Beadle's Pocket Library (no. 16) (1884 04 30)
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Nenseeaanes Cup Vol. II, a car. No. 98 WiL.1AM St., New Yorx. Five Gente, No. 16, KEEN-KNIFE, PRINCE of the PRAIRIES, BY OLL COOMES, AUTHOR OF ‘ANTELOPE ABE, THE BOY GUIDE,” ETC., ETC,
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Keen-Knife, Prin _ Keen-Knife, PRINCE OF THE PRAIRIES. BY OLL COOMES, AUTHOR OF “ ANTELOPE ABE, THE BOY GUIDE,” ETC., ETC., ETC. CHAPTER IL THE PRINCE TO THE RESCUE. Ir was mid-September, and the day was near its close. The air was balmy, with just breeze enough to rustlo the forest leaves and stir the tall prai- ‘rie-grass into gentle continuous billows. _ The wooded aisles were rife with that mingled peculiar to the woods at thisseason of the ifs while 1a fey the prairie, the air came laden with the odor of a hundred different kinds of beauteous flowers. - Not a sound could be heard in the forest—not a living object could be seen upon the great ‘prairie; but as the moments wore on, the figure ‘ofa youth emerged from the forest shadows and paused upon the edge of the plain. _ He was not over eighteen years of age, and is buckskin garments and numerous weapons ld that he was one of those daring, hardy sweetness 80 lows—a hunter and trapper of the great rth west. Ro was of medium hight, with a well-devel- ° form, sinewy limbs and muscles, and a face as handsome as it was clear in its display of the predominant traits of his character. His eyes were of a dark-brown, and although mild and pleasant in expression, they were as quick and sy as the eyes of a hawk, ith his rifle resting in the hollow of his left arm, his head erect, and his brows knitted in a manner denoting close scrutiny, the youth swept the plain before bim. But a single object appeared upon its green bosom, which stretched away for miles and miles in a gently-undulating expanse. That ob- ject was a mere white speck, and appeared on the summit of a hill over three miles away, With steady eye he watched it, wondering what it could possibly be. Ina few minutes, however, a second and third white object ap- on the crest of the prairie wave, and then a light of recognition beamed in the young hun- ter’s eyes, “Tt's a party of imegrants,” he said to him- self, “or my name is not Rob Radcliff. Them ’are white objects are their covered wagons, and now it strikes me tbey’re goin’ to have trouble, for the Sioux are rampagin’ every where after scalps. It may be only a party of men able to take keer of themselves, but if there’s any women ’mongst them, may God protect them. — raatins they’re not ignorant of the dan- ger into which they’re goin’, If I thought the; were, I'd go straight and tell them to turn tail and git. They'll bout make the river to-night ‘and camp; then [’ll try and go down and see who they are and whar they’re goin’.” The youth turned and glided into the forest, \ ce of the Prairies. and moved away at a-brisk pace through its leafy aisles, A few minutes’ walk brought him to the edge of a large opening, or glade, several hundred acres in area. It was of an ellip- tical form, and cut in two by the Rac- coon river, which, flowing in a northeast- erly direction across it, described the short diameter. In the dense thicket, bordering the glade, the youth again paused and gazed upon the scene that was presented to his view. Upon the banks of the river nearly half a mile away, stood a goodly-sized log-house of no mean pretensions, with front facing the river and a trellised porch overgrown with wild ivy and honeysuckle. It was inclosed by a rail fence, which, also, encircled some forty acres of the rich valley land, that were in a good state of cultivation, as a promising crop of maize bore witness. Beyond the river a herd of cattle tend- ed by a negro boy was zing. Not far from the main building were two or three others, quite small and hovel-like. These were the cabins of the servants who tilled the land and tended the herds of the man who claim- ed all, and who dwelt in the large house with the vine-clad porch. But, what was most strange about this ‘little settlement, was neglect of defensive measures, such as a block-house, stockade and loop-boles in the buildings; and the absence of them was sufficient evidence of their owner being on terms of — and friendship with the Indians. at were those terms of peaceable intercourse honorable? or were the owner of that place and his servants in league with the dusky denizens of the forest? These were the questions that the young hun- ter had often asked himself, but without a definite answer. He was satisfied, however, that the tall, dark-faced man that owned the Hidden Home, as