Beadle's Half Dime Library (no. 85) (1879 03 11)
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aN ae i i aw Vol. IV. Single Number. Buck Buckram; oR, BESS, THE FEMALE TRAPPER. A TALE OF THE FAR SOUTH-WEST. BY CAPTAIN J. F. C. ADAMS, AUTHOR OF “‘ OREGON SOL,”’ ‘‘ GLASS EYE,’’ “ NED HAZEL, THE BOY TRAPPER,’ ‘‘ NICK WHIF¥LES’S PET,’’ ‘THE WHITE INDIAN,’’ ETC., ETO, CHAPTER I. A DEED OF THE NIGHT. “‘Don’r you see the camp-fire yet, Buck?” ** No— ’sh! not so loud!” Two men, in trapper costume, were stealthily ypaddling an Indian canoe up one of the tribu- ries of the Colorado, in the far South-west. ' Dark, heavy timber lined ‘both shores, and the faint moon, obscured by the clouds drifting past its face, threw a strange, flitting light over the river, relieved by the inky wall of shadow, that reached out several yards from land. Through this wild solitude, scarcely, if ever, visited by the hunter or tra per, these two men were making their way at midnight, one au- tumn, about twenty years 0. “The canoe was a small birchen one, such as the Co- manches and Apaches are in the habit of using, and, as the two occupants softly ressed their aie paddles meath the surface, they scarcely made a ripple, and the trained ear of the Ameri- can Indian would have noted their pro , only by that phantom-like fi gliding over the surface of the —— eam. _Buck Buckram, a tall, sinewy, iron-limbed trapper, satin the prow, his thin neck craned forward, as he peered forward into the Egyptian darkness, in his effort to dis- cover the little camp-fire, which he and his companion had left several hours batore, In the stern sat a heavy- framed hunter, Dick Havens who dallied with his oar, an at the same time managed to impel it at quite a rapid rate over the suriace of the creek, Both men had hunted and trapped at intervals during the last dozen years, and, in company with Dick Inglis, a younger and Jess experienced mountaineer than them- selves, they had started from Santa Fe on a trapping expe- dition of their own. Buckram, although gener- see | (0 | ST an i Dam » EEE ( NS cei at a a el a i an ot a Copyrighted in 1879, by BEADLE AND ADAMS. ae) CUT. A 0) Aa ETI TNN BEADLE AND ADAMS, PUBLISHERS, No. 98 WILLIAM STREET, NEW YORK. Price, 5 Cents. ally starting from some of the New Mexican towns, had a home of his own in the upper part of the territory, to which, when not toiling for the necessities of life, he hastened, He had a beautiful half-breed wife, to whom he was de- votedly attached, although he had no children. The three men, after making a er of several hundred miles on horseback, had turned their animals loose in a place where there was abundant grazing, and were not liable to be dis- turbed by Indians, and then had sought out their trapping grounds. Finding abundant signs around them, they had located themselves in this place, and’ had been here about a week at the time we open our story. They had met with unusually good success thus far, when they were annoyed by discover- ing that some animal visited their traps during the night, and destroyed whatever was caught in them, ‘*HE IS DEAD, AND THE APACHES HAVE SET HIM UP THAT WAY TO CHEAT US!” To end this annoyance, Buck Buckram and Dick Havens made a nocturnal visit to their traps, in the hopes of detecting the intruder. After several hours’ hunting and waiting, they caught sight of a huge mountain wolf, fiat nu doubt was pleased at finding his meals prepared for him. A rifle-shot doubled him up like a jack-knife, and the two trappers set out on their return to camp. And so on this still autumn night, the two hunters aeepre' silently up the creek, eyes and ears on the alert for danger. Their communi- cation was in those low whispers, which in the forest might have been taken for the rustling of the falling leaves. Suddenly Buck Buckram held his paddle mo- tionless, and with a faint “‘’sh /—” warned his comrade of the same, Halting thus, as silent and stationary as death itself, they detected through the hollow stillness of the night, a faint ripple, which an unexperienced ear would have declared to be caused by a muffled oar, but which these two mountaineers knew to be made by some person or ani- mal swimming in the water. It was only the delicately trained ear that could have recognized the faint rustling ; but a moment’s listening sat~ isfied them both, that what- ever caused it was approach- ing them, and by an instinct- ive impulse, the light canoe was driven under the pro- tecting undergrowth of tho bank. Here the two hunters sat as rigid as the inky tree-trunks alon shore. The creek wide- ning somewhat at this point, and the moon clearing, the clouds sweeping over its face, they had a quite distinct view of the center of the stream. Nearer and nearer came that peculiar liquid sound, until peering through the in- terlacing vegetation, they detec the huge head and Rowing eyeballs of a pan- ther, swimming swiftly against the stream. As he came near the hiding-place of the hunters, his keen ol- factories scented their pre- sence, and he made a detour which carried him nearly inst the opposite bank. e did not land, however, but continued on in the cur- rent, until he was speedily lost sight of in the gloom of the night, and the wonder- fully acute ears of the hunt- ers quickly lost all sound of the retreating animal. A few minutes later, and the canoe was again descend- ing the stream, like the shad- see § figures ina vision of the ght, and believing that all was right around them, the boat was impelled forward with greater swiftness than before,
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2 Suddenly they rounded a nc ag Ne in the stream, and caught the star-like glimmer of the camp-fire, which they had left several hours before. The reflection of the rays from_ the black surface of the stream, had a cheerful ef- fect, like the glow of the settler’s cabin to the belated traveler, and the hunters eee the canoe, with long and powerful strokes, which sent it bounding like a swallow toward its des- tination. When they had approached within a few hun- dred yards, they could see the figure of their friend, half-sitting and half-reclining upon the ground, in the free and easy posture of a wea- ried man, who is taking a quiet smoke after the labors of the day. He did not look up nor, stir his body. His face was toward them, but his head bent forward, as if he were lost in reverie, and the pipe, which a few moments before had rested between his teeth, had fallen out and lay upon the ground. It was singular that he did not move nor show any consciousness of the approach of his friends, although the dip of the paddles was audible for quite a distance in the stillness of the night. Suddenly a horrible fear thrilled through Buck Buckram, as with a tremendous sweep of his oar, he checked the boat, and in a hoarse whisper exclaimed: “He is dead, and the Apaches have set him up that way to cheat us !” CHAPTER II. A GRAVE IN THE SOLITUDE. Back again into the gloom and darkness of the night was the canoe driven by the startled Buck Buckram, while he and his companion cowered down, expecting the crack of the death-dealing rifle, and the exulting shout of the Apaches. But the same impressive silence rested upon wood and stream, as though no human being but themselves were im the solitude; and, when they had glided some distance, they quietly touched shore and stepped out. “ Are you sure you ain’t mistook about that?” inquired Buck Buckram. ‘No, sir,” was the earnest reply, in an under- tone. ‘It’s one of their infarnal tricks. Poor Inglis has gone under, no mistake.” Where are the reds then?” “That was a little quaar. It looks as though, after they had sent him under, they war satis- fied. Leastways, we'll soon find out.” Silently, cautiously, and stealthily the two moved through the woods in the direction of the desolate camp-fire. Quite a distance inter- vened, but the woods and undergrowth were so dense that the moonlight could not penetrate the gloom, and they could scarcely detect each other’s presence as they moved along side by side, within a few inches of each other. When they were within a hundred yards or so of the smoldering camp-fire they separated, so as to approach the camp from different di- rections, and satisfy themselve; whether any Indians were lurking in the viciaity or not and waiting to entrap them. The reconnoissance occupied fully an hour, but the end of it was, the very that not an Apache was within:stri'cing distance. They had struck their blow and fled. As they wosrtes cise the camp they could see their friend in the same statio: sition, which was such a semblance of life itself, that there are few who would not have been de- ceived, The head drooped forward, hiding the face except the grizzly whiskers on the breast, while the hands hung listlessly by his side, as if he were in a quiet, dreamless sleep. Satisfied that no danger threatened, the two wame together. Buck Buckram being some- -what in advance, reached out his hand and placed it upon the shoulder of the dead er The instant he did so he displaced the skillful- ly arranged props, and the latter fell forward senate face, as limp and lifeless as the hunt- ing-shirt left upon his body. ae examination was now, made, and it was '. found that Inglis had been shot from behind b an arrow, which had passed entirely teeouat the body, taking the heart itself in its course. ‘Life yo been driven on Lari . wie more than a gasp upon the part of the unfortu- nate hunter. ree By means of sticks, adroitly placed within his woat sleeves, his body had been raised and sup- in a sitting position, his coon-skin cap ar- si 2 on his head, and even the pipe he was ing at the time the fatal blow was given, again between his teeth. watchful hunter holds his piece in a sort of idle embrace, where it can be seized at an instant’s were, 2 E The Indians had evidently done this for the purpose of drawing the absent trappers into a snare; but, for some cause or other, they had departed before their return, and the latter thus made a narrow escape. As there was still danger of the Apaches re- turning, the trappers withdrew beyond the cir cle of light thrown out by the camp-fire, and prepared to watch until morning, ready in case they did appear, to give. them a welcome which would partly repay them for the diabolical crime they had committed. It was a weary task, waiting and watchi through al] the solemn hours of the night; bu it was maintained vigilantly until morning. Twice during the night they caught the faint outlines of dark figures stealing along the shore of the creek, but they were gone before the eye could fix them, and the hunters maintained their positions without moving. The gray light began beeakit g at last, and when the forest was lit up, there were no signs of their enemies in the a eatin ite Buck- ram and Havens came out from their hiding- place, and approached the body of their fallen companion. Upon removing his ef it was found that he had been scalped, and the blood was drippin down his neck and face; but he was cold: and motionless, and beyond the reach of all further suffering. A painful duty was upon the hunters. The had not the means of digging a grave, and it would never do to leave him above ground, where the wild animals would speedily find and rend him. “Ts there no place where we could put him away in the rocks?” asked Havens, as they stood looking mournfully at the remains of their late companion. “No,” he replied, with a shake of his head, “that won’t do; we should have to carry him too far.” ‘‘Poor Inglis! I wonder whether he had a family?’ remarked Havens. ‘‘I never met him until last winter.” Buck Buckram shook his head. ‘‘Nary a wife nor child. He came from Ken- tucky, and there was something about his leav- ing thar that I never understood, and he never liked to speak about. But Dick was a good fel- ler,” added the trapper, as he brushed a tear from his eye; ‘‘me and him have been in many a desperate scrimmage together, but it’s all over now.” *¢ And where shall we put him?” “Tn the.water.” The plan struck Havens favorably, and they made their preparations at once. e body was lifted up tenderly and carried to the wa- ter’s ecte where it was-placed in the canoe that awaited them. A huge stone was laid beside it, and then Buckram took the oar. Apprehensive that there might be some lurk- ing Apache in the vicinity, they paddled up the stream for fully a half mile until they reached a pore where the sunlight never penetrated, and the dark waters were so deep that no. bot- tom could be seen. The stone was then secured around the trap- r, and he was carefully lowered over the side. ey watched him until he rapidly sunk out of sight, and then, without sein go a word, they took up their paddles and swiftly left the sad scene. CHAPTER III. THE YOUNG CAPTIVE. Since the trappers had Jos® one of their num- ber from the Indians, if would be be that not only on account of their own safety, but for the gloomy associations connected with the place, they would have made haste*to change their quarters. . Their inclination at first was to do so; but, as there was an abundance of beaver around them, they decided to remain through the trappin season. They sincerely mourned the fall o their brave comrade, but they were too accus- tomed to death even in its most revolting shape, to allow it to interfere with' their daily avoca- tions. As for Indians, they were everywhere, especially where white hunters or trappers were likely to congregate. : Careful watch was kept for the Apaches; but, for a time nothing was seenof them. The trap- pers daily visited their horses, which were con- cealed in a deep ravine about half a mile dis- tant, and were gratified, as the da see that they were unvisited by mies, ? to eir old ene- e ——————— < Beadle’s Half-Dime Library. But matters could not always remain thus. The trappers had erected a rude sort of lodge, composed *of bark, logs, and stone, and one af- ternoon, returning to this earlier than usual their ears detected unmistakable evidence of its having been visited during their absence, The signs were slight, but they were convinc- ing. fi I am afraid we shall have to dig out of this,” said Buckram, after they ~had lit their pipes and discussed the matter, “it looks as though the varmints were laying some plan to nab us.” “Yas, and the only wonder is that they hain’t come on us afore,” replied Havens, who had more than once pro: that they should “ pack up their traps” and leave. ““They’ve had something better to ’tend to, in the way of ha’r raising than to look arter us; but, I allow we’d' better tramp without waiting much longer. So, if pole go down and bring up the horses, I'll git the peltrieS ready, and this arternoon, we’ll strike for the mountains.” It was now the dead of winter, although there was no snow upon the ground. The air was keen and sharp, and it was anything but plea- sant for the trappers to leave their rough but comfortable home, and make their way over the bleak prairies and through the chilly woods to some new beaver-runs. Havens acted = the suggestion at once and started in quest of the horses, while Buck Buck- ram began bringing out the furs and packin them into the smallest possible compass, so tha they could be loaded upon one of their horses, oo transported without difficulty to their new ome. He had serious thoughts of caching them, but, under the circumstances, there was too much risk run, as it would be impossible to con- ceal the hiding-place from the éagle-eyed Apa- ches, when the latter had any reason to believe that such a stratagem had been resorted to, So Buck Buckram brought out the beaver- skins, flat and outspread, and, as he flung them admiringly upon the ground, he could but stop and admire them for a few moments. ‘“*' Them ar’ what I call the rig’lar style,” he soliloquized, “‘ sich as a man don’t cotch ever time he goes a beaver-huntin’, and them wi bring a nice little pile of money down at Santa Fe or Taos, or wherever I take ’em.” He rubbed his hand over them as though he was smoothing the back of some favorite ani- mal and added, as he proceeded to tie them up: ‘When I take them down to Santa Fe and turn them into good yaller gold, won’t some- body up among the mountains smile? I rather reckon she will!” » Soliloquizing and chatting with himself, he continued his work until they were secured in convenient bundles, By this time a couple of hours had passed, and he began to look for the reappearance of Dick Havens, He turned his eyes continually in that direction, and, as the time passed slowly b , @ feeling of anxiety be- gan creeping over him—a feeling which. was startled into real alarm, when he heard from the direction he had taken the faint report of a gun. Without one thought of the loss of his pel tries, he instantly caught up his rifle and startr ed toward his friend. In order to make the journey without loss of time, he found, after traveling a mile or so, at a peculiarly romantic and rocky portion of the route, that he was, close to the creek, over which he and his com, rade had passed so many times in their canoe, He was advancing in this manner when his pen ign oe ear caught the ri ple of a paddle, and he drew back, just at the time to escape the observation oA ies we wets seated in a canoe, rapidly paddling down-stream, and who passed acs at his = feet. Now, there was nothing particularly remark- in the sight of these two Apaches, as the were frequently seen in this a's borhood; but, what arrested the attention of Buck Buckram, was the sight of a captive—nothing less than a girl scarcely a dozen years of age who was seat- the ‘stern, with a finely-worked Apache sha pathaned about her. Her long black hair streaming over her shoul- ders might have been taken for that of an In- dian; but the clear white skin was unmistak- ably that of a Caucasian, and her features were almost G in their perfect symmetry, while her figure gave evidence of ripening into one of extraordinary beauty of proportion. The Apaches and Comanches of the South- ae are a for the ion Cae of i pce which ey uently take at ordinary times. Buck a would not have been surprised at the sight before his eyes. But there was something in the appearance of this girl, which
