Beadle's Half Dime Library (no. 66) (1878 10 29)
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
—— iA Mal Tae co Vol. III. ,Sigle, Single Hand rae A LIFE FOR A LIFE. BY W. J. HAMILTON, AUTHOR OF “THE RED BROTHERHOOD,” ETC. CHAPTER I. CAUGHT IN THE ‘ NORTHER.” THE tempest was at its hight, the furious rush of the ‘‘ Norther,” t:.at scourge of the Texan lains. _No one, uniess he has faced its chilling breath, has any idea of the fearful danger which hangs over the unfortunate who is caught upon the plains when the cold wind is at its hight. Great trees are upturned by its gigantic power, buildings are thrown down, and even the tough chapar- ral is leveled as the tremen- dous blast crushes over it. The air takes on a bluish tinge; the clouds hang low and the hitherto sultry air becomes all at once terribly frigid, the chill piercing to the very marrow. Such was the scene upon which the tale opens, and two figures might have been seen lying under a wall of rocks upon the Texan border. Their horses, overcome b fear, crouched upon the eart beside them, emitting almost human moans of fear, while the men, wrapping their blankets about them, pressed as closely as possible to the rocks, striving toshield them- selves from the chilling blast. Looking out upon the plain they could see frightened herds of animals of all de- scriptions joined in strange fellowship and flying before the pitiless blast. Buffaloes various kinds of deer, wild cattle and mustangs, with almost countless groups of smaller animals, scurried here and there, the wind forcing them forward with pitiless power. } “This beats my time, Jack,” said oneof the crouch- ing men—a handsome young- ster of perhaps nineteen years of age, ‘‘Itis a won- derful exhibition of the pow- er of the Creator, who gave these countless herds this boundless plain to feed on.” “ Don’t babyish, Ned Clayton,” said the man called Jack, a rather rough-looking fellow in ranger dress, bear- ing the never-failing rifie pistols and bowie. ‘It don’t sound well to hear one of our fellows turning mission- ary. | | | | h - . Mle! Copyrighted in 1878, by BEADLE AND ADAMS. EELEELEL EEL Te i i (tt nt tn i i i AN / 7 (lat ot | BEADLE AND ADAMS, PUBLISHERS No. 98 WILLIAM STREET, NEW YORK. ‘Look here, Jack,” said the boy, drawing himself up to his full hight, ‘‘ you know my fighting weight and I would give you a word of caution,” *“Oh, you needn’t spur up at me because I happen to say a word you don’t like, Ned,” re- pied the other, drawing back a little. ‘ Per- aps you could lick me and perhaps not; at any rate it won’t do for us to quarrel; we have too much to lose.” *“You need not remind me that I am bound hand and foot, and in the power of a merciless man, who takes advantage of an oath forced from me at the gallows-foot to make me do his dirty work.” “Do you want to draw back, Ned?’ demanded the man, with sparkling eyes. ‘‘ You know the penalty if you do.” ** That for the penalty!” replied Clayton, snap- ping his fingers. ‘ But for breaking a solemn oath you could not hold me for a single day ” I Yj) SINGLE HAND, THE TERRIBLE. ‘ Price, 5 Cents. “That’s enough,” growled Jack Evans, sav- agely. ‘‘Look at that tiger. He is worse skeered than the antelopes, the spotted cuss, I’ve a good mind to give him a ball.” The tiger, as the jaguar is called upon the Texan plains, flew by in the midst of a herd of antelopes, and so great was his fear of the storm that, for a time, his naturally bloody disposition was forgotten in his desire to escape. Ned came forward a little, holding on by a stunted shrub to keep himself erect, when a black mus- tang bounded wildly past, and, clinging to his mane and keeping her seat only by a desperate effort, was a beautiful girl not more than six- teen years of age. Ned had only a glimpse of a white beautiful face, golden hair floating out in the breath of the norther, and the look of ter ror in the heavenly blue eyes, when the mus- tang was out of sight rounding the point of the timber just in front. ‘Did you see that, Jack Evans?’ screamed N “She will die in the storm if we do not give her help!” “How are you going to give her help while the nor- ther lasts?” replied Jack, coolly. ‘* You’d better run after her; like enough you can_keep up with the wind.” “Do you know that I should take pleasure in knocking you down, friend Jack?” said the boy, setting his teeth hard. ‘ Seems you, don’t drive me too far.” Jack Evans glanced at the broad shoulders and swelling muscles of his young companion, and wisely re- frained from speaking a word to arouse his rage further. “I didn’t mean any thing. Ned,” he said, humbly. “f know you'd like to help the girl and so would I. at ook at those horses a mo- ment. Do you think it pro- bable that you could get them to move out in that norther? They are shiver- ing with fear now.” Ned glanced at the tremb- ling brutes and acknowledg- ed, with a groan of despair, that they were useless now’, but he might be able te fel- low on foot. He darts % away with this intention bu was thrown down breathless and forced to crawl back again to the shelter of the rocks. ‘* Now listen to me, Ned,” said Jack Evans, as the boy 7 4 sobbing upon the earth. “‘] know it’s hard to see a — creature go that way, ut, what can we do? "Taint as if we had not done our best to save her, and = soon as the storm we'll foller her and perhaps we — of some use al es your pa Jack,” sald the boy, rising
Page 2
2 on his elbow. ‘‘You’ve got a heart yet, and nearer right than I was, after all. Do you see any signs of a break, Path “Tt won’t last half an hour,” replied Jack looking at the sky. ‘‘ You can see fer yerself that it is lightening up to the northward, and we can start soon. Talk to the horses a little; you understand the brutes better than I do.” Ned crept to the side of his trembling horse and began to fondle him, and the animal ceased to quake with fear, and the light came into his eyes. not with fear. “They are all right now, and will do an thing we ask of them,” said Ned. “It is ge x Sethe I think.” told you that we had got the worst of it,” | ‘ | the trees did not break the fali— Will you go said Jack. ‘‘If F understand any thing, it is the Texan praiyies. I’m a rough man, Ned, and have done many a wicked thing, in my time but an innocent little creature like that can fin the way to my heart — than any thing else on earth. Do you know why?” ‘You must tell me, Jack.” “T had a little sister, once, with just such hair and eyes. I loved her better than any thing else on earth, and she died. I tell you, Ned, if that little child had lived, Jack Evans would not be an outlaw now, hunted for his scalp. At times I seem to see her face, and she’s kept my hand from blood many atime. I wish she could do it always.” “Shake hands, Jack,” cried the boy. ‘I’m proud to have you for a friend, and if we quar- rel again, it won’t be my fault, now that I know you.” ‘*A man don’t dare to let out the good in his heart among that truck yonder,” replied Jack, with a motion of his hand toward the chapar- ral. ‘* You know how it is, Ned—they’ll say old Jack Evans is turning baby. I’ve thoughta hundred times I’d shake them and go to the Nor’-west; but I love Texas, and they’ve got all I have in their hands.” “We'll talk about this another time, Jack. Don’t you think we might venture out now?” “Wait about five minutes, Ned. Here it comes in, and this is the last gust. It’s an awful wind, the norther.” The blast swept by, carrying destruction in its path, and then suddenly ceased, and the at- mosphere began to change. They looked to their girths, petted the horses a little, and we. into the saddle, riding slowly out ye e trail. By good luck the black mustang through the point of the timber, scatter- ing the bushes in his course, and for this point hey headed, and found bits of cloth fluttering upon the mesquit thorns, while a clearly-define trail crossed the prairie toward the south. “Forward,” cried Ned, bending forward in, the saddle, and fixing his eyes upon the trail; “‘ we will save her yet.” CHAPTER II. IN THE TREE-TOP. For half an hour they rode in silence on each side of the trail, which luckily was not crossed by others, and by could keep up a good pace. The face of Ned Clayton wore a somber look, for he feared, at each roll in the prairie, to come upon the mangled form of the girl who had flitted by so strangely, caught in the north- er. Jack Evans said not a word, but his eyes were busy, and as roll after roll of the prairie was crossed, he began to hope. ““She’s a plucky little darling, anyhow,” he said at last. ‘‘ How she hangs to that half- broken mustang!” “Tf she can keep the saddle, there is some hope,” replied Ned, with a sort of sob; “ but the pila. is getting awful rough.” The trail turned a little at this point, and headed for a thick growth of mesquit, about a mile in front. Jack paused; a look of wild ter- ror came into his face, and he clutched at the pommel of his saddle for support. The look of deadly fear upon his face was reflected upon that of his young companion. ; ‘* What is:it, Jack?” be said, in a sort of whis- ri Pe He heads for wey Gulch. If she has gone down there, mortal help is of no avail. But ride—ride, on ees be death.” ~ Is, They struck in their spurs to the very rowe and darted on. The horses seemed to partake of their spirit, and the mile was less than two minutes, both mu the of their They e into over in straining ery. aire, e bushes, and pulled up on Ned passed over to the other ani- | mal, and by. skillful handling, soon got him! over his fright, and if they shivered now it was Beadle’s Half-Dime Library. ‘ | horror frozen upon his face. In his wild | life he had often seen men die—had braved the verge of a ravine so deep that the low — + ato grew at the bottom scarcely touched tie edge. Nea Clayton started back with that look of rairie- death himself; but what was death in the heart of an Indian conflict compared with such a one as this? His strong muscles lost their strength, and he sunk to the earth weak asa child. “Steady! This won’t do, Ned,” said Jack Evans, sternly. ‘‘ Come, be a man.” The words nerved him and he sprung to his feet and approached the fatal verge and looked down. The branches of the trees beneath had been parted by the fall of a heavy body, but had risen again, concealing the earth beneath. “Tm afraid it’s all over, Ned,” said Jack Evans. “It is forty feet to the ground, and if down, or shall I?” “pt go,” replied Ned, eagerly. “Tm the best climber, by all odds, and if I need you, Ill sing out. Give me your lariat.” ack took the dressed rawhide lariat from his saddle and passed it over to Clayton, who join- ed it to his own by the knot known as the double bowline, which could not jam or slip. This done, he fastened one end of the rope about a tree and threw the other over the edge of the cliff, where it dangled within a few feet of the _patowny Assisted by Jack, the boy swung himself over the verge, and went down the lariat, hand over hand with great rapidity, and, reaching the earth unhurt, parted the bushes and saw the mangled form of the black mus- tang lying Be pe the gnarled roots of the pine trees, crus into a shapeless mass by the fall. His legs were broken, his neck doubled under- neath his body and the skull crushed to a pom- ace. Exerting his utmost strength, the boy managed to thrust the body aside as he saw no trace of the beautiful girl. Where could she be if not beneath the fallen steed? A close search about the body revealed nothing, and Ned shouted to his companion above: ‘*The horse is here but the girl is nowhere to be seen.” As he spoke he glanced upward and saw some- thing white and ghastly among the green leaves | of a pine tree, thirty feet above his head. He uttered a cry of dismay. The girl was up the | tree, but whether dead or alive he could not tell. | Grasping the body of the tree, he ascended rap- | idly and reached the place where the white dress of the girl showed amid the foliage. As he came | near he could see that she was senseless, and that there were spots of blood upon her dress. She had fallen upon a strong branch which tended upward, and had been thrown into a fork of the pine in such a way that even though dead it would have been impossible for her to fall. Ned pushed eee in a fever of excitement, fearing that she might fall before he could get to her, but he breathed more freely when he swung himself up to the limb by her side and looked down into the beautiful face. ‘“‘T never saw anything half so beautjful,” he murmured. ‘‘Oh, Heaven, I hope she is not dead.” She was indeed beautiful—one of those rare creatures in whose face you can read spotless pony of heart. He gently disengaged her rom the branches, rai her head a little, and could feel that she was warm, and placing his eg on her wrist decided that the pulse still t “ Alive, Jack!” he shouted, cheerfully. ‘‘ Hur- rah! Let us get her up out of this hole.” The tree stood close to the edge of the raviue, and Jack pushed out the lariat with a pole .so that the boy could grasp it. Drawing it in quickly, Ned lashed it under the arms of the senseless girl in such a way that it could not slip. if Take in the slack above, Jack,” he said. “Carefully now; wait till I give the word.” He took the senseless form upon one arm and walked out far as he dared upon a stout limb, holding to one above him for support. Here he held her out until the cord was perpendicular and she could not strike against the wall, and then gave the signal to his friend above, who hauled away and soon had the light form of the girl safe upo. ‘*he level, at the verge of the chasm. rope was now let down for Ned, and he quickly stood upon solid earth, gazing witha oe fondness at the beautiful being ne, aa “all” h Jack,” he whispered, you what it is, Jack,” he w “« she is worth all the trouble we have had. She was alive when I tookher upand I guess we can her around.” “Get some water,” cried Jack, shortly. “Don’t stand fifing there, you young cub, un- less you want her to die on our hands.” “‘Put some whisky on her lips and nostrils while I go for the water,” said Ned, snatching the canteen from his saddle. ‘‘Tll put a girdle round the earth in forty minutes, for her sake.” ‘“She és a nice girl,” said Jack, uncorking the canteen and pouring a portion of its contents into his palm. ‘“ Away with you.” Ned hurried away while the older man stoop- ed and bathed the pale lips of the fainting girl in the ~~ _— He had satisfied himself that she still lived and that no bones were broken, and bent over her fondly, his rough face showing a sympathy hardl % be looked for in one of his class. He was thinking of that sister whom he had ost so long ago—a child like this—and what he might have been had she V4 The color began to steal back by imperceptible degrees into the pale cheek of the earl on she stirred a little just as Ned came back with the canteen of water. ‘* Fill the cup about _ two-thirds full and give it to me,” he said. ‘‘ She is coming to herself.” Ned obeyed orders and stood waiting anxious- ly, holding the cup, while the r bathed the face and neck of the maiden in the pure liquid which the boy had brought. Their perseverance had its reward, for she opened her eyes looking wildly at them. “There, there, little ’un,” said Jack, tenderly “vou are all right now, if you keep up a good heart. Give me the cup, Ned!” He took it from the now trembling hand of the boy and poured in a little of the liquor. This done, he made her drink a little, and in a moment she was able to sit up, supported by the rane. ““That’s right, little ’un,” said Jack. ‘‘ Never say die while you have good friends on hand, eh? Drink a little more and get strong.” She obeyed with touching confidence, but was evidently in a maze of doubt, not knowi where she was. Her eyes ps ssed from the Qark face of Jack to the more youthful and handsome one of Ned Clayton, and a glimpse of remem- brance came to her. ‘**T saw you under the rocks when I passed,” she whispered. ‘‘I can recall little except the fearful storm, and that terrible ride across the prairie, and then I fell, and can remember noth- ing more.” “ This youngster was for chasing after you in the ‘norther,’ but he couldn’t go ten steps before he was down,” said Jack, laughing. “Thank you,” said the girl, softly, ‘‘thank you very much. I know that I should have died but for you. Where did you find me? I know that I fell, that is all.” ‘*T'll tell you as we ride back,” said Jack, bur- riedly, for he saw that Ned was about to show her the fearful danger from which she had been rescued. ‘‘ Where did you live, little ’un?”’ ‘““My name is Lillian Hardin, and my father pe a ranch down the river toward Stanley- ville. Jack cast a look of strange meaning at his young companion. “Captain Hardin, do you mean?—the Ranger of the Rio Grande?” ‘“‘They give my father that name upon the river. Oh, gentlemen—” ‘Hold on,” said Jack. “TI ain’t a gentleman —fur from it. I’m a regular old Texican ranger. hide and hoof, and gentry and myself don’t mix. Well, as my young friend Ned has busi- ave your father, I guess we’d better tod- e.” ‘Where is my horse?” ‘ B'leeged to leave him,” said Jack, shortly. “You'll ride behind me, and my mustang won’t feel your weight no more ’n a feather. o you feel strong enough to ride now?” She arose at once, but as she still seemed weak, the old ranger caught her in his arms and carried her quickly down the slope, while Ned took up the lariats, untied them, placed them on the horses, and led them through the bushes, They had just reached the edge of the chaparral, when the older ranger paused and held i his hand—a signal which the yours man had too often seen not to understand. It meant danger. Ata touch from Ned the horse stopped short and stood silent, while Ned stole gently forward and reached the side of bis companion, who had sunk upon one knee, holding Lillian in his arms, and was peering through the bushes at a group of Comanches who de their horses —_ three ag OS et from the cover. were pain rgeous im seraipes and feathers, and sertadalee were not a neighbors for the small party in the es.