the place was called by the bunters and trappers, was not altogether right, and bis having thus secreted himself and family in such an out-of the-way place, was an act en- shrouded in some mystery. The youth had every reason to believe that bis professed honor- able calling was only a scheme to cover up some evil work. He had only been there about two ears, and, as yet, no words of suspicion had mn carried to the ears of the Territorial offi- cials, hence bis peace from that quarter. Only the hunters and trappers thereabouts were in a cloud, not so much from his secret: location and calling, as his being on friendly terms with the Indians. Rob Radcliff had been to the house of Don Man- uel La Mort, as he had heard the lord of the Hid- den Home called, but had met with such a cool reception from the strangers as told him at once that his presence was not desired, and boded him no good. And now, ashe paused within the ae of the thicket that fringed the valley, it was in hopes of gaining some clew to the mys- teries of the Hidden Home. ; He had not watched long when suddenly the clatter of hoofs broke the silence of the bour. Then, from the woods on the right. a snow-white pony galloped into the opening. Upon its back was seated a young white girl of some eighteen
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Keen-Knife, Prince of the Prairies. summers—a being as fair as the young weres bad ever one upon. A graceful and rounded form with every feature handsomely developed; red cheeks and lips; dark brilliant eyes, and hair that was black as the raven’s wing and hung in wavy tresses down her back—all these made her a being of rare beauty to the eyes of Rob Radcliff, the Boy Hunter. Fora moment he feasted his eyes upon her, then he involuntarily stepped from his covert into the opening. The beautiful girl saw him, and at the same moment drew rein and turned her animal’s head toward the stranger. The Boy Hunter approached her with a puz- zled expression upon bis face. ‘Pardon me, miss,” be said, apologetically, “ for interrupting your peaceful ride.” “*T was not aware that you had, young man,” the maiden replied, kindly; ‘‘ but your face looks familiar, and if I mistake not, you have been at our house.” ‘If you live yonder,” he replied, pointing to- ward the house of Manuel La Mort, “you prob- ably have seen me there, but I’m sure I never met you before, and would be pleased to know who you are.” The maiden smiled at his rude politeness, and then having glanced uneasily around her, she said: ‘“My name is Camilla La Mort. I am the daughter of Manuel La Mort, the owner of this ‘Lone Estate,’ as we call it; and it would not be well for me to be seen holding communica- tion with a stranger.” “ Ah! then your privileges are limited?” Rob said. “Yes, sir; that fully expresses the fact of my case. I am not allowed to speak to any one un- less itis one of our servants or the Indians. I cannot say why it is that I am refused this privilege. : “Then your folks are on friendly terms with the InJians?” “ Yes, sir.” **How does that come, when us trappers can’t say our scalps will be our own the next hour?” ‘T cannot say, unless my father exerts great influence over them. We have lived here two ears, and have never had any trouble from at source.” . “And may I ask where you're from to this country?” 4 “Such information I have been forbidden, under penalty of the lash, ever to breathe to any one.” “By whom were you forbidden?” ‘¢ My father.” “He must be a monster!” the youth exclaim- ed, though he had scarcely uttered the words ere he tted having done so, and was about to apologize for his rash speech, when the maiden said: “My father is a Spaniard by birth and an American by education. He was born and bred in Louisiana, from whence he came to this country. He is of a fiery and impetuous na- ture, and it would be death to you and me both were he to know of this conversation, so I must away.” ‘One moment, Camilla,” said the Boy Hunter; “does not your father follow some evil calling here in this secluded spot?” The face of the maiden became slightly flush- ed, and in a tone in which there was a tinge of scorn, she said: ‘“ Would you ask me to convict my father?” ** No, no, Miss Camille,” the youth cried, re- gretfully, “not for the world; yet the nature of your question is an affirmative answer to my question, I know you are not gute f happy here in this secluded bome, and it has been sus- ee among us hunters and trappers that pon Manuel La Mort is not what he pretends to ‘You are right in that, young man, Father’s calling here is one in opposition to the laws of our country; and [am unhappy—very un- ig? as ‘Since you have admitted