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and taking a quic arrested his attention as it had never been ar- rested before. He stared intently at the beautiful face, and the impression ran through him that he had seen it somewhere before; but think as he might, he could not remember where, although the longer he looked, the more convinced was he that it was not the first time be had encoun- tered her. And then he asked himself whether he should not fire his gun and kill one of the A hes, and, attacking the other, rescue the girl. But he was too old a hunter not to understand the peril both to himself and the captive, but espe- cially the latter. There was no doubt but he would slay one of them, but ere he could reload, the second could brain the girl, and then the fight would be be- tween him and the red-skin., - ‘ Besides that, another consideration restrained his arm, As he carefully scrutinized her face, he fancied that the placid expression upon. it meant that if she was a captive, she was a will- ing one, and in slaying her captors, he would be slaying her best friends, nd while these thoughts were drifting through his mind the canoe passed around a bend out of sight, and he suddenly recollected that he had set out to reach his comrade, who probably was in great peril. CHAPTER IV. THE APACHE HORSE-THIEVES, Wuen Dick Havens left the trappers’ camp, and made haste toward the grazing-place of the horses, it was with little thought of personal danger. He had passed the greater part of the dis- tance, when the near report of a rifle somewhat alarmed him, and caused a sudden checking of his ste Besides the proximity of the report, he distinetly caught the whiz of, a bullet, as it passed within three inches of his cheek. This was pretty conclusive evidence that who- ever fired the gun had made him the target, and the furious trapper whirled about on his heel, and looked for the hiding-place of the assassin. From a small bush, about two hundred yards distant, he saw a faint wreath of smoke aay upward. Hesitating only a moment, he dash in that direction at the top of his speed, mutter- ing: f Pll teach you better manners nor to try that game on Dick Havens, you all-fired coward.” Not for an instant while running did he take his eye off the bush; and as he sped rapidly over the ground, he drew his knife from_his girdle, to ready for the desperate hand-to- hand encounter with the red-skin, who had had the temerity to make the attempt upon his life. And yet when he reached the clump of bush- es, and bounded over them, “red-hot” for the contest, not a man or sign of one was to be seen, For a few minutes he stared about in bewil- dered amazement, and then looked up over his head and then down to the ground, as though expecting to find some trace of him in those di- rections; and then collecting his wits, he stoop- ed down and carefully scrutinized the ground in quest of a ‘ if ; The wonderfully skilled eye of the mountain- eer was not tobe deceived, and on the rocky, flinty ground, he detected the shadowy imprint of a moccasin, co tion of the tale that had been told by the smoke-wreath that followed the spiteful crack of the rifle. ‘‘ But hang it, where has he gone?” he mutter- ed, still staring stupidly around him. j e then attempted to follow the trail but this was impossible even though the flight of the In- dian had been greatly hurried. The ground was yey hard and flinty, and after a yard or so the trail was entirely lost. Whoever the treacher- ous red-skin was, he had made good his escape, oe the trapper was. now powerless to do any- ing. “still muttering vengeance, he examined his rifle, and turned his steps in quest of his horse, occasionally glancing over his shoulder, to make sure that he was not followed, and furtivel scrutinizing each rock and shrub behind whic it looked probable that a red-skin might con- ceal himself. There was still considerable distance to pass, and the fact that he had been fired at made him exceedingly cautious in his movements, Suddeni , from some cause or other, he glanc- ed to the lett and he was certain he saw the tufted head of an Indian peering from behind a bush, almost similar to the one from which the well-nigh fatal shot had been fired. Without waiting, the trapper raised his but sure aim, fired. Buck Buckram.. he paused lon forward to make sure of his victim. Upon reaching the bush, there lay an Indian, sure enough, stretched out cold and _lifeless, al- though his position was precisely the same as be- fore the hunter fired his gun. Here again another mysterious and inexplain- able thing was noted. rutinizing reir? heme: with a hunter’s eye, the trapper saw t, al- though he had shot an Indian, yet it was a dead one. The Apache had been slain by a bullet fired several Poa at least before his own. ‘Bars and beavers!” muttered Havens, ‘that ’ere is a little the quarist thing yet. The first time I ever fought dead Injins! At any other time, he would endeavor to in- vestigate the matter, but just now he was too sensible of the danger pralpe rg impending over him; and, leaving the dead Indian where he lay, he hastened after his horses, A half-hour later he reached the spot where he had visited them the preceding day, but was somewhat alarmed at seeing nothing of them. He was not long in learning that the red-skins had also been here. He saw a number of moc- casin tracks where the ground was of a more yielding character, and discovered where the two horses had been ridden out of the inclosure by their savage captors. The signs showed that it was but a short time since the Indians had left, and the trapper took the trail at once, following it with an assiduity that a mile further on brought him in sight of the thieves. He found that two Apaches had stolen the an- imals; and, after riding a short distance, had dismounted, slain both, and were enjoying a dinner upon the choicest portions of each. “Tl give you chaps a little pepper to take with that,” muttered vens exultingly, as he began cautiously creeping to a position from i hong he might gain a good view of the red- skins. ““Yer'll find out that ’ere don’t taste as well as you’re countin’ on,” he added, as he secured the coveted position. As there were two savages to encounter, the trapper endeavored to maneuver so as to bring the two red-skins in range, in order that one bullet might finish both. But he failed, as they constantly changed their position, and he finally gave over the at- tempt, and concluded to shoot one, and then take the other in whateve? manner the savage elected. He carefully sighted his rifle over the ground and it required but a moment to make sure of his aim. “Phe next moment he pulled the trig- ger, and, with a shriek, one of the Apaches: threw up his arms and expired. It struck Havens as he rapidly began reload- ing his piece that it sounded when he fired it, and he ily saw the reason. At the very instant of discharging it some one else did the same, and the result was seen in the second Indian lying dead upon the ground. As mystery seemed the order of the hour, Havens would not have made an attempt to eer his friend, had he not ee on the ground, in the shape of Buck Buckram, who, springing from behind an adjacent rock, ex- claimed: ' ¥ 90 quick, Dick, yonder is a whole pack of em |’ At the same instant, he set the example by a the ravine with the swiftness of e win CHAPTER V. A RUN AND A STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. MEN who are accustomed to lead the Pi and adventurous life of the trappers of the West. are pretty certain to possess great fleetness of foot, and extraordinary powers of endurance. Buck Buckram and Dick Havens had been in TAD a ‘ tight place,” and had learned to use all the power given them by nature, with great skill. e warning word of the former was the signal for both to turn about and speed away, as fast as their legs could carry them. Buck was slightly in advance, and took a course down the ravine, and almost in an o site direction from the place where he le furs and peltries. He had two reasons for tak- ing this course, the first of which was that it offered the better prospect of escape, and the. second that it drew their pursuers away from their property, which was too valuable to be given up unresistingly. At the moment of starting, Havens saw no- thing of the Indians, whose presence had been announced by his ee gag but they had run scarce a hundred yards when a series of whoo and yells emphasized the warning, and told enough to reload, and dashed 3 — ——— hunters that their safety now lay in getting over the ground as fast as possible. While the earth was of a character to prevent anything like the speed of which both pursuer and ‘pursued were capable, yet it perhaps could not have been more favorable to escape, as tlie hills, ravines, streams, and rocks gave them ey- ery opportunity to conceal themselves, and to resort to those artifices, by which a chase of this kind is so frequently decided, The first great necessity was to get so far be- yond the Apaches as to gain an opportunity for something of the sort, as nothing could be done when the intervening distance was so slight. Fully sensible of this; the trappers bent every energy and bounded over the ground with the velocity of a race-horse, while the Apaches, con- fident of capturing the two, forbore to fire their guns, but kept up their hooting and shouting, as though they would frighten them into giving over the chase at once, “ Dick; let’s spread!” called out Buckram to his companion, when they had sped along for a short distance. The two accordingly ‘“‘ spread” on the instant —that is, they separated, believing that there was a better chance of success in doing this, than in remaining together. is, of necessity, compelled the red-skins al- so to divide their forces, although there still re- mained enough in each party to “‘settle the task ” of a dozen such trappers. There was very little, if any, difference in the fleetness of the two hunters, and the moment they separate, they began rapidly drawing away from their enemies, several of whom dis- charged their guns, while all redoubled their exertions. A fortunate turn made the fortune of Buck Buckram. All at once he found himself upon the = of a small tributary of the river, It was quite a creek, with high, precipitous sides, and apparently with tsenieldarella depth of wa- ter, , At the time he discerned this obstacle, he was now within a rod or two of the edge; and, with- out stopping fo “look before he leaped,” he called up all the strength of which he was mas- ter, and, with one mighty bound, just reached the other shore. He cleared the space by searcely a hand’s breadth, and without pausing to look back, hastened on until he was buried in the wood. But Buckram had run but a short distance when he saw that he was safe, and he turned about to see whether he could be of any assist- ance to his companion. The latter had not been quite so fortunate. When he * spread,” he diverged to the left, tak- ing a direction which he judged would give him the woods, and would leave the matter to be simply a dead trial of speed, But the same creek which interposed across the path of Buck Buckram, and secured his _—, also, after several tortuous windings, laid itself upon the margin of a broad and deep stream. Its width was too great for him to leap, and he therefore turned quickly to the left and sped along the shore, his eye Te rapidly ahcad, seeking some place over which he could jump. Instead of narrowing, the stream broader ed, until the fugitive began to fear that he was in a trap, for the Indians had him in plain sight, and were yelping like madmen at the easy | ros- pect of capturing him. In a sudden thrill of alarm he whirled alcut to retrace his steps, but had gone scarcely a dozen yards when he perceived his mistake, and turned back again, By this dubious proceeding, he lost several minutes—precious time, and the Apaches were fearfully close. Havens saw that he had com- mitted such an error, that the only possible megs of securing his safety was by leaping the creek. Still onward he hurried, until at last he struck a Lye where it looked as if he might accom- plish the feat. Turning off somewhat to the side, so as to gain momentum, he made the run, and throwing all his strength in the effort, at- tempted the feat. : He narrowly missed—striking the shore with- in a few inches, but still in water which was about ten feet in depth. He sunk to the bottom, but immediately came to the surface and began swimming to a pom a few rods down, where it looked easy for him to ascend the bank. He had taken less than a dozen strokes, when several brawny Apaches appeared upon the bank, and one of them made the attempt either to leap across, so as to confront him upon the 0 te side, or else he a ney sprung into the water to capture him, before he came out.
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Beadle’s Half-Dime Library. He struck with a loud h, within an arm’s length of Havens, and the next moment the two grappled. The Apache was an excellent swimmer, and was ssed of great strength and activity; bey in each respect, the trapper exceeded him, and he speedily got the best of him. Each drew his knife and struck fiercely.at the other, but Havens, by a skillful trick, sent it spinning out of his opponent’s hand. He now had him at his mercy, and, as may be cted, showed him none. e Apache yelled and shouted to his companions on , but they were fearful that if they fired, they would slay their own man. ‘ ing that it was going against him, one of those on shore sprung into the water, and began swimming out to his assistance. Before he could reach him the spiteful crack of a rifle upon the other bank broke thes and, as the Apache threw up his arms sank beneath the water, Buck Buckram to his friend: y ’ “Come, Dick, there’s no time to waitt” CHAPTER VI. A NIGHT ADVENTURE. Buck BucKRaM reached down and caught his comrade by the collar, and drew him upon the land. Then, amid the hootings, and yelp- ings and firing of the Apaches, the two men plunged into the wood, with greater speed than ever. As it may be oh mepte the Indians lost mo time in following; but they were thrown at reat disadvantage by being compelled to cross e creek, which necessitate considerable delay upon their part. } By this time, too, it was growing dark; and, as the two men sped through the woods, the pro- tecting shadows gathered about them, untilthey felt they were safe from all pursuit. Their adventure with the Apaches had led them a long ways out of their course; but hey understood their bearings so well, that they too the most direct route toward the spot where they had left their peltries. ‘ As their animals had been slain by the In- dians, they were compelled to take the part of beasts of burden themselves until they could @nd means of securing others: but they were so accustomed to vicissitude and discomfort, that they looked upon the additional labor with little dread. It was fully midnight when they reached the point from which they started. heir peltries were found uninjured, but the howling, of sev- eral wolves near at hand, showed that they would have remained safe but for a short time longer. Without any delay, they were slung. over ‘their shoulders, and carried to the edge of the creek, where their canoe was waiting. When piled into the small boat, 7 sunk it to its very gunwales, and it req i great care and caution to avoid having the whole thing swamp- Shortly after they started, the full moon eame up above the edge of the forest, and soon lit up the stream so brilliantly, that the danger of traveling was increased tenfold. _ Having dealt so noclgnige-atit the Apaches, there was every reason believe that they «vould leave no means untried to revenge them- selves, and would be upon the ground, as soon after the trappers themselves, as they could make the journey. \ ' Keep close to the shore!” whispered Buck Buckram to his companion, who was using the ddle. Pe That’s what I’m trying to do, but these con- founded limbs are switching me in the eyes all the time.” “ Look out for’em then.” “That's what I’m trying to do also, but ’m exvectin’ every minute, that one of ’em will eatch the boat and upset us all.” There was danger of this catastrophe, and Buck Buckram sitting in the prow, made it his. secial business to ward it off. As the boat slided noiselessly along, he reached out his nds, and gently pushed the limbs aside; and, occasionally when there was danger of shying too close or too far away, he correc eourse of the canoe, without any difficulty or | arring. - The belt of shadow which stretched shore,gradually narrowed, asthe moon asce the heavens; and, as the surface of the creek became clear and bright, the hunters adv: more slowly and carefully, for there was evi- dence of the Indians all around them. than once they heard the apparent cries of but which they knew to be signals of 6 red- } Cove skins, and some of them were so close at hand, that they started, believing that they were dis- red. uddenly Buck Buckram raised his hand as a signal to his companion to *‘ back water,” while at the same time, he caught the overhanging limb of a tree, and checked the forward motion d. ” he whispered. At the same instant, they saw by the reflec- tion upon the water directly ahead, that they were in close xa to a camp-fire of their enemies, which was built so close to the river, pa it looked impossible for them to pass it, without discovery and another fight. They were more fortunate thus far than they could hope to be in another scrimmage wi their enemies, and it was the of prudence therefore that they should avoid the Apaches as much as ree They debated rg evi a few minutes, and then it was decided that Buck Buckram should creep.ashore and take a careful survey of the camp, and see whether it would be possible to attempt to it in their boat. Buck Buckram appreciated the danger of this too well to incur any risk that was avoidable. When he had. crawled on his hands and knees a couple of hundred yards, he reached a posi- tion from which he gained a clear view of the camp. He was somewhat surprised to find the very two Indians, whom he had seen during the day in the canoe, with the little girl. The savages had halted to cook their supper, the Beat on preparation of which seemed to fall to the lot of the little girl. From the trapper’s concealment, he had a good opportunity to scrutinize all three, and when the child’s face was turned toward him, with the light of the camp-fire full upon it, the conviction at, once flashed oyer him that he had seen that same countenance years before, when it, belonged to the face of an fnfant. He racked his ROOT for a long time, but in vain. He hadj been through many rough adventures, and his life was an eventful one indeed. Some- where, in far different surroundings, he was certain he had looked upon those features, and there were some hearts in the broad South- west who mourned for her loss. Buck Buckram Jay on his face for half an hour, scrutinizing the girl, as she moved about with the lightness and grace of a fairy, and then he ‘gave over the attempt. But, as he began cautiously retrograding, he made the resolve not to, leave the country until he took the girl with him. Fortune fayored the chivalrous trapper; for when he had nearly reached the canoe, he heard one of the Indians order the girl, in a rough voice, to go to the creek and bring some water. She caught up a tin vessel, which her captors had evidently stolen from some hunter or set- tler, and staged to obey her master, taking the direction which led her to the very spot where Dick Havens awaited the return of his com- panion. She reached it, but a few steps behind Buck- ram, who, as she came near, rose to his feet and motioned to her to kee still, “What's your name?” he asked. ‘‘ Bess,” was the reply, in a soft voice. “ Wal, Boss, keep quiet now, and we'll take care of you!” With that he picked her up, and gently placing her in the canoe, signaled to the other kunter to move On, CHAPTER VII. THE BROKEN THREAD. For a few minutes the canoe glided silently, no one daring to break the stillness by ing in awhisper. Every moment they e ted the yell of the Apaches at the discovery of the flight of the young captive, and every second was used by Havens in propelling the ‘frail vessel CEI as pit was here th C) rous point was where they came opposite the camp-fire, and all lowered their hi , while the trapper allowed the boat to drift with the stream, not venturing even to trust to his own skill in using Via yt e. Providence favored them, and the perilous int was safel , and coming to the sit- g position, vens used the yer with en the girl greater vigor than ever. Still, w made as if to speak, he motioned to her to'keep guiet, as there was risk incurred in any noise. They had passed several hundred yards when a singular yell was heard, the meaning of which puzzled both the hunters. But the girl impul- sively exclaimed: ‘‘Ttis Velasquies calling me.” “ What is your name?” asked Buck Buckram, feeling that he might relax his vigilance some- —— although he suill kept to work with his paddle. ‘‘My name is Bess,” she replied. “* Bess what?” ‘»Bess—nothing more; I haven’t any other name,” she answered, speaking with good ac- cent, and yet not entirely perfect. “Who is your father? Ymca: Buck, who 2 powerful interest in this waif of a child, providentially thrown upon his hands, ** I—don’t—know,” was the reply, as the girl seemed lost in some deep reverie. ‘ Neither one of thé Apaches be such, I’m “Oh, no! the Indian is not, but the other may “Who is the other?” ** Velasquies.” ** Tsn’t he an Injin?”’ “No; he is part Mdxican and part Apache.” “A half-br ,»” suggested Havens, who was listening with a good of interest to the con- versation. ““Yes: that’s it. Maybe he is my father.” “No, he isn’t,” said Buck Bddeser: “such a looking scamp as he is never had such a child. Besides, too, there isn’t any Injin blood in your veins. But don’t you remember anything of other people?” ‘ replied, in the same softly hesitat- "he Vi lasquies the first s Ve es the rson eae pe you can call to ‘*-Yes; he has always been with me.” _ “No, he hasn’t either. Think hard now. How is it you speak English so well?” “T learned it from him.” ‘‘ Not all of it, although he speaks it well.” “Do you knew him?” she asked, looking up eagerly in his face, Yes; [ have met him.” “faeces ust a as as ever I sot eyes , ugly enough to kill his own mother.” hal ‘“He sometimes beats me. That is the reason I run away from him, You won’t beat me will you?” ¢ ‘May God smite me if I do!” returned the trapper, as he brushed a tear from his eye. ‘In the first place, that scamp of Velasquies hasn’t any right toyou. It’s qua’r I didn’t know him when I see’d him in the canoe, but he was so painted and daubed up that I never ’spected but what he was a red-skin. I say he hain’t got any right to you, and while I’m alive, he shall never have you. But I want you to think hard, and see Whether you can’t think of something away back afore you seen Velasquies.” ‘* Sometimes,” replied Bess, in that curious hesitating manner, ‘‘I can remember a house with big gardens, and brothers and sisters, and a fine lady that looked in my face and smiled— wis then it seems it grew dark, and it all goes in. ; “ That’s it—that’s it,” repeated Buck, excited- ly. ‘Now try hard, and tell me what else you can think of.” “T can’t think of anything else,” ‘“« Are you sure?” “‘T have often tried, but I can’t.” “How long ago does that seem?” ‘Oh! a long time—a hundred years.” The hunters smiled at the child's earnestness, and Buck added, in his kindest tones: _ “A great while to you, in course, but a small time to us. Now, I want to ask you another question—” “Hark! there is begs ate calling to me — ” she interrupted, looking affrightedly be- hind her. “Oh! how angry he is, and how he will beat me if he gets me again!” n “Don’t be scart; he isn t going to get you again. Now, Bess, look into my face. ym near ’nough to you, and the moon shines bright enough for you to see me plain.” Buck leaned forward, so that his face was Close to that of the little child. ** Look into my face, and tell me whether you ret Seen me or any one that looks like me be- ore. The little waif did as requested, and gazed pia, ee earnest] =e the bronzed features of the hunter; but she shook her head. ‘No; I have never seen you before.” “Yes, you have, but you don’t remember, and the deuce of it is, I remember that Dve sot eyes on you afore, and I can’t tell when or where it was.” ‘“That’s qua’r,” remarked Havens. ‘“ Can’t you think hard, too, and tell it?” “Shoot me! it’s no use; I’ve been tryin’, ever