Page 3
er Single Hand. _ Oo a ri fa. a Les) 5 =] =} tod i ° 5 bs) a o re) =} a i Zu S © 4 37 ck 4 ~ ~ =) ct = bar | Meanness is their natural gait. It just suits | them.” Lifting Lillian in his arms again, he began to search for a hiding-place. He found it at last— asort of natural cavityin the faceof the ra- vine, so overhung with bushes and vines as to completely conceal it from view. ‘Telling her to remain quict, and on no account to move un- less she heard her name called, he hurried back to the spot where the boy was still watching for the coming of the Indians, who remained in the same position, conversing eagerly, and pointing now and then to the south. Ata glance Jack had recognized the man who had led them, “Single Hand,” a redoubted chief of the Co- manches, a man’ who was known and feared for years along the Texan borders. He alone was mounted, a man of gigantic mold, with a face cut like a Roman cameo, a nose hooked like the beak of a vulture, and black eyes full of savage fire. The Western annais are full of tales of his prowess and savage deeds. He had dared to ride at the head of a thousand warriors through the streets of a Mexican city of forty thousand inhabitants, slaying as he went, and carrying off almost incalculable spoils. Ho had taken his share in a hundred fights with the rangers, and many a Texan family had cause to remem- ber his name with sorrow. His dark hair, un polluted by knife or shears, fell to his saddle, and upon his stately head he wore a tiara of many-colored feathers, giving him a strangely- picturesque appearance. But this man, perfect in every other respect physically, had one de- fect. e had but one hand, and from this cir- cumstance derived his name. Where his left hand should have been there was notbing except around, bony protuberance, shaped somewhat | like the head of an adder. He wore the peculiar | dress of the Comanche chief, and over all was | cast a gaudy serape, probably taken from some unfortunate Mexican who iid crossed his track. ‘*T don’t like the lool of tuis, Fred,” whisper- ed Jack. ‘I don’t think we are game to take care of twenty Comanche with Single Hand at their head. Why don’t the mean cusses go on about their business, blast ’em?’ At this moment one of the younger warriors approached Single Hand and said something to him, pointing to the prairie not far away. “Bet you fo iy ollars he sees our trail,” groaned Jack. ‘‘See here; we’ve got to shin out of Galilee, mighty quick, or we are done for. Lead the hosses back to the edge of the ravine and take off the lariats at the place where we went down.” Ned hurried back at once and Jack: remained to watch. He saw that the Indians were scat- tered over the plain, studying the fresh trail, and from time to time pointing to the chaparral. At last, seeming to make up their minds, they made a sudden dash for the thicket—so quickly, indeed, that it was with the utmost difficulty Jack got back in time toavoid them. He found that Ned understood him and had already hung the lariats over the cliff and was waiting for him. “Down with you, my lad,” cried Jack. ‘* Here they come, devil bent for election. Take your rifle.’ They “slung” their rifles, pistols and ammu- nition, and slid down the rope into the tree and from thence to the ground, and found a cave which commanded the verge of the fissure, where they were out of sight. They had not done this a moment too soon, and their horses, which had fled at the approach of the Indians were hardly out of sight, when the tufted hea of a Comanche warrior appeared looking down into the ravine. “The white men are not birds to fly through the air,” said a commanding voice, speaking in the Comanche tongue. ‘They are hidden somewhere. Let my young men’look for them, for we have been long upon the plains and have not taken one American scalp.” They could hear the Indians hurrying to and fro above them, and feared that they might dis- cover the hiding-place of Lillian. But, from the place where they ercuched, they could see that the hanging vines and bushes which con- cealed her were as yet undisturbed. | “The little °un is smart, she is,” whispered Jack. “If they don’t find her, we can take our cnet Ha! the red nigger has found the la- riat! It was but too true. The means of their de- err 4 was Regan oer for it had = vr or them to move it after going down. : ell from the Comanches announced their de- ight at the discovery. CHAPTER Iii HIDE AND SEEK. LILLIAN remained snugly ensconced in the | nook in which she had been placed by the cau- tious ranger, listening with bated breath to the | cries of the savages, and quaking with terror every time the footsteps came near her in the progress of the search. She had seen her two strange friends descend the ravine and knew that, for the paces they were safe, but was rieved that t 1ad brought themintodanger., She approached the opening and peered out without.moving the leaves but could not see them, although the movement brought the lariat by which they had_ descended into view, and showed her that an Indian had already commenced the descent and that others were waiting to follow. “Are they blind or have they found some way of earees, that they make no sign?” she muttered, The idea was no sooner formed than it was answered, for the sudden discharge of two rifles, so nearly at the same moment that it seemed like one report, sounded through the “ay The savage upon the rope released his old and fell into the ravine with a loud crash os the branches broke beneath him, and another who stood upon the cliff fell dead in his tracks. This sudden attack surprised the Indians, who at once dropped behind the rocks, while a hoarse ery of triumph came from below. A strange battle now commenced about the ravine. 1e moment the two besieged men had fired they shifted their ground a little, while the bullets and arrows of the Indians rattled through the Jeaves into the spot over which the smoke of the rifles arose. They lay sheltered beneath a great pine, the trailing branches of which swept the ground, and whenever an In- dian dared show his head above the ledge it be- came the mark of a bullet. Both Ned Clayton and Jack Evans were finished marksmen, and were not likely to miss their aim at that dis- tance, and they soon made this evident to the Indians, who had four killed and as many wounded when they withdrew to consult. “They'll make it warm for us yet, Ned,” said Jack, in a low tone. ‘‘ We must shin out of this somehow. * And leave Lilian!” cried Ned, indignantly. “T'll never do it.” “Can’t we come back, you obstrepelous young varmint?”’ a Jack. “I ain’t more likely to leave her you are.” “All right; don’t let your angry passions rise, Jack, for I’m sure I did not mean an harm, so lead the web But, hold on; we ought to give her some kind of a signal to show her that we mean to come back.” ‘**Can’t be done, boy; she will stay until we return; you may bet on that. Come on.” There was little time to lose, for already half a dozen lariats were hanging over the sides of the ravine, and the Indians were preparing to descend. Stooping low and keeping under the shadow of the gloomy piles, they darted away up the ravine, moving cautiously, thoug swiftly. The bottom of the ravine was of the hardest rock, and to trail them would be im- ossible. For half a mile there was no break in he gulch-wall, but at last they reached a place where an irregular cleft ran upward upon the side opposite the cavity in which Lilian lay concealed. They climbed up hastily and reach- ed the top, and at once turned back toward the place which they had just left, keeping out of sight behind the bushes. The frantic cries which they heard below them, convinced them that the Indians were again at fault. Looking into the ravine, Ned saw them hurrying wildly about, seeking vainly for some trace of the fu- itives, “They'll have to give it up, Jack,” chuckled the boy. “If we only had: Lillian with us now, we could leave them alone in their glory.” “I didn’t like to risk it,” said Jack Evans. ‘They are mean cusses, and the gal is perfectly. safe where I left her if she don’t get impatient and show herself before the time. Keep dark, now; them Kimanche would start at. the rustle of a leaf.” They stole on cautiously, and reached the point at which they aimed, just opposite the hiding- — of Lillian. Herethey found a shelter and ay downto watch. From this cover they could see that only eight or ten of the sav: had gone into the ravine, and that the r were standing in a group above the immovable re of Single Hand, upon the verge of the cleft, watching the proceedings of their companions below, with intense interest. One of the savages in hissearch happened to pass near the face of the rock which was the hiding- place of Lillian. He paused suddenly and pick- | | bel us l h d 3 — a) ed up something which lay upon the earth, and looked at it closely. It was nothing excepta small twig, covered with green leaves, but these readers of nature become perfect in their art by studying the trivialities which others would pass by in contempt. Where did the twig come from? It was green, had not been broken from the parent stem more than half an hour. How then did it come here, since none of his companions had passed the e desire to be of service to her | spot? These were the questions which forced themselves upon the mind of the savage. He stepped back a pace or two, intently examining the face of the cliff for a solution of the ques- tion, and his eye brightened as it lighted upon the bushes which hung over Lillian’s place of concealment, for he saw that other twigs were bent and broken and that some had been ar- ranged in too artistic a manner. An Indian does not readily follow a false scent, nor does he like to raise a false alarm, lest he incur the ridicule of his companions. This man was an old warrior, and had much to lose if he misled his Compan: so he threw down the twig and walked deliberately back to one of the lariats which hung over the cliff, and commenced the ascent. ‘* Now what is that red thief after?’ whisper- ed Jack, who had been watching his movements, uneasily, for some moments, ‘‘He means mis- chief, I am afraid.” “Shall I give it to him?” demanded Ned, eager- ly throwing forward his rifle. ‘* No, hold on,” replied Jack. ‘I don’t want to let them know that we are here until we are forced to do it. Let him go up.” It would have been better if Ned had followed his first impulse, for the man did mean mischief. He struggled to the top of the cliff and was pane up by those who remained with the chief, “Why does Nemona come here?” said Single Hand. “ Has he seen something from below?” ‘‘Nemona has seen something,” replied the warrior. ‘‘He does not know whether it is a good sign or a false one, but will go and see.” Fe stalked away alone, and a moment after- ward appeared upon the summit of the cliff, directly above the spot where Lillian lay. Then Jack Evans saw too late that he had been wrong in suffering the Indian to vege so long, and as he bent down to thrust aside the bushes, the ranger raised his rifle and fired, and Nemona, without a cry, fell from his perch into the ravine ow. ‘* That comes of being too cussed inquisitive,” roared Jack. ‘‘Give it to the others, my boy.” Ned fired, and had the satisfaction of creating a decided disturbance in the group about Single Hand. One man dropped in his tracks, shot through the heart, and the bullet passing com- pletely through his body, wounded the great chief slightly in the wrist, In an instant the place was deserted, not an Indian remaining in sight, either upon the cliff or in the ravine be- ow. “We'll guard that spot,” cried Jack. ‘Lev me see the red nigger that dares to put a finger upon those bushes while I am here to watch.* The Indians down in the ravine were in a tight place. They had the highest respect fcr the aim of the rangers, and knew that it woul be very unhealthy for them to show hand or foot while the whites were on the watch. It Was an awkward predicament, and Single Hand began to be very doubtful whether any thing was to be made out of this obstinately valiant pair. Tho two had reloaded their rifles and were on the watch for any second attempt to approach Lillian’s hiding-place. Single Hand was acute enough to see that somet ing was concealed near the spot where Nemona had met his fate which the rangers desired to defend, and he was equally determined to find what this hid- én treasure might be. Creeping up to the edge of the ravine, he shouted an order to his men below in the Indian tongue, and Jack Evans be- gan to look blue. “(We have got to git,” he said. hear what he said?” “‘Don’t_ know the Comanche tongue,” replied Ned. ‘“‘ What did he say?” ‘‘ He ordered them to go up the ravine, find a place to climb up, and take us in the rear.” “Don’t let us run, for God’s sake, Jack,” pleaded Ned. ‘I can’t leave her that way.” We'll only get chawed up if we stay,” said Jack, “Let me think it over. Ihave it—come with me.” He slung his rifle and darted into the chapar- ral, closely followed by Ned Clayton, and mak- ing a circuit, approached the cleft where they come up from the ravine. Here they lay “Did you
Page 4
ob Beadle’s Half-Dime Library. down and waited, and shortly after the Indians who had been in the ravine came out of the cleft, and striking their trail above, followed it swiftly southward. The moment their forms were concealed by the branches, Jack arose, laughing, and the two went down the cleft into the ravine. ‘* That was well done, Jack,” said the delight- ed boy. “I don’t know that we can help her, anyhow, but I want to see the last of it an know which way they take her, and then we can see the captain and tell him what to do. They crept in silence until they had passed the place where they had previously been con- cealed, ere the savages could complete the cir- cle which they would doubtless make before they rushed in upon the empty nest. in they concealed themselves and awaited her developments. “We are laying this game of hide-and-seek pretty fine, Ned, my boy,” said Evans, ‘but it can’t last forever, and they will get round us sure. If I can get a crack at Single Hand now, his loping will at an end, for ll mark him down certain.” The savages who had come up from the ravine gathered in cautiously, and made their rush, yelling like demons. but they stopped in blank dismay as they found the birds flown. Their cries of triumph changed to quavers of surprise, and then one of them shouted the unwelcome tidings to the chief. “Which way have they gone,” shouted Single Hand, without showing himself. ‘The trail leads towards the setting sun,” re- plied the warrior who had spoken. ‘‘They heard the words of Single Hand when he told you what to do, and have fled,” said the chief. ‘‘ Let the warriors return and we will go onour way. This has been a bad trail for the sons of the Comanche.” “ Bet your life it has,” muttered Jack. ‘‘Ain’t it high, Ned, the way we have fooled the mean sharks?” ‘* But they will get Lillian, now, and it seems hard after what we have done.” ‘““We can’t do any more. If we fire at them now when they show themselves, these other blackguards behind will come down on us like a flood, and we can help her more if we keep shady than we could after they had raised our ha’r. It isn’t a very big party, anyhow, and Dll bet my last picayune we get her away from them in less than two days, if we only lay low and keep dark till the imps leave. What do you say?” **T suppose you are right,” said Ned, ‘ but it grinds me terribly to let them beat us, after a ” “They’ve lost some scalps trying‘it on,” said Jack, ‘‘and that don’t set very well on their stomachs. Quiet now, for your life.” Two savage warriors approached the place which the whites had defended so long, and thrust aside the bushes. Jack Evans groaned, and Ned covered his face with his hands, for he did not wish to witness the capture of Lillian. But a low exclamation from Jack caused hinfto look up, and he saw that, as the Indians had torn away the bushes from the cavity, it was empty. ‘Oh, wouldn’t I like to yell now?" hissed Jack, below his breath. ‘‘Wouldn’t I Mie tp scream like a painter? That gal has tric them, as sure as you are born.” The Indians were at a stand-still. It must be remembered that they were not certain that the cavity contained any one, but were led to think so by the obstinacy with which the whites resisted any approach to thespot. Now that they saw it was empty they did not know what to think. If there had been a trail, it had been obliterated by their feet, and for the mt, - Lillian, wherever she might be, was safe. “Oh, how I want to yell,” muttered Jack. ‘‘Smart? It ain’t a name for it. She’s the ’cutest irl in Texas. Hush! here come our friends rom the other side.” ; The warriors now appeared and were assisted up the cliff by their friends, and for awhile the murmur of voices could be heard above them. The whites remained quiet, waiting for their enemies to decamp, which they at last reluct- antly did, full of rage at their loss. As usual in such cases where it is possible they carried off the bodies of their slain friends, and as the sound of retreating hoofs could be heard the old ranger leaped to his feet. “Glory allelujah! They are off and they ain’t got the girl! Now, then, let us try to find her.” They scrambled up the side of the ravine, aided by one of the lariats which had been left behind. As they reached the crest Jack hur- ried out to the edge of the chaparral and looked after the Indians, and saw that they were near- ly a mile tes ery | swiftly across the great plain. They evidently given up all hope of revenge, at least for the present. ‘“* Allright, Ned,” cried Jack. ‘‘ Call her and see if she answers.” Ned whistled and called Lillian by her name. A merry laugh was the reply, and, as it seemed to come almost from the earth beneath, he look- ed down and saw the piquant face of Lillian peeping up from among the branches of a low pine near the edge of the ravine. As is often the case with these trees the lower branches touched the ground, forming underneath a splendid hiding-place. ‘*Hurrah!” cried Ned. ‘*Here she is, the size of life! Come out of that, you little witch!” He assisted her to get out of her hiding-place and receive the warm greeting of Jack Evans, who was delighted beyond measure at her es- cape. After the Indians in the ravine had moved away, and satisfied that the Comanches would soon force her friends to decamp, she had crept out of her hiding-place while the red-skins were creeping out of sight of the never-failing rifles and forced her way under the pine branches. - By good fortune this movement did not attract the attention of the enemy. ‘* All right so far,” said Jack. “Now, then, let us look for the hosses.” CHAPTER IV. THE MEETING—PEDRO’S TASK. Tue horses had only run a short distance, and being well-trained, the shrill whistle of Ned Clayton quickly brought them to the spot. After loo! ng aeetal across the prairie and ascertaining the general direction taken by the Comanches, they rode off at a right-angle with the course of their enemies, and put the horses along at a good pace. Lillian rode behind Jack Evans, whose strong horse did not seem to feel her additional weight, and carried them nobly. Half an hour later, as they crossed a roll in the rairie, they saw a strong party of horsemen, far in front, halted for a moment upon the green prairie. ‘““Who is that?’ cried Jack, sharply. ‘‘ Do you make them out, Ned?” ‘* Rangers,” replied the boy, in a short, quick tone. ‘‘ We have nothing to fear from them.” The rangers had sighted them at the same moment, and at a word from their leader those who had dismounted sprung again into the sad- dle, and the whole band darted toward them. As they came nearer, Lillian uttered a cry of joy and stretched out her hands toward a hand- some, midle-aged man who rode at the head of the troop. A wild cheer went up from the en- tire pa y. as they put their horses to the om and quickly surrounded our two friends, while the leader caught Lillian in his arms and clasped ME My chia, my chil darling Lilly! y child, my chi my darlin y! where have you Noant Te you only Sccak all that we have suffered on your account.” “T am sorry I went away, father,” replied Lillian, ‘“‘ but I went for a ride, and when the storm came on Vesuvius ran aay with me. You must thank these kind friends, dear father, for but for them I should be dead, or at least a prisoner of the Comanches.” Captain Hardin turned to Jack Evans and ex- tended his hand. “Take it,” he said. ‘It is the hand of an honest man and true Texan, and I swear faith to you and yours while I give it. The time ma come when I may be of service to you and shall not forget you.” “You don’t ‘want to give me too much praise,” said Jack. ‘This youngster had more to do with it than I did, and would have fol- lowed her through the norther if he could.” The captain shook hands heartily with Ned, and was evidently taken with his handsome, in- genuous face. ‘ ‘* We shall be great friends,” he said, heartily. “Get Lilly’s horse, Staples. Gentlemen, you must come with me and accept my hospitality for a time, for we cannot part until we know each other better.” Ned was looking over the ranger band and thought he had never seen so strange a party. Men of all ages—youth, manhood and men with gray hair—composed it, but upon every face was imprinted that reckless disregard of per- sonal danger so iar to the prairie-men, All were well armed, though there was little regu- larity in their style of dress, and each carried a lasso coiled to bis saddle-bow. ‘* What was it the gal said ’bout the Kimman- che, stranger?” said a grizzly old ranger, named ries Joe. ‘‘That kind o’ interests me, that oes.” ““We were attacked in Deep Gulch by about twenty of them under Single Hand. We rubbed out some and the rest gave it up asa bad job “Kimmanche? Single H immanche e Hand? I ho ou hear that, Cap.” . ree “T hear,” said Hardin, who was talking fond- ly with his daughter. ‘Don’t be afraid, Joe. Single Hand has dared to come so near the station we will make him repent it, but not now. ‘‘Pm afeard he’ll get away,” grumbled Joe. “Tt is only a short hour’s ride to the ranc Joe, and my wife will be in torment until bring Lilly back.” “That’s so,” said Joe, ‘but couldn’t you let me take "bout twenty men and foller up Single Hand? I’m literally sp’ilin’ fora fight, Cap, and old Single Hand has a grudge to settle with me, you know.” ‘Just as you like, Joe; only promise me not to follow too far nor make an attack before you know their strength.” ‘Good enuff. Will you go with me, stranger, and kind o’ point out the way?” Jack r y agreed to this proposition, and Ned would have accompanied him, but Captain Hardin and _ Lilly pressed him to go with them to the ranch, and he consented. Old Joe and his party rode away in pursuit of Single Hand and the captain, followed by ten men, turned again to the south. Lilly rode between her father and Ned, chatting ina gay tone and giv- ing an account of her adventures. ‘Young man,” said the captain, ‘‘ the more I hear of this affair the more I am convinced that you have been of the greatest service to me, seek to disguise it as you may. I am nota person of many words, but I trust that my acts a speak for me.” me inexplicable emotion was visible in the noble face of Ned Clayton. He seemed to hesi- tate to take the hand of Captain Hardin, but, impelled by a power he could not control, he struck his hand forcibly into the extended palm of the captain. ‘** Agreed,” he said. the death.” ‘““Why, my young friend, I hope there is nothing in my face which you do not like.” “No, no,” cried Ned, “far from that, but [— Heavens! if [ could only explain to you why I hesitated. If I only could do that, you would understand the position in which I am , But, I eed to stand by you, and I'll do it, though the devil stand at the door.” The captain looked somewhat surprised at the seemingly unwarrantable heat of the young man, but said nothing, and they rode on in silence for some distance, when Lillian broke the quiet by a merry laugh. ‘This is a Quaker meeting; no one ks un- til the spirit moves,” she cried. ‘Father, I must ask you how you are going to manage itso that my friends can stay with us always?” ‘‘Umph!” said the captain. ‘‘I will attend to that, in some way. You ride well, young man —excuse me—may I call you by your first name?” és wer | one calls me Ned,” replied the young- ster. ‘‘ What were you going to say?’ ‘“T was going to ask if you could break horses.” “J can do that against any man in Texas,” replied Ned, eagerly. “You anticipate m wish to stay with you, but, understand that should refuse to stay as a dependent upon your er A Give me work and I am your man.” ‘We will see what can be done, Ned,” said the captain, kindly. “Does that satisfy you, “Any thing which will keep Ned with us. I warn you that I shall be exacting, and when I order you to come, there is nothing for you to do but obey, Master Ned.” ; “T am your slave.” said Ned, laughing, and thoughtlessly adding a quotation from a Latin poet. Captain Hardin looked at him quickly, ‘You have an education then, my boy?’ Ned blushed as he replied: : “My education is such as may be picked up from a dissolute man who had it in his power to make himself a high place in the nation, but who by wild excess and a lawless life has made himself an outcast. Don’t ask me to speak of that, Captain Hardin. It is a sealed book to every one.” ‘*T will not press yeu my, boy,” said the cap- tain, heartily, ‘‘ but I am glad you have an edu- cation, for you will se 5 my lib all the more. I suppose a wild captain of rangers *T will be your friend to ere