that his business is an evil one, would you refuse to tell me what it is? Perhaps I might do something to alleviate your unhappy life.” The face of the maiden grew brighter, for in the free, open countenance, and the honesty of the youth’s questions, she saw that she could place confidence in bim. “Tf you will give me your promise that you will never breathe the source from whence you received the information, I will tell you all. Also, promise to do me a favor in return by Serene a message to one many long miles from ere. 4 ‘*I promise you both, upon my sacred word and honor,” returned the youth, ““Then come nearer, there may be prying ears around,” she said, and when the Boy Hun- ter approached nearer, she continued; ‘For over a year father has been following the evil calling of a—” She did not finish the sentence, for just then there came a crashing through the thicket be- hind them, followed by the massive tread of feet, Filled with sudden fear, Camilla gave her pony the reins and dashed away; but our hero calmly turned to see who the intruder was, A tall, dark man, with clouded brow and flashing eyes, was approaching him. It was Manuel La Mort. In one hand he carried a beavy rawhide rid- ing-whip, and as he advanced toward the young hunter, he raised it aloft and fairly hissed be- tween his set teeth: “Curses upon you, you young buckskin, I'll cowhide the life out of you! Til teach you the price of loafing about my premises like a sneak- ing whelp, and meeting that girl in secret to worm from her that which does not concern you—my business here.” He approached our hero and grasped him rudely by the shoulder. The youth saw the vindictive gleam of his dark eyes, and the facial muscles twitching with anger. He knew the fire of the man’s impetuous opts was raging within his breast, and that he had a terrible foe to deal with. Boldly the youth confronted 4 He never flinched from bis strong grasp, yet he seemed Jike a child by the side of the giant, Manuel La Mort. his anverent
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Keen-Knife, Prince of the Prairies, “Be careful, Don La Mort!” exclaimed our hero; ‘‘ one lick of that whip will be your death- warrant!” - The giant did not beed the warning, but sum- moning all his strength, he brought the whip downward through the air. But the youth was on the alert, and as the rawhide descended, he threw up his hand and caught it near the giant’s hand, and arrested its further descent. a Quick as a flash his fingers closed upon the stock of the whip, and then, with a movement ey. as quick, he snatched it from La Mort's and, Springing lightly backward, the youth raised the scourge and gave his enemy a cut across the eyes that sent him staggering away, howling with rage and blinded with pain. The young hunter was about to follow up the advantage already gained, and apply the whip upon the giant bully until be begged for quar- ter, but at this juncture three half-nude figures lided from the thicket, with yells that could fave been heard for miles. It was a party of La Mort’s friends—Sioux In- dians! Before the Boy Hunter could draw a weapon, the foremost savage was upon him, but quick as a flash of lightning he struck the savage across the face twice in succession with the whip, and sent him to the earth, writhing and howling with agony. The second savage closed upon the youth, and before he could strike agaiu, pinioned his arms at his side. The third savage now rushed up, and grasping the youth by the hair with the left hand, drew a scalping-knife with the other. enext moment the weapon wasat the young hunter’s bead. One circling sweep of the blade, anda cry of fiendish triumph burst from the red-skin’s lips, as he flourished aloft the Boy Frunter’s scalp! But it was the last scalp-cry of the warrior. The next moment, he fell dead, with a bullet through his brain. Then forth from the thicket leaped another form—the form of a young Indian, in the hand of whom was a rifle from whose muzzle a thin wreath of smoke was curling. It_was the white man’s friend, Keen-Knife, the Prince of the Prairies! CHAPTER II. A DOUBLE SCALP. As Keen-Knife leaped from the thicket to the rescue of his young friend, he uttered a peculiar and terrible war-whoop that was readily recog- nized by the Boy Hunter, as well as his ene- mies, Then he sprung upon his friend’s captor, bringing a tomahawk down upon his tufted cca burying the weapon to the eye in his rain. The savage that Rob had struck with the whip, as well as Manuel La Mort, hearing the ery of the terrible young Prince of the Prairies, struggled to their feet and beat a basty retreat to vard the cabins of the Lone Estate. Keen-Kuife would