joe, the Young Wandering Jew. 18 The Dumb Spy. 7 Antelope Abe, the Boy Guide, 1 Keen-Knife, the Prince of the Prairies. 1 Lasso Jack, the Young Mustanger. 8 The Border King; or, The Secret Foe. 1 Delaware Dick, the Young Ranger Spy. i Hawk-eye Harry the Young Trapper Ranger 8 Rollo, the Boy Ranger. 4 Sure Shot Seth, the Boy Rifleman. % Sear-Face Saul, the Silent Hunter 6 Silver Star, the Boy Knight. 8 Eagle Kit, the Boy Demon. 168 Little Texas, the Young Mustanger, 178 Old Solitary, the Hermit Trapper. 182 Little Hurricane, the Boy Captain. 202 Prospect Pete 5 or, The Young Outlaw Hunters, 208 The Boy Hercules: or, The Prairie Tramps. 218 Tiger Tom, the Texas Terror, 224 Dashing Dick; or, Trapper Tom’s Castle. 228 Little Wildfire, the Young Prairie Nomad. 288 The Parson Detectives or, The Little Ranger. 248 The Disguised Guide; or, Wild Raven, the Ranger 260 Dare-Devil Dan, the Young Prairie Ranger, 272 Minkskin Mike, the Boy Sharpshooter. 422 Bab 444 Little BY T. ©, HARBAUGH. 28 Nick o’ the Night; or, The Boy Spy of '76. 87 The Hidden Lodge} or The Littl Hunter. “47 Nightingale N ats or, Tne Forest Captains, "64 Dandy Jack; or, The Outlaws of the Oregon Trals, 82 Kit Harefoot the Wood-Hawk. 94 Midnight Jack ; or, The Boy Trapper. 106 Old Frosty, the Guide; or, The White Queen, 128 Kiowa Charley the White Mustanger. 189 Judge Lynch, Jr.: or, The Boy Vigilante. 155 Gold Trigger, the Sport; or, The Girl Avenger, 169 Tornado neal or, icles Jack From Red Core, 188 Ned Temple, the Border Boy. 198 Arkansaw 3 or, The Queen of Fate’s Revenge. 207 Navajo Nick, the Boy Gold Hunter. 215 Captain Bullet; or, Little Topknot’s Crusade, $1 Plucky Phils or, Rosa, the Red Jezebel. 41 Bill Bravos or, The Roughs of the Rockies. 255 Captain Apoliv, tne King-Pin of Bowie. 267 The Buckskin Detective. 279 Old Winch; or, The Buckskin Desperadoes. 294 Dynamite Dan; or, The Bowie Blade of Cochetopa. 802 The Mountain Detective; or, The Trigger Bar Buily. 816 Old Eclipse, Tromp Card of Arizona, 826 The Ten Pardsy; or, The Terror of Take-Notice, 886 Big Benson; or, The Queen of the Lasso. 845 Pitiless Matt; o7, Red Thunderbolt’s Secret. B56 Cool “am und Pards: or The Terrible Six, 866 Velvet Foot, the Indian Detective. men 886 Captain Cutlass ¢ or, Ihe Beccaneer’s Girl Foe, 896 Rough Robs or, The Twin Champions of Blue Blazes, All The Silken Laaso; or, The Rose of Ranch Robin. 418 Felix Fox, the Boy Spotter. 425 Texas trate. the Border Rattler. A486 Phil Flash, the New York Fox. 445 The City Vampires; or, Ked Rolfe’s Pigeon. 461 One Againat Fifty; or, The Last Man of Keno Bar, 470 The Boy Shadow ; or, Felix Fox’s Hunt, 477 The Exceisior Sport; or, The Washington Spotter. 499 Single Bight, the One-Eyed Sport. 502 Branded Ben, the Night Ferret. 512 Dodger Dick, the Wharf-Spy Detective, 521 Dodger Dick’s Best Dodge. 528 Fox and Falcon, the Bowery Shadows. 588 Dodger Dick, the Dock Ferret. 548 Dodger Dick’« Double; or, The Rival Boy Detectives, 558 Dodger Dick’s Desperate Case. 568 Dodger Dick, the Boy Vidocq. 578 The Two Shadows. 582 Dodger Dick’s Drop. 594 Little Lon, the Street-Singer Detective. 610 Old Skinner, the Gold Shark; or, Tony Sharp on Guard. 626 The Champion Pards. 687 Dick Doan, the Dock Boy Detective. 645 Kit, the Pavement Sharp. LATEST AND NEW ISSUES. 650 Butterfly Billy, the Pony Rider Detective; or, Buffw, Bill’s Boy Pard. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham. 651 Bound Boy Frank, the Young Amateur Detective. & Wm. G, Patten. : 652 Don Barr, tlie Plains Freelance. By Oll Coomes. 658 Billy Bantam, the Boy Beagle. By T.C. Harbaugh. 654 Deadwood Dick, Jr., Among the Smugglers. By Edward L. Wheeler A 655 Plucky Paul, the Boy Speculator. By Charles Morris. - 656 Butterfly Billy’s Man Hunt. By Col. P. Ingraham. 657 Warbling W filiam, the Mountain Mountebank. By Lieut. A. &. Sims. 658 Sky-Rocket Rob, the Life-Saver: or, The Storm-Waif of Giant’s Boot, By Jo Pierce. Ee 659 Moonlight Morgan, the * Pizenest Man of Ante Bar; or, Cibuta John's Champion Chase. By J. C. ¢ owdrick, ; 660 peas woot Dick, Jr’s., Insurance Case, By Edward L Wheeler, Old Kit Bandy’s Dellver@nce; or, Banner Ben, the 661 Wildfire of the Pence. By Oll Coomes, 62 Butterfly Billy’s Bonanza; or, The Spectre Soldier of S the ie at Fy By Col. P. Ingraham. 668 Violet Vane'’s Victorys oT, The Jaspar City Clean Out By Wm. G, Patten. : 664 Cheeky Charley the Special; or, The Life Racket at Rattlesnake Ridge. By P. S. Warne, 665 fah, the Plains Detective; or, Warbling Wil- Folly Raa "By Lieut, A. K. Sims. Ready April 22. ick, Jr., Back in the Mines; or, The a6¢ Deadwood Dis Doubis Game. By Edward L. Wheeler. Ready April 29 A New Issue Every Tuesday. The Half- Dime Library s for sale by all newsdeslers, five sents per copy, or sent by mail on receipt of six centa each. BEADLE AND ADAMS, Publishers, 98 William Street, New York,