Page 5
Single Hand. ought to apologize for liking the ancient poets but it isso. Thatisone of my stock ranches.’ They passed a number of rudely-built huts with a large corral near at hand which was full of cattle. A number of Mexican half-breeds were loitering about in the sun, who became in- tensely active when the horsemen appeared.” ‘«That is the way the villains act,” said Har- din, ‘ [ve gotan overseer who will do any thin rather than force his countrymen to work, an it is simply impossible for us to get on together. Here, Enriquez, where is Pedro Gonzales?” ‘He is at the next horse corral, Senor Cap- itano,” replied the man. ‘‘ Shall Irunahead and tell him that you are coming?” ‘Oh, no, my good friend. You need not take all that trouble.’ ‘No trouble at all, senor,” said the man, ea- gerly. ‘I will make haste.” ‘You may stay where you are, Enriquez. We are riding that way, and will see him our- selves.” The man looked disappointed, and drew back, with a muttered oath, and the party rode on. They passed through a ravine between low hills, and came suddenly upon the horse corral, where they found the man they sought, crouching up- on the greensward in front of the corral, playing cards with two disreputable-lookin ans, in the rude dress of the a So absorbed were they in their game, that they did not hear the sound of the coming hoofs until the horsemen were almost upon them. ‘* Hip-hurrah!” cried one of the strange men. ‘Tl have all your share if this thing goes on. There’s an ace for you, bully boy.” “You are having a fama f game, Pedro,” said Captain Hardin. ‘* Now tell me who these fine fellows are, and by what right you are wasting the time for which I pay you?’ Pedro bounded to his feet, in great astonish- ment, while the two men quietly appropriated the money which lay upon the sward. as ita mistake, or was there something in their manner which showed that they were not unknown to Ned Clayton? They seemed to look him over as a stranger, it is true; yet in the mind of Lilly there was a half-formed thought that they re- cognized him. tae wrathy, captain,” said one of the men. ‘‘ You see, we’ve come in from the Santa Fe trail, and the greaser wanted a game, and we thought we’d humor him. No offense, I hope?” si don’t allow men to hang about my corrals who can not give a good account of them- selves,” ‘“We was thinking to join the rangers, cap- tain,” said the man. “Tt seems to me that, for men that have just come from the Santa Fe trail, you know a great deal about us here.” ‘Lord love you, captain, do you 8’ that there isa man in Texas that don’t know the Rangers of the Rio? We want to jine, and kin fight, too,” added the other man. “No one joins my company who is not vouch- ed for by some of the members. If you can find any rangers who will say that you are good and true men, you can come. in.” “But, captain, ain’t that a little hard? We are strangers to your men—” “Then [ don’t want you, boys. Live around here a year, and let me see that you are the ht sort, and we will take you in.” “You seem mighty particular,” said the man, with a covert sneer. ‘Come, Jim, get the horses and let’s toddle.” “Wait a moment,” said Hardin, who was looking at them er: *SDo you happen to know a man named Tom Duke? The fellow started, but recovered himself in- stantly, with a look of rise on his face, “Do you say Duke, captain?” “ce “T can’t say I know him, captain. I have heerd that he is amighty hard man and makes a heap of trouble round here, but I don’t know him ? ‘He is ted of being in league with the aeermores who mya ~ ope aloe ou ould meet him, sa m that Ca ar- din, of the Rio ers, will hang Pim before the year is up.” ; “I ain’t likely to meet him, Cap,” said the fel- low, with a furtive glance at_the immovable face of Ned Clayton; ‘‘but if Ido, Pll be sure to tell him what you say. He’s got heaps of friends in Texas, I’ve heerd.” “He has many accomplices, some of them high in power. They stead negroes and horses, and have been holding high carnival in Texas, but I'll have them yet.” ef I was you, I wouldn’t send that word to Tom Duke.” “* And why not?” ‘** Because such a thing mout happen as for him to ketch you, and likely he’d make it warm for | you. Hyar’sour hdsses. Good-by, Cap—I wish | you’d take us in the rangers?” Hardin shook his head, and they rode away | at a sound pace, never looking behind them, and | the captain turned upon his overseer, who was waiting for his share of the captain’s anger. “*Now, Pedro, itis your turn. You know who those scoundrels are, and I must know, too.” ‘* Pardon, Senor Capitano,” said the man, sul- lenly, *‘ but I know nothing about them.” He was adark-faced fellow, in the gaudy dress of the Mexican of middle rank, rather fine-look- ing, but with an evil eye. “That is as much as to say that you won’t tell me who the men are, eh? We willsee about that, by-and-by. In the meantime, I am going to put you to the test, and see whether you are as good a horse-breaker as you claim to be, Here, half a.dozen of you go and bring out that bucking phenomenon—the black with the | star mark.” ‘““What are you going to ask me to do, capi- tano?” said Pedro. ‘You are going to ride him. right; I will give you a place still. I want another breaker.” Half a dozen greasers came out of a small corral, leading a magnificent sixteen-hand black, with a wicked eye. He had suffered them to put the saddle and bridle on him, and seemed to await developments. “Can you ride that horse, Ned?” whispered Lillian. “Tecan ride any horse,” replied Ned, calmly. | ‘Set the greaser at work, captain.” ‘Ride him,” said the captain, pointing to the | horse. ‘‘ You know what it means if you fail.” CHAPTER V. HORSE-BREAKING—THE COLPORTEUR. Ir was evident that the fellow did not like the job. The Mexicans are good riders—perhaps, as a class, the best in the world, and he had been trained in the saddle from boyhood; but there was something too meek and humble about this animal, which he did not like. Such an- gelic quietude meant mischief, and the man ap- Pp ed the horse slowly from in front. The animal began to swing slowly around, as if up- on a pivot, always presenting those threatening heels to the enemy, but never offering to kick, because he knew that this would be powder wasted while the Mexican kept so far out of reach. Pedro hissed out a lurid Mexican oath and ran in, and before the horse could strike, he was in the saddle. The horse or one frantic leap, which sent | the Mexican flying out into nag clearing the air like a thunderbolt, and then settled down upon his feet again with indescribable meek- ness upon his front. Pedro rolled over twice before he could recover himself, and made a curious ; but he was on his feet in an in- stant, and again in the saddle, and actually got one foot in the stirrup before the horse could “kick” again. But this only brought out new tactics in this versatile beast. Darting suddenly forward at full for twenty yards, he i re as sud- , planted his fore-feet and lowered his head. Away went Pedro out of the saddle, alighting upon his head and shoulders with stunning force. The horse was now literally wild. Strikin right and left at all who opposed him, he rush furiously at the prostrate Mexican, and it would have fared badly with him but that Ned Clay- ton bounded from the saddle and stopped him in full career, and, to the surprised of all, the oungster was in the saddle and firmly seated re the horse eould do any thing to baffle n. “Clear the way, all of you,” cried Ned, wav- ing his hand. ‘I'll break or kill him, one or the other. Back, I say!” If you do it, all If you fail, | before trying a new trick. | it was of no avail. The Mexicans willingly. stood aside, and a battle royal now began between man and horse. The mustang and half-bred horse of Texas is in- imitable in the trick of ‘‘ bucking.” That is, he will leap into the air at least two feet and come down with his legs stiff, giving the rider a shock which will either unseat ie tum the saddle, or give him a blow that will half stun him. This og ar horse was an adept in the ex- ercise; but Ned was up to the trick, and the mo- ment the horse began to “‘ buck,” he slipped his | feet out of the Php 2 and fastened his spurs | ‘I wouldn’t be surprised if you did, Cap, but in the heavy saddle-cloth. As the horse leaped, | | he would rise a little in the saddle, and come down easily when the animal struck the ground, with a smile on his face. “He'll get sick of that exercise after a while,” said the young man, as the horse bucked again. After bucking three or four times without avail, the horse stopped and seemed to hesitate Then he darted out as before, and tried to dispossess himself of his obstinate rider, but Ned was on the watch and kept his equilibrium by leaning back in the sad- dle. Up to this time Ned had kept the snaffle | and had not attempted to use the curb, but took it up now as the horse showed a disposition to rear. The Mexican bit is a cruel thing, and a heavy hand upon a curb will quickly cure the most ob- iri ards of rearing. With the curb in his left hand, Ned lifted his heavy riding-whip, and began to rain blow after blow upon the wild steed. Again and and again he tried to rear; but kept down by the iron hand upon the curb, Then he tried the last of his accomplishments—falling suddenly to the ground, and endeavoring to roll upon his rider. As he fell, Lillian uttered a cry of fear, but | her alarm was dispelled as she saw that Ned had cleared his feet from the cloth, and was stand- ing over the horse, wee The animal leaped up again, but only to find his rider fixed as y as ever upon his back. Then Ned sent the spurs into the sides of the now wild horse, and started him at a furious run across the plain, and out of sight behind the horse corral. Five minutes passed, when the thunder of hoofs was heard again, and Ned came back at a mad gallop, his rowels red with gore, and the foam king the sides of the conquered beast. He was sitting easily in the saddle, no longer using whip or spur, and holding the snaffle light- ly in his hand. To show them that he was completely success- ful, he put the horse through his paces, making him trot, canter or gallop at will, and then brought him back to the astonished party. - “Here he is captain,” he said. ‘* After I have trained him to stand the flapping of a woman’s riding-habit, your anger can ride him with ons but he is the beau ideal of a ranger’s orse ‘“He is yours, Ned,” replied the captain. “The man who has conquered him has the best ight to own him.” Bits captain, he is a very valuable animal, an — “You won’t refuse him if 7 give him to you,” said Lillian. ‘‘ You must take him, or I shall think you do not care to have saved my life.” “T accept,” said Ned, hanging his head; ‘‘I am not worthy to accept favors from you, or pe other good man or woman, but I will be; I will labor to make myself better, and to-day be- gin a new life.” “Verily, the young man rides like unto a warrier of old times,” said a snuffling voice; “and it does my heart good to hear him promise to begin a new life.” They all turned in surprise and looked at the speaker. He was a tall, high-shouldered man, mounted upon a sorry-looking Mexican “ plug,” with huge saddle-bags, stuffed to repletion on each side, His face was like that of one of Cromwell’s hard riders, and his long flaxen hair hung uncut to his shoulders. The plainly-cut black clothes, the huge saddle-bags and sanctified air, bespoke one of the colporteurs who traveled over the new States and Territories in their earlier days. Ned looked at him in astonishment, and for a moment seemed absolutely horrified; but recoy- ered himself in a moment. “ Ah,” said Captain Hardin. “A colporteur, I presume.” ‘*T am an unworthy member of the fold, seek- ing to pluck the brands from the burning.” ‘Well, you've got a good field of labor here, sir,” said Hardin, smiling slightly. “The boys shall listen to you; I promise that much at the least. If you will go on half a mile you will find my ranch, and are welcome to make it our head-quarters while you stay in this sec- ion. The ren a oneal rode on after giving thanks, and H looked after him disapprovingly. “‘T don’t like his looks,” he said. “‘ I have en- tertained many of these men in my time, and most of them were noble-hearted gentlemen, who had given their lives to a great and labori- ous work, but this fellow looks like a hypocrite. What is your opinion of him, Ned?” Clayton started, for he had been wrapped in as thought. ‘“‘I—did you speak to me?” he faltered.
Page 6
6 ‘“A hypocrite!” replied Ned. ‘A wolf in sheep’s clothing. Better trust the most treach- erous Mexican on earth than that man.” ** Youonly speak my own thoughts, Ned. Pe- dro Gonzalez, I have no further need of your services, as Mr. Edward Clayton will act as my overseer. You can go.” ‘“*T am to be superseded by this cursed Ameri- can there?” hissed Pedro. ‘“You heard what I said? You have. already taken up a month’s pay in advance, but that you may not go out penniless there are two doubloons. Let us part good friends, but your associates are bad, and I will have no man about me whom I cannot trust.” “T will have your heart’s blood for this, young sir,” hissed Pedro, coming close to Ned. ‘ Bear that in mind.” ‘* Pshaw,” replied Ned. or I will help you.” But the Mexican planted himself inthe road and heaped a torrent of invective upon the young man, who stood it for some moments “ Get out of my way calmly. **Once for all,” he said, quietly, “‘ will you get out of my road? Ha! Take that! Pick up, PA Peltis Wan a n ro was lying in the dust, looking u out of a very DIARK aye: Ha hed ince euiaton the musclar power of Ned Clayton, and a Mexi- can has a great respect for muscle. Again he rushed in, and was once more deposited upon mother earth. When he arose this time it was with a knife in his hand. Captain Hardindrew a pistol, but there was no need to use it, for Ned rushed in, wrenched the knife from the Mexi- can’s hand, and snatching up a riding-whip, be- labored him until he yelled for mercy. “There, greaser, take care how you draw a ‘knife on me again, for the next time it won’t-be a whip I use. Very sorry that this thing has Paes captain.” . : ; k you, Pedro,” said Hardin, ‘I give you prairie law: three days’ run, and if that we find you in this section, you know what to ct. Now go; don’t waste time.” ‘ me of his Mexican friends brought out_ his horse, and Pedro mounted, and the malevolent look upon his face promised revenge if it was ever in his power. The rest rode away down the road, and soon came in sight of Hardin’s Ranch. It stood upon the river in the midst of a beautiful country and every thing showed signs of thrifty husbandry. The long, low, rambling buildings with white walls gleaming amid the trees; the rare southern plants, and the rroups of black servants, were peculiar charac- eristics of the Texan ranchero of wealth. “That is my home,” said Lillian, “Is it not beautiful, Ned?” “Tt is, indeed,” replied the young horse- tamer. ‘To a homeless outcast, one who. has lived a wandering life, and can not even remein- ber his father’s face, such a home as that would bea dream of Arcadia.” ‘*Tt is to be your home,” said Lillian, warmly. ‘‘Did you not hear me say that you are,never to leave us, sir? And do you dare rebel thus maar 5 the day?” : ; “‘My daughter is right, my dear Ned,” said the captain. ‘I never had a son, and if I can supply a parent’s place to you I shall be happy. Wana as for my wife—run in and see her, Lily.” The girl sprung from the saddle and ran junto the hall and they heard a glad cry of joy from within. ~ “TF can’t see your wife now,” said Ned, hur- ‘She loves her daughter so well that ter credit y’s busi- -riedly. ‘ she will be inclined to give me than I deserve for my in ness.” “Not a bit of it. My wife is an angel, my | boy, far better than a rough old ranger deserves, b ‘t Lhope my great love for her is something. Boy, you know where to go. Pomp, come here ) and take this gentleman’s horse; andremember, sir, that you are to obey him in every thing as you obey me.” ’ " “Ki!” said the Negro, taking the bridle. “I hear ye, marse, but Tse so tickled ‘cause you tink we niggas can ’bey any one same as we does you. i!” k : “Get out, you sooty imp,” said the captain, striding into the hall. “Come along, Ned; make yourself at home.” As they came into a long, low sitting-roem, a lady who was er ge upon a low chair fond- ling her daughter’s go: toward them. " “You have saved my daughter's life, sir— ‘she stopped suddenly and stooping, kissed . Beadle’s Half-Dime Library. him fondly. Ned Clayton started and the tears rushed into his eyes. Remember that he had said that he had passed a lonely boyhood with- out a mother’s love to help him, and that he was a young man of strong affections. He tried to meg and dashed his hand across his eyes to clear them. “‘T can’t stand this, madam. If you only knew whai. a life I have led you would not kiss me; but if you will aid me, by the help of God den hair, arose and came, I will redeem all that.” “Do gon think I cannot read your face, dear boy?” she said. “ You need companionship— | friends, who will aid you in the right, and you shall have them, Thank you for bringing him, James; I have two children now.” She led him to a seat beside her upon a sofa and began to talk with him kindly, and draw from him something of his past life. An out- cast boy, he had been picked up in the streets of New Orleans by a man whom he did not name —a person of rare ability, but whom excess and rags had led astray. The man had made im a companion and treated him as a son, but through it all, the good in the boy’s nature had rebelled, against him and his life. ‘* And, madam,” said Ned, ‘if I am not whol- ly bad, it is not his fault. I think in_his wild way he loyed me. There was no wish I could express which he would not cout . And he is a man, too; reckless of his life, brave to des- peration and the handsomest man I ever saw.” ‘How like Duke Elwood, James!” said Mrs. Hardin, ‘‘I wonder where he is now?” ““No matter,” replied thefeaptain. ‘It is bet- ter that weshould never meet, for, of all men, I would not stand opposed to him. I have made Edwin my overseer, Mar t, and he takes charge to-morrow. Pedro has been dismissed.” ‘Ned dismissed him,” said Lilly, with a sly laugh; at which Ned hung his head and looked icularly foolish. “The wild life will crop out, Mrs. Hardin,” he said. ‘‘The man bebayed very badly, and so—” ‘*He gave him a. dreadful flogging right be- foreme. But liked it; I always likea fuss, you know, mother dear, and Ned looked so sian and manly when he was flogging that rascal. Oh, it was good !” el Lilly dd ‘‘ Yes, I do like it—I do—I do! And then when I was hiding in that hole in the rocks, and Ned and Jack—you don’t know Jack, yet, but he is a dear good fellow, and must in the rangers—were fighting the Indians, if I had only had a gun I would have fought too,” **T don’t know what to do with this child,” said Mrs. Hardin. ‘You have infected her, James.” ‘*Oh, it is brave to bea man and fight!” eried Lilly, clenching ber hand. ‘‘ I envy the rangers every time I see them go out mpon the trail and wart to be with them, ever so bY ‘ ; “Tt is not good. to encourage this evil disposi- tion in your child, madam,” said the sm gz voice of the colporteur at the door. “ Verily she taketh delight in blood.” “Tf you will be so kind as to go back to the dining-room, I will see you directly,” said Har- din, pointedly. ‘ At present I am eng The man went back with a strange look upon his face, j ‘Now mark what I say,” said Mrs, Hardin excitedly. ‘‘That is a bad man and I do not believe he.is a colporteur at all.” f ‘*Ned and myself have agree that he is not of the right sort,” replied the captain. ‘If he turns out, badly let. him look out for the rangers, ¥ . that is all, I will go and talk to him CHAPTER VI. THE DISGUISED OUTLAW. THE evening was d pleasantly enough at see nag: Ranch, - co porteur had retired early, ing them to along chapter from the Bid Testament which he read with a drawl- ing, sanctimonious air which was trying. m0 time to time he looked hard at Ned but the yo man seemed to avoid his glance, and stu- ously looked in another direction. It was quite late when Captain Hardin took a lamp and lighted his new overseer to his room, which was _& Very. egy one in the south-west angle of the building; the furniture was with a neatness which bespoke feminine care and taste. “Now make yourself at home, my boy,” said Hardin, as he put the lamp on a table. “I don’t care what you have been or what you have done if you only mean to do right now; but, it will be hard to make me believe you have ever done any thing very bad.” _ “You are too kind to me,” said Ned, in a chok- ing voice. ‘Do you know that I could die for you and yours?” “There, Ned, say no more about it. I wish you good rest and pleasant dreams.” His step had scarcely ceased to sound a the passage when a door which communicatec with the next room was pushed gently open and the colporteur came into the room, and closing the door dropped into a chair and laughed in a epae silent way, seeming to enjoy himself ugely. : Ts is as good as a play, Ned; upon my word it is,’ he whispered. ‘‘I would not have lost the chance for a thousand dollars. How did I do it?” ‘You overdid it,” replied the young man, in a dogged tone, seating himself upon the edge of the bed. ‘Now, I want to know what you are doing here?” “IT thought it was plain enough for your com- prehension,” replied the other, ceasing to laugh at once. ‘I thought you knew me and was aware that I trust no man too far, or too long. I knew that you went into this work unwilling- ly and wished to satisfy myself that you moon 2 be trusted.” ‘* Are you satisfied?” replied Ned, in the same sullen tone, ‘“‘ Listen to me, you young hound,” hissed the colporteur, coming forward suddenly and grasp- ing the boy by the arm. ‘‘ Have you nothing to thank me for? have I ever wronged you in any way?’ i) I know what you mean,” replied the boy.. ‘*You,took me out of the gutter and made what you call aman of me. But, in what a school ave I been taught! Tolie in ambush—to steal into the affections of those whom you design to make your vietims—to act as your stool-pigeon —it makes me half mad when I think of itl ‘*You are bound to me by an oath which you dare not break, Ned Clayton! Enough of talk; I sent you here with an object in view. Have you done what I told you ‘*T am already upon a familiar footing in this family, but, as I live, I will not betray them.” ‘**'You don’t know what you’re saying, Ned,” said the colporteur, quietly, ‘‘ If you persist in that it is my duty to see that you are placed be- yond the possibility of doing us a wrong. think you would do well to reflect calmly upon what you have said.” >*T have made u may poled fully,” replied young Clayton. ‘‘ You talk of dooming me to death, do you? How would it answer if I gave you up to Captain Hardin and his rangers, tell- ing him who and what you are?” e man shivered slightly, and a look of fear crossed his face for a moment but passed away immedi tely. ‘Bah! what a foollam getting to bein m old age,” said the colporteur, laughing. ‘“ know hos too well to think that you would take an unfair advantage of any man, much less of one who has been your friend. Now listen to me. Suppose yourself in the place of a man who is young, rich and honored. Rep Rone that this man has,a friend who owes much to him and in whom hé puts implicit faith, and that friend be- trays him in the most dastardly manner and up- on a point of the most tender kind. What would that, false friend deserve?” ‘“‘ Neath—but in a fair fight, man to man,” re- plied. Ned. ‘But, sup that he, sneaking behind the plea that he is not a duelist, refuses the satisfac- tion due a gentleman, and having put it out of the power of his former friend ever to hold up his head again, marries the woman that man has chosen, and laughs at the poor wretch when he writhes in agony. What is such a man as that?” ‘A villain, if the tale is true.” “ Years pass. and. each has lost track of the — other, when the disgraced man comes to Texas, He is an outlaw—the hand of every man is against him, and he hopes in this new land to finda home. He has long ago ceased to be hon- est; his is the old law: ‘They shall take who have the power, And they shall keep who can. He breaks the unwritten law of Texas, and a band of men are organized to hunt him down. Who is at their head? This same false friend who has so wronged him. He is rich; the wo- man who was to have married his friend loves him, and the friendless outcast sees her still young and beautiful—all the devils in hell! 1 shall "He careful: you are talking too loud and they will hear you.” “*T am the man so hounded and rerseented,” we ; i]