have given pursuit, had not the condition of his young friend demanded his attention. The Indian youth, although a few years older than Rob Radcliff, was apparently much youn- ger. His face was devoid of paint, and that usual silent and low cunning expression so characteristic of the Indian. He was of medi- um hight and build, yet with firm-knit limbs, powerful muscles, a deep, full chest, and wide massive shoulders. His eyes were black, and bright as polished ebony; and his hair, of the same hue as his eyes, hung in a long, flowing mass down his back to bis hips. Around his bead, flaring outward at the top and set with a number of small silver stars, was a fillet of red leather, to which was attached two or three white eagle-plumes, His garb was made after the prevailing fash- ion of the white hunter, though of a material that would have dazzled the eyes of an old bor- derman. His tunic was made of deep-blue cloth, trimmed with yellow fringe around the skirts, and confined at the waist by a belt of wampum. Around the shoulders was a cape of spotted fawn-skin, to which was attached a necklace of bear’s-claws. The feet were incased in buckskin moccasins highly ornamented, and the leggings were of some green material, fringed up the side with yellow buckskin and stained feathers. Keen-Knife was no Indian dandy. The pure blood of a once powerful, but not extinct tribe coursed his veins. He had been raised from in- fancy by a white family; for years he had been the boon companion of that noted youth, Ante- lope Abe; he had imbibed many of the princi- ples of the white man, and was known as the white man’s friend. From those whom he had served in the capacity of scout, had he received those fancy articles.of clothing, made by nim- ble white fingers whose fair owners vied with each other for the good graces of the young Prince of the Prairies, “Ts Bold-Heart hurt?’ he asked, turning to young Radcliff. “No; but by the blue blazes, Keen-Knife!” exclaimed the Boy Hunter, “your comin’ was just in the nick of time to save that varmint go- in’ one skulp deeper.” ‘* What does my young friend mean? Did not the Sioux get his scalp?” “Ha! ha! ha!” laughed the youth, “he got one of them, Prince, but not the one I think the most of. That’s twice that old rig of a wig has been mistaken for a genuine skulp. It pays to wear two skulps, Prince. See here.” The youth placed his hands to his head and removed the remnant of a wig, revealing a head of short, crispy hair of a dark brown color, A low, silent laugh escaped the lips of the voung Indian when he saw how artfully Bold- Heart, as he called Rob, had cheated the savage and the scalping-knife. Then turning, he drew his own keen blade and completed his victory over the two fallen Sioux by removing their scalps, which he fastened at his girdle, then said: ‘‘ Let us hasten from this spot, Bold-Heart, or other dangers may come soon. The dark-eyed man living yonder escaped, and he will strike for revenge.” Sas ae
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Keen-Knife, Prince of the Prairies. § “Let him strike,” replied the youth, ‘‘and Pll strike back. He’ll be more cautious hereafter, for he has already felt the weight of my blows. But lead the way and I will follow you, Prince.” The young Indian turned and glided into the thicket, closely followed by Rob, and soon they were threading tbe cool forest aisles. Keepin to the left of the Lone Estate, they soon reache the river-bank a short distance from the open- ing. fae they paused to listen, but not a sound broke the silence of the hour, save the murmur of the river flowing at their feet. ‘* Will we go to our homes now?” asked Keen- Knife. ‘*No, Prince,” replied the youth thoughtfully. “T shall not leave this place until I have bad an- other interview with the maiden I met a while ago. I believe she’s not the darter of old La Mort. She don’t favor him a bit, and I feel certain she’s a kind of free prisoner, willing to escape if she only knew where to go. I must know more about her, Prince, and shall hang around the place till I gain the desired information.” <a pe shook his head negatively, and replied: ‘If the dark-browed man heard her speak with you, be will put bonds upon her and you will see her then only in the wolf’s den.” The Boy Hunter’s brow knitted with anger. “Curse him!” heexclaimed. ‘I will take his life, but what I release her.” The Indian smiled and said: ** Bold-Heart loves the daughter of the dark- browed man.” “No, no, Prince, I can’t say that; but I must say my sympathies have been aroused in her behalf. She’s young and handsome, Prince, but never, never has the passion called love dis- turbed my breast. I’ve a