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- Ae pm TE since to-day, when I see’d her, and could get time to think. It'll come to me, I s’pose, some time, when I don’t care about it.” ‘‘Hark! there goes that yelp ag’in.” “Let him yelp, and that’s all the good it’ll do im.” And all the timé, the little canoe, with its pre- cious freight, was moving swiftly down the lonely stream, in the quiet moonlight. CHAPTER VIII. DOWN THE RIVER. Buck BucKxram worked the paddle with the unceasing persistency and the untirin steadi- ness of a steam-engine. As the night advanced, little Bess became weary and her head drooped. Havens dispc the velvety skins, so as to make her couch as soft and luxurious as that of eider down could have been. She was gently covered with another fur, and she slept sweetly and dreamlessly. As*she lay with her pale, beautiful face a turned and the silver moonlight resting upon it, while the scarred, hardy trappers kept watch over her, the scene was a strange and touching one. Buck Buckram knew that the Apaches would make every effort to recapture the escaping child. Velasquies unquestionably had some owerful motive in spiriting away this child boa its parents, as he had certainly done. Buck Buckram, with the chivalry that always distinguished him, resolved never to give over his efforts until this child so strangely thrown upon his hands should be returned to her par- ents. And all the time, as he plied his paddle, his mind was wandering back in its search for the time and place where he had first seen this fairy-like face. ; And thére was something in the voice, too that was like the sound of familiar music heard long, long ago, and which vibrated through the aisles of memory with a wild power. But hour after hour passed, and the pombex heaved a deep sigh, and gave over the task. He had met with no better success than before. Several times that wild, demoniac yell of Velasquies came faintly borne to them upon the night wind—sounding more like the wail of some wild animal'than anything else, but it gave them no concern, and they paid scarcely any heed to it. When it was past midnight the two hunters exchanged places, and Buck Buckram stretched himself out as much as possible, so as to gain a few hours’ rest. Havens plied the oar with the same steady persevering skill as his companion. As the moon was overhead, and there was scarcely any shad- ow thrown out by the river banks, he kept near the middle of the current. ’ ! More from custom than from any anxiety, his sharp eyes flitted from shore to shore in quest of danger. j He had a singularly prudential custom when approaching a bend in a river, of gomg close to the shore, and passing around very slowly, so that at the first sight of peril, he had a chance of withdrawing before precipitating himself be yond retreat into danger. ‘ The wisdom of this course was soon manifest, when in rounding a bend in the stream, he caught sight of three large canoes coming up- stream, and only a few hundred eee away. One powerful sweep of his paddle, and his own boat was forced far back, under the shadow of overhanging trees, while he softly stirred Back Buckram, who was breathing rather heavily. The experienced hunter seemed to understand, as if by intuition, what it meant, and slightly shifting his position, his slumber continued as quietly as the innocent Bess near him. A moment later, the canoes, one after the other, shot around the bend, and passed within a dozen yards of the motionless boat, with its equally motionless occupants. Vhen they were beyond sight or hearing, the tiny vessel onee more glided out in the moon- light and resumed her way, Havens plying the oar with the same untiring regularity as be- fore. Finally it began to grow light in the east, and then the hunter slackened his efforts somewhat and looked about him, as though searching for the precise spot where be should land. Before him rose a ridge of mountains, ascend- ing beyond the forest line, their peaks looking like rugged masses of white clouds resting in the horizon. The country at their base was of the wildest character, crossed and intersected by streams and caverns, and just the place in which a party Buck Buckram. of hunters could secrete themselves from their hereditary enemies. Havens turned his canoe toward land, and, immediately Buck Buckram awoke. Raising his head, he looked hastily about him, and then recognizing his whereabouts, he arose to the sit- ting position, and remarked; ‘* You've rowed purty well, Dick, to get here so soon. See any sign on the way? “ Nothin’ worth speakin’ of.” “Shoot me! how the little gal sleeps!” ex- ¢laimed Buckram, looking down in the face of ‘« Ain’t she purty?” ‘She ain’t an aing else.” Buck surveyed her features for a few moments with the same intense interest, and then looking toward his companion, said: «Do you know, I'd give every peltry I own and and all, when we’re in the middle of this red-skin country, if I could call to mind the place where I’ve seen that ‘ere face.” ‘“Tt’s powerful qua’r that you can’t. [’m sure I could, if I was in your place.” “ And I’m powerful sure youcouldn’t, Haven’t I hammered my head till it has rung like a bell, and allfor no good? Hang it! I sha’n’t try any more!” exclaimed the trapper, as he impatient- ly turned his head away. ‘What are you going to do with her?” “Going to do with hert I’m going to take her down home, and pee her with the old wo- man and with my children, and then I’m never going to rest till I find out her friends for her.” ‘The sooner you do that the better, for this ain’t the country for sich a younker. But we hain’t got any animals.” ‘“ We'll cache our peltries till we come back ag’in, and start home with her. When she gets tired, we can carry her.” ‘A very good idea, but the fust thing we’ve got to do, is to give the younker something to ‘* Just let her be till she comes to, as she seems to be doing purty well.” But Bess at this juncture opened her eyes, and so that suggestion was not acted upon. CHAPTER IX. THE PERIL. For a few minutes, little Bess failed to real- ize her situation; but the kindly looks and words of the trappers soon reassured her, and she greeted them pleasantly. “Oh! I’m so glad I am with you, and I’m so hungry.” ‘mn jist going to send Dick there to get your breakfast.” ‘And I’m jist on the point of going,” replied the trapper, with a laugh, as he slung bis rifle over his shoulder and moved away. At the particular point where the party land- ed, there was no shrubbery, and Buck Buckram noticed with some uneasiness that their boat, and even themselves, could be distinctly seen by any one in passing up or down the river. He pulled the boat clear up the bank, where there was no danger of its being swept away by the action of the current, and then began un- loading the peltries. ‘‘ As soon as he comes back,” he remarked, to the little girl beside him, who was nimbly as- sing him at the work, ‘‘ we'll get your break- ast. ‘How long will he be gone?” “Not long. Are you getting hungry?” he asked, with a smile. “*T ain’t potting so, I am so.” “So ; and when he brings his deer or an- yer ‘k, won’t we have a good breakfast?” **Do you know how to cook?’ ‘* Somewhat,” ‘“‘ Velasquies always made me do it, and I can make a very nice dinner for anybody.” ‘‘Pve no doubt of it; you’re too little to help me much at this, so s’pose you rest yourself,” ‘Oh! I ain’t tired,” she protested, as she con- tinued nimbly at work, for a time longer; but by and by her hands wearied, and she gave over the task. ss Hark!” she exclaimed, ‘‘ did you hear that né ‘“That’s your breakfast,” was the reply; any Dose you go down the bank and wateh for Dick. She slipped merrily avray, while Buck contin- ued to work at his peltries. It required but a short time for him to unload them, but after that, he was obliged to carry them a consider- able distance, in order to reach a point where something like concealment was afforded. This was accomplished after eonsiderable la- bor, and he then turned about, and picking up * Dick, walking on by 5 his canoe, carried that Indian fashion over his head to the same place. He had hardly set it down when Bess came dashing toward him, almost breathless with ex- citement. “Wal, what’s up now? Have you see’d Dick? It’s time he war comin’ back.” Sage seen Velasquies /” was the startling re- ply. ‘What?’ demanded Buck, in amazement, “Thatis I think Ihave. There were twomer coming down the river in a canoe, and one of them looked like Velasquies.” ‘“ Which side of the river did they stop on?” “The other side, and—” ‘‘ Hello! there goes Dick’s gan again,” ee rupted Buck, with an expression of uneasiness: upon his face. ‘‘ It can’ that them varmints have followed us all the way hyar, and yet shoot me! if it doesn’t look that way.” The veappe: queaiionas little Bess closely, but pent little o anything additional. She had mn playing on t si 16 bank, and watching for gns of her coming breakfast, when she sudden- ly caught sight of a canoe but a short distance away, coming down the stream, and heading for the other side of the river. She knew enough to conceal herself at once, and she watched them for several minutes. She saw them skirt along the shore for some dis- tance, when they balted and both disembarked, leaving their boat behind them. But the girl had seen enough thoroughly to alarm her, and she hastened to her friend with the tidings. _ Buck, after carefully weighing the matter over, concluded that there was nothing alarm- ing in the news, and to him there was every in- dication that the two persons whom she had seen were Indians, who knew nothing of his whereabouts. ’ He was very glad, however, that he had re-~ moved the canoe and peltries to a point where they were not likely to be seen by any one in passing up or down the river. ‘“'You go back to where you war,” said he to Bess, ‘‘and keep watch of that canoe, and take ood care they don’t see you, and as soon as ick comes back we'll let you know,” The girl leaped away, but had taken but a step or two, when the hunter was seen return- ing, bearing upon his shoulders the choicest por- tion of an antelope. _ Of course this ended her expedition, as noth- ing now was to be thought of except the meal, for which all were longing. “We'll take it up = out of the way,” said hem, without pausing, ex- cept to greet the little girl. his was only a prudential proceeding, in consonanee with the habits of both the hunters. The two. walked along, passing in and out among the rocks, until they reached a secluded chasm, where no human eye could see them at a dozen feet distant. On the way thither Buck had gathered quite a y mspod of dry sticks, and in a few minutes, a fire was rearing and crackling r ght merrily. The most delicate steaks of the young ante- lope were;carefully held and turned before the fire, and the most delicate and select of all was first cooked and given to Bess, who was as hun- as hungry could be. he trappers then prepared their own, and while it was being devoured, Buck remarked inquiringly : “ Didn’t I hear your gun—” ; He suddenly paused, for a look from his com- panion warned him not to finish the question ashe had no wish to make the answer just. en. Buck took the hint, and Bess was unsuspi- cious. r When the meal was concluded, the two saun- tered off carelessly, until they were beyond the hearing of the little girl, and then halted, “What is it?” inquired Buck, ‘‘'There’s no mistake about it; we’ve been fol- lowed by a party of Apaches!” CHAPTER X. ‘ THE CACHE. Tus was indeed alarming information, and set at naught all the plans of the trappers as to continuing the season in the mountains, Had it not been for the little waif on their hands, and whose welfare was not second to their own, they would have rather welcomed anything that gave a prospect of a scrimmage with their ereditary enemies; but as it was, there was but one recourse for them, and that was to get. out of the neighborhood as rapidly as possible with their charge, As they had no horses, it was impossible to
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,Beadle’s Half-Dime Library. wae Semen | take their peltries with them, and it was de- cided, therefore, to cache them, with a strong 0 sy hr pon they would be stolen by the Apaches, before the hunters could return to elaim them. Dick Havens, in answer to the inquiry of his companion, said that his first shot had slain the antelope, and his second, a murderous Apache, who sprung upon him from behind a rock, with - evident belief that he had an easy thing of This occurrence aroused the hunter’s suspi- cions that something was wrong, and he mado a reconnoissance of the vicinity, and discovered gully thirty Indians encamped less than quarter of a mile away. Among them, he recognized several of the very savages, who had given him such a hot pursuit on the preceding day. He was almost positive also that he saw the half-breed Velasquies and an Indian join the party. This conflicted somewhat with the story of Bess, which placed these gag upon | the opposite side of the stream, but still both state- ments could easily be correct. The river or ereek, as it might be called, was very narrow, and could readily be crossed in a few mer yw and the whole ort might have crossed recrossed several times. It was per, characteristic of the hunter that he should not say a word about this until after the meal was finished. Now ‘thab they were ready to meet it, he made a clean breast of the whole thing. ‘‘ Afore we ‘cache the furs there’s another thing we’ve got to’tend to,” said Buck Buck- ram, speaking in low, serious tones. His companion looked inquiringly at him. ‘* What's that?” “The way things ’pears now, thar’s likely to be hot times afore we git out o’ yar. If the reds should come on us whar we be now, we'd o under, that’s sartin, and both our ha’r would lifted afore we could sneeze, so we must look out for a place whar we can retreat.” ‘* Will it take us both?” ‘No; you keep yer eyes on the Injins, and ll hunt up a good place, and one at the same time , whar we can cache our peltries.” The suggestion was acted upon at once, and, while Havens went off to scrutinize the move- ments’ of the Apaches, Buck Buckram took little Bess by the hand, and went in quest of the hiding-place. The girl chatted gayly by his side, all uncon- scious of what a terrible catastrophe was about to break upon them. In sucha wild, mountainous region they could not search ong without discovering some suit- able retreat. In less than half an hour, the hunter stumbled upon the very spot. A cavern some twenty feet in depth, the en- trance of barely sufficient width to admit his body; the walls massive and dark, effectually shutting out any approach except by the one entrance; with a small stream trickling through the rear portion. Such was the cavern which Buck Buckram selected as their retreat until me could leave safely. ere, upon full reflection, the hunter con- cluded to make his cache. ing Bess in the eave he started out for his peltries. On his way he heard a low whistle, which he i as that of his companion. He replied to it in the same cautious manner, and a few minutes later the two were together. ‘See anything of ’em?”’ inquired Buck, in a whisper. “They’re in the same place.” ‘Will we have time?” “* Guess so.” They set to work at once. It was no small task to ‘transport the peltries to this place, as the distance was considerable, and the way very rough and uneven. When the sun reached the meridian, their la- bor was not half finished. Then, too, Bess complained of hunger, and, as might be expected, both of them gave over the work to attend to her wants. . And when this was completed, it was deemed proper that Havens should make another recon- noissance to satisfy himself as to the imminence of the danger. , Upon reaching the spot where he had last seen the Apaches, they were found to be absent; and as great caution was necessary in his move- ments, over an hour was consumed before he discovered their whereabouts. To his surprise he found that the entire party had crossed the river and were upon the oppo- site side. He did not conclude it worth, while to follow them, although he was not a little puzzled to understand the meaning of the move- ments. When he returned to his friends the afternoon was half gone, and there still remained a good deal of work to do. But the two set about it with a will, and toil- ed unceasingly until dusk, by which time every fur was stowed away in the cavern. ‘Now, ef they'll only stay away till mornin’ there'll be some chance of givin’ ’em the slip,” remarked Buck, as he sat down, and wiped the perspiration from his forehead. ‘What do you think of doing?’ inquired his companion, who always deferred to his judg- ment in the hour of peril. “We'll take a.short rest, fur ’m dog-goned tired, and then, ef the way be cl’ar, we'll dig out. the canoe?”’ “'That’s the way I’d like to try, as we hain’t got any hosses, but the thing is, are we goin’ to git the chance?” “We might carry it up-stream a ways, till we git the chance to put it in the water.” ** You see thar’s a bright moon, and it’s going to be a risky business.” ‘*That’s what we allers calc’lates on.” ** But we’ve got to use extra caution,” said Buck, eiticiny ward Bess, ‘‘fur we’ve got her to ’tend to.” “*Tn course—” ‘*Hark! there the skunks come!” CHAPTER XI. AT BAY. THE words were still in Buck Buckram’s mouth, when the sharp crack of several rifles was heard, followed by a chorus of wild yells, which told them that the fearful peril had burst upon them with appalling suddenness. But they were not totally unprepared. A large stone had been rolled near the mouth of the cavern, to serve as a sort of door, and the ae immediately sprung forward, and shift- ed this around, so as to offer an impassable bar- rier to a forcible entrance. It was not done a moment too soon; for the next moment, it seemed that the place was swarming and alive withred-skins. Their yells were heard incessantly, and they fired their guns in such a reckless manner that it was fully as dangerous to those upon the outside as those within. Stilla number of their bullets entered and flattened themselves against the walls of the cavern. “Keep out of the way, Bess!” called out Buck Buckram, in a voice, which sounded far above the din and tumult; and, fearful that the child might be struck by some of the passing bullets, he ran up to her, and seizing her like an infant, carried her to a dark corner, where there was no possibility of her being struck. “Now, don’t you stir away till I let you!” he commanded, as he set her softly down. ‘‘If you do, you'll surely be killed.” There was no danger of the child disobéyin his orders, for she was old mee tocomprehen fully the peril, and she crouched down, like a fri Seenede animal, scarcely daring to breathe. Buck hastened back to the mouth of the cay- ern to be ready for any emergency. “Hang the varmints!” he muttered, as the tumult partly ceased, ‘“‘ they come sooner than we thought.’ “Give ’em blazes!” said Dick, who was now thoroughly aroused; ‘‘we mought as well first as last.” Ashe spoke, he fired his gun for the third time, at a tufted head, which flitted by a crevice of the opening, and the agonized shriek of the victim told with how fatal a result. And without waiting to reload, he struck out with his knife, with lightning quickness, at a bare limb which presented ftself within reach. It was instantly withdrawn, but not until a frightful wound had been inflicted, and the owner of the limb crippled for life. Buck Buckram was not behind his companion, in the fierceness and promptness of his acts. herever and whenever the opportunity, he fired and struck with the same furious ferocity, and with equally telling results. This desultory fighting continued for some fifteen or twonty minutes, and then, as it was plain that the Apaches were getting the worst | of it, they withdrew far enough away to be be- the encounter, soas to weaken them for the final contest, _ When the Indians drew off, the stillness that immediately succeeded was oppressive from the contrast. A murky, sulphurous odor filled the cavern, making respiration difficult, and rendering the situation of those within anything but pleasant. But it was not their danger which gave them concern, but the future, and the near future, ot ° 0. It was in the power of the Indians to bring them to terms, and at no distant day, at that. The thoughtfulness of Buck Buckram had pro- vided them with enough antelope to last them for a day or so, but no more. The little stream trickling through the rear of the cavern gave them all the water they could need, but no person has yet been found whocan exist upon that substance alone. It was plain that the trappers had committed a blunder, which bid fair to be fatal. Had they let the ltries 0, they could have been far be- ond the reach of the Apaches by this time. iven had they fled the moment the furs were placed within the cavern, they had a good pros- vane getting off clear, as the night wasso close a x Both the trappers felt this blunder keenly, but neither blamed the other, for each was equally at fault. Had it been otherwise, no word or even thought would have indicated it. However, it was now too late for regrets, and these mountaineers .were not the men to sit 7. and idly bewail what was done past re- call. : They were the ones who were prepared to face re sae stern reality of the matter, and they it. Both were thinking of the same thing, and as they looked in each other’s faces, they instinct- ively read the fact. “Do you think we can doit?” asked Havens. * She’s the difficulty,” was the reply, in a low tone, as he lightly jerked his hand toward the corner where Bess lay asleep upon a pile of urs. “Tt looks as though we shall have to give her Buck shook his head. “Not till we’ve got to do it to save her life and there may be a chance of getting her out of this.” ‘6 S we can’t?” “Pil do it then, and take the rest of my life to gittin’ her out of thar clutches, and J’ll do it!” he added, striking his fist upon his knee; “and when I do do it, you won’t cotch me in any such dog-goned of a Scrape as this again; =) u that you may be sartin about.’ St en will be the time to try it?” “Not afore midnight, ef we kin do it then. This moon plays the deuce with us.” ‘‘Can we wait till to-morrow night?” .“ Bf it looks best.” “ All right; and between now and then, we’ll kill off all the varmints we kin.” This was unanimously agreed to. CHAPTER XII. IN THE CAVE. TuxE scheme which had entered the heads of the two trappers at the same moment was a desperate one. As their safety in the cavern was but a tem- porary one, they thought of pulling aside the stone, and making a rush, to pass the swarming ‘Apaches upon the outside. is would necessitate furious and sanguinary fighting, and there was great risk of being cut down without accomplishing it; but. men who lead such a life as theirs are always accustomed to face the most appalling danger; and if they had known to a certainty that the chance of life and death were even, they would not have ! held back a moment. i _ But there were several considerations which | induced delay. So long as they held out, there was the remote prospect of the Apaches grow- ing weary of the siege, and raising it, by a vol- untary withdrawal, and the almost certain pos- sibility that they could succeed in weakening the power of those on the outside, by shooting uite a number, who would be sure to expose themselves during the succeeding day and night. Furthermore, to carry out this plan would ne- yond the immediate danger of the rage of the | cessitate a surrender of little Bess into the ha: at bay. ; he latter watched for an opportunity, with the vigilance of lynxes. It was plain that this was going to be a fight of the most desperate | character, and the hunters understoo? the ne- cessity of gaining every possibie advantage of their. treacker-vs fcos at. the very Leccrzineg of . hands of her barbaric captors, with the inevita- ble brutal treatment, and perhaps death; and the trappers were not yet prepared to resign her to such a fate. Still further, behind all this lingered the slightest probability that. it might be possible to isako terms with the Apuchcr—nct yreperly
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with the red-skins themselves; but if, as there ‘was every reason to suspect, Velasquies was among the Mecaie 4 it was not ater a although it was improbable, that he might be induced to make terms other than those of ‘‘ unconditional surrender.” 3 However, this at the most, was a very dubi- ous hope to depend upon. The great point,after all, was for them to think over some plan— if possible, some other besides the one which made it necessary to dash out among the ram- pant Apaches, and fight their way through. Still Bess slept as sweetly and soundly as if she were lying in the arms of her mother, who, no doubt, was grieving her heart, and shedding many a bitter tear at her long absence. ‘** Let her be,” was the moody remark of Buck. ** She’s better off sleeping than waking.” As the night grew on, the darkness within the cavern deepened until it was all absolute blackness, no one being able to distinguish the outlines of the others’ forms, The faint silvery light of the moon’s rays could be dimly discerned on the outside, but it could not penetrate within. The trappers talked in low tones, the hollow eave giving a singular resounding or prem ne to their tones, and making them soun ou Even the gentle respiration of Bess had a strange, loud character, such as would be made by a animal when at rest. Buck was fearful that if she awoke she would ask for something to eat, and he was reluctant to kindle a fire, e ially during the night. There being no draft to carry away the smoke and vapor, it would be sure to accumulate and increase their discomfort. At the same time the light would reveal their presence to the red miscreants without, and compel the greater caution to avoid being tar- ts for the rifles; and’ yet, in the face of all this danger, if Bess should wake up and ask them to cook her some of the antelope meat, spared of the trappers would have hesitated to O so. ’ The bowlder which the trappers had found convenient, and had made answer the pies of a door, was of such size, that when placed at tho entrance, it was impossible for the smallest child to enter or pass out. Moving with great difficulty, the resistance of one man from within was sufficient to keep out any living animal or any body of men. The danger, therefore, was as what was to be the end of the siege. Buck Buckram was sitting with his back eet the bowlder, when he felt it sway gen- \Goaprg and forth. It was only for an instant, when it stopped. Thinking it only accidental, he did not rise to his feet; but, when it was repeated a few min- utes later, he uttered a slight ‘‘’sh/” and came silently to the standing position. Being in utter darkness himself, he was invis- ible; but the bright moonlight upon the outside gave him a distinct view, as far as vision was not limited by the solid wall. Fora few moments he could see nothing to account for this slight swaying motion, al- though from the first * did not doubtthat the Apaches were at the bottom of it. A careful scrutiny of all that could be seen satisfied him that there was either one or more red-skins behind it, seeking to gain enough mo- mentum to force it inward, re thus open the way for the whole horde to swarm in. He debated with himself a few moments whether to allow them to do this and thus pre- cipitate the crisis, which must come sooner or r, or whether to nip it “i? the bud.” few seconds’ deliberation, and he decided upon the latter course. Cautiously forcing his head as far forward as he dared, he finally gained a view of the head and shoulders of a brawny Apache, in a crouching® posture, with both hands pressed against the rock. There were one or two others, but they were too far removed to be seer by the trappers. Buck Buckram sprung lightly back, again, and muffled the lock of his rifle, as he raised the hammer. His ‘‘’Sh!” was repeated just loud enough for his companion’s ear, and then he stealthily took his position again, where he could gain a view of the Apache, — The latter had slightly shifted his place, and changed:his attitude so that he was resting upon one knee, but enough of his person was still visi- ble to answer the purpose of Buck, Bringing his gun up beside him, he found that the opening was so narrow, and irregular, that he could not deflect the piece enough to bring it to bear upon his enemy. ‘ Buck Buckram. This was a sore disappointment, as neither of them had pistols, having lost their revol- He which they generally carried some time be- ore. He saw, however, that if the rock could be made to incline inward a few inches, it would be sufficient. Once more he sprung back, and, in a few seconds explained the situation to his comrade. A moment later, at a signal from Buckram, the bowlder was suddenly drawn inward six inches or so; and, at the same instant, the gun of the former was discharged. Immediately several Apaches sprung to their feet and has- tened away. But one didn’t. CHAPTER XIII. THE AIR HOLE. “Hark!” The exclamation was uttered by Dick Ha- vens about an hour after the occurrence nar- rated in the last chapter, and it was caused not by the sound of anything, but by the absence of sound |” Both listened, but all was as still as the grave. ‘‘T hear nothin’,” said Dick Havens, after a few minutes spent in listening. ‘*That’s just the trouble!” ‘* What do you mean?” ‘Don’t it sound a little too still in here?” ** You don’t mean?—No; I hear her breath- ing!” My tig the hunter, in some excitement. ‘ Not that—not that,” was the somewhat im- tient reply, ‘‘ but thar’s something else that ’d like to hear and don’t.” **Shoot me! can it be?” The hunter understood him now. They no longer heard the trickling of the water! Buck hastened to the rear of the cavern, and in a few minutes returned. “Ts it so?” inquired Havens. ‘*-Yas; the varmints have shut it off.” The two uttered rather forcible exclamations, as they realized the rather alarming fact that the Apaches had cut off their supply of water, by turning aside the tiny stream, which had hitherto forced its way through the rear of the cave. A careful examination was now made, and it was found not quite so bad as it might have been; for the water had collected to a consider- able extent, and formed a 1 containing a gallon or so on the other side of the cavern. Both the hunters felt somewhat thirsty, but neither would touch it until Bess had awaked and had her fill. It was now beyond midnight, and ges af- ter the na he we have mentioned, the little girl awoke, and asked, with a bewildered air, where she was. A few words reassured her, and then she ask- ed for water. She was conducted through the darkness to the little pool, where she knelt down and slaked her thirst. The trappers were fearful that she would ask for something to eat, but, after a few artless inquiries, she lay down upon the furs again, and went to sleep. Now and then indications of the Apaches were heard, and unremitting watch was kept to prevent any sudden surprise upon their part— a favorite mode of attack among the Indians of the West. As there was a probability that there would be a great demand upon their time and endur- ance, Buck Buckram lay down for a few hours’ rest, while his companion kept watch. The hours wore away without further dis- turbance, and Buck opened his eyes just as the misty light of morning was stealing into the cave. ‘** Anything?’ was the comprehensive inquiry. ** Nothin’,” was the equally definite reply. “*Good—so fur.” ; Even with the full glare of the day, the bow]l- der so nearly closed the mouth of the cave, that it was gloomy and dark within, so that the in- mates could ely discern each other’s forms. Shortly after the awaking of Buck, Bess did } the same. She chattered awhile, and then, as — be expected, she asked for something to eat. A —— you any of the antelope left?” she in- ired. ‘Plenty, and we shall soon cook you some.” But at this point, an’ unthought-of difficulty resented itself. There was no material within he cave with which to build a fire. So that matter was settled. The trapper now resorted to the harmless de- ception of allowing the girl to eat the meat raw, trusting that in the darkness she would not observe its condition. 7 So, after some goers ett flourish, he cut off a tender piece ri handed it to her. ‘“We hain’t found time to cook it very well,” said he, by way of apology; ‘* but that won’t make any difference, in course, to you.” Little Bess ate a mouthful or two, when she discovered the artifice, and laughe: at it. She, however, had been taught in the hard school of adversity and experience, and when it was ex- plained to her, she accepted the “situation” with a good-nature that both surprised and de- lighted the trappers. **T ain’t very hun more, but when I just like you do.” ‘*You’re a number one little beaver!” ex- claimed Buck, enthusiastically, ‘‘and ef the life of this yar good-fur-nothin’ dog is s an- other year, you'll be out of danger of Velasquies and the red-skins.” t : “T want to go live with you,” said she, nest- ling her soft cheek against the scarred face of the old hunter. “So you shall—so you shall—and I'll kee you thar till I find yer own home, and then P give yer to yer folks again.” ; ‘*But,” said she, ‘how are you going to get out of here?” “That’s a hard question, I allow, but I hope the Lord will tell us a way.” ‘*So he will, and I know what it is.” **'You do, eh? Wal, what is it?” ‘You two, maybe, can get out, but J can’t; and you can’t take me with you. So, do you go without taking me.” ** And leave you behind?” “Yes; Velasquies and the Indians will kill be if they can get a chance, but they won’t urt me. “But what will become of you?” “They will think you stole me away, and Velasquies will take me again. He says when L grow up, I am to be his wife—” . ‘The scamp! he has got a wife and a whole kit of young ones.” ‘He doesn’t care for that. Then when he pets me, you can follow and watch, and I will look for you and sometime,” she said, with the most childish faith and eagerness, “ he chance Will come for us; and then I will go and live with you till I find where father and mother and my sisters are. That is the plan.” ; ‘*Tt may be, but we won’t talk about it now!” replied Buck Buckram, wiping a tear from his eye. Yy now and won’t eat an o get hungry I will eat it CHAPTER XIV. SMOKING OUT. LittLeE Brss had revealed the true plan of ac- tion, and unpleasant as pF Buck Buckram, could not but admit it to f. But he was resolved to defer it until the last moment, and then adopt it simply because there was nothing else he could do, and it gave him the hope of saving both himself and his precious charge. The day had scarcely begun, when the sound of voices was heard on the outside, and it in- stantly occurred to Buck Buckram that now was the time to hold his parley, if he wished to do so. ’ He acted upon the thought at once. Not be- ing blessed with such a thing as a pocket hand- kerchief, he tore a piece from his hunting-shirt, and fastening it to the end of his ramrod, thrust it out of the mouth of the cavern. For a time it seemed to attract no attention, but after awhile it was evident that it was seen and understood. Some one approached close to the cave and asked: ‘* What you want in there?” Buck Buckram turned to his companion and whispered. % “'That’s Velasquies, I know his voice.” Then turning his head so as to face the open- ing, he replied by makings question; ‘We want to know what you want.” “We want you,” was the unequivocal an- swer. “* What for?” 4 ‘“You are our enemies; you are trapping in our territory, you have killed a number of our warriors, you have run away with the daughter of Velasquies.” ’ A “We have Ge ee, a little girl that Velas- quies stole from her parents, and we war on our way to take her home, when you have followed us to this cave. — ‘““Them warriors we have slain, have been sent under in the squar’ style of fightin’, and we wouldn’t ’ve growled ef you'd ’ve sarved us iv the same way.” “Then you’re ready to surrender, be you? eagerly asked Velasquies.
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“Not ‘zactly; ef you think you can take us, why don’t you do it?” ‘* We kin afford to wait.” as | s’pose you know me—Buck Buckram?” - I s’pose you know me—V uies?”’ ‘Yas; you’re the sneakin’ coward that got his head broke in Sant& Fe fur strikin’ an old woman, and that run off with a little gal that you’re no right to.” A fearful oath was the reply to this, and the half-breed added: ‘“That’s none of your business, Buck Buck- ram. That gal is mine, and [’m goin’ to have her. Don’t she want to come to me?” ‘* Ef she does, I ain’t a-goin’ tolet her, even ef she cries for it,” replied Buck, who thought this deception justfiable under the circum- stances. “You'd better do’t, fur how you gwine to help it, when we’ve got a hundred brave Apach- “*S’pose | give up the gal,” said Buck, ‘‘ what do you purpose to do with us ?” “ Can’t sa ba, Sa om as the Apaches says; very likely they’ll let yer go, and not trouble yer any more,’ ; “Yas; very likely,” was the sneering com- ment of Havens, who was listening to the con- versation; ‘‘how you'd like to git hold of us, wouldn’t you! How you'd like to raise our ha’r to pay fur your own skunks that we’ve. wiped out, wouldn’t you?” ‘ “What did you stick out that rag fur?” was the next quéstion of the half-breed, and a very sensible one, too. ‘*T wanted to see whether you’ll give us any- thing like a fair show, fur ef you will, we'll fight the whole shebang of you.” ‘** You can come out and do what you please; ea! we're bound to have that gal you’ve Zot in r. ‘* S$ pose we won’t give her up?” “You'll have to do’t; and e oe ain’t ready just now, we kin wait—that’s all.” There was a coolness in the manner of Velas- uies which showed that he fully appreciated the situation, and could well afford to wait un- til the ripe fruit fell into their own hands. Nothing had been accomplished by the flag of truce; and from what took place, oné might well question what the object of the trappers was in vated They had learned to a certainty that Velas- quies was among their assailants, and they had ina manner paved the way for the return of little Bess to the temporary keeping of her for- mer brutal master. The girl had heard and recognized the voice of the h f-breed, and trembled with fear at the sound; but, as we have shown in another place her perceptions were more than ordinary, and she was only confirmed in her belief in the wis- dom of the plan she had mentioned some time before. As there remained nothing to do, Buck drew 5 flag of truce, and the armistice was at an end. _ The two trappers retreated to a point safely removed beyond the shots of their foes, and ear- nestly discussed the prospect. Havens favored drawing the stone aside, and rushing out» at once afong the Indians. The place was growing terribly irksome to him, and he was ready to commit almost any deed that afforded the remotest chance of his getting out. Buck Bu strenuousl eee it. of night,” said he; ‘ es to make you?” “Let us wait till the d ‘that’s our time, and then when they don’t think about it, and half of ’em be awake, we’ll sail in and make the fur fly.” ‘“That’s jist the matter; they will be thinkin’ *bout it more then than ef we do it now.” “Phen we'll have a better chance to run even ef the moon is purty bright, than ef we went out in broad daylight.” This was a strong argument, but Havens was not satisfied by any means, He felt that every hour weakened them, and added strength to their enemies. He saw, too, that a surrender of little Bess, how much they might deplore if, was unavoidable. “Why wait?’ he asked, after a few minutes’ silence. ‘‘ Don’t yer know the way out thar is so narrow like, that all of them varmints can’t get-at us at once?” *T know that, but they can shoot.” ‘*So kin we,” was the dogged response. ‘We've got to go over the heads of ’em, too, to git cl’ar of the whole confounded rabble.” *T think a right powerful charge among ’em would do the business—” “Take my advice, Dick, and wait—” “ Hello! At that instant a heavy volume of smoke Beadle’s Half-Dime Library. $$ rolled into the cavern, and the crackling of fire was heard at the same time. ‘‘ Shoot me! ef they ain’t goin’ to smoke us out! CHAPTER XV. A TERRIBLE EVENT. THERE was no doubt upon that point, for scarcely had the words been uttered, when the red tongues of the flames could be seen creep- ing up over the face of the bowlder. he heavy, suffocating smoke seemed to be drawn inward by some attraction, and in a few minutes it was hardly possible to breathe. “My God! what’s to be done?” exclaimed Ha- vens, growing bewildered for a moment. ‘** Keep cool!” was the reply, ‘‘and keep your face close to the bottom. FEES how the lit- tle gal is aad along?” Buck called her, and she came to him. “What are they trying to do?” she innocent- ly asked. “They want to smoke us out. stand it?” “Tt hurts my eyes more than my throat,” she replied, rubbing them with both hands, ‘*Go back as far as you can, and keep yer face ates close to the surface, and you'll stand it as ong as we can.” In the meantime, the heavy, damp smoke con- tinued to roll into the mouth of the cave, when it seemed to become heavy and overpowering. “T can’t stand this much longer,” exclaimed How can you Havens, who was on his knees and | gasping. “*Tt’s gettin’ bad; I’ve swallowed about all I can stand.” ‘‘Let’s make a rush; we may as well do it now as to wait till we’re both killed.” Buck Buckram still hesitated, but the increas- ing density of the smoke quickly decided him. He was on the point of giving the word, when an exclamation from Bess arrested his notice. “*Come_ here, quick! Here’s a place where you can breathe.’ They hastily serambled toward the voice. ‘*Right down there,” she said, ‘‘ where the water comes in.” The half-strangled trappers placed their faces close to the damp pebbles. They found that a volume of cold air was rushing in, and they in- haled it with all the delight of the parched traveler who comes upon the icy spring. It was relief, it was happiness, it was bliss! But while they were happy, little Bess was becoming miserable, A cough reminded them that she was in danger of strangling, and both instantaneously drew their heads away. She hastily replaced her mouth to the vacat- ed aa and regained her normal self. t was now found impossible for all three to inhale the fresh air at once. They tried it sev- eral times, but as often as they did one failed. They therefore could do nothing but resort to taking turns. By this means, they. could manage to get along. “How much longer before the varmints will think they have finished us?” sullenly inquired Havens. “Ef they could see the smoke in yar, they’d think we war done for, sure.” ** Ef they’d only hurry up and rush in, thar’d be some inducement to wait.” ‘Maybe they’ll git tired and go away,” re- marked Bess, who, curiously enough, seemed to take upon herself the office of consoler. ‘*It seems to me,” said Havens, as he with- drew his face, ‘‘ that thar’s a chance of gittin’ a smaller breath of fresh air near the mouth of the cave.” ‘Yow 'll be right in the smoke.” “Not exactly, fur I noticed that it came in over the tops of the rocks more than it did near the bottom.” ‘¢ Be very careful, for the varmints will be ex- tin’ that, and they’ll wipe you out afore you ow it.” ‘Don’t fear for me,” was the reply, and Ha- vens hastened forward in a crouching position. “How are you making out?” asked Buck Buckram, a few minutes later, speaking in a cautious undertone. : bd well; you stay thar, and I kin hold out here.” ‘ All this time, the Apaches were whooping and yelling on the outside. They were sure’ they ad caught their prey at last, and would soon smoke them out. They kept piling on the brush and wood, and danced about like children, frantic with delight. Among the chorus of demoniac voices, it was easy to distinguish that of Velasquies. _“ We've got yer at last! we’ve got yer at last! “How do yer like it? Why don’t yer come out?” Still they took good care to keep out of the NAS i of the rifles of those within. ha They had a taste of the stuff of which they were made, and they wished no more of it. - All the time that Havens was inhaling his scanty breath, he was watching with an eagle eye for a sight of some of his tormentors. fie was especially anxious to gain a chance at the half-breed; but he, like the others, carefully avoided obliging him, Buck Buckram and little Bess were doing as well as they could wish where they were. ‘The former felt that he was not using his comrade right in remaining there all the time; so he quickly ran to his side, and said he would change places with him. The latter yielded, and for a time all went well. Buck found he had great difficulty in breathing, but still he managed to succeed. He remained here about fifteen minutes, when Havens reappeared at his side. “We'll change; you go back and try it awhile.” ‘Be careful, Dick,” he added, as he moved away again. Once more did Buck inhale the free, cool air, which revived his whole system, while the face of Bess was close to his own. Suddenly there was the crack of a rifle. “ Dick has gained a shot,” he thought to him- self. Then he called out: ‘** Did you hit him?” There was no reply and a vague, dreadful fear thrilled through him. He repeated his call, but still there was no reply. Buck ran across the intervening space. One genes, ot he saw his friend stretched flat upon is He kneeled down and looked in his face. It was enough. Dick Bhs are had been shot dead by the Apaches! CHAPTER XVI. THE RUSH FOR LIFE. Buck BuckraM had witnessed sudden death in many and the most revolting forms. Even that of ymin was terrible; but the sudden strik- ing down of Dick Havens startled him, as he had never been startled before. He ran his bands over his face, and felt for the beating of his heart, but ‘he was stone dead. He had been shot through the brain, while gasp- ing for the breath of life, by the half-breed Velasquies, who had been watching for the op- portunity. Ty? As yet Bess knew nothing of the frightful tragedy which had been enacted so near her, and Buck determined to keep it from her. He remained by his dead comrade until the thickly- gathering smoke drove him away, when he has- yagi back to where his young friend was await- ing bim. % Why doesn’t Dick come?” she innocently asked, “T wanted him to do so, but he won’t.”’ “Ts he getting along well where he is?” “He can’t do any better.” They were silent awhile and then Buck said: “T begin to think, Bess, that your idea is the right one, after all.” ‘T kn ou would,” she replied, kissing him affectionately. ‘* We shall have to leave yer behind, and Vel- asquies will git you ag’in and beat you bad.” ‘No worse than he always has been, and then you know, you're going to come and take me away ag’in.” “That’s so; if I git out of this infarnal place alive.” ** You'll do it easy enough!” wasthe confident reply. FPhen you'll have to stay hyar by this air hole till they rushin and get you.” “T will. I shafi’t try to run away. When e ans goingaway?” ‘I thought I’d wait till night, but Dick want- ar ‘ ed me to go right off. What do you think about it?” . “‘T don’t see any use of waiting, either.” “T guess I’ll go, then.” , ra rit kiss you both good-by, then,” said she, This was a delicate matter to the grizzled old trapper. He saw, of course, that if she persist- ed in Caooee both, it would be impossible for him to keep the secret of Dick Havens’s death fromher. He, therefore, tried to discourage this natural manner of parting. ; ‘* No, Bess, we won’t either of us kiss yer.” “ Why not?? she asked, in a respectful tone, ‘* ll tell you why; it looks too much as though | we didn’t expect to see you ag’in.” “Maybe you won’t, either.’ “We won't think so, anyway. I'll jist say
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a? j good-by to you, and then we'll make a rush out of the cavern.” “T would rather not,” she said, after a mo- ment’s silence; ‘‘it doesn’t seem right to me.” ‘* Yes, it does, little one,” added the trapper, with a sort of forced gayety in his manner. ‘It’s a notion of mine, pe you'll do it to please me now; won’t you?” She assented, although it was that she was by no means satisfi rangement. It having been decided that the rush for life should be made without further delay, Buck lost no time in making his preparations, He had formed a plan of his own, which was to fasten his rifle and that of his comrade to his back, so that his movements might not be im- peded; and then pulling aside the bowlder, he would catch up the body, and holding it before him as a shield, make a rush among the terrible Apaches. - He had found, in placing the bowlder at the entrance to the cavern, that: by inserting two oodly-sized stones, one on each side of it, that it could be secured against any pressure from the outside. These wedges removed, and a child could force it inward. Cautioning Bess to remain where she was, he hurried to where the inanimate form of the trap- per lay. The latter held his rifle tightly grasped, and it was with some difficulty he loosened it from his rigid fingers. He then removed his knife and placed it in his own girdle. He now began securing the guns to his per- son, but the smoke was so heavy that he was forced to hurry to the rear of the cave to secure a few breaths of air. ; ou doing with both guns?” in- os Bess, as he began securing them over his 8 lain to Buck with the ar- oing to carry both.” ick going with you?” “Yes; he will go out, too.” “Why doesn’t he take his own gun?” %* “T can do it better.” Buck Buckram now returned to the mouth of the cave to learn how matters were upon the outside. The fire seemed to be somewhat lower, and the Apaches had evidently grown weary of their furious dancing and shouting. While the trapper was cautiously reconnoiter- ing, Velasquies approached close to the mouth, and called out: ‘* Hello, in thar! How did you like my shot?” ‘*So it was.you, eh? Very well, Pll settle with you some day, if the good Lord only spares my life.” Tho half-breed called out several times, but received no response, and Buck heard him say, evidently to himself: __ ““T guess they’re about used up; we mought as well rush in for them, ef the stone will only give way. I’m afeard the gal won’t be able to stand it.” z Buck Buckram cautiously drew out the wedge. Then he:turned about and called out, in a cau- tious undertone: ‘*Good-by, Bess!” “‘Good-by, both of you!” 3 The next instant the bowlder fell inward, and amass of burning brush and: coal lay be- fore it. } Buck paused but a second, and then catching up the body of his comrade, he held him partly over his shoulder and before him. With cne leap he cleared the glowing embers, and with a wild yell dashed down through the ravine, among the treacherous Apaches. CHAPTER XVII. RUNNING FOR LIFE, Wuen Buck Buckram burst out of the cave, shield. bis trapper held over him as a sort of s S coming was entirely une upon the part of the Apaches. whereas They had seen the bowlder fall inward, but pera lor Lae accidental and were not rep’ . ch demonstration. : Besides the singular a ance of the trap- per, with his two guns strapped upon his back, and the limp form of his huge comrade,*mostly covering him, was not understood for a mo- ment. All this operated greatly in favor of Buck, who improved his advantage to theutmost. As he dashed out, he found several Apaches in his way, but he struck them like a thunderbolt, and ran and leaped with might and main. Ina few moments he had cleared those im- mediately surrounding him at his exit, and was Buck Buckram in an open space, where he had full opportunit to stretch ane exercise his limbs. ] “i He ran about a hundred yards, with the body oer at his shoulder, when, having no further use for it, he dropped it and turned his whole energies toward escaping by flight. Shouts, yells and screeches followed this dar- ing ®xploit upon eieer™ of the trapper, and the bullets whistled all about him, Some of the leaden missiles hummed and buzzed close to his ears, and more than one pierced his clothes, but, providentially, he was unharmed. But it was almost a miracle that he was not struck, and Buck had no wish to tempt his good fortune a moment longer than he was com- pelled. The second he reached a place where it was feasible, he dodged behind the intervening rocks, and as much as possible, kept them. between himself and his enemies, so as to disconcert their aim, The Apaches were not content merely to fire their guns, but a half-dozen of the fleetest run- ners started instantly in pursuit. As Buckram leaped aaa ran along, he realized the wisdom of his own words with Dick Havens, when the latter was so anxious to make the at- tempt to escape at once. If he only had the sheltering darkness to pro- tect him, he could throw these bloodhounds off the trail in a very short time; but, as it was near the middle of the day, he could only ho to do it by superior fleetness and skill in diode, ing. The trapper was remarkably swift on foot; and, as soon as he gained a respectable dis- tance he settled down into a dead run, tearing 98 with all the speed of which he was ca e. ‘or some distance the way»was rough and un- even, and he was compelled to bound forward like the affrighted mountain goat, but after a quarter of a mile or so of such severe labor, he suddenly found himself upon the edge of an open and comparatively level prairie. It looked a little more than a mile broad, while upon the opposite side the rough, rocky character of the country was resumed. It struck the fugitive as favorable, and he in- stantly began speeding across it, while three Apaches—all of whom had ceased firing their guns—followed in close pursuit. The great danger which Buck feared was, that some of his pursuers would fire, in which contingency he could scarcely hope to escape; but their actions showed that they were more anxious to secure him than to shoot him; and so long as there was a probability of it, they would not fire their guns. When half the open space was , and Buck glanced over his shoulder, he found that there was but {one savage who could begin to ual him in , he other two had withdrawn entirely, and left it to their single companion to finish. The trapper felt ashamed to flee from a sin- gle red-skin; but, he had an object to accom- plish, and he kept down his speed for a short time. ; As he sped along, he reached up and began unloosening his rifle, still fastened behind his shoulders. . It was rather difficult to do this, and main- tain his high rate of speed at the same time; and while engaged in untying the fastening, un- consciously to himself, he had lost considerable ground. The first warning he had of this state of the case, was by hearing the triumphant whoop of the Apache, who doubtlessly looked upon his flagging footsteps as evidence that he was ex- hausted, and would fall an easy prey. With the suddenness of eeening the trapper wheeled about and pointed his rifle straight at the savage. The latter was startled at this unexpected apparition, and drew back his tomahawk to hurl it at his foe now turned at bay; but ere it left his hand, the gun was discharged, and the Apache, with a howling shriek, threw up his arms and fell dead. The Apaches who had withdrawn from the chase witnessed this affair from a distance, and saw the fatal mistake they had committed in withdrawing from the chase at so early a stage. Still hoping to accomplish something they re- sumed the pursuit, but in a few moments the fugitive vanished and they gave it up. Knowing the persistency and cunning of the Apaches, Buck Bueckram did not cease his run- ning with the disappearance of the pursuers. , He had been in such business once before, and had come terribly near losing his life, from ' ' 9 acting upon the Sr that all danger was really over when it appeared to be. He slackened his speed somewhat, but kept up a good gait, occasionally glancing over his shoulder to make sure that none of his enemies were stealing a march upon him. P This manner of procedure he kept up for per- haps half an hour, when he came soon to a walk, muttering to himself at the same time: “Sorry I hadn’t time to stop and raise the ha’r of thatered-skin, fur his impudence in fol- lerin’ me so close. Howsomever, I might have lost my own if I’d tried it.” He was now in a section as rough and uneven as any he had ever been in, and with consider- able wood, so that it was a capital cover for en- emies to maneuver against each other. But there was no further necessity of playing hide-and-seek with the Apaches, and he ha halted to consider upon a far different subject. The afternoon was now well advanced, and it was evident that little could be done until the morrow; but he was not a man to hesitate or prove dilatory when he had decided upon a line of conduct. “Now fur little Bess!” he exclaimed, “and may Buck Buckram never see his little one ag’in if_he ever gives up afore he gits her.” CHAPTER XVIII. LITTLE BESS. : THE flight and escape of Buck Buckram was a remarkable one, and such as a» man does not often experience in a lifetime. Under the help of Providence, it was due mainly to its auda- city, and the powerful nerve displayed by the woe t here was one, for whom there was no pos- sibility of escape—one in whom we have no lit- tle interest, and whose fortunes we have already followed. Little Bess, as her companion prepared to charge out among her enemies, cheerily return- ed his good-by, and patiently awaited the issue of events. e had no icion of the artifice Buck had adopted, and little dreamed that when her two companions left the cavern, one of them was a dead man. After the rush of the hunter there was an un- usual stillness around the mouth of the cave for a few minutes. A number of Apaches had dashed away in pursuit, while the others o peared to be standing and staring in blan amazement at the scene. f Then came the crack of rifles, and the reced- ing whoops of the pursuers, followed by a few moments more of quiet. With the falling of the bowlder at the en- trance, there had been a great inward rush of smoke, so that the little prisoner assuredly would have perished, but for the ‘ air-hole,” which still stood her well in her time of need. But a short time élapsed, when a peculiar noise was heard at the entrance. The smoke was too thick, and the effort too painful to the eyes, for Bess to tell what it meant; but it sounded to her as if some one was drawing the embers and coals away from the place, so as to admit him without danger. Such proved to be the case, and shortly after Velasquies dashed into the cavern, with’a fear- ful imprecation. “* Bess! Bess! where are you? That dog hasn’t run away with you, has he?” He ran i gene around, clutching and clawin the air, as though he expected to find ber afloa’ in the heavy atmosphere. “ Bess, I say, why don’t you speak to me?” he continued, choking and half-strangling. : The girl made no answer, she Seiny shrewd enough to allow him to think she was either dead or nearly so, being assured that she would then receive good treatment. “I'm afeared she’s dead or run away with—” At this instant he stumbled against her. ‘Dead, I do believe—” : And then, catching up the limp form, he hur- ried out the cave into the cpen air, Here he placed her upon the ground, saying as he did so: : “Tt’s a wonder if she’s alive, fur I couldn’t stand it in that infarnal place fur five minutes longer. veral Apaches had gathered around her. and discovered at once that animation had not been suspended. A little shaking and blowing in her face, and she began to gasp and struggle, as though still striving with death. It was seve- ral minutes before she opened her fine blue eyes, and looking about her with a bewildered air, showed that she was herself again. The moment it became certain that little Bess was really alive, the feelings of the half-breed appeared to undergo a change. His first pro- /
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SS Beadle’s Half-Dime Library. ceeding was to give her a ringing box upon the ears. ‘What did you let ’em take be away fur? Why didn’t you holler and yell, so that we might’ve knowed what they was at? I guess you (lidn’t care much whether they took you or not. And then followed another series of cuffs and blows, until the poor ae pat up her hands to protect her ears, and cried with,pain. Velas- quies desisted for a while, apparently to the re- t Shag red-skins, who enjoyed any thing of e sort. “Tf you ever play, po father such a trick again, J’ll kill you!” he savagely added, as he strode away. : __ It was on the point of Besgsie’s tongue to deny that he was her father, but she dared not, for fear of provoking him to greater anger. She finally ventured 40 ook around. Almost the first object that met her gaze was the figure of Dick Havens, some distance away, just as it lay after being cast down by Buck Buckram in his flight. She stared in horror at it for a moment, and then gasped out the question: ‘‘Ts he dead?” “Dead? In course he is. I shot him!” was the caning perit of Velasquies, as he stood near, com ently viewing her. Unable rencees her feelings, she burst into pe again, and covering her face, sobbed vio- ently. . This so e her brutal master, that he walked up to where she sat, and cuffed her even more violently than before. “Cry fur him, will yer? Tl give yer some- thing to cry about. gins to look as though yer run away yerself, instead of their takin’ er. a Had the unfeeling half-breed but known the truth, there is no telling what punishment he would have inflicted. It was a pitiable scene, and had Buck Buckram been within range, nothing would have afforded him more pleasure than have sent a bullet through the skull of the dastardly tyrant; and he would have done it without a moment’s hesi- tation, even though he had to face a hundred deaths. The death of Dick Havens was yet unaveng- Little Bess saw nothing of the dead Apaches, as ey had been carefully drawn away by their friends, and buried at a distance. Those of the red-skins who did not oan the alae pay remained behind until they re- hen it was found that Buck Bye rum really had escaped, the disappointment of the Apaches was earful, and their shrieking and howling appalling. : They had already scalped the dead Havens, and by one impulse they rushed “ee him again, kicking, cutting, striking and hammering so furiously, that they injured one another in their otras lee. en they finally desisted through sheer ex- haustion, scarcely any semblance to humanity remained about what had once been the active, genial-natured Dick Havens. He had been outraged beyond all power of de- scription. A number of Indians, as Buck Buckram ex- pected would be done, continued the pursuit for a time, but it was finally given over, and the entire party collected in front of the cavern which had served as a refuge to the fugitives. CHAPTER XIX. A CAPTIVE AGAIN. Arter the Apaches had vented their childish rage and disappointment at the escape of Buck Buckram, they made preparations to leave the place, which had seen more of a failure than a success upon their part. , Before starting, all the furs and peltries were brought out from the cavern or cache and car- ried with them. Thus the labor of months was gone in a few moments. The party moved toward the river where they entered their canoes, and started up- stream, the direction from which they had come. The same Indian who had heen with Velasquies, at the time of the escape of little Bess, still was with him, and the two, in com- pew. with the captive, entered a small boat to- ether. 