Page 7
Single Hand. hissed the colporteur, ‘‘ and the man who wrong- ed me is—Captain Hardin.” “do not believe it,” said Ned, fiercely. ‘‘ No man dare look in James Hardin’s face and call him a villain.” ‘But I tell you that it is true,” replied the other, in a hoarse voice. “It is true as gospel, and I have sworn never to rest until his head is brought as low as mine; and if one of those whom I have chosen to aid me dares to rebel, if he were of my own blood, I would kill him. Now youunderstand why I hate James Hardin, and why I will follow him to the death.” ‘What do you intend to do?” “To make his life a burden to him, as mine has been to me, Heap sorrow upon sorrow, misery upon misery, until he will pray for death. To rob him of all he holds dear upon earth, little by little, and you shall aid me.” “Never!” replied Ned, boldly. ‘‘ Until this hour I never knew your heart, and I fling to the winds your vile oaths. I am no longer one of your men, and [ defy you to do your worst.” The colporteur thrust his hand into his bosom, and the bright barrel of a pistol showed for a moment; but Ned was as prompt as he, and a weapon gleamed in his hand. ‘ “This is child’s play, captain,” said he. ‘‘ You will have to inaik out a fresh trail, now that you have me to deal with.” “T have loved and trusted you,” was the re- ply, ‘‘and you turn against me for the sake of a manI hate. Ned Clayton, you will live to re- i this hour, bitterly, bitterly. There, let here be a truce between us. Put up your bey for I promise not to harm you to- t.’ mid replaced his pistol, for it was evident that the man meant just what he said. “T trust you,” he said; *‘ but be so good as to bear in mind that I am as quick on the trigger as you are, and quite as ready to call in the aid of powder and ball. Now then, explain your- ” “The explanation must come from you,” re- plied the colporteur. ‘‘ You were sent here upon an errand in the interest of the band. I ask you now if ou intend to do your duty?” ‘Not if my duty points to the destruction of this good family,” replied Ned, boldly. “You know the penalty of Rinchadians, 3 “You must catch a fox before you skin him,” was the laughing reply. ‘‘ Let me tell you that I have friends more powerful than you eyer were, and can trust them. As for you—all your teachings, from first to last, have been evil; I have struggled against them, but for years they have held me, I throw off forever the unholy bargain, and will lead a new life.” “Turn preacher, eh?’ sneered the colporteur. “You will make a capital one, upon my word. Do you know that if you persist in this, your doom is sealed?” “‘T will take my chances of life or death. All Task of you is to let me alone in the life which Ihave marked out for myself, and I give you my word that I will never trouble you. ill you do this?’ “T make no terms with you, yo traitor,” replied the other, fiercely, ‘‘ There—I have said I need to say upon en subject; but be sure of this—you have not a week to live.” You must leave this house in the morning, and never let me see yn here again,” cried N “Do you understand that?” “T shall leave it when I see fit,” was the re- ply. ‘‘I do not believe that you are coward enough to betray me to my enemies after I have put faith in you.” “ As long as you keep quiet, do not attempt to communicate with your men, or in any way be- tray this family, you are welcome to stay; but ou must remain under my eye all the My ? Them an laughed—a low, fierce, laugh, which had a world of meaning in it, and swinging open the door of his own chamber. ppped i and closed the door behind him. ‘There was a bolt upon the door, and this Ned shot into the socket before he lay down. to rest. He remained awake unti) he was satisfied that the colporteur had retired, and then asleep. The man in the next room remained quiet for about an hour, and then arose and lis- tened at the door. e deep breathing of the young man con- vinced him that the boy was asleep, and putting off his shoes, he stole cautiously to the door which opened into the hall, and looked out. “T would cut that young traitor’s throat from ear to ear if I cone tat him,” he muttered, ‘Ten thousand fiends! To think that he should turn agai me, of all men! I wonder if he has roped in Jack? Two of my best men gone, i ce Ra OT Ra RR ns SOE a ee ee le Se. eee St tame oe ES ee ee De a ee aa ee. ee ee ee ae Ee ae i eee es SSE | ~ i=] if he has, and at a moment when I need them worst. . Now for business.” His eyes had not been idle during the day, and he knew the sleeping-apartment of every per- son in the house. Just as he crossed the hall, he saw a glimmering light at the other end, ap- proaching the place where he stood, and had just time to see that it was Lillian, alone, and carry- ing a lighted lamp in her hand, tefore he hur- ried into aroom on the right, which he knew was occupied by the girl. He had just time to conceal himself behind a closet-door, when she came in, humming a mer- ry song, and placing the lamp pon a table, be- gan to take down and comb her beautiful hair, before retiring. There was something in the in- nocent grace of this sweet child which held him spell-bound, and he hesitated long before he daxed carry out his design; but all chance of re- treat was cut off when she approached the closet for some article which it contained. This was his opportunity. He seized her so suddenly, that before she had time to utter a cry she lay helpless in his strong grasp, with a pistol pointed at her head. Roware!” 3 hissed; ‘‘the least outery will be your death, and the death of any who comes to your aid,” illy would not have heeded the first part of the threat, but she feared for the safety of those she loved, and while she hesitated, a gag was thrust into her mouth which put it out of her wer to cry out if she had been so inclined. Her hands were tightly bound behind her, and the villain arose with a triumphant look upon his face. “*So far, good,” he muttered. ‘ This is but the beginning of my vengeance. I will wring their hearts as they have tortured mine.” He stopped and listened. The house was now still as death, and he looked quickly about the chamber. It was upon the ground floor, open- ing toward the prairie, and was lighted by two large windows, one of which was open, He stepped to the window and looked out across the prairie, his lips moving in a strange, hurried way, as if in invocation, His hands opened and closed convulsively, and the foam showed itself upon his thin lips. “This girl is her mother in miniature,” he muttered. ‘‘They love her beyond any thing on earth. I know that from what they said to Ned Clayton when he brought. her home, and I could not aim a blow more directly at their hearts.” He pushed the window a little higher up, and as it rattled slightly, he stooped quickly an shrunk out of sight in the shadow of the wall and waited to see if the noise had awakene any one. Not asound was heard, and he lifted Li hey his arms and stepped outof the window. He hardly done so, when twomenappeared. from. behind the horse corral, one of them lead- ing @ spare horse. ‘I’ve got the girl, my lads,” he whispered, *t Here, take her, Bennett.” The man addressed, who was one of those who had been playing cards with Pedro that morn- ing, raised the girl in hisarms. As he did so, the gag fell from her mouth, and she uttered ak after shriek, which rung out in the silent night. % The cursed. cat!” screamed the polporvenr, snatching the bridle of the led horse and spring- into the saddle, ‘‘ Ride for your lives, men. ride! Stop her squawking, Bennett; your hand. is broad enough.’ Even as he spoke they darted away, the hand of the outlaw pressed hard upon the mouth and nostrils of their fair prisoner, Lights flashed in various parts of the house, and.in an incredibly short space of time they heard the rapid beat of hoofs in close pursuit. “* By all the devils, they are after us!” shrick- od the colporteur. ‘‘ Whip and spur! whip and spur! Gse your bowies if the spurs are not eno They rode hard; but they could, make out that the pursuers were gaining rapeiy. for they were admirably mounted. The eolporteur bent his head a moment and listened intently. ** Onl svn of them, and one is leaving the other | »? he said. “ y pear fend, whoever you are, be careful that you do no - ae too fast, for it my bring you into trouble. nnett, if we haye to. fight, ride on with the irl, and remember that I would sooner they acca her gk than Fe a If you can not eep her, you know w 0. They dashed on together for some distance, and one of the pursuing horsemen gained rapid- ly upon them. “Ride on, Joel,” said the colporteur. ‘‘ You know where to take her. Follow me, Davidson,” 7 He wheeled and rode back, and soon found himself face to face with Ned Clayton, riding the black mustang which he had tamed. With- out exchanging a word, both leveled their wea- pons and fired. CHAPTER VII. A STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. Boru were adepts in the use of the pistol, and only an accident saved the life of the colporteur. His horse stumbled and fell upon his knees, as ho pulled the trigger, and his bullet flew wide of the mark, while that of Ned Clayton passed over the spot where his head was a moment be- fore. Unfortunately for Davidson, he was in the line of the bullet and was shot through the throat, and fell to the earth with an inarticulate ery of pain. The quick hand of the colporteur brought his horse to his feet, but not in time to avoid the rush of Ned Clayton. There was but one way, and dropping his rein, he caught the young man by the shoulders, and, as the horses rushed on, both men fell from the saddle, locked in a close grapple. ** Devil!” hissed the colporteur, ‘‘ we will try our strength,” “T am yon man!” replied Ned. _ ‘‘ Coward, must you strike at a weak girl? I will teach you a lesson.” Neither spoke after that, and a desperate strug- gle began. Twice had Ned Clayton freed one hand long enough to dash it into the face of his antagonist, which was quickly bathed in blood, but he was a determined villain, and these blows the beat of hoofs, and peers Hardin rode up. ** Don’t kill him, don’t i eagerly. need him yet.” Jump down and tie him, then,” replied Ned. “This is no baby I am holding, but a deadly enemy.” Captain Hardin had tied up many prisoners. in his day, and his work was quickly and artisti- cally done. ge t will do, captain. Now help me to lay him in the shadow of the bushes, and we will follow the other, who has carried Lilly whl ile speaking he had knotted a handker- chief about. the blade of a bowie, forming a gag of the handle which he thrust into the mouth of the colporteur and tied at the back of his head. This done, he sprung up and assist- ed the captain * But. my daughter, Ned; m her, for the simple Must,I leave her in the power ‘*They won’t dare to : reason that we have their captain in our hands. We had better ride back and secure him.” *‘ Do you.mean the colporteur?”’ ‘“‘No more a colporteur ‘than I am, although he played 1 part well. He isno more nor less than the celebrated Tom Duke, the worst ho thief on the Texan plains. 1 told you before that my companions were bad ones, captain: I did not dare to tell you how bad.” sail Do you know their haunt in the chapar- “T am sorr have had little todo with their marau ex- peditions, although I have always x1 in their Indian fights. The captain has kept their real business from me as much as! ible; and jt was only the other day, in a fit o ‘*We ma to say that I do not, captain. I —
Page 8
8 Beadle’s Half-Dime Library. that I joined them in earnest. If you fear to | trust me I will leave you.” “‘T have told you before that I am willing to trust you, my dear boy; I believe that you will be true as steel, but 1 fear that you put your life in danger.” ** As to that Ido not care apin. I am ready to meet the danger at any time if you trust me. Will you take my advice then?” ‘Let me hear what you have to say,” repl'ed the captain. “Tet us ride back and take up the prisoner and carry him to your house. en call in the rangers and give him in charge and let me go to Duke’s camp and offer him in exchange for Lilly.” “You would not dare to do that.” “Try me and see how much I dare do for your sake and ay They won’t dare to harm me while you hold the captain.” ‘“‘T think you are right; leadthe way.” The turned and rode back at the same pace at whic they had come, and had nearly reached the place where they had left their prisoner, when they saw a number of shadowy figures an upon the prairie near the scene of the late struggle. they were gathered about the body of Davidson and seemed to bein doubtas to who had killed him. Ned caught Hardin’s horse by the bridle and forced him back. “Indians!” he hissed; ‘‘turn back, and get out of range.” They fell back in silence, and placed a clump of timber between themselves and the enemy, and from this point watched their motions. As they gazed they heard the charging cheer of the rangers and saw that the savage band were leaping confusedly into the saddle to meet a sudden onslaught. “ Hurrah!” cried Ned. “It is Single Hand and his men, and the rangersare at them. Come on!” Captain Hardin was as eager for the fray as Ned, and, urging their horses, they Bape at once into the thickest of the fight. The contest was not of long duration, for the Indians scat- tered over the plain with the rangers in hot pur- suit. Ned Cla singled out the gigantic chief and attacked him with knife and hatchet, but the wily chief saw that his men were scat- tering, and, drawing suddenly back, he thrust his long through the neck of Ned’s horse, bringi “him to the ground, and then, wheeling quickly, darted away across the plain. Hardin with his bore recalled the rangers from the pursuit, and they came back sullenly and picked up the scalps of the fallen. ‘“We’ve got business on hand, er ” said Ned, coming up on foot. “TI say, ack, lasso one of those horses for me; be sure and pick out a good one, for that rascally Indian has mine through the neck. t us see prisoner, captain.” The two hurried to the bushes and found Tom cee ong as they had left him. ‘““We had ter not let the men know who we have got, captain, or they won’t be willing to let i go. Most of them have a spite against him. ll relieve you of this gag now. As the handle of the bowie was removed, the prisoner drew a long breath and looked steadily r our at Ned Cla: e did not but the ex- ression of his face was something dreadful, and ose who saw it shuddered. ‘‘ Look here, Ned,” said Captain Hardin, ‘‘ I think that to insure your safety the sooner we tuck this fellow up the better. His hatred of you is something beyond any thing of which l ever heard.” ; “Don’t fear for me, captain,” replied Ned. ‘There is no love lost between this man and myself, and but for your coming he would have been under the by this time. I was mad then, and should not have loosed my hold.” Pi remember you in the time to come,” Master Ned Clayton. Captain Hardin are you aware that this young scoundrel is one of my band, sworn to keep our secrets?” said Duke. — “So he has told me,” replied the captain quietly. ‘‘For your own good I warn you not to let the men know who you really are, or I am afraid that I should find it quite impossible to restrain them. What is it, Jack?’ The companion of Ned Clayton had come up, and was looking at the captive with wildly-di- lated eyes. - The devil! Who have you got here?” he ‘“* Keep your tongue between your teeth, Jack,” whispered Ned. “We don’t want the men to know him yet.” “T should think not. They’d tear him into a hundred pieces as sure as my name is Jack. The old man wants to know which way to ride.” ‘* Home, tell him. Get aspare horse for the prisoner, and be quick about it.” Five minutes later the 7 were in motion, riding toward Hardin’s ranch. The prisoner rode between the captain and Ned Clayton, with two lariats about his neck, the end of one fast- ened to Ned’s saddle-bow, and the other to that of the captain. A sullen silence had fallen upon the prisoner, and he rode with bent head, writh- ing in his bonds as they galled him. ‘That camp of which you spoke will be an un- safe place to visit, with the Indians on the trail,” said Hardin. ‘‘ Are you not afraid you may fall in with Single Hand?” ‘““T think we have given him a lesson,” re- plied Ned, “‘and he will not stay long in this section. I have heard that he was in league with a band of white horse-thieves; but I am not re. “Tell all you know, Ned, my Lh said the srisoner, without looking up. ‘‘ Why not say hat he is in league with me?” ‘**T would not swear that he is not,” replied Ned; ‘“‘but Iam not certain. I think you had better keep a civil tongue in your head, or the men may hear you.” “Tm notafraid, my boy. IfI understand it, I am to be exchanged for this girl.” ‘That is the idea; are you willing?” “Not exactly willing, Ned; but sometimes circumstances over which we have no control compel us to do things which do not suit us. Yes, I will give the girl in exchange for my li- berty upon one condition.” ss And what is that?” “That I am not betrayed to the rangers. To do this, it will be necessary for me to keep my isguise—of course the captain knows by this time that it is a disguise—until the exchange is mor will agree that, Ca) 4 ou willing to to that tain Hardin?” asked Ned. are « aaa it is not much to ask, after all. You must, however, give Ned credentials in order that he may show himself safely in your camp, as well as to tell him what course to pur- sue “T am willing,” replied the prisoner; ‘but oh, how I will e you suffer for all this, Ned Clayton.” " ! Don’t threaten like ‘a six-year-old boy. Here we are at the ranch, captain. Go in and tell a. wife what has happened, and tell her, too, that I will not come back unless I bring egy ht: me.” « k out for the prisoner,” whispered the Me mE ‘“You know how much depends on Ned showed his pistol in a quiet way, which convinced both the captain and prisoner that he would use it if nm without remorse. The captain oe out of the saddle and ran into the house, while Ned hel his prisoner from the saddle and led him into the a “That carroty-headed son of a gun needs a little lariat,” muttered Prairie Joe. ‘‘I don’t like his looks, not a durned bit.” ‘*He does look pizen, old man,” said Jack Evans, who had become quite og seed with the rangers. “I reckon he’s a night-bird; I'm sure he looks like it.” “Don’t try to ar Tom,” said Clayton, as they stood in the hall. “It will be ful for me to shoot you, but I shall ce y do soif you try to run—so look out for yourself.” “Tm not going to try it my lad,” replied Tom, with a side-glance. ‘‘ You are heaping up trouble for the time to come, I warn you.” “All right; Pll take the chances. Here comes the captain again, and now we'll go ahead and see what kind of a prison he has got for ‘“Why not let me go? I promise to send the girl safe home.” “We can’t trust you, captain. Men of your sort, when desperate, often forget their promis- ed word of honor. No; I will go myself, and bring the girl back.” “Then I must trust you, it seems, although you refuse to trust me.” “ “That seems to be the programme, captain. Here is a table with pen, ink and ‘we Sit down and write a note to Joel Bennett, telling him to ate up the girl.” He sat down and wrote a note, with sparkling eyes. "* Perhaps you would like to read it?” he said. ‘**No,” replied Ned, quietly. ‘Of course it will be better for you to make it strong, for the rangers will kill youif Iam not back here in three days.” The outlaw looked troubled, tore up the note which he had written, and wrote another—this time one which seemed to suit him better. Ned thrust the letter into his pocket, and helped the captain put handcuffs on the prisoner. ‘*You dare to degrade me with irons, like a felon?” he hissed. ‘ Wait until my turn for re- venge comes.” They took him between them and led him down to a strong cellar, into which he was thrust, and his feet manacled. ‘“‘Now understand me, captain,” said Ned. “Tam going to the camp of the outlaws, and when once there, I shall try to get Lilly. yhe- ther I fail or not, I shall come back as far as Deep Canon within three days. If that is not done, you will know that there has been foul- a Jack will wait for me in the canon for hree days, and if I do not come back, you know viet ef do.” 7m e heavy door clanged upon the prisoner. and he was alone; but shortly after fre a man pacing up and down before the stout door and knew that he had a sentinel. Dragging his heavy irons to the small window, not wide enough to permit the passage of a man’s body, he looked out and saw Ned Clayton and Jack in the act of mounting their horses. They were detained at the last moment by Mrs. Hardin, who came out to bid Ned God-speed and kiss him. The expression of the man’s face became demoniac. _ “The older she grows the more beautiful she is,” he muttered. ‘If it were not for Coral, I don’t know what J might do. Poor girl! she at least has been faithful. I want that young hound’s blood, and I will have it.” While he thus muttered, the two adventurers touched their horses and rode away at a rapid pace, heading for the scene of the late conflict. “Tt is the game of life,” he murm “Who wins?” CHAPTER VIII. THE FAIR CAPTIVE. We left Lillian Hardin a prisoner in the hands of Joel Bennett, the trusty aid-de-cam of Tom Duke. The man had been well selected. A glance at his face would have convinced any one that he would do his master’s bidding, and destroy the innocent girl if hard uiseeed ts his pursuers. It was well for her that he gained the depths of the chaparral before they could over- e him, for twice, when hard pushed, he had ut his hand upon his knife to accomplish his ell purpose. But, no sooner was he in the cha 1 than he dismounted, with a malicious grin upon his face, and waited for the coming of his compan- ions. What was his rage when he knew by the voices upon the edge of the thicket that Tom Duke had not su —’m going to take my hand away from your take your life as I would that of a viper.” “Good!” said Bennett. “I knew you was - ee aghe pe Come, we’ve e to ee e chaparral; I’m afraid Cap- fain Trike has gone under.” ’ $6 A a thing for the world if he has. A de- spicable villain who steals into an honest house under the cloak of religion, and betrays those bib oy babe een him.” @ Be le dena t won’t be very good for you 6 18 dea my girl” Teplied Hotnetts _ or your fate wilj be a one, I’m thinking. Come along, and, _ you go, pray that Captain Duke may be ve. He took a lariat and bound the arms of his prisoner behind her; then, with the other end of the rawhide rope in,his hand he ordeted her in front, while he led_the horses, directing her which path to take. In this way they kept on for over an hour, through tangled paths, until the chaparral became more open, when they again mounted and rode on at a rapid pace. erilly was sitting behind the horseman, and,