4 This savage was a full-blooded Apache, one of the most treacherous and malignant of his race. He and tho half-breed came together. from unison of disposition. They hunted and trapped with each other, and Damon and Pythi- as never were more intimate, and, apparently, more attached. ‘ And yet, either of these precious scoundrels would have cut the throat of the other, had there been anything to gain by it. It was hardly likely that such companionship would continue for any length of time, without a rup- ture of some kind. e reason that it had not et occurred, was simply because the oceasion ad not come. The afternoon was waning when the Apaches moved up-stream in their canoes, and when they had gone a few miles, night descended up- on them; but the sdme moon which had shone through a cloudless sky still beamed on them, and they were plainly discernible for a long distance from the shore. Gradually as the party moved along, the small boat, containing the three individuals in whom we are most interested, fell behind the others. The latter, as a matter of course, ob- served Pe but it was nothing to them. The half-br accompanied them when he chose and went alone when he so elected, without question. The truth of it was that Velasquies was not willing to trust his prize among the unscrupu- lous savages. Bess was a girl of extraordinary beauty, was growing fast, and he had seen looks among the savages which alarmed him. Many miles away, in the Hunter’s Valley, the half-breed had a wife and numerous family whom he occasionally visited, and who looked upon him with terror and loathing. When he made his appearance among them, it was to abuse and maltreat his family in a shameful manner. His own offspring fled in terror and hid themselves in the wood, while his wife had many a time run shrieking for her life, with the inhuman brute in furious pursuit. They had no friends to whom they could go, and were thus compelled to leada life of misery and suffering, which it is im ible to realize or appreciate. Velasquies a determined to e Bess to this home, and have her for a year or so, and then make her his wife. Here she would be safe, and not liable to run away, as she was old enough to understand that there was no possi- bility of her escaping the perils of the wood, should she attempt to reach the nearest settle- ment. He had taken Bess to his miserable home years before, and his wife knew not where she came from, nor did she dare ask. She had been left there when too young to pee omy 8 him, but ever since she had attained any size, he had always taken her with him. The wife of Velasquies, although the veriest slave, had once been a woman of beauty, and had been refined in her conversation and man- ners; and it was here that the girl had learned to talk in a manner which was a constant ‘sur- “we to the trappers in whose company she was or a short time. Unknown to either Buck Buckram or Velas- quies himself, their two families were at no great distance from each other, and the trap- pers had many a time been within a few miles of the little girl without suspecting it. It may well be supposed that had Bess known of the proximity of friends, she would have fled at midnight from the roof of her inhuman _ cap- tor, and sought refuge with the chivalrous at who would have defended her with his ife. The canoe of Velasquies was paddled by him- self and the Apache, and, by a mutual under- standing, they continued to fall further and further in the rear. ; By-and-by the main party were scarcely visi- ble, and then they vanished, and only the sound of the steady sweep of their paddles could be heard. Then these grew fainter and _ fainter. until they died out in the distance, and at last the trio were alone, leisurely pursuing their rae up the lonely river. inally the rowing ceased altogether. The canoe floated some ice in perfect quiet, and Velasquies, with a single impulse of his paddle, sent it against the bank. ‘*Come, get out!” he called to Bess, who was drooping with sleep. She sprung nimbly out, and awaited on the shore his next commands. The two followed her, and the canoe was then drawn up the The Apache took some pains to hide it in the bushes, so that it would escape the casual observation of any one passing, and then, Velasquies leading the way, they strode rapidly through the woods, in a course which was at right angles to the stream, — The forest was familiar to the men, and they strode forward without hesitation, little Bess walking between them. The distance, however, was short, when they reached a large, scraggy oak, at the base of which they began building a fire. It required but a few minutes for them to have a rearing crackling blaze, which diffused. a grateful warmth on this cool night. Little Bess had tasted nothing for hours, and was nearly famished. She finally ventured to ask for something to eat, but was brutally told to “ shut up.” As the night wore on she was given a blan- ket, but sleep did not visit her eyelids. She was thinking of one who had promised to come to her assistance, and who, at that moment was hunting through the woods for her. CHAPTER XX. . A GOOD THING ALL AROUND, LitTuE Bess found it impossible to sleep. A peculiar restlessness, rather singular in one so young, came over her shortly after she lay down; and although she lay quiet and motionless, yet she was as fully awake as when dragged from the cave by the half-breed. The ravening hunger had given place to a faint, sick feeling, which made the thought of food distasteful to her, although, could she have swallowed a few mouthfuls, it would have re- turned to her with greater force than ever. As the night wore on, and the fire died down, the deep, regular breathing of Velasquies show- ed that he was wrapped in profound slumber, while the Apache sat with his knees drawn up, gazing fixedly into the fire, as though lost faa unconscious of what was going on around m. But the red-skin was sharply conscious, and his black, snake-like eyes flitted from one to the other, with a keen eagerness which showed that something more than usual engaged his thoughts. He often looked at the half-breed, and then his eyes darted toward the form of , who was all unaware of this scrutiny. It must have been past midnight, when our heroine was startled by hearing a catlike tread, and raising her head, she saw the Apache ap- ee me Supposing the savage designed tS ill her, she was about to scream, when he made a gesture which she understood to mean silence, Terror alone kept her quiet, for she dreaded one of these as much as the other, and she knew that neither of them would hesitate to take the life of any person who stood in their way. ‘Don’t make noise!” he whispered, in broken English. ‘Me kill you! Keep still!” Bess did not stir, and scarcely breathed. The Apache now motioned for her to rise. ‘* He man!” said 5 il frveig to the sleeping Velasquies. ‘‘ He hurt you; me take~- won’t hurt.” Bess did not dare to refuse, and yet she now feared the Indian more than the white man. She believed that he intended to steal her and take her to his home. She knew that if she re- sisted he would drive his knife to her heart, and she therefore rose meekly to her feet and await- ed his orders, 3 With a hideous scowl he placed his face close to her own, and warned her again against mak- ing an outery. f ‘Me kill you—make noise!” “T won't,” said the cowering child, speaking unconsciously in quite loud tones, The Apache was silent a moment, gazing fur- tively around him. The half-b moved un- easily in his sleep, as though about to wake. The Apache clutched his knife, and turned his head as quick as lightning. ad Velasquies wakened at that moment, the knife would in- pees 5 have been buried in his bosom; but he ceased his restless movements and slept on. The wonder was that the red-skin did not slay his enemy at once, and so end the matter, He stood motionless as a statue, looking at the unconscious form, and then, satisfied that all was right, he took the hand of the girl, and plunged into the wood. __ He walked rapidly, taking the direction which led toward the river. As the distance was in- considerable, it required but a short time to reach the stream, where, after a slight exami- nation, the canoe was found precisely as it had been left. ; Buty singular as it may seem, Velasquies was not , nor had he slept a wink since lying down. e had been shrewd enough to see, in the carefully studied actions of the Apache, a sinister design, and he had counterfeited un- consciousness for the purpose of ascertaining what the real intentions of the rascally Apache were. It did not take him long to divine that his real purpose was to steal the girl from him, and as we have shown, he allowed him to do so, ) |
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Buck Buckram." 11 fo And for his quiescence, during the stealthy movements of the Indian, he had several im- rtant reasons, the principal one of which was that, as he knew that the savage was an exceed- ingly fierce and dangerous character to vag tel ter, the did not dare to provoke a collision with him, when the advantage upon each side would be equal. There was too strong a a nan that he would come out second best in the little difficulty. . Another, and minor reason was, that he wish- ed to justif his intended course in the eyes of Bess herself. If he should spring up suddenly and shoot the Apache, before he had committed any wrong against him, or before he had devel- oped his intention of doing so, she might never believe there toes ever any cause for such a sum- mary proceeding. Sc. as we have stated, he pretended to sleep, and did it so well that the wily red-skin was thrown completely off his guard. He waited until Bess and the latter had Cienarce fairl in the wood, and then he rose silently to his feet, and followed with the celerity of a shadow. He was certain, from the course of the Apache, that he was going for the canoe, in which he could rejoin his comrades without jeaving a trail behind which any human eye could follow. Without paying particular attention there- fore to the precise course of the Indian’s foot- steps, the half-breed diverged somewhat to the right taking a path more circuitous, but which would bring him to his destination almost, if not quite as soon. ; His haste came near precipitating the very thing he was seeking to avoid. Unknown to him the savage had = turned in the same di- rection, and the first warning he had of the fact was in seeing the savage, holding the girl by the hand, walking raipdly across a small opening, where both were plainly revealed in the moonlight. ; The half-breed shrunk back and waited until they had passed out of sight again, and then he followed them more cautiously than before. When the Apache drew the canoe out from the concealment, he signified to Bess to enter. She hesitated a moment, when he raised his glittering knife. “Go quick! Me kill you!” - At that instant the Apache caught the click of a gun-lock behind him. Suspecting the truth, he turned about with the quickness of lightning, but he could see nothing. He then turned again to spring into the canoe, when a sh report rung out upon the night- air, and be uate a shriek as the bullet passed through his heart. Still, true to his nature, when he realized that he had lost, he made an’ attempt to reach and slay Bess; but his a failed, and he drop lifeless, partly in the canoe and partly in the water. CHAPTER XXII. A BETTER THING ALL AROUND. Wuen Bess heard the report of the saw the Apache fall, unfortunately she eved that Buck Buckram was at hand, and springin ashore, she ran in the direction of the sound, exclaiming: “Where are you, Buck? I am so glad you have come! I knew you would not forget me. “You did, eh?’ was the response, as with a fearful blow he struck her almost senseless to theearth. ‘“That’s the thanks I git, is tue riskin’ my life fur ye? You expected uck Buckram, did yer? I only wish he would come H : “ Wal, by the living heavens ! here he is, then! exclaimed a vuice, hoarse with passion, as the tall form of the trapper bounded through the wood and made straight for him. The cowardly half-breed shrunk back helpless and pppalled, The next instant he was in the ope of the infuriated hunter, who made terribly ort work with him. . “Here, my darlin ———— SSS SS n, and beaver, is Buck come, as © told you he would!” said ‘the trapper, as he picked oe the prostrate little one, and tenderly smoothed the hai air away from her face. Bess soon revived, and returned the caresses of her benefactor. | “Oh, where are they ?” she asked, somewhat bewildered. “They never can hurt you ag’in. Never mind about them now. You have seen too much of this business. Jist don’t think about it now. Git in the canoe, and Pll take you home, where you'll be safe all the time,’ | She did as commanded, and seiging the pad- | dle, Buck sent it rapidly down-stream, little | Bess scarcely able to realize the astounding events which had passed before her so recently | ontlSheot wos! it’s like I allers does things!” he muttered, as they paddled along. ‘I’m allers in too much of a hurry.” ‘What do you mean?” she asked, with some wonder. ei og pi ping ped, jist how I mr m e it, when I sp’ilt it ittin’ so ma couldy't wait.” 2 oe She showed by her manner that she still failed to understand him, ‘* Wal, then, I meant to come onto that scamp rather suddent like, corner him up, and make him tell all he knowed about yer—whar he stole re from—and all that; but when I see’d him it yer—wal, what’s the use?—I couldn’t stand it no longer.” - Never mind, Buck; it’ll all come right some time. “In course; but I’m gittin’ rather anxious *bout it.” “You can wait if I ean.” **T s’pose so; but I orter knowed better.” ‘* Where are you going to take me now?” To OY own ome, whar yer’ll stay till I find whar ye aim HM “‘ And Dick Havens is dead,” she repeated, her heart overflowing at the thought of what she had witnessed during the day. “Yas, poor feller, he went under!” replied Buck, in a choking voice, as he worked harder than ever at the paddle. ‘*T saw him just after he was shot.” _ The trapper was silent awhile, then he related the iculars of his former com on’s death to Bess, who, as may be sup , was greatly rised and shocked to learn the truth. e girl had no wish or desire to sleep, but her craving for food came back to her, and she stated it to her companion, ‘‘Hain’t you had nothin’ to eat?” he demand- od, stopping his paddling, and looking her in the ace “ Nothing at all.’ ‘**Hang ’em!” he muttered. ‘Thar ain’t but one critter that’s worse than an Apache, and that’s a half-breed,” He shied the canoe off to one side, and ran under the shadows of the trees along shore. Here he Janded, and collecting a few dried sticks built a fire on a flat stone, which was placed in the stern of the canoe. The bright light, as all well know, is peculiarly attractive to fish, and in a few minutes a number of them were gather- ed around, and several of large size were plain- ly visible in the water below. The trapper leaned over, and, carefully watch- ing his opportunity, darted down his hand, and threw out a plump fellow upon the bottom of the canoe, where it floundered and glistened in the moonlight. “ Now we shall soon have a supper,” said he, as he transferred several burning brands to the shore, and building a larger fire, began cooking the fish over it, first cleaning it and then 8 OF tt it out like a fan upon a pronged stick, It required but a few minutes for him to cook it nicely, and Bess made one of the best meals she ever ate. This done, she lay down in the canoe, and Buck laid one of the shawls, which he had stripped from the half-breed and Apache, over her, and told her to sleep. It was yet early in the evening, but Bess never opened her eyes until broad daylight, and then she saw the trapper preparing to start down-stream. He had improved the few leisure moments in catching and cooking some more fish, so that he had a breakfast prepared, and enough to last them through the ne He had done something else during the night, of which Bess never knew anything. They were within the immediate vicinity of the cave, which had been the scene of the siege, and first pecuing the girl some distance from the shore, where he felt it would be safe to leave her awhile, he *epares to the cavern, to see what had become of the body of his comrade., He found the mutilated remains, and with his own hands, tenderly lifted and carried it some distance away, where he buried it in a cleft of rocks, and ‘covered it with rocks and stones, so that it could not be disturbed by wild animals. This act of humanity and friendship complet- ed, he returned to the cave and explored the in- terior, faintly hoping that the red-skins might have overlooked his peltries. But they had not; not a single fur remained. But thanking Heaven for his own marvelous es- cape, he hastened back to where his precious charge lay sleeping. After Bess awoke, they shoved away from shore, and resumed their homeward journcy, | which was continued with scarcely any inter- mission until sunset. During the afternoon, they entered a much larger stream, and Buck Buckram announced that they had but a short distance further to go by water, CHAPTER XXtTrI. THE BEST THING ALL AROUND. THE following morning, which was a beauti- ful sunshiny one, as they were paddling along in the canoe, Bess poder M- ‘*T have been here before,” * When?” “With Velasquies; this is the way he went home.” . ‘“*Cur’us we never met each other; fur when I’m trappin’ it’s the way I ginerally take.” By-and-by they landed. Buck pulled the canoe up the bank, and hid it under a thick clump of bushes. Bess watched him curiously a few moments, and then said: , “4 e It wasn’t far from this place that he used to nd. ‘* That’s cur’ouser yit. Qua’r ef our shanties ain’t fur from each other. Shoot me!” ex- claimed the trapper suddenly stopping and slap- ing his thigh, ‘‘ ef TY don’t b’lieve I know whar is place is—that is, his fam’ly. He’s an Injun wife off a good ways from hyar.” And then Buck proceeded’ to describe a mis- erable hut which he had occasionally passed in his travels, and which he now believed to be = - belonging to the family of the half- reed. Such proved to be the case—Bess readily re- cognizing it from his description, and there was _eagg wonder expressed by both, to think that ey had been so near each other, for so long a time, without ever suspecting it, ‘* How far do you live from here?” she asked, as they walked briskly along. “Nota great ways,” was his reply. “We'll reach thar long before sundown.” ; The sun had barely crossed the meridian, when the two entered a stall clearing, in the center of which stood a tidy-looking cabin, while several children were playing around the outside, The face of Buck Buckram was lit up with a smile, as the little ones ran forward meet him, and he caught them in his arms and kissed them over and over again. The next moment a buxom-looking woman came forth, and was folded in his arms, while the faces of all were lit up with happiness. In a few words, the trapper explained the facts regarding the little stranger he had brought, and she was at once received asa friend and daughter. Three little girls, varying from four to twelve years, were frolicking around the house, and making glad the hearts of their parents. The third, a boy named Kit, after the renowned Kit Carson, an old friend of the hun- ter’s, was off on a hunt, and was not expected back until nightfall. It was a touching picture—the trapper’s home. Here he was surrounded by those he loved best of all upon the earth, and here only was he ever happy. Like the celebrated scout Carson, he was a model husband and father, but the roving disposition which he had formed in his youth controlled him through life, and after a sho stay at home, he generally went forth again to engage in the perilous duty of hunting and — wR ne. is extraordinary skill in these pursuits had been rewarded, and he had accumulated quite a moderate competence—so much s0, that he now felt at liberty to carry out the pledge he had made his wife some years before, of remoy- ing to Santa Fe and engaging in some less peril- ous business, ‘**Only one thing yet to finish,” said he, as his wife sat on his knee, while the children frolicked around the floor. ‘* What’s that?” : ‘*T must find out the home of little Bess, I never could rest easy till that was settled. Do you know, Alfrina, that I’ve an idea that I’ve seen this little one somewhere before?” ‘So you have; I remember your speaking of her. ait a moment,” said she, turning toward their guest. ‘‘See here, Bess.” The girl looked up at her. “Your name is not Bess. Now listen, and tell me whether you ever heard the name--AL- FRINA—the sume as my own,” The little one started as if she had been stung by something, and then she stood several min- utes wrapped in a reverie so deep, that she was unconscious of what was going on around her, Finally she raised her head, and said: “ That’s my name !”
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12 Beadle’s Half-Dime Library. ° It would be impossible to depict the interest that shone in the face of the trapper and his wife at this avowal. P The wife now turned toward her husband, and said: ou remember, ten years ago, when ou came home one day, and told me what a autiful baby you had seen, and that it had the same name as myself?” “What else?’ asked the hunter, whose mem- ory Lia Mad not equal to that of his bet- ter half. “ ere was it I see’d her?” “In Santa Fe. She was in a child’s carriage in the street, and as she was about the same age as our Alfrita, and was a beautiful child, you took particular notice of her.” Buck’s eyes now sparkled. It had all come back to him. ‘Yes, [remember it. Shoot me! what a fool I was that I didn’t think of it before! Yas, I remember it well; but I don’t know what other name she had, or who she belonged to.” “You can find them, 1 suppose.” “Tf hunting to the ends of the yarth will do it, I shall,” was the determined reply of the rapper. e wife now went to Alfrina ver she is no longer Bess), and endeavored to follow up the questions she had begun with, and by which she had succeeded in partly awaking her train of remembrance. ‘Do you remember who called you Alfrina?”’ ain the little head was bent, and a look of rplexity settled upon her countenance for full ve minutes. Then she raised her gaze, and with inexpressible tenderness, repeated the sin- gle word: ‘¢ Mother !” ‘*Where? When?” were the eager queries, which followed this reply. The girl tried as hard as before to think, but her mind wandered; it was a fruitless effort **T cannot tell. I can sometimes see a beauti- ful house, with brothers and sisters all around me; but then it is all gone again. Oh! I cannot think; I have tried hard often before.” “That's so,” assented Buck. ‘‘ I’ve pumped and questioned her till she wasn’t able to stand at. Let the gal alone till after dinner.” A good, old-fashioned meal was prepared, and the family gathered around it. There was some disappointment at the absence of Kit, but, as he could hardly be looked for until nightfall, there was no anxiety about him. He was old enough and skilled enough to take care of him- self in the woods, and was not unfrequently ab- sent for several days at a time. Just as night was closing in, Kit returned. He was a large strapping, rosy-cheeked boy, cheerful and ull of spirits, and as rollicking and jovial as his sisters, running over with joy at the return of his father. Kit was laden down with game, for he was a worthy son of such a hunter as Buck Buckram. . After the congratulations were over, Kit f° an account of the hunt upon which he had nengaged. All his game had been bagged during the afternoon. “What were you doing this morning?’ in- quired his mother. ‘Helping a poor family get off to Santa Fe. suey wanted a little help at starting: that’s “You didn’t allow them to go alone?” de- manded the mother, in amazement, while the eyes of the father seconded the question. “Oh, no! There were two friends—hunters —that agreed to see them into Santa Fe. They were in a great £7 hee get off, as they were afraid that the wife’s husband would get back and stop her. He must have been a great hus- band, I think.” Further inquiry elicited the fact that Kit had helped off the wife and children of Velasquies, the half-breed, she having been persuaded by several friends to go to Santa Fe to escape his brutality. On the morrow Buck Buckram bade his family and Alfrina good-by, for a time, while he went to Santa Fe % endeavor to gain traces of her friends. He expected to be back in the course of a week, although, as a matter of course, he had gone upon a very uncertain undertak- ing. Littl Bess, as we may call her for a time immediately became a favorite with those left behind. Kit had a number of traps in the sur- rounding woods, which he set, and although game was quite scarce, he occasionally met with success. Little Bess was taken with him on his rounds, for the purpose of ifistructing her in the profession; but it was found that she Imew as much as he did, if not more. She had been taught trapping among the Indians, and had rena AN such skill and met with such suc- cess, that the Apaches called her Bache Tana- mas, the Female Trapper. She set their traps, and on the succeeding morning, each of them contained a_ beaver, while there was not one in the others. Singular as it may seem, this operation was repeated night after night in succession, until it came to be believed that she had some secret by which she attracted the timid and sagacious animals. In the meantime, Buck Buckram was prose- cuting his inquiries with a perseverance and vigor that. could scarcely fail of success. After reaching Santa Fe, he was at loss, for a time, as to the course to pursue. He was now able to recall distinctly the circumstance to which his wife referred. When his eldest daughter was just beginning to walk, he was passing leisurely through the streets of Santa Fe, when he met a small Mexi- ean child’s Sess in gen of a female servant, and a girl seated within of such re- markable beauty, that he paused and gazed at it in admiration. He inquired its name, and asked the privilege of kissing it. Both requests were granted, and he placed his izled beard and scarred face against the peachy lips of the infant. He learned that its name was Alfrina, but the latter name escaped him or was forgot- ten; and, as it was, he never would have re- called the other, had it not been the same as his wife’s, and had she not first mentioned it. As the best that could be done, he sought out the family of Velasquies, and made inquiries of the half-breed’s wife. She could tell him noth- ing, except that her husband had brought her there, when an infant, and had never revealed a word regarding her. She then asked in such a terrified manner whether he knew anything regarding her hus- band, that he told her he had seen him killed in an affray. The relief with which this sad tid- ings was received by his wife, was touching and strange, and satisfied the trapper that, had she known the full circumstances, she would have looked upon him in no other light than that of benefactor. He had turned to leave, when she called him back. ““T once heard him o3 of a wealthy Mexi- can named Jarilla, who had done him some injury, and he said that he had made himself equal with him. He never referred to it after- ward, but I sometimes imagined that it was his child that he brought to our house.” * “ Like enough,” was the comment of Buck, as he- walked away. He repeated the name over and over to him- self, to see if there was anything familiar about it; but he could not remember ever to haye heard it before. However, he clung to the fancy that he was on the right track, and deter- mined to make search for a family of that name. , 4 Here, again, he was puzzled, for diligent in- quiry failed to reveal any one of that name. But good-fortune came to him in a shape which he least expected. A half-hour after- ward he encountered Kit Carson in the street. The latter individual had just been appointed Indian agent, and was in 5ope oo The two old friends shook ds, and had quite a chat. “What are you doing now, Buck?’ asked Carson. 3 The particulars of little Bess’s history was quickly related, and he said at the conclusion: “Jist now P’m looking for a man named Jarilla; and ef anyone can put me on the track, I think you’re the man.” , The Indian agent bent his head a few minutes in thought, and then looked up with a bright look so characteristic of him. ‘¢*T know him.” “Where is he?” “He has a hacienda not far from my home in Taos. He is one of the wealthiest Mexicans in the country, and one of the best men I ever knowed.” fake | ** Are you well acquainted with him?” “Not jist now; but I knowed him well ten ears ago. Yes, Buck, you’re on the right track!” exclaimed Kit, in considerable excite- ment, and with no little pleasure. Buck asked him to explain. “Ten years ago he came to me, and wanted me to hunt a child of his, that he thought had been carried away by a party of Apaches that, had been through the country near his hacienda some time before. He offered me ten thousand dollars if I would bring her back.” ‘‘ Did you undertake it?” “Ves: I followed the Apaches for over two hundred miles, but there was a mistake made. A 4 They hadn’t taken her, and I came back no wiser than I went. Hepaid me a thousand dol- lars, and looked more lke a heart-broken man than anybody I had ever seen,” ‘Of course he was mistaken, for she was stole by a scamp of a half-breed, of the name of Vel- uies. The dog! And he was one of the most act- ive men in the search, Jarilla never suspected him, although I knew the half-breed a grudge against bis employer, because he detect- ed him in and prevented his cheating a man that he was trading horses with. Queer that I didn’t have my eyes opened.” Satisfied that he was now iy S5 the right trail, Buck bade Kit Carson good-by, and mounting his mustang, made all haste to Taos. He knew very well where the residence of Carson was, and after some ina he was directed to the hacienda of Senor eres, It was just at nighlfall that Buck rode into the lane or road leading to the house, and gave his animal in charge to a servant who was wait- ing. The trapper had little respect for and fear of rank, and hé asked at once to see Senor Jarilla, ‘“Your name, please,” inquired the servant, with great obsequiousness. “Oh git out! Nevermind myname! I want e see h mighty quick, or Pll bu’st the door own. This was said in poor English and still poorer Ss) .. The creando understood him, how- ever, and a few minutes later Buck Buckr was ushered into the presence of a a Re gentlerhan, with very gray hair hair, who show- ed the gentleman in every movement, and in the: expression of his face. e inquired after the trapper’s health, offered him wine, and made him perfectly at home, be- fore he gave him time to hint at his errand. _ Buck was a little puzzled to decide how two in- troduce the matter, but he concluded to do it. without any citcumlocution, and in the most di- rect manner possible. We will not attempt to describe the <e which followed, when Senora Jarilla was called into the room, and the astounding truth made known to her. We leave it to the imagination of the reader. Two days later, ‘‘ Little Bess,’—Alfrina Ja-. rilla—bade her friends good-by, and mounted on the mustang in front of Buck Buckram, rode: to Taos, and then to the hacienda.of Senor Ja- rilla, where she was placed in the arms of her arene, who were nearly beside themselves: th joy. During the interview, Buck Buckram stepped away unobserved. A few weeks later, he and his family removed to Santa Fe. They had been here but a short time, when Senor Jarilla called upon him, and insisted that he should take the ten thousand dollars which had been offered ten years before, for the re- covery of his daughter. The old trapper resolutely refused to take one cent, although he was urged in the strong- est Manner. “You will then accept a present from Al- frina?”’ / “ Wal, I s’pose so,” was the hesifating answer, as he suspected this was a subterfuge to geb round the same thing. The present consisted of a handsome residence in Santa Fe, furnished in admirable style, a magnificent horse to Buck and one to his son, and a splendid wardrobe to the wife and chil- ren, The old trapper attempted to resist, but in vain. The friendship between Kit Buckram and Senorita Alfrina grew with their years until it. ripened into love, and the father was as proud when the two were united as though his daugh- ter had married the emperor of Mexico. The Sunnyside Library. 4 Tue LADY OF THE 5 Lucite. By Owen Meredith .. ._.. 6 UNDINE, OR THE Warer-Sprrit. From the German of Friederich De La Motte Fouque... 10c, For sale by all newsdealers, or sent, postage paid, on receipt of twelve cents for simle numbers, double numbers twenty-four cents. ADAMS, VICTOR & CO., Publishers, 98 William street, N. Y.
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THE POPULAR AND STANDARD BOOKS School, Exhibition and I WEBSTER, CHOATE, EVERETT, ADAMS, BEECHER, _ DEWEY, TALMAGE, CHAPIN, LONGFELLOW, WHITTIER, READE, PRENTICE, STORY, DICKINSON, KENT, SEWARD, BRET HARTE, CARL PRETZEL, JOHN HAY, BILLINGS, BRYANT, STREET, WALLACE, HAMILTON, » RANDOLPH, MADISON, WINTHROP, REV. JOS. COOK, CUYLER, DURYEA, WAYLAND, MAX ADELER, _ MARK TWAIN, OOFTY GOOFT, DOESTICKS, CARLYLE, ‘MACAULAY; BURNS, E. E. REXFORD, B. F. TAYLOR, STODDARD, ALDRICH, WILL CARLETON, JOE JOT, JB, | HOLMES, | | Brass ye DIM, SPEAKERS # DIALOGUES. é HE MOS? ATTRA orivE SERIEs, LABLE “i KING COLLEap ost AY MLADLE, ADApry Vp sD TAKI LECTION. —or— Declamations, Farces, Recitations, Notable Passages, Dialogues, Minor Dramas, Speeches, Extempore Efforts, Colloquies, Acting Charades, Addresses, Burlesques, Dress Pieces, Orations, IN ALL THE FIELDS oF Wit, Humor, Burlesque, Satire, Eloquence and Argument, Schools, Exhibitions 7Amateur Theatricals. THE DIME SPEAKERS. 1—Dimr AMERICAN SPEAKER. 2—Dime NATIONAL SPEAKER, 8—Dime PaTRIOTIC SPEAKER. 4—Dime Comic SPEAKER. 5—DimE ELOCUTIONIST. 6—Dimz Humorous SPEAKER. 7—DIME STANDARD SPEAKER, ’ 8—Diue Stump SPEAKER. 11—Dim8 DEBATER AND CHAIRMAN’s GUIDE. 12—DimE EXHIBITION SPEAKER, 13—Dimg ScHOOL SPEAKER. 14—Dine Lupricrovus SPEAKER. 15—CaRL PRetTzEL’s Komrka SPEAKER, 16—Diwe Youtu’s SPEAKER. 17—Diw ELOQUENT SPEAKER. 18—Dime Har CoLuMBIA SPEAKER, 9—Dime JUVENILE SPEAKER, 19—Dime SeRI0-Comic SPEAKER, 10—Diwe SpREAD-EAGLE SPEAKER. 20—DimE SELECT SPEAKER, 21 Dime Funny Speaker, Each Speaker, 100 pages 12mo., containing from 50 to 75 pieces. Are filled with original and_speciall p caterers for the amateur and School Stage—giving more takin burlesques, social comedies, domestic farces, exquisite dress an any collection ever offered at any price. Dime DIALOGUES NoumBER Onn. Dime DIALoGuES NumsBer Two. Druze DIALOGUES NuMBER THREE, Dime DrIALOGuES NumpBer Four. Die DIALOGUES NUMBER . Dowe DraLoGuEs Numer Srx. Dore DraLoGuEes Numper SEVEN. Die DravoGurs Numeer Ercur. Dime DIALOGUES NumsBer Ning. Diaz DIALOGUES NuMBER TEN. exhibition dramas Dime DIALOGUES NUMBER THIRTEEN. Dime DIALOGuES NUMBER FOURTEEN. Die DiaLocurs NuMBER Frrrren. Dove DiaLoGures NUMBER SIXTEEN. Folks. Dme DraLocurs NumpBer EIGHTEEN, Drive DraLoGurs NumpBer NINETEEN. Dime DraLoaurs NuMBER TWENTY. Dime DraLoGues NuMBER TWENTY-ONE. DiraLoGueS NuMBER ELEVEN. Diag DraLoaurs NumMBerR Twenty-two. DraLoGuES NuMBER TWELVE. DiwE DiaLoaurs NuMBER TWENTY-THREE. Each volume, 100 pages 12mo., containing from 15 to 25 pieces, BEADLE & ADAMS, Publishers, 98 William 8t, N. Y. WHITEHORN, DR. CRUSBY, SPRAGUE, PIERPONT, FAT CONTRIBUTOR, MAGOON, DUGANNE, PERCIVAL, DANBURY NEWS, REV. DR. HALL, LOWELL, DANA, DETROIT FREE PRESS, SCUDDER, BAYARD TAYLOR, JOHN NEAL, HAWEEYE, DOANE, — POE, OSGOOD, . | BEN ZEEN, BELLOWS, E. E. HALE, SAXE, repared contributions from favorite and popular and effective dialogues, than | Die DiaALoGuEs NUMBER SEVENTEEN, Little F Home Entertainment. PARTON, PHILLIPS, SARGEANT MASON LINCOLN, WASHINGTON, JEFFERSON, JACKSON, SHERIDAN, EMMET, BURK®, MEAGHER, ORPHEUS 0, KERR, MILES O'REILLY, GEO, I’. TRAIN, CROCKETT, DICKENS, SIDNEY SMITH, TOM HOOD, JERROLD, SUMNER, HOLT, WILSON, JOHNSON, SIMPSON, PARKER, COLLYER, WILLETT, ANNA DICKINSON, MRS, VICTOR, THE CARYS, FANNY FERN, GREELEY, BISHOP WHIPPLE, REV. DR, WOOD, DR. NADIR, HAWKS, SPURGEON, KOSSUTH, BENTON,