Page 9
| . Se Single Hand. 9 as he still held the end of the rope he was not very attentive to her proceedings, when she sud- denly slipped from the horse and ran into the thicket. Khe had managed to slip the rope from her arms and thus get clear of her captor. Uttering a sounding oath, the ruffian sprung af- ter her, but found to his dismay that he was ing distanced C life upon the border had given a wonderful physical development, seldom seen in one so young. The paths were many and diverging to every point of the compass, and as she got out of his sight for a moment it was impossible for him to say which one she had taken. There | was but one way; so, raising his fingers to his lips, he uttered a shrill call, which was answered at once from the woods beyond, and twenty or thirty rough-looking men > na y noe him. ‘Scatter, and search the woods,” he cried. ‘A girl—a prisoner—has escaped from me! Be quick, for she runs like a deer.” The men at once darted down the different aths, satisfied that they could run her down fore she reached the open prairie. Lilly heard the signal and knowing that she could not es- cape by running, an‘ remembering the manner in which she had eluded the Indians upon a former occasion, crept under the low branches of a ground pine, came out — the other side of the tree, and plunged into the thicker part of the chaparral. She had hardly done so when those of her pursuers who had taken the path she had chosen ran rapidly by. When they had ed she arose and looked about her for a tree in which to find shelter, for she dared not move, knowing that, at any moment, she might come upon her enemies. Near at hand was a low oak, whose thick branches seemed fitted to give her shelter, and, grasping one of the lower limbs, she drew her- self up until she was perched upon a stout limb. After taking breath for a moment she climbed higher and found that the thick leaves would completely hide her from observation. There she sat, listening anxiously to the sounds which came from the forest, hoping that they would not find her, and yet hardly knowing what to do in casé she escaped, for she was alone in the depths of the cha’ rral, which was of vast extent, and she did not know which way to turn to reach the — As she sat there, she heard a slight rustling in the leaves, and looking up encountered the of a pair of fiery eyes, fixed upon her in a tening manner. t the same moment a brown arm, armed with a long knife, was thrust oak trent among the leaves and she saw the head and shoulders of a painted Comanche just above her, threatening her with instant de- struction if she cried out. She recovered her- self in an instant, and making a signal to the Indian to remain quiet and she would do the same, settled herself firmly upon the branch and waited. The Comanche was evidently at a loss, and his wild eyes roved over her figure in b be- Sany and made him @ lofty gesture, toaplying an e a lo i £ ior abeniute wer over him, which added t to the mystery of her presence. The white men were now scattered ugh the woods in all direc- tions, and some of them were breaking through the bushes not far awa , and two or three presently stopped directly under the tree in which the elie and Lilly were concealed. ‘* Bennett was foolish to trust a girl like that,” said one. “I for one don’t believe we'll catch her, and don’t care much, either,” said another. “Let them search if they will,” growled a strangely-familiar voice. “It is none of our business to search for Bennett’s escaped prison- ers. We will sit down under the tree and let her run. Did he tell you who it was, com- rade?” - “ Hardin’s — “‘Carambo! e most beautiful little crea- ture this side of the Rio Grande. I hate her father above all men on earth, but she is a di- vine creature.” rT; ogy be a fool, Pedro; this is the captain’s game, and no one dares interfere with it.” “Am Ta fool, then? I tell you that the little girl has often looked upon me with favorable eyes. Indeed, I think she loves me, and was deeply grieved when her father discarded me for that accursed young dog, who shall feel the length of my knife, some day.” “T heard that Ned Clayton trounced you finely that day. Why, you donkey, boy shat he is, he can lick any five greasers in Texas. Pve a good mind to say ten.” ‘It is false, Blanchard, it is false!” screamed the Mexican, for it was no other than Pedro | and laid diem quick-footed girl, whom a | whom Ned Clayton had supplanted. ‘He had | me at a disadvantage—” “Pshaw! He can lick you in half a minit by the watch, and I’d undertake to do it myself in twice the time.” Pedro sprung to his feet, furious with passion, is hand upon a knife, for which he was promptly knocked down by the man he had called Blanchard, for Americans in those days — little heed to the “‘greasers,” whom they eld in contempt as men below them in the scale of nature. How far the quarrel might have gone it is impossible to say, but at this moment, the Indian who was leaning forward to see the fight broke-the limb upon which he was seated and fell to the earth. This at once changed the current of events, and the two white men, including the Mexican, who arose and joined them, at once assailed the Comanche, who, placing his back to the tree, de- fended himself manfully against the combined whose intelligent face and warlike bearing showed that he held no mean place in the tribe, and he certainly handled his weapons with con- summate skill. Assailed by three men at once, and wounded Blanchard in the shoulder, though not deeply. It is hard to say how the struggle might have ended if Pedro had not seized a heavy branch and struck the Indian while he was parrying a blow from Blanchard’s knife, causing his arm to drop nerveless at his side. In an instant the red-skin was seized and thrown to the earth, and a knife raised above his unprotected breast. Lilly had seen the struggle of one against three, but when she saw the brave sav: fall she could not bear it; and dropping from her perch, she caught the uplift- ed hand of Blanchard in hers. **No, no,” she cried. ‘‘He isa brave man— do not strike him when he has been overcome by numbers.” “Tt’s the coptai's daughter!” cried Blanch- ard. “Catch hold of her, Pedro, do not let her run again.” ** You need not hold me, sir,” replied Lillian. “T shall not attempt to escape, but if you area man, and you look like one out of et among these , you will not slay a helpless pris- oner.” “*That’s so!” said Blanchard, looking a little ashamed of himself. ‘‘ You see, my fightin blood was up, miss, and I didn’t know what was doing. Get up, Red, but don’t try to run or you'll get hurt.’ e Indian understood the gestures, although not the words, and stood up, holding out his hands for the ropes. “* We'll keep him until the Cap comes back,” said Blanchard, who was a good-looking, reck- less young fellow in hunter’s dress. ‘‘ You mustn’t think hard of us if we take you back, miss; it’s our duty.” “*T shall not quarrel with you for that, sir,” ai ; replied, “but, I hope you will treat me well, “Let me hear a man insult you, or see him as much as look at you against your will, and I'll be into him with a bloody spur. Get out of the way, Pedro; what are you about?” edro had seized Lilly by the wrist and was holding her fast, but fell back muttering as lanchard advanced. ‘** You two take care of the Indian and see that he does not escape. Whistle, and let the others know it is all right, Ben.” The other man, who had not yet B. pgs a word, obeyed orders. Blanchard signed to Lilly to come with him, and breaking a way for her through the tangled bushes, reached one of the potas, down which he proceeded at a rapid pace. ey were soon joined by others, and at last 7g came up, overjoyed at the recapture of illy. “Pn tell you what it is, my girl,” he said, threatening her with his clenched hand, “if you try that thing again it will be the worst thing you ever did. **Come, don’t bully a girl, Bennett,” said the young man called Blanchard. ‘“ That won’t do yeeWhat t to I ¥ at have you go say about it, Jim Blanchard?” * i “*Tt’s enough for you to know that I won’t see her abused, Bennett. You know me of old, so don’t try to come the old soldier over me. If you do, you’ll wake up the wrong boy, sure!” The bold bearing of the young man had its effect, and after growling out some fierce re- er od) Bennett drew back and looked at the an. ** What did you want to make a prisoner for?” he demanded. ‘‘You know well enough that we have no time to waste upon them.” ““You attend to your own affairs and I'll to do the same, Bennett,” was the cool reply. ‘* Ben and I took that prisoner and we'll answer to the captain for it. My opinion is that if you hurt that Indian you’ll make a big mistake.’ Bennett said no more, and shortly after the reached a camp in the midst of the chaparral, where several women, most of them Mexicans of the lower class, came out to meet them, and examined the prisoners with great curiosity. ‘Get out of the way, girls,” said Blanchard, laughing. ‘‘ Anita, come here!” The prettiest and youngest of the women came forward at his command, “Tm going to give youin charge of my wife,” said Blanchard, ‘ ai you must promise not attempt to escape until we hear from our cap- tain, or I shall be obliged to set a guard over , | you, Miss Hardin. Do you agree to that?” attack. He was a lithe, active young fellow, | Lillian readily promised and went away with the Mexican woman, who seemed to take great | pride in her charge. “Your husband has been*very kind, although | Iam his prisoner,” said Lillian, as they entered he managed to keep their knives off his body, | one of the several huts in the opening. ‘‘I am surprised to see him here.” Anita shrugged her shoulders. ‘Bah! what would you have, senora? My husband will keep faith with his companions, although it is not my will that he is here. You must be very tired, and I will show you a place of rest.” There was a little alcove, formed from blankets, in one corner of the room, and within this a rude bed. Lillian was worn out, and, without disrobing, she lay down upon the blankets and was quickly asleep. hen she awoke it was morning, and Anita was prepar- ing a savory breakfast, while Blanchard sat in the doorway smoking his ee. “T don’t take very kindly to kidnapping, Miss Hardin,” he said, removing his pipe from his mouth, “and the captain has got to explain this when he comes back. Do you know that your Indian friend gave us the dip last night?” “* T am glad to hear it, sir.” ““Oh, are you? I don’t know as I care much about it, for I think he is a son of Single Hand, and the old chief would remember it if we wronged him. What’s all that noise about?” He stepped to the door and looked out, and saw that a man who had just ridden into the camp was surrounded by the outlaws, who were making furious Heran out and broke into the circle, and saw that the visitor was Ned Clayton, who was sitting quietly in the saddle, looking coolly over the excited group, but with a hand upon a pistol. “ Back, all o dein 8 cried Blanchard. ‘ Let us hear what he to say.” CHAPTER IX. AN APPARITION. “Hr’s a traitor,” hissed Bennett, forcing a way for himself among the men, ‘and he’s got to die the death of a traitor. You all know what one such man can do inst us in Texas, boys. He’s only got to tell Captain Hardin where we corral the stock we ‘ raise,’ and where we hide ourselves, and we are done for. What I say is this: if any man is false to his oath, let him bear the penalty. Have you anything to say inst that, Jim Blanc ? ‘*Of course not,” replied Blanchard. ‘I know that Ned Clayton never was willing to take much part in the work, except breaking horses and fighting Indians, but I don’t think he is a traitor. Come, Ned, speak up; tell them that they are liars, and Pl back you—I’ll back you until all is blue.” ‘“‘T have left the band,” replied Ned Clayton, boldly, while a perfect howl of rage arose on every side. ‘‘I have left it because I could not do the evil deeds which were required of me by Tom Duke.” Blanchard hung his head, for he knew that the young man had spoken his death-warrant, and he saw the triumphant look upon the face of Bennett. “Drag him off the horse, boys,” cried the desperado. ‘Get a lariat, some one; you hear him confess, don’t you?’ ‘* You intend to g me, do you?” said Ned, quietly. ‘‘I would not do that, if I were you.” “Don’t let bim talk,” screamed Bennett, furious at the coolness of the youngster. “String him up at once.” “Tt won’t be safe to do that, I tell you,” re- plied Ned. ‘‘ Keep your gang off me, Joe Ben- nett, or some one in this good crowd will get hurt. Blanchard, do me the favor to keep them away, for, as sure as you put a finger on me or delay my return to the place I came from, Cap-
Page 10
‘*Curse him, he lies!” cried Bennett. ‘The captain is all right, and will be here in an hour.” ‘** Do you really think so?” said Ned, laughing. ‘You are the most sanguine fellow in Texas, then, for even Duke don’t think so. However, I am willing to wait an hour, if that will do ou any good. In the mean time there is a lit- te document which you will read to the men, Blanchard.” He produced a paper, which he placed in Blanchard’s hand, who commanded silence, and read aloud: ‘“Ar Harpin’s Rancn, July 12th, 18—. “To my MEN IN THE CHAPARRAL: “T ama prisoner in the hands of Captain Hardin, and likely to be hung if you do not comply with the demands of the man they send. Deliver to him the risoner Miss Hardin, and let them go away unhurt. t isthe only way in which I can obtain my liberty. In my absence, Blanchard, under the orders of Coral, will be in command of the band. Tom Duxs.” “Tt’s a forgery!” cried Bennett, looking about on the group of crestfallen faces. ‘It’s a trick to get the prisoner. away from us.” ** Nonsense,” replied Blanchard. “I recog- nize this writing, and it is the captain’s hand, so don’t be fools. I understand by this that you want the girl, Ned?” ‘Precisely; nothing can be more plain,” re- plied the young man. ‘* Will you take her away at once?” ‘*T am obliged to do so, in order to get back in time. You see, that if Iam gone more than three days, the swinging-branch will be the por- tion of your worthy leader.” “T cave. You’ve got us dead, and it isn’t the least use to kick against it. I would like to have you see Coral, if it can be done.” “Coral is here,” replied a rich, full voice. “What do you want with me? What is this I hear?” ‘* Duke is a prisoner, madam,” said Blanchard, extending the letter. ‘‘ Here is what he says about it.’ She snatched the letter from his hand and devoured it, word by word, her black eyes flash- ing vege: eg as she read. A more utiful woman than the one called Coral is rarely seen in this imperfect world. Of medium hight— with a clear, creamy complexion, such as is only seen in the creole—wit golden-brown hair floating in profusion about her lovely form, and eyes large, dark-blue, and full of melting ten- derness; with a queenl pees of motion, given only to a gifted few, and delicate feet and hands, she was a model of womanly beauty and grace. Her dress was Mexican, and jewels of rare price kled at her throat and on her bosom: A golden belt was girdled about her waist, in which hung a pair of silver-mounted pistols and a jeweled dagger. **So, Ned Clayton,” she said; turning upon him quickly. ‘‘ You are a traitor, it seems. What have you got tosay for yourself?” “IT prefer to say it to you alone, Coral,” he replied, ‘Fall back, men; leave us together,” she said, in a commanding voice. The men seemed ac- customed to obedience to her orders, for they were hardly given when Ned Clayton and this a woman stood alone upon the level sand. “T can not tell you how much it grieves me that you should be false to us, Ned,” she said, softly. ‘‘If I had been asked to point out one among all whom I have known who would not be faithless to their oath, you are the one, Ned. Why did you do it? why did you turn against us? “ Coral,” replied Ned, hanging his head, ‘ will you never understand that it is not in my nature to love this savage life of ours? I would not have done you any harm—I told Duke so ace we met—but [ wanted to live an honest + ‘e,”” ‘*Pshaw! I thought you above such pitiful foolishness as that. Do you know that you de- serve to die, and that Duke will kill you when he escapes?” ; “T don’t think it will pay to threaten me now, Coral. I have got a little the best of the bar- , and have no time to waste in idle words. for you, there will never be a time when I will not be ready to lay down my life in your defense. You are beautiful, and have a brave heart, and no lad ever had a better friend than you have been to me; but, I can not stay here.” “You have chosen your path, Ned. I am sorry to lose you, and warn you to get out of Texas as soon as you Can. e may meet again, in a happier hour than this, when you will not be ashamed to own Coral asa friend, I wishto “A brave and good man, against whom Tom Duke feels the most deadly hate. Shall I tell you why?” **Tf you will.” ‘* Because they loved the same woman years ago, and Hardin won her. This is her daughter whom you have prisoner here, and for whom we are willing to exchange the captain. They tell me that what she is now her mother was at her age.” “I must see her,” cried Coral, eagerly. ‘** Where is she?” “Blanchard can tell you that. Here, Jim; Coral wants to see Miss Hardin.” “She is in my cabin with my wife,” replied _— ‘You can see her there if you ike, _ Ned and Coral accompanied him to the door of the cabin, and, as they entered, Lilly, who was sitting in a dejected attitude upon a low stool, sprung to her feet, and with a cry of joy threw herself into Ned Clayton's arms.’ ‘“Oh, Ned—dear Ned, have you come to take me back to my father?” “Yes, Lilly, yes; did you think we would leave you here?” Coral did not speak, but, advancing, she look- ed at Lillian so intently that the girl winced —. her steady gaze, and drew back in some alarm. ‘*Do not fear me, sweet one,” said Coral, ten- Gori “Yes, you are beautiful and you are good. If your mother had that face when she was young it is no wonder that he loved her. How dare he bring you here?” “*Hush!” replied Ned. ‘‘It is a part of his re- venge.” “It was unmanly in him, the only unmanly act of which I ever knew him guilty,” said the beautiful woman, ‘‘ You must take her away at once, Ned, and guard her better after this. My ordsm | girl, would you mind kissing one who, though erring and sinful, has yet a wom- an’s heart and can love that which is good and beautiful?” Lilly sprung into her arms and kissed her again and again. “There, sweet one, we must part. Perhaps it is our fate never to meet again. If so, re- member me as kindly as you can. Where is your hat?” “T am afraid they took her away in such haste that they neglected to provide that useful article,” replied Ned. ‘* Anita, go to my house and bring the small hat with the golden band. Be as quick as you can, for they ought to go away at once. hat isthatshouting outside? You ought to keep your men in better order, Blanchard.” “They are a set of devil’s babies,” replied Blanchard. “ There is only one man who can keep them quiet, but I will do my best.” He left the room and the cabin, but the excite- ment did not cease! Anita came back in a mo- ment, with a sort of riding-hat of soft felt, with a drooping feather in a golden band. Coral took it from her hand and placed it upon Lilly’s head, Then she unclasped a bracelet from her wrist and putit upon the girl’s. ‘Keep that in,memory of me. This tumult is horrible. Ned, I wonder what it can mean? Surely they are not mad enough torebel against my authority vested in my trusty Blanchard!” The uproar outside became greater, and seem- ed to approach the cabin. ‘You must go away at once, Ned,” said Coral. ‘* Not yet!” cried a commanding voice. ‘‘ Not without my consent.” Ned Clayton started back in dismay, for there, standing in the doorway, ing him with an evil eye, stood—Tom Duke CHAPTER X. THE TABLES TURNED—DUKE’S ALLIES. How had he escaped? We left him in the cellar at Hardin’s Ranch heavily ironed, and apparently as far from all hope of escape as a man could be; but there he was, in flesh and blood, a look of malignant triumph in his dark eyes, He now flung off his hat and wig, tore away his yellow beard straightened his bent back and a: peared to add three or four inches to his hight by the act, and stood there erect as an India: ‘and with as little mercy in his breast as one of that evil race, and there was unmistakable triumph in his face as he said: Coral aors ie inte ha rad ha glad oral sprung in is arms witha glad cry for, bad and cruel as he was, this woman had given him the priceless treasure of her love, Taken without his disguise, he was an aristocra- tic-looking man, with a face of marble—a man whom peneing could turn aside from any course which he had marked out for himself, and who would never forgive an injury. He kissed Coral’s lips, and then put her gently from him. _““You will have to postpone the little excur- sion which you have marked out for yourself, my dear Ned,” he said, coolly. ‘I have come back, you see.” Ned saw that he was in deadly peril, and that it was a moment to think and act quickly. Making a sudden leap, he flung Duke aside and ran out into the open air, where he found himself in the midst of a strong party of the outlaws, upon whom he flung himself desperately, hurl- ing them right and left in the strength of de- spair, and with unparalleled bravery almost breaking through. nnett threw himself in the way, but was felled like an ox, and for a moment it seemed that the brave youth would stealin i “Now, my fighting chicken,” said the out- law, ‘‘I think you have reached the end of your you see p yous folly now.” _ “Tonly repent one Shing, replied Ned, reel- ing from the effort of the terrible blow he had received. ** And what is that?’ “That Captain Hardin came between us while I had you by the throat. Come, finish me now; you'll be sorry if you don’t.” “Time enough, my boy; sags 4 of time, so don’t be in such a ene ¢ to die. e really can not spare you yet, and I have several questions to before we work you off. But, there shall be no unnecessary delay, I assure you.” ** But, Tom,” said Coral, asping his arm Pate surely do not mean that you will ki “Silence, Coral. The young rascal knows our laws and accepted the danger when he turned traitor. Why, it is as much as my life is worth to attempt to save him now, and I have no inclination to do it. He deserves to die, and die he shall.” *“You never refused me ony. thing before, Tom,” she pleaded. ‘Spare his life; he is young, too young to die such a death, and if he has done any wrong he will atone for it.” ‘Ask him if he will join us again and keep his oath. I know he would break it, but you may ask him.” ‘* Youare sorry for what you have done, Ned?” said Coral, turning to the young man. ‘ You will be true to us in the future, will you not?’ “*T wish I could say that with honor,” replied Ned; ‘but I can not. I never will join their infamous band again.” “* You see,” said Tom Duke, sternly. ‘ He is hardened and would sooner die than give up. Bennett, you will take him in charge; and re- member, if he escapes, you answer for it in your own person. . Do you understand me?” Bennett nodded with a grim smile, and eall- ing in two or three of his subordinates, bound the prisoner, and prepared to lead him away. ‘Your evil deeds will one day find you out Tom Duke,” cried the brave young man. “ may die, and I am ready to meet death; but there are those upon your track who will never leave you until you sleep under the grass of the rairie. And if you lay a finger upon Lillian “ Enough of that. Bennett, drag him away, and stop his mouth if he persists in talking. The young scoundrel deserves a worse fate than we can give him.” “You = a frighten me, ote aw,” rep kite? good-by ; © best I could for you.” ”’ fe , men and if they only knew whose work it was, I would be satichiod, _But they shall know. You may as well rise, Miss Hardin; you will plcad in vain for that young traitor, and your ather’s daughter does not look well kneeling at my feet.” J illian rose, her face flushing proudly. ‘“‘T am glad you spoke of my father,” she said. “He will not forget us, and I should not be sur- rised if he were close upon your heels with all his brave men.” ‘ “ We will try to receive him with the hop = = 9 | :
Page 11
_ + said Lillian, quickly. - strange look in the Single Hand. ors of war,” said Duke, with a smile. ‘Coral I give this young lady into your charge, an I expect you to see to it that she does not es- cape.” ‘Do not make me her jailer, Tom, forassureas you do, I will help her to escape,” replied Coral, promptly. : , “You are certainly candid, my dear Coral,” said Duke, laughing; ‘‘but I think I will trust you still, for wee A think you would suffer any one to escape who would put your hus- band’s life in peril, and I give you my word that if she gets away there is no safety for me in Texas.” The head of Coral dropped upon her bosom. He had taken the only way to secure her aid— through her love for him. He stood looking at her a moment, with a look half of remorse, half admiration, and then ordered the men who were clustered about the door to move back and per- mit the passage of Bennett and the prisoner. Wed went out with a proud look upon his noble young face, and even the men who desired his death were forced to admire him. Lilly had retreated to the shelter of Coral’s arms, and re- posing her head upon the woman’s bosom, was sobbing as if her heart would break, | “Come, Coral,” said Duke, “ b: your charge with you to our cabin. I little thought once that I should be glad of such a shelter; but life is full of strange vicissitudes.” He went out first, pushing his way through the ranks of the men, pausing now and then to shake hands with a favorite, or to ask some question, and made his way to a cabin more neatly built than any of the others, the door of which stood open. negro woman was ap bo) the cloth for a meal, as ey. came in, who look- ed delighted at the sight of Duke. ‘Good hebbens, Marse Tom,” she said, ‘‘ you done got way from dem rangers? T’ought you done gone up dis time, Marse Tom—I did, for shure.” “Tm all right, Jinny,” said Duke, laughing lightly. ‘‘ The time had not come for me to be laid by the heels, but when it does, I believe I shall have a sincere mourner in you. Is break- fast nearly ready? I’m as hungry as a hunt- er. ‘““Mcs’ ready, Marse Tom. G’long — you knows what raal cookin’ is, you does. Don’t low no low-lived truck to beat me cookin’, dat I don’t! Goodness gracious! who dat? Fader above, dat’s my young missee—dat’s Miss Rie!” Tom Duke hesitated and looked blank for a moment, and then laughed again. “So you see the resemblance, do you, Jinny? I might have known it, for I see in her exactly what her mother was at her age. This is Miss *Rie’s daughter.” The old negress approached Lilly and gazed long and earnestly into her face. ‘You's bootiful, young missee,” she said at last. ‘‘ I nebber hoped to see anudder ob de ole stock ag’in, and sart’in not de chile ob my dear rt Rie, I hope she well, chile—you tell me ‘“My mother is very well,” said Lilly. “ But who are you? ‘* Let me answer for you,” said Duke. ‘“ This is Jinny, one of your mother’s old family ser- vants. No matter how she came into my session, or whoITam? It is enough for you to know who she is, and I warn you, Jinny, under pain of my displeasure, never to speak my name to this Maton | lady. “Good hebbens! you don’t s’pose I let out on you, Marse Tom?” replied Jinny. ‘Ki! Her fader an’ you not so frien’ly to one anudder dat I tole who you be. I didn’t think he let his dar- ter come an’ see you.” “Tam not here of my own accord, Jinny,” **T am a prisoner.” “Donno nuffin "bout dat,” said Jinny, with the vacant look which a slave knows how to as- sume, ‘‘Marse Tom he ’tend to all dat, I reck- on, an’ it won’t do for an ole ni woman to interfere; she knows better. Got fo for dat once, and don’t want ’em ag’in, I don’t.” “Get the breakfast on the table, Jinny,” said Coral, impatiently. ‘‘ What nonsense you are talking now.” ; : ** You don’t’ sense in me, Missee Coral?” said Jinny, with a laugh. ‘“ Dat’s too curi’s, dat is. Deidea ob sense in an ole nigger woman! Ki; dat toofunny, datis.” =. In oe of her assumed humility, there was something in the manner of the negress which gave Lilly hope, and she was wise enough to say nothing to her. Two or three times in the course of the meal their eyes met, and she saw a twinkling black orbs of the regress, Which she could not understand. lashes “‘T have not asked you how Bi bag e7 dear Tom?’ said Coral. ‘‘Ned Clayton said you were in irons.” “So I was,” replied Duke; “‘ but Lhave a way of my own of getting out of irons when they are not too tight. I freed myself from the shackles, squeezed myself out of the window, stole a horse, and was off. I had to-make a circuit to avoid some Indians, and that made me late, or I be- lieve that I should have been here to receive Master Ned Clayton in person. But it is just as well; I was in time to do the work.” ““T wish you would let Ned go, or at least spare his life, even if you keep him a prisoner.” “You ask too much, Coral, There are not many things which I would refuse you, as I think you know, but this is impossible. Our safety depends upon the destruction of this boy, who has the intellect of an Arnold, and the same traitorous disposition. Once free, he would leave no stone unturned to thwart my plans, and we should not be safe for amoment. He must die, and you only make trouble by talking of him.” “He is so brave and noble-hearted in every thing else, that I cannot bear to see him suffer. If he would promise to leave Texas and not re- turn, would yon let him go?” “He would come back, Coral—he would come back—and the magnet which would draw him is not far away. ve me to attend to him, and as the men vote, so it shall be. They know what is best for their own safety.” “‘We took an Indian prisoner last. evening—a man who Blanchard says is Black Feather, the son of Single Hand. e—” “You did him no harm, I hope?’ cried Duke, g up. “He escaped during the night, and although he was treated somewhat roughly when cap- tured, I hardly think he was hurt.” ‘You have made a mistake in capturing him at all,” replied Duke. ‘‘He came here with friendly intentions, and perhaps we have now alienated his father. However, we must repai the wrong, if possible, and at once; so tell Ben- nett to prepare to accompany me to the prairie.” Half an hour after, the outlaw rode out with two men, and returned before noon, accompa- nied by four or five Indians, one of whom was the young chief taken the night before, who looked sternly about upon the faces of the out- laws as if seeking the man. who had struck him down the night before. But, Pedro prudently kept out of sight, as he had no wish to meet the Indian now. Riding by the side of Tom Duke was the gigantic chief whom Lilly had seen be- fore, Single Hand; a truly appalling figure in his war-paint. He seemed to Be upon friendly terms with Duke, and looked about on the cam with the eye of a warrior, and appeared to think well of his associates. They dismounted at the door of Duke’s cabin, and as they entered, Lillian shrunk away, awed by the terrible appearance of the great chief, who looked at her admiringly, although the dark beauty of Coral pleased him best. ‘My brother has beautiful wives,” he said. ‘*Single Hand has none like them in his lodge.” “The old rip,” muttered Blanchard, who was pf party. ‘ Perhaps he would like one of ese “This is my wife,” said Duke, pointing to Coral. ‘‘ The other is the child of your enemy and mine, Captain Hardin. “Ha!” cried the chief, fiercely. ‘‘ Hardin is adog and many of the Comanche have fallen b his hand. Let him beware of Single Hand, chief of the Comanche! His coming is as the rushing of a mighty wind and his blows as ter- rible as the stroke of the lightning. When he hates he strikes, and his enemies,wither before him as the prairie under the fire.” There was something strikingly impressive in the attitude of the great chief, and vay much as she feared him, was deeply touched by his manner. She could not un erstand his words, but his gestures were commanding and his eyes kindled as he spoke. She turned ied him and her eye met that of Black Feather, who was looking at her intently. As their eyes.met he smniled, and she knew that, in the young war- rior, she had found a friend. “Leave us, Coral,” said Duke. ‘“‘We have some private business.” Coral took Lilly by the hand and led her out of the cabin and into the forest beyond the clear- ing. They had not gone far when they were overtaken by Black Feather, who had made some excuse for leaving the cabin. He at once approached, bending before them with a court- ly grace which would have done credit to a knight. “Black Feather can not much speak white , | undertaking. Let me go awa 11 ae eee man talk,” he said, quickly. ‘‘ But see; he is a friend of the Golden Hair, and would not see her wronged. Shesaved him from white man knife; he save her now—all same.” “You can not help me now,” said the girl, eagerly, ‘but you can help one whom I love.” “Stay,” said Coral. ‘I must not hear this, although I hope that you will succeed in your i for a moment and leave you together. You do not fear to be left alone with this young chief, Lilly?” Without a moment’s hesitation she answered se ni and Black Feather drew a long breath of relief. “The Golden Hair is wise beyond her years, and can read the heart of the Comanche. She is safe with Black Feather, who would not hurt a hair in her head to save his life,” Coral moved away and stood under the sha- dow of a great tree, out of bearing, but from which she could warn them of the approach of anenemy. Lilly and the Indian remained for a moment in close consultation, and then he moved awa, ba are came eng _— ere ** Don me anything, dear Lilly, cri ) creole, eagerly. “ You Bad better” keep it a secret if you have formed any plan, for it would be my duty to tell the truth if my husband ask- ed the question.” “‘T shall tell you nothing,” answered Lilly; “but that yo Indian has a noble heart—a heart which would do credit to any white man. You will probably hear something before morn- in Aad They went back to the camp but did not enter the cabin, as the leaders were still in consulta- tion. An hour after, while they were sitting in Blanchard’s cabin, that worthy came in, looking flushed and angry. “Pll tell you what it is, madam,” he said, ad- dressing Coral, ‘‘ your husband carries matters with too high a hand. I, for one, did not join a party of kidnappers. 1 knew that they were rascals, but I did not think they were of the mean kind,” ‘ What is the matter, Blanchard?” said Co- ral. ‘The matter is that, as soon as this present work is done, I quit. I’ve been asked to league with Indians in the meanest plot— See here; I'll go out on the plates and fight the savages as long as life lasts, but ’'ll be—no, I won’t swear— if ’'l kidnap any more women. And don’t let them give me a chance, or Ned Clayton will get overs sure.” Lillian made a signal which Coral understood, and she left the room, leaving them together. What Lillian said to him did not transpire until afterward, but Blanchard went out, whistling, with a happy look on his face. That night, or rather next morning, Tom Duke was called out by one of the men and led to the cabin where Ned Clayton was confined. He found Bennett lying senseless upon the earth, bound hand and foot with a gag thrust into his mouth. There were marks of several feet upon the earth, but chiefly moccasin-tracks which it would be hard to identify. “You needn’t tell me what has happened,” said Duke, fiercely. ‘‘The boy has escaped.” “Tt wasn’t our fault, captain, Jim Bagley is dead and Bennett pretty nigh it, and the boy gone. Duke stood a moment in thought, with his hand upon a knife, and then stooping he cut the cords which bound Bennett, “Call op oe men, Timpson. Get out Blanch ard and tell him that we march in half an hour. There is not a moment to be lost.” The ‘outlaws wasted no time. Half an hour later the camp was deserted, and the jaguar and the prairie wolf struggled with each other for the debris of the deserted place. CHAPTER XI. A PRAIRIE BATTLE. THE escape of Tom Duke was reported to Captain Hardin early in the morning. No one could be blamed for it, as it was evident that he had slipped off. the irons—a trick of which few men were capable. The rangers were at once called together, and leaving three men in charge of the house, they rode out toward Deep Gully, where a precancerted signal called out Jack who was hidden in the bushes, and who heard the news of Duke’s escape with “ He'll kill Fred Cla him as sure as fate. great alarm. m!” he said—‘ he'll kill wouldn’t give a picayune for his chance of being alive, twenty-four hours from now.” “Do you know where their camp is, Jack?” said the captain. “No, I don’t, captain. You see I’ve been in another part ef the State, fur this band has
Page 12
Se ee branches all through the South, and I don’t know where they corral themselves any more than a dead man. It’s deep in the chaparral— that’s all I kin say about it. ‘*Then our only hope is to lay back and watch,” said Hardin, “and to send out scouts in every direction. it they see any man going into the chaparral, they must mark the spot and come back to report.” Half a dozen men, receiving their instructions, set out at once. Just before dusk they came back, one by one, and Ph eigh that they had seen several men enter the chaparral at differ- ent points, and that a large body of Indians, perhaps a hundred in all, were camped in a gulch, about five miles to the north. “The band of Single Hand, Ill bet any money,” said Jack. ‘‘ There is some kind of an eement between Duke and that Injin, so that they work together this season, though what the agreement is I don’t know.” ‘“ We can not do any thing to-night,” said the captain. ‘*The only way is to get into the chaparral near the place where the boys saw the men going in, and hunt for sign in the morning. How many do you think ke can muster, Jack?” ‘¢ About forty, I should say. A good many of them are off on duty.” “* Horse-stealing?’ **You bet!” * Are they fighting men, Jack?” ‘** Blood-lappers, every man of them, except Jim Blanchard, and he’s too good a chap to in the business.’ The band of rangers numbered fifty men. They knew that the outlaws combined with the savages would make a tough job for them, yet they bad no fear, and at the orders of the cap- tain rode out after dusk and entered the chap- arral without seeing oy, of their enemies. The horses were led into the bushes and picketed safely, and, after iy pet his guards, Captain Hardin wrapped his blanket about him and lay down to rest. The night passed and they were again in the saddle, working carefully about in the thicket until they found a trail and followed it to the end, and, as they hoped, it took them to the camp, deserted for some hours. bie the luck!” cried Hardin. ‘They have taken the alarm and are off.” “Search about,” said Jack. ‘If they have finished Ned Clayton you'll find him hanging somewhere.” The men scattered through the woods but found no trace of their new ally, and began to hope that he had escaped. But, in their search, they found a fresh trail leading to the north, axa Sey Seen themselves that this was the course taken by the outlaws in leaving the camp. ve Tine di thieves,” cried old Joe. ‘‘The don’t want meet a ranger—t at ; osses They’d ruther strike up a ranch ors or niggers—thats what they’d like to do.” “'They’re a hard lot, Joe,” said the reclaimed outlaw. ‘‘It’s a wonder to me that I ever con- sorted with them, but, to tell you the truth, I was awfully down on my luck, and I liked Ned Clayton. they have killed him some ha’r has got to be lifted, and I’m the boy to do the job.” ‘““We must follow them,” said the captain; “that is the only way, and we must not waste time. Bob Farrell and Tim Driscoll may take the trail as advance scouts and we will follow.” No effort had been made to conceal the trail, and it was easy to follow forty horses over such a ground as that. The course led them through the chaparral in places where the most natural conformation was ‘‘ Indian file,” in which order they proceeded, the scouts beating every thick- et betore they allowed the rest to follow. It was plain that Duke had not expected to have them upon the trail so soon or he would have laid an ambush in some of the difficult places over which they were compelled to pass l to pass. i After a ride of nearly four miles the path be- ; came more open, and soon after they came out} chaparral. He saved me for Lillian’s into a bush-prairie, not far from the spot where the scouts had seen the Indians the day before. ‘“ Halt here,” cried Hardin. ‘Let Tim Dris- coll scout up toward the Indian camp and see if they are there still.” Driscoll, a rollicking Irishman, but a capital scout in many respects, threw his bridle to the next man, took his rifle and stole away through the bushes. Five minutes later his clear whistle announced that they might advance, and they found him standing on a little rise in the prai- rie, looking out upon the Indian camp, which was also deserted. “The devils seem to scent us this morning,” cried the captain, in a disappointed tone, “and Beadle’s Half-Dime Library. they have probably joined their forces before this. It wilh be a bear-fight when we do meet for we have noright to despise Single Hand and his men. What is that, Tracy?” One of the men came forward and put in his hand a fragment of muslin which he had found fluttering upon a bush. He recognized it at once as a portion of the dress which Lillian had worn the day of her capture. ‘*They have her then,” he murmured. ‘‘ What can be this man’s plot in making her a prisoner? I do not understand it.” ‘‘ He hates you for some reason, captain,” re- plied Jack, ‘‘and takes the girl as a means of striking a blow at you.” “T should not wonder if that was his plan, but it is cowardly in a man to strike at one whom he hates through a weak girl. He will live to repent it, or my name is not Hardin. What do you say, boys; dare we follow these bloody scoundrels?” A cheer burst from the throats of the rangers, and Hardin knew that they were ready to fol- low him to the very death. “ All right, boys,” he said. ‘I ought not to have asked you the question, for I knew that you were true men to the last gasp. Ride on; riscoll, take the advance.” Tim Driscoll was again in the saddle, and led them into the Indian camp. It was evident that they had not been gone over an hour, for the ashes of their fires were yet warm as the scouts turned them over, and a broad trail led away to the south. “They are bold to take that direction,” said the captain. ‘Surely, they cannot know that we have left the ranch?” **T don’t think etd do, captain, but, they are so strong now that they don’t care for us,” said Jack. ‘‘I think it lays in our bones to teach them a thing or two about that, yet.” ‘‘We will try, at any rate,” said the captain, as the leading scout dashed out of the camp at a great pace. ‘‘Confound their impudence, we will teach them who are masters on this border.” The trail led along the edge of the cha and then turned off in the direction of Deep Gulch. As they approached this point they saw an Indian and a white man running at full speed to gain the cover of the thicket, and by a wave of his hand the captain detached four men to run them down. The mustangs, as they felt the spur, darted away at their best speed and were rapidly overhauling the fugitives, when Jack, who was leading the chase, suddenly uttered a shout of delight, and raising his fingers to his mouth ve a peculiar whistle, at the sound of which e white man, who was about to plunge into the thicket, turned toward the pursuers and cried out to the Indian to come back. Hardin saw Jack Evans dash up at full speed, and, instead of striking the white man down, spring from his saddle and his hand ina friendly manner, while the other three crowded about him, with many demonstrations of joyful sur- prise. ‘Ride on,” said Hardin. ‘‘ Who the deuce can it be?’ The rangers came on, and as they neared the oup at the edge of the chaparral they saw at Ned Clayton was among them, his face radiant with joy. Hardin leaped from his sad- dle and embraced him warmly. “Next to the safety of Lilly I am delighted to see you free, my dear Ned,” he said. ‘‘ How were you used?” ‘“* Badly enough,” replied Ned. ‘‘Tom Duke slipped the buckle, and got away just in time to nab me as I was leaving the camp with Lillian.” ‘ “Who is this Indian?” said the captain, look- ing hard at Ned’s companion, ‘Black Feather, the son of Single Hand. ' Keep back, boys; the man that touches him in anger must fight me, for, but for his help, I should now be hanging to a branch in yon os e, an must be allowed to go unquestioned.” ‘Why for Lillian’s sake? I do not under- stand. eep back, boys: don’t press upon them “Tt seems that Lilly saved him from_ the knives of the outlaws, in some way, I don’t exactly know how myself, and so he aided in my escape. There was another man who had something to do with it, whose name is Blanch- ard—you know him, Jack—one of the best fel- lows in Texas. Whatever happens, Jim Blanch- ard must not be hurt.” ““Remember to point that man out when we get in a fight,” said the captain. ‘Does the dian wish to go now?” manner. **Comanche,” said Hardin, speaking in the Indian tongue, ‘we are at war, but you and I cannot be enemies. Remember that if the time ever comes when I can help you, in any man- ner, you have only to speak and I wil! do it.” ‘My white brother is wise,” said Black Feather. “If all white men were like him there would be no war between the Comanches and Texans. Is Black Feather free to go?” Se Certainly ; I am not the man to detain you. The Indian going into the bushes brought out two horses, and placed the lariat of the Dest in Ned Clayton’s hand, ‘See, my brother,” he said; “ Black Feather ives you this horse, that you may not forget im. If we meet in battle, let the man who is bravest slay the other and take hisscalp. Black Feather has kept his word. “J will never seek the scalp of the son of Single Hand,” replied Ned. “On the contrary, If we meet in battle let us fight some other man, rather than strike at each other.” “Tt is good,” said Black Feather. ‘‘ The son of Single Hand will not strike at the bosom of the man who is his friend.” He sprung into the saddle, waved them a stately adieu, and rode away at full speed across the plain, until a roll in the prairie hid him from sight.. The rangers again tok the trail and rode for ten miles without meeting an enemy, but the trail freshened as they cami pss Lesey the scouts in advance came back ata op. “Here they come, Cap; they make dust enough for an army.” Captain Hardin called his men to a halt, and dashed forward to the top of the ridge. Some distance in front he could see a y of men advancing, seemingly five times the number of his own force, but a second glance revealed the truth. They were driving before them a great cavalcade of horses, fastened together by means of lariats. “They have struck ae ranch,” he cried. ‘*Back, men; we can find a better ground than this to attack them.” The rangers silently drew back, and, conceal- ed from view by the clouds of dust raised by the advancing drove of horses, took their station behind a thick growth of bushes in order for a charge. Each man sat with his rifle upon his knee at the full cock, ready for action at a mo- ment’s notice, their pistols c The caval- cade on, and as they came abreast of the position of the rangers, a withering volley was poured in, before which many of the Coman- ches bit the dust. A wild c followed, ac- companied by yells which would have shamed the ian war-cry. This sudden attack, com- ing from a quarter whence they least etpesees it, took the Indians by surprise, and, before msg had recovered, the rangers were upon them and the pistols had begun their deadly work. To add to their confusion, the long lines of cap- tured horses wheeled and darted back among them, throwing them into the utmost confusion. Unable to extricate themselves from the press, the red-skins were shot down without mercy, and when the smoke of the battle rolled awa: many bloody corpses cumbered the go aod, and only a small number, and many of these wounded, had mana to escape. i nm so complete that the The had loss of the rangers was very slight. One man only was badly wounded and several others had -wounds, not one of them so severe as to disable the sufferers. The rangers scattered about the plain, engaged in the duty of scalp- ing the dead, for the Texans imitated the sav- age foe in this respect and the trophy had the ditional value of drawing a bounty. When this was done they began to collect the scattered horses. Captain Hardin and Ned had not dismounted, after the battle, nor taken part in mutilating the dead, although they re ed it as the legitimate result of an Indian battle, As the captured horses were brought in the cap- tain started and turned pale, for he recognized his mark, and knew that the al s had come from his own corrals. He looked south and saw a thick black smoke rising above the next roll in the prairie. - ““My God, Joe, these are my horses. Leave five men to collect them and come on, for they struck my ranch!” Lah The old ranger pbeyed, eset satisfying him- self that none of Tom Duke’s force were amon the slain and that Single Hand had esca The distance to the ranch was a little over seven miles, and they went on at a long, sling- ing trot as much as their horses would bear
Page 13
after their late exertions. As they went the saw evidences of destruction on every hand. Stock-buts and corrals were in confusion, the ates down, and here and there the body of a Gevican herdsman scalped and gory could be seen. The stout cy eee groaned inagony. A moment more and he would know the worst, for only one ridge lay between him and his ranch—the home where he had been happy so long. The pace they were going was now tremendous, and as they reached the crest of the slope a cry of execration burst from every Fine ranch lay before them, but in ruins, and the smoke was rising from the burning pile. Hardin uttered a cry which was almost a scream of agony, and dashing the rowels into his horse’s flanks, darted down the slope, closely followed by his men, furious with passion. Tom Duke had done his work but too well! CHAPTER XIL THE WIFE’S DOOM. CAPTAIN HARDIN was astrong man, but as he looked upon the smoking ruins of his once hap- py home, he covered his face with his hands and gave utterance to a despairing groan. Scatter- ed about on the sod and among the blackened embers, lay the gory bodies of the victims of savage hate. Some, no doubt, lay beneath the smoldering ruins, burned out of the semblance of humanity. Where was his wife? Could it be possible that she had perished with the rest? He knew that Tom Duke was a villain, but that he could have been so base as to murder that good woman, seemed hardly possible. “Come, captain,” said Ned, kindly laying his hand upon his shoulder. ‘‘Bear up like a man. I know that Tom Duke would not allow your wife to be killed; that was not his plan.” “You think she is a prisoner, then?” cried the captain, eagerly. ‘Certainly, and that no doubt is the reason he separated from the Indians. He had found that you were gone, and would no doubt come back on the east side of the gulch, and he had no wish to meet you. We will run him to earth and get the ladies back, or die trying it. What do you say, men?” The rangers set up a stunning cheer, and a hopeful expression passed over the face of the captain. ‘Then I swear never to turn back from the pursuit while life lasts, until my dear ones are saved. You are with me, boys; let us see what old rangers can do. Let us ride back and meet, the horses, pick out fresh ones, and away again on the trail.” It was no sooner said than the y were again in motion, headed back toward the plain where the few remaining stockmen were gather- ing in the scattered animals. As they rode along a faint voice called to them from some bushes by the baby Lay and little Pomp, the house-waiter, bleeding from a wound in the thigh, crawled out to meet them. **Oh, massa, dear massa, you come too late. Dem ragin’ debbles done took Missee ’Rie ’way, dey did!” ‘Who did?” “Dem robbers an’ Injines. Dey come altoged- der, an’ kill Pete and Eph and Jake Snyder, and dem greasers, and tote Missee "Rie "way on a hoss; I see’d ’em,” *: That is proof positive that I was right, cap- oe! Pig: Ned. ‘Which way did they go, om ‘* Dey tuk up de wes’ side ob de valley, Marse xe is chile soo'd ’em.” Ys e ismounted and looked at the boy’s wounded thigh, washed it in spirits, bound it a and told him to lie down in the shade and they would send the stockmen after him. When they reached the corral they found the men passing in the animals, one by one, and after picking out fresh horses and giving the men their instruc- tions, the rangers rode away upon the trail of Tom Duke. oe to him and his ruffian band if they were overtaken ! Lillian passed the hours before day in ridi with Coral through the chaparral. Her he was more at ease, for Coral had whispered to her that Ned had escaped, and that she would aid ber at the first opportunity. No such chance came, however, for Tom rode close beside them, watching every movement, and it was literally impossible for the Fi to get away. bout three in the morning, they reached the Indian camp, and the bandit chief gave them blankets and told them to lie down until he call- ed them, but in order to insure their safety, he put a guard over them both, laughingly saying Single Hand. 13 that Coral needed watching as much as Lil- n. si ye lost confidence in me, then, Tom?” said Coral, sadly. “IT won’t say that, my dear Coral,” he re- plied; ‘‘ but you are too soft-hearted for this wicked world, and have taken a fancy to this young lady. Under the circumstances, and in consideration of the fact that one prisoner has escaped already, I think it safest to put a guard near you. Your eyes might close accidentally, and this girl get away.” Coral turned away with asinking heart, and the two beautifal women lay down bee in each other’s arms, and soon fell asleep. hen roi f were called up the camp was in motion, and the Indians already were preparing their homely meal, while the outlaws were maki more elaborate preparations for breakfast. Coral and Lillian arose and set about prepar- ing food for themselves, and when it was done, Duke came over and joined them. “We are in a hurry, this morning, Coral, and with your permission I will join you at breaktast.’ ‘Where are you going, Tom?” asked Coral. You might tell me that.” “TI might,” he replied, laughing; “but, on the whole, I think I will not do so. Itis a sort of business better kept from women’s ears. You will know soon enough. To-day my revenge will be complete, and then good-by to Texas forever and a day!” “You refuse to give me your confidence,” said Coral, proudly, ““T did not think that time would ever come.’ “Nor I, Coral. You do not know why I re- fuse to tell you this, but, one day, I will make my actions good to you. What is that you have—coffee? Give me a cup, for I am very ‘**T will ask you no more questions,” said Co- ral, drawing herself up proudly. ** That is just as well, my dear. I do not pro- prose to be pumped in the presence of company, you may be sure of that. Giveme a rib of that venison; thanks.” Coral understood, now, that he refused to speak on account of Lillian’s presence, and said no more. When their hasty meal was concluded they were helped to the saddle, and the whole party, accompanied by the Indians, rode away the south, witb scouts spurring to and fro upon either flank, to warn them of the approach of anenemy. In this order they proceeded un- til the smoke of Hardin’s Ranch could be seen aove the ridge, when the captain called a halt and held a consultation with Single Hand. ““T leave the stock-yards and men about them to you, chief,” he said. ‘‘ As for the house-ser- vants, it will be no trick to attend to them with my. own men,” he chief nodded gravely. ‘* Where shall we meet again when the work is done, my brother?” “ At the place where we camped last night. As soon as you have killed the stockmen and taken the horses, drive them away, and we will follow and overtake you by the time you get to the camp.” The arrangement pleased the chief, as by it he would have the most valuable portion of ‘the spoilsin hisown hands. The outlaw rode back and spoke to Coral. “You will stay here with a guard of five men Coral. Keep the girl with you, for I do not wish her to see the destruction of her father’s house, much as I hate him. Davis, Belton, Flo d, Timpson and Dean, ride out of the ranks, The men thus called by name obeyed orders. “These ladies are in your charge, be In case anything ag ag to us, you will make what speed you can to the old place in the North- west range. Davis is in command of the detach- ment.” ‘“‘T wish you would give me charge, captain,” said Jim Blanchard. “I am not particularly struck after this business you are about to do; it ain’t in my line.” _ “Just as you like, Jim. Davis, come back into a ranks, and Blanchard will take com- mand. Lillian was pleased at the change, for the frank manner of Blanchard had won with her from the first. She knew that a deadly peril hung over her old home, but she could ‘see no way to.avert it. _ “I will not waste my breath in idle entreaty, sir,” she said, but may God deal with you as you do with me and mine.” pied my head be it,’” was the laughing re- Ply “Fallin boys; forward.” he outlaws now took the advance, and the Indians followed at a slashing pace—the latter turning to the right and left to attack the horse corrals. The white men dashed down the road and never drew bridle until they reached the ranch; which was already in confusion. The faithful house-servants, sprung at once to their arms, closed the doors and windows, and pre- pared to defend the place to the last. “Curse the black thieves!” said Duke. ‘‘ They will make us trouble, after all, and no one sus- poet them of fighting intentions. Dismount, ys ; leave the usual horse-guards and make a rush. The negroes in the house were well armed, for the house was at all times a perfect arsenal, — the head-quarters of the rangers. The ple in the building were under the aces ake Snyder, a gigantic mulatto, who i something of his fighting ye into the rest. * You in de cellar, Missee ’Rie,” he said. “We fight to de las’ drop of our blood for ? “* My brave fellows,” cried Mrs. Hardin, “ you will only waste your blocd in vain.” ““Nebber you min’ us. P’raps ef we make noise enuff, de massa heah us an’ come to our -— Go down cellar, quick!” ) 04 ge him, just as the outlaws made a determined rush at the house, in which they were nobly met by the black servants, and for a time held in check. But, axes were sounding upon doors and windows, which were soon brok- en down, and the white demons came swarming in. While crowded into the opening of the great hall, the negroes fired together, causing dreadful slaughter, and then retreated to the door of the cellar, and began to reload hastily. Fearful that they would fire again, Duke or- dered a rush at them, when they clubbed their rifles and for a time kept the foe at bay. Jake fought like a Paladin, and two of the outlaws had fallen under the sweep of his powerful arm, when Tom Duke drew a pistol and lifted it care- lessly. * Give yourselves up, you black devils,” he * No,” shouted Pete; ‘‘ we die fust!” “Take that, then, to end your folly,” said Duke. The pistol came to a level, the hammer fell, and the brave negro dropped, shot through the heart. His fall disheartened the rest, and et they still struggled, it was not long be- fore they were beaten down, man by man, and the ranch was captured. ‘““Throw the carrion away from that door,” cried Duke. ‘‘ Remember that the man who harms Mrs. Hardin dies by my hand.” The bodies of the negroes and those whom they had stricken down were thrown aside, and Tom Duke entered the cellar, followed by some of hismen. Mrs. Hardin had heard enough to convince her that the blacks had resisted nobly, but the sudden pause in the tumult told her that they had been conquered, and she advanced to meet her enemies. “I give myself u ” she said, proudly. ‘Do with me as you will.” Tom Duke averted his face and ordered her to ascend the stairs before him. Villain as he was he could not meet the glance of the pure eyes of the woman he had loved vainly but well, years before—at least not yet. Two men took her in charge and led her out of the house to the rear of the horses, where they waited orders. In the meantime those of the servants who had not re- sisted, women and boys, were brought out, tied two and two and conveyed to the rear. Then, by the orders of Duke, a quantity of combusti- ble material was piled in a small closet and he set fire to it with his own hand. ‘“Hardin will come back to a ruined home,” he muttered. ‘‘Oh, that he could only know whose hand had dealt the blow!” : He left the house and watched the curlin flames gradually ascending the wooden wall, and lapping up the light material and sending up a clear hain with but little smoke. An ex- pression of horrible delight crossed his face. “My work is déne,” he cried, “and now bhur- rah for Mexico!” The outlaws mounted and fell back a little, carrying with them every portable article of value which they had found within the build- ing. Mrs. Hardin, with her face buried in her hands, was weeping as if her heart would break, when some one touched her on the shoulder, and she looked up to see Tom Duke standing beside her * egg Seton demoniac glee at the burning buildi g. she saw his face she uttered a cry of surprise and horror and started back. * “You, Elwood! Had you the heart to do this terrible crime?” ““My work, mine!” he answered. “I told you, long ago, to remember me in the time to
Page 14
Beadle’s Half-Dime Library. come. ‘Vhen I was driven out, a friendless and homeless outcast, with a price upon my head, my promised wife given to my enemy, my for- tune in his hands, I warned you to keep me in | mind, for one day I would have revenge. I have it now, and it is sweet.” “Tt may be sweet to you, Marmaduke El- | our cruel heart has conceived a | wood, but wicked slander when you say that Hardin ever wronged you.” “Curses— Bah! Why should I waste time in talking of him now, in the moment when my revenge is complete? He shall know that I have avenged the wrong done me, but, as for you, you shall never see his face again. Boot and saddle, boys; take the west side of the gulch and forward!” A horse had been provided for her and she rode away with the hand of Duke Elwood Tom Duke—upon her bridle-rein. was a sort of pity in them too. “Tf you had kept faith with me,” he said slowly, ‘‘all might have been well. Say that I killed a man who had insulted me—what of that? Neither had deserved better at my hands.” ‘* You wrong me still; I never promised to be your wife.” “No; but you had half-promised when this noble cousin of mine, James Hardin, came to | Baton Rouge. There, say no more; married and my wife is yonder, but Iw my revenge all the same.” ‘“What will you do?” ‘¢You shall know in the future, and when I have revealed your fate to you, I doubt not that you will say that I know how to avenge a wrong.” At this moment they were joined by Coral and Lillian. The sweet child sprung from the saddle and hurried to meet her mother, but Duke Elwood interposed. ‘No, no; not by any means. Stand back, my little beauty, for you shall not touch her hand.” Coral heard what he said, and the old furious Spanish blood sprung into new life as she thrust him resolutely back. “Stand back you, Thomas Duke! I tell you that the child shall go to her mother, whether you are pleased or not.” He looked at her fiercely, and half-raised his clenched hand as if to strike her, but changed his mind, bursting into a strange laugh, and looking at Lillian already locked in her mother’s ou are finish Ss. ‘“ You will go too far with me, one day, Cor- al,” he said, ‘‘I love you, but my love is not of the texture which endures every thing. When this foolishness is ended, put that girl back on her horse or I will assist her in an un- welcome way.” Lillian withdrew from her mother’s arms and mounted her horse again, her face suffused in tears; the cavalcade went up the valley by the light of the burning ranch. CHAPTER XIII. A LIFE FOR A LIFE. At the time when the rangers were engaged in the battle with the band of Single Hand, the outlaws were about ten miles to the east, near nough to hear the sounds of the battle. Duke ha smiled satirically, and said to Blanch- ard: “Tt was a good thought of mine, sending the Indians away with the cattle. I was tolerably certain that they would fall in with the rangers, and get trounced, and in doing so delay Hardin in his return to the ranch. Hurry up the men; a not think to fight them on this open Blanchard turned somewhat sullenly and shouted the order to the men. The pace became a brisk trot, for none of them had any wish to fall in with the rangers, although, like most men, they would fight well when driven into a corner. r f capertea tlh pont ay ee: the ve of the cha unged into its See Mrs. Hardin, Lillian, Coral and Duke Elwood were among the last to enter, the first two reluctantly enoneh, for they knew how h their rescue would be when once they were in the depths of the forest. “Leave all hope behind as you enter this ace,” said Duke Elwood. ‘Think that you ve looked for the last time upon your hus- band’s face, ia, for you shall never see him more. You are doomed to a life which will be some revenge for all that I have suffered.” ria Hardin answered him by a look of proud disdain, and he ordered her savagely to ide on. She obeyed without a word and fol- ivwed the band by devious paths to the deep His eyes | shone with a strange triumph, and yet there | | to the place appointed as a re fastness in the chaparral, not the one which they had formerly occupied, but another far more remote from the reach of helping bands. Duke assisted them to descend and led them toa simple hut of boughs, which he ordered them to enter by a wave of the hand. Coral alone remained without, ‘A word with you, husband,” she said. ‘I have always loved and honored you, but it can not be that you mean to take vengeance upon | two weak women for the offense of another? | You have desolated their home; is not that enough for you?” “Silence, Coral; follow them into the hut, and see to it that I hear no more from Pie upon the subject. This is my business, and I will not | allow it, in any | way.” ; She said no more, but turned from him witha " look which he had never seen upon her face be- fore—a look which spoke of rebellion and defi- ance. “‘T fear that I shall be obliged to give my dear wife a lesson,” he muttered; ‘and if would not have all my plans frustrated, I must see to it that. she does not have too much chance to aid them.” He instructed Bennett to set a guard over the prisoners, who were placed under his especial care, and to watch Coral as close as the rest. Two men were then sent peyton the chaparral ndezvous with the Indians, asking Single Hand to join him in his new camp, It would take at least two hours to go and return, and in the mean time something must be done to guard against the approach of | Hardin, who would be sure to follow them. Ambushes were set at various points upon th? devious road to their place of refuge, but as yet the rangers did not he Sa Blanchard made an offer to go to the hiding-place of the women who belonged to the om and convey them safely to a point where they could be easil picked up when the party left the chaparral, thus leaving the priscners without a friend. Duke Elwood was glad to get rid of him, for he feared that he did not take kindly to the duty of oppressing women, “There goes our last friend,” said Lilly, who saw him depart through an opening in the hut. ms I confess that I had a hope that he would aid us you to interfere with **T don’t believe that he will desert you,” said Coral, ‘‘Dear lady, I wish you would teach me to be a good woman. I have been badly | taught all my life, and I fear that I love my | husband too well, but I can not—I can not aid him in wronging you.” ‘*T believe that you will be true to us,” said Mrs. Hardin, “‘ but I fear that you are too out- | yg in your words, If you could seem a lit- | tle colder to us, it would be better perhaps.” ‘*Tt is hard for me to feign,” said Coral, *‘ but, as you say, perhaps it,would be better. Here comes my husband.” Duke Elwood entered the hut and told Coral to leave it for awhile. ‘‘Madam,” he said, after his wife was gone “T have come to tell you what disposition I ropose to makeof you. My ally, Single Hand, as suffered heavily in the fighting of the last few days, and I have reason to believe that all his plunder has been retaken by the rangers. Some amends must be made him, and there is but one course open for me. You shall pay my debt to the chief.” ‘“What can you mean, Duke Elwood? I do not understand your words.” “Then I must endeayor to explain. You shall be given to the chief as his wife. Your daughter shaJl accompany you, to be disposed of as the chief shall see fit.” “Oh, coward! villain! traitor to every good | and true thing! You can not mean what you say; it is too horrible!” " ‘T will prove to you that I do mean it, before the day is done. Messengers have been sent to the chief, and in an hour or two, at most, he will be here, ready to claim you. When he has done that, Tt am off for Mexico, satisfied that my work in Texas is com leted. ‘There; I do not propose to bandy words with you, but you know your fate.” : He turned quickly from the hut, leaving the two prisoners dumbstricken at the horrible ven- geance he proposed, As he passed out, Coral | gle Hand. | she thought. — ed her hand in his arm and walked smilingly y his side through the camp. “T am afraid I was a little jealous of you, Tom,” she said. smiling. ‘I did not like to have you keep these prisoners, for you have con- f that you loved Mrs. Hardin once.” “Ts that all?” he said, laughing. ‘‘ Thon you must set your little heart at rest, for I will prove to you, before the day is done, that I do not love her now.” “You are going to send them away, then?” “‘ After to-day, no civilized man will ever see their faces again. I am going to give them asa peace-offering to Single Hand.” , It_was only by a strong effort of her will that this wonderful woman restrained herself. ° The plan was too horrible, and for a moment she al- most doubted the evidence of her senses. “Ts not that too dreadful, husband! Take them to Mexico, and put them in a convent; they could never get out of that.” e shook his head slowly. ‘I have thcught of that, too, but the priests might ask some awk- ward questions. No, this is the only way to get rid of them entirely, and I will leave it to Sin- There, run away, little one: be as- sured that I love you as much as ever.”’ She stood for a moment in the same position, looking wildly after him. ‘“*T will save him from this horrible crime,” she murmured. ‘He is insane upon this one | point. Let me think it out.” She went away by herself and sat upon a great tree, in deep thought. While in that posi- tion, Single Hand and a small party of Indians passed her swiftly, on their way to the camp. - The red scoundrel has come to claim them,” ‘What can 1 do? oh, what can I do to save them?” Single Hand came on, his dark brows over- cast, and he met the gaze of Duke Elwood with a fierce glange. “* Here I, Single Hand, chief of the Com- anche. The prairie is red with the blood of my brave men, and my belt is without scalps. You promised much, and you have given me nothing, and now why have you sent for me?” ‘“*Who can tell what the future may bring forth?” replied Elwood. “It is not my fault if you met Hardin and were beaten.” “Why was not my brother there with his _men, to strike beside Single Hand and drive tho white rangers into the guiches? My brother is not fond of fighting, himself, but he is willing to let his red brothers fight for him.” Conscious guilt for a moment reddened the cheek of the outlaw, for he knew that the chief had spoken truly, and that the Indianshad been sent back on the old trail simply that they might meet the rangers. But the native assurance of the bad man came to his aid, “The chief wrongs his brother,” he said. “How could I know which way the rangers would come? They might have met me—they did meet you. It is in the hands of fate.” As he spoke, the rattle of arms was heard far away to the west. ‘* Fighting is going on in that direction, chief. | We must leave this place, but first let me show | you the offering I have to give you.” The chief followed him into the cabin, and he pointed to the sinking women. ‘They are yours,” he said; ‘all I ask of you is that they may never return to Texas.” “It is well,” cried the chief, eagerly. ‘ My brother has redeemed all, and Single Hand be- lieves hima true man. The white women will prepare to follow the steps of Single hand.” “Away with them, chief, and we will foliow, for the rangers are not far away!” cried Duke, ihn ates f ; e chief advanced to seize upon the frighten- ed women, when Coral, almost beside herself with grief, ran in and presented a pistol to the head of the Comanche. ‘* Stand back!” she cried. ‘‘ Lay a finger upon one of them again and you are dead.” “What do you mean, Coral?’ hissed Elwood. “Death! do you know what you are trying to do? Have you lost your senses?’ “They shall not go with that brutal savage,” . she replied, in the same fierce tone; ‘‘nothing save death shall drive me from them.” He sprung upon her, seized her fiercely by the wrist and wrenched the weapon from her hand. At the same moment came The charging cheer of the rangers, who, guided by Jim Blanchard, whose departure had been really to warn the whites, poured in upon the astonished outlaws, who, caught like rats in a trap, were beaten down, man by man. The sudden onslaught had taken them all by surprise, and they were swept away before the raat of the now furious rangers. Contesting every inch of aha se Duke Elwood and Single Hani, with a few faithful followers, hard press- ed by Ned Clayton, Captain Hardin, Prairie Joe and Jim Blanchard, were forced back to the door of the hut, where the women were con- cealed. In that moment Coral showed that her love for her husband was above all else, Le
Page 15
against his life. “Ned Cla B Tri ? him. Blanc ard, Evans, save his life! He is beaten; he will give up.” Single Hand saw that all was over, and heav- ing up his mi hty ax, rushed headlong into the midst of the foe, who parted like water before him, and then closed in on every side. A mo- ment of wild commotion, weapons flashed blows were struck, and Single Hand lay dead in the midst of the crowd, with three dead rangers at his feet. Duke Elwood sprung back, a pistol in each hand, just as Lillian and her mother appeared in the doorway. Brought to bay, the savage nature of the man came out, and shouting a fierce defiance, he caught Lillian by the arm and laced the pistol at her head, but Coral, strikin it from his hand, pushed Lillian back into the hous?, and placed herself before the door. “Stand back, all of you!” screamed the des- rate man. ‘‘ You know me now, James Har- in. I am Duke Elwood, your own cousin, whom you robbed of all that makes life sweet. I had my revenge in my hands, and she dares to thwart me.” Even as he spoke he snatched a small dagger from Coral’s belt, and struck her a quick, fierce blow, aimed at her heart. She sunk gasping the earth, the blood bubbling from the wound. Then placing the point of the keen weapon agatha} his own breast, he drove it sharply home, and with a gasping sigh, fell dead at the feet of his bleeding wife. “* Back, all of you!” she cried, in a feeble voice. ‘‘Leave me with my dead. He killed me, you say; let it be so, would rather die by his hand than live without him.” She dragged herself forward a little and look- ed down upon the dead face. There was actual- ly a smile upon it, and he looked grand in bis repose. She never moved, but spoke to that dead man in tones of loving tenderness, which went to every heart. ‘Lie you there, my dear one, cold and dead? Wait on the border of the river, and my soul will join yours in your flight to that ~off land. Lillian, come to me.” Lillian bent beside her, weeping as if her heart would break. ‘“*T loved you, sweet one,” she said, ‘‘and I died to save your life. a poor, lost wo- man, and pray for the rest of my unhappy soul. Ned Clayton, to you we owe all this, but I can- not blame you.” — “‘T would have died to save your life,” sobbed Ned. ‘I never looked for this sad end. Can we not do something? You may not be so bad- ly hurt.” ‘*T shall be dead ina moment more. Lay me with my husband in this sequestered place, where no one will come to disturb our rest. Farewell. Husband, I come to you.” She threw herself upon the dead form of the man she had loved, and with the effort her life | passed away. They laid this erring pair under the green turf of the little glade, and not one in the wild band but mourned for the beautiful wife of Duke Elwood. Of his past, little need be said. He was a cousin of James Hardin, who had loved Maria Lascelle before she became the wife of Hardin. Aman of rare parts, but who led a life of riot, he forged his father’s name, and at last killed a friend in a bar-room fight. After that he fled to Texas, at that time the city of refuge to all criminals; and from that time his friends had not heard of him. When he went away, he breathed fierce invectives against his cousin, by whose means he had been detected in the crime of forgery and swore revenge when they met. James Hardin never had hated him—had giv- en his evidence most unwillingly, but this was nothing to the monomaniac, and when they met in Texas the dormant passion of the man was again aroused, and he began, through the medi- um of Ned Clayton, that train of events which terminated so tragically for him. Black Feather, trusting to his action in favor of the whites, came into the camp and asked permission to carry away the body of his father, which had been protected from mutilation by Ned Clayton, and the giant form was borneaway to be buried amid ee graves of the old-time chiefs of the Comanche. The rangers, after burying the dead and searching out the con- $8 at: treasure of the “es i tua Ane. rode back to e deso. after roots Be: a party under Bianchard to find the women and care bor them. The treasure which was found went far to recompense Captain Hardin for his loss, and n, as we were once friends, spare | a sprung in between him and the weapons raised before a month had Single Hand. ssed, the family, who had been living with a friend some miles away, moved into the new house, where Ned Clayton was again domesticated, overseeing every thing. Jim Blanchard became a sub-overseer, and his pretty wife lived in the great house and was tate much of by Lillian. The rest of the women scattered to various parts, but old Jinny was found and installed in a place of trust, in the new house, where she lorified the houses of Lascelle and Hardin to fer dying day. Four years passed. Ned Clayton was no longer overseer for Captain Hardin, but had a ranch of his own, further M4 the valley, with Jack Evans as overseer. He has grown into a fine, robust man, with a stunning mustache and imperial, and is doted on by all the ce along the Rio Grande. But, he has been true to his first love, and this year, when the harvest was yellow and the fields groaning with riches, he took to his home a fair young bride, for whose sake he had done and suffered so much— Lillian Hardin. THE END. THE NEW YORE Fireside Library. ‘Ten Cents each; Double or Single numbers. 1 Was Sue His Wire? Mrs. Mary R. Crowell... 10c. 2 Fierine From Love. By Harriet Irving .... 10c. 3 Dip He Love Her? Bartley T. Campbell.... 10e. 4 A StrANGE Woman. By Rett Winwood .... 10c. 5 NapIA, THE RussiAN Spy. F. Whittaker.... .. 10c 6 Two Gres’ Lives. By Mrs. Mary R. Crowell. 10¢. 7-8 Lapy AUDLEY’s SECRET. By Miss M. E. Brad- _- don .... ae 200. 9 Tue War or Hearts. Corinne Cushman ... 10c. 10 LEIGHTON GRANGE. Miss M. E. Braddon ..... 10c. 11 Tue Fatse Wipow. Mrs. J. D. Burton ...... 10c. 12-13 Lost ror Love. Miss M. E. Braddon...... 10c. 14-15 ToILeRs OF THE SHA. By Neer Hugo..... 10c. 17-18 Uncie Sruas. By J. S. Fanu 19-20 Deap-Sea Fruit. Miss M. E. Braddon..... 10. 21-22 Lirrite Kate Kirspy. F. W. Robinson....., 10c. 23 Sowrne tHE WIND. Mrs. M. R. Crowell.... 10c. 24-25 Birps of Prey. Miss M. E. Braddon ..... 10c. 26 Tat Boy or Norcort’s. Charles Lever . 10c. 27-28 CHARLOTTE’s INHERITANCE. By Miss M. FE. Braddon YE RS ies Pe. 10c. 29 A Grrw’s Heart. By Rett Winwood ee og, | 80-31 Rep as A RoszE Is SHE. By Rhoda Brough- ton .. ul Pate» ete LOC 32 Tue Liny or St. Erne. By Mrs. Crow ...... 10¢. 33 STRANGELY WeEp. By Mrs. J. D. Burton...... 10c. 34 Tue Gipsy Bripg. By M. E. O. Malen........ 10ce. 35 ANNIE TEMPLE. By Rev. J. H. Ingraham... 10c. | 86 Wrrnovut Mercy. By Bartley T. Campbell... 10c. 387 BLack Eyes anp BLuE. By Corinne Cush- Ee 2. Fv , 10¢. 40 Ouma’s Loygs. By Henrietta E. DeConde.. . 10c. a1 Loe: A Woe By yee poshman 10c. INNING WAys. ount van 43 A Woman’s Hxarr. Mrs. M. V. Victor .. 10c. 44 Top Deap, Letter. By Seeley Regester .. 10c. 45 Lorp Liste’s DauauTer. By C. M. Braeme. 10c. 46 A Woman’s Heart. By the author of “‘ The DOGIPCEOULED,””.;.. .tROets .s Mgb races sees vevces 10c. For sale by all newsdealers, or sent, postage paid, on receipt of twelve cents for single numbers, double numbers twenty-four cents. BEADLE & ADAMS, Publishers, 98 William street, N. Y. —_—————__ve_errTvr oo The Sunnyside Library. 4 Tue Lapy or THE Lake. Sir Walter Scott... 10c 5 Luctrte. By Owen Meredith... 6 Unpinz, OR THE WaAreER-Sprrir, From the German of Friederich De La Motte Fouque... 10c For sale by al) newsdealers, or sent, postage paid, on receipt of twelve cents for single numbers, double numbers twenty-four cents. ADAMS, VICTOR & CO., Publishers, 98 William street, N. Y. The Model Weekly! The Respectable Popular Paper —AND— Home Weekly of New York. The New York Saturday Journal | For 1878. WITHOUT A RIVAL as a sterling journal of Wholesome Literature for family fireside reading. It is conceded that for stories of purely American life and adventure it has no peer. IN STORIES OF HEART LIFE, where love is portrayed in all its power and purity, it leads all others. IN ROMANCES OF ADVENTURE for our young men and boy readers, no other weekly published can compare with it in first class merit. ITS SPECIALTIES: Washington Whitehorn, Joe Jot, Jr., Beat Time, as humorists; Ths Parson’s Daughter, Eve Lawless and Garry Gaines as essayists of marked original- ity; Launce Poyntz, C. Dunning Clark, Major Max Martine, who, in their different ‘series’ of adven- ture on land and sea, are unapproachable in their special field—all aiding in making the JouRNAL the ever welcome, genial guest to thousands of homes. OF EXCLUSIVE AUTHORS, those writing only for the Sarurpay JouRNAL—no other weekly can boast of a better corps. Capt. Mayne Reid, the modern J. Fenimore Cooper of romantic adventure in the Far West and South West, who commands the admiration of a world of readers. Albert W. Aiken, in his city life and wild ro- mance of the mines of the West, has not a su- perior. %. Mrs. Wary Reed Crowell stands at the oo as a writer of dramatic fiction of the best class. Oll Coomes, in his boys’ tales of adventure in the Indian country, is incomparable and unchal- lenged in his field. Corinne Cushman, in serials of Love and oer and of Girls’ Life, ‘‘is a bright, particular star.” Joseph E. Badger, Jr.’s thrilling dramatic stories of prairie and mountain life, adventure and character, stand pre-eminent. Charles Morris, the Charles Dickens of Amer- .ica, in stories of boys’ life in our great cities. whose his- Capt. Frederick Whittaker ree Lance of torical romances stamp him as the light literature. Col. Delle Sara, the man of many lands and many adventures, who tells his story with a dash ing, graphic pen. Col, Prentiss Ingraham, who is equally “at home” on land or on tle sea, Rett Winwood, never failing in deep, abiding interest. Mary Grace Halpine, the keen reader of human nature and vivacious novelist. These and many others make each issue of the paper A BRILLIANT LITERARY WORLD. The list of sketch and short story contributors is especially strong, embracing, beside the names above mentioned, such authors as Eben E. Rexford, Lucille Hollis, Mattie Dyer Britts, Henri Montcalm, Harbaugh, Hap Hazard, Edward L. Wheeler, Capt. Charles Howard, A. . Bellaw, Maro O, Rolfe, Jennie Davis Burton, Roger Starbuck, etc. IN ** DEPARTMENTS” the SarurDAY JoURNAL vies with a!l other weekties in novelty, interest and usefulness. Answers to Correspondents—Topics of the Times—Work and Piay—Sports and i mat I i yl Par- agraphs—all are distinguished by a freshness, origi- nality and suggestiveness that render them enter- taining and valuable Features. The Saturday Journal is Published Weekly at the following rates: AREER GME, TRUE 5 o onc bie kyo nc cee cs cee For one year ..... vie Two copies for one year Single copies ....... ... _ Serer. eR Supplied by all newsdealers. BEADLE AND ADAMS, PusLisHEBy 98 Writs Sr., New ‘08K.
Page 16
1 Deadwood Dick, THe PRINCE OF THE Roap. By Edward L. Wheeler. Yellowstone Jack; or, THE TRAPPER OF THE ENCHANTED GrounD. By J. E. Badger, Jr. Kansas King; or, THe Rep RiGcarT Hanp, By Buffalo Bill (Hon. Wm. F, Cody). The Wild-Horse Hunters. By Capt. Mayne Reid and Capt. Frederick Whittaker. 5 Vagabond Joe; THE YounG WANDER- InG JEw. By Oll Coomes. 6 Bill Biddon, Trapper; or, Lire In THE Nortuwest. By Edward 8. Ellis. The Flying Yankee ; or, Tae OcEAN Outcast. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham, Seth Jones; or, THE CAPTIVES OF THE Frontier. By Edward 8. Ellis. 9 The Adventures of Baron Mun- | chausen. 1 1 W. Aiken, author of ‘‘ The Spotter Detective,” etc. 12 Gulliver’s Travels. A Voyage to Lilliput, and a Voyage to Brobdingnag. 13 The Dumb Spy. By Oll Coomes, author of ‘‘ Vagabond Joe,” etc. 5 4 Aladdin ; WONDERFUL Lamp, 15 The Sea-Cat; or, THe WircH or Darien. By Capt. Frederick Whittaker. 16 Robinson Crusoe. His Life and Surprising Adventures, (27 illustrations.) 17 Ralph Roy, The Boy Bucca- neer. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham. 1 ‘ag Sindbad the Sailor. His seven voy- ages. From the Arabian Nights. 19 The Phantom Spy ; or, THE Prot ul OF THE PRAIRIE. By ffalo Bill. 20 The Double Daggers; or, Drap- woop Dick’s Dertance. By Edward L. Wheeler, author of ‘‘ Deadwood Dick.” 21 Frontier Angel. A Romance of Kentucky Rangers’ Life. By Edward 8. Ellis, author of ‘*Seth Jones,” etc. 22 The Sea Serpent; or, THE Boy Ropsrnson Crusog. By Col, Juan Lewis, 23 Nick o’ the Night: or, THe Boy Spy or 76. By T. C. Harbaugh. 24 Diamond Dirk: or, Tue Mystery oF THE YELLOWSTONE. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham, author of ‘‘ The Flying Yankee,” etc. 2 5 The Boy Captain: or, Tue Pirate’s DaveuTer. By Roger Starbuck. 26 Cloven Hoof, the Demon. A Edward L. Wheeler Antelope Abe, the Boy Guide. By Oll Coomes, Qe Buffalo Ben, the Prince of the Pistol: or. Deapwoop Dick 1n Disauise. By Edward L. Wheeler. 29 The Dumb Page; or, Tue Doar’s Sioux Captive. By Edward §. Ellis. The Two Detectives; or, THE or, THE By Daveuter. By Capt, F. Whittaker. 30 Roaring Ralph Rockwood, THz Keen-Knife, THE PRINCE or THE Prairies. By Oll Coomes. 22 or, THe Girt Deapv-SHot, By Edward L. Wheeler, author of ‘‘ Deadwood Dick,” ete., ete. Rep Prrates or Tar Carrsers, By Samuel W. Pierce, author of ‘The Boy Detective,” etc., etc. Boy Spy. By Capt. J. F. C. Adams. 35 Wild Ivan, Tue Boy CLAvuprE DuvAL; wood Dick Romance No, 4. By Edward L. Wheeler. Reckiess Rancer. By Harry St. George. 31 Bob Woolf, the Border Ruffian: 3 The Ocean Bloodhound; or, THe 34 Oregon Sol; or, Nick WHIFFLES’ or, Tat BroTrHerHoop or Dears. Dead- = - cureka! Excelsior! ! Nat Todd; or, THe Fare oF THE | Fortunes or A Bowmry Grru. By Albert | ASA \\ Yn Si ee HAND BUFFALO BEN.—NOo, 28. 36 The Boy Clown; or, THE QUEEN OF | THE ARENA, By Frank S. Finn. 37 The Hidden Lodge; or, Tz Litrie HunTer of THE Apraonpacks. By T. C. | Harbaugh, author of “‘ Nick o’ the Night,” etc. 38 Ned Wylde, Tur Boy Scout. Texas Jack. 39 Death-Face, the Detective; or, Lire AND Love In New York. By Ed- | ward L. Wheeler. By 40 Roving Ben. A story of a Young American who wanted to see the world. | | By John J. Marshall. Al Lasso Jack, THE YounG Mustanc- ER. By Ol] Coomes, 42 The Phantom Miner: or. DEAp- woop Dick’s Bonanza. By Ed. L. Wheeler. 4 5 Old Avalanche, the Great An- nihilator: or, THE GIRL BRIGAND. | By Edward L. Wheeler. 46 Glass Eye, the Great Shot ofthe West. By Capt. J. F. C. Adams. Co Tac ANTELOPE ABE.—No. 27. Dick Darling, the Pony Express | BEADLE’S HALF-BIME LIBRARY. Every one of them “Live” Stories by ‘‘ Live®? Authors, a Complete Novel, at the extraordinary price of a HALF-DIME, Rider. By Capt. F. Whittaker. 44 Rattli Rube: or, Tue Nicur- HAWES OF TUCKY. By Harry St. George. | Each number 47 Nightingale Nat: ok, THE Forest A prains. By T. C. Harbaugh. 48 Black John, the Road-Agent, or, THe OvurLaw’s Retreat. By Jos. E. Badger, Jr. 49 Omaha Oll, the Masked Terror, or, DeApwoop Dick In Dancer. By Ed- ward L. Wheeler. 50 Burt Bunker, Tue Trapper. A Tale of the North-west Hunting-Grounds. By Charles E. Lasalle. 51 The Boy Rifles, or, Tae UNpDER- GRouND Camp. By Archie C. Iron, 5 The White Buffalo. A Tale of : Strange Adventure in the North-west. By Charles E. Lasalle. 53 Jim Bludsoe, Jr., THz Boy PHENIX; or, THROUGH TO THE DEATH. By Edward | L, Wheeler. 54 Ned Hazel, Tue Boy Trapper; or, THE PHANTOM PRINCESS. By Capt. J. F.C, Adams. 5D Deadly-Eye, THz Unknown Scour; or, THE BRANDED BrorHERHOOD, By Buf falo Bill. 56 Nick Whiffles’ Pet, or, In THE VALLEY oF DeEaTH. By Capt. J. F. C. Adams, 57 Deadwood Dick’s Eagles; or, THe Parps oF FLoop Bar. By Edward L. Wheeler. 58 The Border King; or, Tur SECRET For. By Oli Coomes. 59 Old Hickory, or, Panny ELLIs's Scatp. By Harry St. George. The White Indian; or, THE Scovr OF THE YELLOWSTONE. By Capt. J. F.C, Adams. 61 Buckhorn Bill, or, Tuk Rep Rirte Tram. By Edward L. Wheeler. 62 The Shadow Ship, or, THE RIVAL rer The Red LizvuTEeNANTS. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham. 6 Brotherkood, or, THz TWELVE AVENGERS. By W. J. Hamilton. 64 Dandy Jack, or, Tur OvuTLAW or THE OREGON TRA. By T. C. Harbaugh. 6 5 Hurricane Bill, or, Mustane Sam AND His ‘‘Parp.’’ By Jos. E. Badger, Jr 66 Single Hand, or, A Lirz ror 4 LiFe. By W. J. Hamilton. 67 Patent-Leather Joe: or, OLD Rart- TLESNAKE, THE CHARMER. By Philip 8. Warne, author of “A Hard Crowd,” “Tiger Dick,” | * Always on Hand,” etc. 68 The Border Robin Hood; or, Trx Prarmiz Rover. By Buffalo Bill. 69 Gold Rifle, THz Youne Snarp- SHOOTER; or, THE Boy DETECTIVE OF THE Buack Rancu. By Edward L. Wheeler. 70 Old Zip’s Cabin; or, Tur Green- HORN IN THE Woops. By Captain J. F.C. Adams. J 1 Delaware Dick; THE Youne Ranc- ER Spy; or, BROTHER AGAINST BROTHER. By Oll Coomes. 72 Mad Tom Western, Tnz TExay Rancer. By W. J. Hamilton. yf Deadwood Dick on Deck; ©. CALAMITY JANE, THE HEROINE OF TH: Wuoop-up. By Edward L. Wheeler. . ” Hawk-eye Harry, THE YounG TRAPPER RANGER. By Oll Coomes, Ready December 24th. "5 The Boy Duelist; or, THE Cruis» oF THE SEA WoxF. By Col. Prentiss In graham. Ready December 31st. A new tssue every week. The Half-Dime Library is for sale by al! Newsdealers, five cents per copy, or sent by mail ou receipt of six cents each. BEADLE & ADAMS, Publishers, 98 William Street, New York. A Sporting Paper for Young Americans, at last! “THE YOUNG NEW YORKER, a Journal of Recreation and World of Sport.” Price, 5 Cents. For sale everywhere. | |