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Lives of Great Americans, Are presented complete and auth os of many of the men who have added tuster t the Republic by their lives and deeds. The series em- braces: I.—George Washington. | Vip a1 —John Paul Jones. | VIIL—]. one — TH.—MadAnthonyWayne/ IX.—Kit Gidea yy eeemis de Lafay-| XT —Fecumseh. — is de . ay, ette. XIF,—Pontiae noon. VI.—Daniel Boone. The above publications for sale by all newsd or be sent, on receipt of pri SEADLE & ont, poe Oe Wintian Sr. N. yPnce by Beadle & Adams’ Standard DIME NOVELS. Incomparable in Merit, Unapproachable tn Price. 2" Be ve eareful not to confound these: books with those of other publishers, sold at the same price. The vast success of the Dime Novels called into existence ‘‘ Ten Cent Novels,” which the public is sometimes deceived in buying as Dime Novels, The only Dime Novels are those published by BEADLE AND ADAMS, whose copyright trade-mark and signet the word ‘‘ Dime” Novel is. Ask always for BrapLn’s Dime Novels, and you will then get what you wish, The following comprises a complete list as far as ‘Dime Publications. published. umbers omitted are out of print. . 2. The Privateer’sCruise | 219. The Scioto Scouts, 3. Myra. 221. The Blue my; er. 9, The Slave Sculptor. | 224. The Mohave Captive. 10. The Backwoods Bride | 227. The Forest Princess, 11. Prisoner La Vintresse | 228. The Mute Chief. 14. Emerald Necklace, 232. The Prairie Queen. 16. Uncle Ezekiel. 234. The Forest § ter. 17. Madge Wilde. 287. The Plymouth Scout, 22. Thé Siaid of Esopus. | 239. Old Zip. 23. Winifred Winthrop. | 240. Swiftwing. 2. The Trail Hunters. 241. Mink Coat. 25.. The Peoh Prince. 242. Graybeard. 80. Put. Pomfret’s Ward. | 243. The Black Princess. 81. Double Hero. 244, Keetsea, 82. Irona. 246. The White Apache. 83. Maum Guinea, 20c. | 250. The Border Renegade 34. Ruth Margerie. 256. Antelope Abe. 85. East and West. 258. The ite Brave. 86. The Riflemen of the | 263. The Border Huntress Miami. 264, Mountain Kate. 88. The Wrong Man, 268, The Specter Riders. 89. The Land Claim. 281. The Black Spy: 40, Union’s peuanter ems 282. Ruby Roland, 42. The King’s Man. 288. The Lone Chief, 44, nes Falkland. 284. The Young Spy. 46, Wreck of the Albion. | 289, The Balloon Scouts. 47. Tim Bumble’s Charge ; 292. Black John. 51. The Two Guards, 293. The Tonkawa Spy. 53. Hates and Loves, 294. The Rival Rovers, 54. Myrtle. 298. The Hussar Captain. 56. Ahmo’s Plot. 299. Mossfoot, the Brave. 60. Jo Daviess’ Client. 301, Mustang Sam, 61. Laughing Eyes. 302, Cuban Conspirators, 62, The Unknown. 306. Caribou Zip. 63, The Indian Princess, | 308, Glass Eye. 64. Rangers of Mohawk. | 310, Founorn Phil 65. The Wrecker’s Prize, | 812, Dick Darling. 68. The Brigantine, 313. The Réd Brotherhood 69. Black Hollow. 314. Rival Lieutenants, 70. The Indian Queen. 316. Hurricane Bill. 72, The Moose Hunter. | 317. AIPPY. the Texan. 73, The Silver Bugle. 319. The Pear] Pirates, 74, Cruiserof Chesapeake | 820, The Child Spy. 77. Quindaro. 822. Old Grizzly. 81. The Two Hunters. 323. The Dashing Dra- 84. The Seminole Chief. oons. 85. The Fugitives, 324. Will-o"-the-Wisp 86. Red Plume. 825, D ick, 87. On the Dee 826. Old Crossfire. 88. Captain Molly. 327. Ben Bramble. 90, t Awa 828, The Brigand Captain 91. The Lost Cache. 829. Old tateey. 93, The Creole Sisters, 830. Gray Hair, the Chief. 95. Eph Peters. 331. The Prairie ers, 96. Little Moccasin. 832. The Rival Hunters. 97, The Doomed Hunter. | 383. The Texan Scout. 98, Ruth, Harland. 334. Zebra Zack. 100, Karaibo. 535, The Masked Messen- 101. Maid of Wyoming. ger. 102. Hearts Forever. 386. Mo , the Pirate. 104. Guilty or Not Guilty. | 337. The Boy 7: 106. Simple Phil. 338. Tahle, the Trailer, 107. The Peddler Spy. 339. The Boy Chief, 109, eaenep pe. 840. Tim, the Trailer, 110, The den Home. {| 341. Red Ax. 113. Rattlepate. 342, Sey dae y. 114. Ned prarig. 848. The White Avenger, 115. The Sons of Liberty. | 844. The Indian King, 116, Port at Last. 845. The Long Trail, 117. The Mohegan Maiden | 346. Kirk, the Guide, 118. The Water Waif. 347, The Phantom Trail, 119. The Five Champions. | 348, The dpache Guide, 121, Vailed Benefactress. | 349, The Mad Miner. 122, Barden, the Ranger. | 350, Keen Eye, the Ranger 123. The Missing Bride, 351. Blue Belt, Guide. 124. Sumter’s Scouts, 852. On the Trail. 125, The Hunted Life, 353. The Si lly he 127. Bald Eagle. 854, Old Bald Head. 128. The Gulch Miners. 855. Red Knife, Chief. 129. keyes, 856, Sib Cone, Trapper 132. Old parent 357. The Bear Hunter, 133. Yankee Eph. 358. Bashful Bill, Spy. 135, The Cherokee Chief. | 359. The White Chief. 137. The Traitor Spy 860, Cortina, Scourge, 139. The Border Foés, 861. The Squaw Spy. 142. The. Sggamore of | 362, Scout of 76. 0, 853, Spanish Jack, 147. The’ Maid of the | 364. Masked Spy. Mountain. 365, Kirke, Renegade, 154. Rob Ruskin. 366. Dingle, the Outlaw. 159, Snowbird. 367, The Green Ranger. 165. The Unseen Hand, | 368, Mont Scourge. 169, The White Canoe, 369, Metamora. 176, The Trader Spy. 870. Thornpath, Trailer. 180, Giant Pete, Patriot. | 371, Foul-weather Jack. 203, Masked Guide, 372, The Black Rider, 205. The if Scalp. 873, The Helpless Hand. 207. The alo Trapper, | 374. The Lake Rangers. 212, Silver Spur. 875, Alone on the ns. 213. Squatter Dick. 376. Phantom Horseman. 214. o Forest Monster. | 877. Winona, 215. The White Hermit. 878. Silent Shot, Slayer. 879, The Phantom Ship. | 407. Blue Clipper. 380. The Red Rider. 408. Red Dan. 381. The Grizzly-Hunters. | 409. The Fire-Kater, 382. The Mad er. 410. Blackhawk. 883. The Specter Skipper. | 411. The Lost Ship. 384, The Red Coyote. 412, Black Arrow. 385. The Hunchback. 418. White Serpent. 886, The Black Wizard. 414. The Lost Captain. 887. The Mad Horseman. | 415. The Twin Trailers. 888. The Privateer’s Bride | 416. Death’s- head Ran. 389. The Jaguar Queen. ger. 390. Shadow Jack. 417. Captain of Captains, 891. Eagle Plume. 418. Warrior Princess. 892. The Ocean Outlaw. 419. The Blue Band. 893, Red Slayer, 420, The Squaw Chief. 394. The Phantom Foe, 421. The Flying Scout, 895. The Blue Anchor. 422. Sonora Ben. 396. Red-Skin’s Pledge. 423, The Sea A 397. The Quadroon Spy. 424. Mountain i 898. The Black Rover. 4%. Death Trailer. 399. Red-Belt, the Tusca- | 426. The £ Crested . rora. . 400. The Two Trails. 427, Arkansas Kit. 401. The Ice Fiend. 428. The Corsair 402, The Red Prince. 429. Ethan Allen’s Rifles, 403, The First Trail. 430. Little Thunderbolt, 404, Sheet-Anchor Tom. | 431. The Falcon Rover, 405. Old Avoirdupois. 432. Honest Hand, Guide, 406. White Gladiator. 483, The Stone Chief. rivaling in effect i. 2. THE {LLUMINATED DIME POCKET NOVELS. Comprising the best works only of the most populag living writers in the field of American ro Each issue a complete novel, with illuminated cover, Hawkeye Harry. Dead Shot oe, . Blue Dick. . Nat Wolfe, . The White Tracker. The Outlaw’s Wife. . The Tall Trapper. . Lightning Jo. . The Island Pirate. . The Boy Ranger. . Bess, the Trapper. . The French Spy. . Long Shot. . Gunmaker of Border. . Ben, the Trapper. . Wild Raven, Ha Hand. nger, . The Specter Chief, . The 21, PSSRASRESRESSRSERESSESERNER ERK BRESSSASFESE ar-Killer, Wild Nat. Indian Jo, the Guide. . Old Kent, the Ranger. The One-Eyed Trap- r. adabold, the Spy. The Black Ship. The Mystic Canoe, ee Golden Harpoon, e Scalp King. Ral thot, the Ranger, ainbolt, the The Boy Pioneer. Carson, the Guide, The Heart-Eater. Wetzel, the Scout. The Huge Hunter. Wild Nat, the Trapper OS ee ae fi The W. Outlaw. The Dog Trailer. The Elk aes Adrian, the Pilot, The Man-hunter, Moccasin Bill. The Wolf Queen, Tom Hawk, the Trail- er, The Mad Chief. The Black Wolf. Arkansas Jack, Blackbeard, The River Rifles. Hunter Ham, Cloudwood, The Texas Hawks. Merciless Mat. Mad Antheny’s Scouts The Luckless Trapper The Florida Scout. 64, The Island Trapper. —— SONG BOOKS. Brapie’s Dive Sone Books the onl poppler. “pen of found in the MISCELLANEOUS DIME BOOKS. Robinson Crusoe. Pocket Joke Book, | 1 The Phantom Tracke” 1 1 &8. Tron- . The Yellow Hunter, . The Phantom Rider, . Delaware Tom. . Silver Rifle. . The Skeleton Scout, . Little Rifle. . The Wood Witch. . Old Ruff, the Tra per. 77. The Scarlet Shoulders e popular chromo, . Wolf-Cap. . Rattlin Sh ick. -Kye. and. 78. The Border Rifleman, 79. BS22 AS SF BS A 92. 93. Outlaw Jack, . Tiger Tail, the Sem nole. Death Dealer, the Shawnee Scourge. . Kenton, the Ranger. The Specter Horse man, Witch The Three Tra Kaleolah, the Queen. The Hunter Hercules, . Phil Hunter, the Boy oe . The Indian Scout. . The Girl Avenger, The Red Hermitess. Star-Face, the Slayer, The Antelope Boy. The Phantom Hunter 94. Tom Pintle, the Pilot 95. The Red Wizard. 96. 97. 98. 99, 100 01 102, 108 1 Jim Paddy . Tiger . The Masked Avenger . The Pear! Pirates. . Black Panther, . The § . The Rival Trappers, . The Squaw Spy. Dusky Dick Colonel Crockett. Bear Paw - dlaw. . . Wild Rube, . The Indian Hu Fa 06, ‘The Indian Spy. 08. The Wood King. 09. The Scalped . Nick, the Scout, . The Job Dean. unter as Tiger. Bie Gent Bai e ’ Kit Bird, ecter Riders, thers in Press. Nos. 1 to 8%, containing copyright songs to be Crow Joke Book. Whack Joke Book,
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1 Deadwood Dick, Tu Prince or THE Roap. By Edward L. Wheeler. Yellowstone Jack; or, THz TRAPPER ENCHANTED OF THE Grounpn. By J. E. Badger, Jr. 3 Kansas 3; or, Toe Rep Ricat ’ Hann, By B lo Bill (on. Wm. F. Cody). The Wild-Horse Hunters. By Capt. Mayne Reid and Capt. Frederick Whittaker. 5 Vagabond Joe; THz Youna WanpEr- NG Jew. By Oll Coomes, 6 Bill Biddon, Tra ward §, Ellis. THe Nortuwrst. By yf The Flying Yankee ; or, Tux Ocran Outcast. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham, & Seth Jones; or, THE CaprivEs oF THE Frontier. By Edward §. Ellis, 9 The Adventures of Baron Mun- er; or, LIFE IN chausen. 10 Nat Todd; or, Tum Fare or THE Sioux Caprivz. By Edward §. Ellis. * 1 The Two Detectives; or, THE Fortunes oF A Bowery Grru. By Albert W. Aiken, author of “‘ The Spotter Detective,” etc. 12 Gaulliver’s Travels. A Voyage to Lilliput, anda Voyage to Brobdingnag. 1 The Dumb Spy. By Oll Coomes, author of ‘‘ Vagabond Joe,” etc, 14 Aladdin; or, THe Wonprrroi Lamp, 1 The Sea-Cat; or, THz WircH or Darien, By Capt. Frederick Whittaker. 16 Robinson Crusoe. His Life and Surprising Adventures, (27 illustrations.) 1 rf Ralph Roy, The Boy Bucca- neer. By Coi. Prentiss Ingraham, 1 i, Sindbad the Sailor. His seven voy- ages. From the Arabian Nights. 19 The Phantom Spy; or, THE Por or THE Prarr. By Buffalo Bill. 20 The Double Daggers; or, DEap- woop Dick's DEFIANCE, By Edward L. Wheeler, author of ‘‘ Deadwood Dick.’ 2Q1 Frontier Angel. A Romance of Kentucky Rangers’ Life. By Edward 8, Ellis, author of **Seth Jones,” etc. 22 The Sea Serpent; or, Taz Boy Rosrinson Crusoe. By Col, Juan Lewis, 23 Nick o’ the Night: or, THe Boy Spy or %6. By T. C, Harbaugh. 24 Diamond Dirk: or, Tut Mystery or THE YEeLLowsTonE. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham, author of “ The Flying Yankee,”’ etc. 4 5 The Boy Captain: or, THE Pmarx’s Daveuter. By Roger Starbuck. 26 Cloven Hoof, the Demon. By Edward L. Wheeler . Q7 Antelope Abe, the Boy Guide. By Oll Coomes, Qxs Buffalo Ben, the Prince of the Pistol: or, Deapwoop DIcK IN Disavisx, By Edward L, Wheeler. 29 The Dumb Page; or, THe Docr’s Daventmr, By Capt, F. Whittaker. 30 Roaring Ralph Rockwood, TE Recoeuess Ranczr. By Harry St. George. 31 Keen-Enife, Tui Prince oF THE Prarrizs, By Oll Coomes. Woolf, the Border Ruffian: 32 ng roe nom Deap-SHor. By Edward L. Wheeler; author of “ Deadwood Dick,” etc., etc. 33 The Ocean Bloodhound ; or, THE Rep Prarss or THE CaRIBBEES. By Samuel W. Pierce, author of ‘The Boy Detective,” etc., etc. 3 4 Oregon Sol; or, Nick WHIFFLES’ Boy Spy. By Capt. J. F. C, Adams. 3 Wild Ivan, TH Boy CLaupg DuvaL; or, THE oop or DzaTH. Dead- BRoTHERE qwood Dick Romance No, 4 By Edward L. Wheeler. Every one of them “ Live” Stories by **‘ Live» Authors, a Complete Novel, at the extraordinary price of a HALF-DIME. 36. The Boy Clown; or, THE QUEEN or THe ARENA, By Frank 8. Finn, 3 rf The Hidden Lodge; or, Tue Litrie Hunter oF THB ApIRONDACKS, By T. OC. Harbaugh, author of “ Nick o' the Night,” etc. 3 ay Ned Wylde, Tux Boy Scour. By Texas Jack, 39 Death-Face, the Detective; or, Lorxe anp Love ix New Yorx. By Ed- ward L. Wheeler. 40 Roving Ben. A story of a Young American who wanted to see the world. By John J. Marshall. Al Lasso Jack, THE Youna MusTANG- ER. By Oll Coomes. The Phantom Miner:. or, Drap- woop Dick’s Bonanza, By Ed. B. Wheeler. Dick Darling, the Pony Express Rider. By Capt. F. Whittaker. Rattling Rube: or, THe Nicur- HAWES OF Kentucky. By Harry St. George. 4 5 Old Avalanche, the Great An- nihilator: or, THE Girt BRIGAND. By Edward L. Wheeler. 46 Glass Eye, the Great Shot ofthe By Capt. J. F. C. Adams, West. : Nightingale Nat: on, Tax Forest 47 Cree By T. C. Harbaugh. 48 Black John, the Road-Agent, or, Ta@ Ourtaw’s Retaeat. By Jos. EH, Badger, Jr. 49 Omaha Oll, the Masked Terror, or, DeApwoop Dick 1% Dancer. By Hd- ward L. Wheeler. 50. Burt Bunker, THz Traprrr. A Tale of the North-west Hunting-Grounds. By Charles E. Lasalle. 51 The Boy Rifles, or, THz UNDER- Grounp Camp. By Archit C, Iron. 52 The White Buffalo. A Tale of _ Strange Adventure in the Northwest. By Charles E. Lasalle. 53 Jim Bludsoe, Jr., THE Boy PHENIX; er, THRovGH TO THE Draru. By Edward L. Wheeler. 54 Wed Hazel, THE Boy TRAPPER; or, THE PHaNToM Princess, By Capt. J. F.C. Adams. : 55 Deadly-Eye, THe Unknown Scour; or, THE BRANDED BRoTHERHOOD. By Buf- falo Bill. 56 Nick Whiffies’ Pet, or, In THE Vattey oy Deatu, By Capt J. FC. Adana Each number 5 Deadwood Dick’s Eagles; or, Tae Parps or Fioop Bar, Edward L. Wheeler. 58 The Border King; or, Taz Sxoret - For, By Oll Coomes. 59 Old Hickory, or, Panpy ELu1s’s Scape, By Harry St. George. 60 The White Indian; or, Tux Scour i or THE YELLOWSTONE. By Capt. J. F. C. 61 Buckhorn Bill, or, Taz Rep Riz Tam. By Edward L. Wheeler. 62 The Shadow Ship, or, Toz Rivau Lizvrrenants. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham, G 3 The Red Brotherhood, or, Tar TwELVE AveNGERS, By W. J. Hamilton. 64. Pax THE 6 Hurricane Bill, or, Mustane Sam AND His “Parp.” By Jos. E. Badger, Jr 66 Bing Bang. A Live FoR A Live 67 Patent-Leather Joe: or, OLD Rat- TLESNAKE, THE CHARMER. B a 8. Warne, author of * A Hard Crowd,”’- “meer Dick,” ‘* Always on Hand,” etc. 68 The Border Robin Hood; or, THe Prarrre Rover. By Buffalo Bill. 69 Gold Rifle, THz Younc Swarp- SHOOTER; or, THz Boy DETECTIVE OF THE Buack Rancu. By Edward L. er. : 40 Old Zip’s Cabin; or, THE GREEN- Pres HORN IN THE Woops, By Captain J. F.C, ms, vf 1 Delaware Dick; Tor Youne Ranc- uR Spy; or, BrorHeR AGiinsT BROTHER. By Oll Coomes, wf 2 Mad Tom Western, THz TEXAN Ranazer. By W. J. Hamilton. Deadwood Dick on Deck; or, CaLamMiry JANE, THE HEROINE OF THE Wuoor-urp. By Edward L, Wheeler. 7 4. Hawk-eye , THe Youna Trapper Rancrer. By Oll Coomes. 7 6 5 The Boy Duelist; or, THE CRUISE or THE Sxza Wor. By Col. Prentiss In- graham. 76 Abe Colt, the Crow-Killer; or, Tre Great Figurine Man oF THE WEST, By Albert W. Aiken. 7 f x Corduroy Charlie, Tax Boy Bravo; or, Tae Last Act or Deapwoop Dick. By Edward L. Wheel er. a & Blue Dick; or, THE YELLOW Curms’s Venceance. By Captain Mayne Reid. 79 Sol Ginger, THE Giant TRAPPER; or, Tae FLOWER OF THE BuLackr&eT. By Albert W. Aiken. eit) Rosebud Rob; or, Nueazt NzD, THE Kniaut oF THE Guicw. By Edward L. Wheeler. ° Light Jo, THE TERROR OF THE 1 Rime Sa’ of the Present Day. By Captain J. F. C. Adams. + POSeL eg Kit Harefoot, THz Woop-Hawk; or, OLp Powper-Fack aNp His Dewons, By T. C, Harbaugh. ~ the Boy Rai $ or, THE 83 wig or grea eth By OW Coomes. 84 14 Jack, or, Tak OuTLaw oF REGON Tram, By T. OC. Harbaugh. the Girl Miner; or, RoszBuD 08 oy Haxp, By Edward 1. Wheeler. A new issue every week. The Half-Dime Library is Rist oe b om Newsdealers, five cents per copy, rE & AD receipt of six cents Publishers, 98 William Street, New York,