curious heart that way. It never has, nor do I believe it ever will, throb in unison with any other heart.” ‘Time brings changes to the heart as well as to the body and mind, Bold-Heart,” said Keen- Knife. “That may all be, Prince. I consider it no disgrace for a fellow to love a purty girl. But, see here: awhile ago I saw an emigrant-train of several wagons comin’ over the big prairie, and, judging from their course, they will strike the river ’bout two miles below here. It may be emigrants wanting a guide, and if so we might secure the job and make a few extras, as pelt- ries are not worth anything nowadays. If you'll go down the river and see who it is, Prince, Pll make a scout ’bout the Lone Estate, as the gal called it. I'll meet you here again at midnight.” “T will go down the river and look after the train, as my young friend desires; but bate to see you go alone about the Lone Estate. Dan- gers hover around it. But Bold-Heart bas keen eyes and ears, and let him keep on his guard, I will be here at midnight.” “That's you, Prince,” replied the Boy Hunter, and now I will lean out for tall timber.” They separated, one going down the river and the other up. E The face of Keen-Knife wore an expression of regret and anxiety. He did not entirely favor every piecech to it was guarded by the tools of La Mort. But, with his rifle at a trail, the red youth glided briskly along the river with every facylty on the alert. He had gone thus some distance when sudden-. ly the prolonged reverberation of a rifle came booming down the valley and died away in faint echoes through the woods. It came from up the river, and what was most alarmin, about the report, was its being closely followe by a wail as of buman agony. Keen-Knife stopped. He knew it was not the report of Bold-Heart’s rifle, and a cloud of fear swept over his face. He believed bis young friend had trouble, and turning, he glided rapidly the river. Sooen he came to where they bad_ parted. He stopped and listened. All was silent— silent as the grave itself, Looking up Bold-Heart’s trail, he set off to follow it, It was, however, with great diffl- culty that he did so, for the white youth was almost as expert in hiding a trail as Keen-Knife was in following one. He moved on several hundred paces and was nearing the edge of the Lone Estate, when be discovered that the trail sud@enly became deep- er and plainer. The steps were further apart. which fact alone convinced Rob’s red frien that Rob had set off at a rapid run. Still a few steps on he saw numerous other tracks in the yielding soil, and where the old leaves had been torn up as if by the feet of persons in a hand-to- hand encounter. This satisfied Keen Knife that his young friend had met with a savage foe—probably a dozen of them, and bad been slain. He looked around and was not a little sur- »rised to see drops of blood spattered over the eaves. Some one had been wounded, either Bold-Heart or an enemy. The young Indian halted and gazed around him. It was now almost sunset, and twilight shadows were gathering in the woods. A deep, dread silence prevailed—a silence that was ominous as death itself to the ear of Keen- Knife. With bis hands clasped over the muzzle of his rifle, and his neck craned forward, he gazed around him with a steady eye. Suddenly he started and a low cry issued from his lips, as his eyes fell upon a heap of old, dank leaves and twigs that bad been raked together quite recently into an elongated pile, a foot or two in hight by five or more in length. What was the meaning of it? as it a snare to entrap him? For a moment the young Prince of the Prai- ries stood and gazed at the object; but he soon satisfied himself that there was no life beneath it, and advanced cautiously toward it. Before be reached the pile of leaves he saw where some heavy body had been dragged along upon the ground. The trail was marked ~ with streaks of clotted blood, and ended at the heap of leaves. ‘ een-Knife’s worst fears were ina manner ot into ck up
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6 Keen-Knife, Prince of the Prairies. realized when he suddenly discovered a human mocecasined foot protruding from beneath the pile of decaying Se enema - Then he knew a lifeless human body lay bu- ried there. He halted, almost ‘sick at heart. There was not a doubt in his mind but it was the lifeless form of his young friend, Bold-Heart, the Boy Hunter. CHAPTER Il. THE FAIR FUGITIVE. Just at sunset, three days previous to the opening of our story, a party of emigrants went into camp on the banks of a little stream that found its way into the Raccoon river. There were eight or ten canvas-covered wag- ons, besides a two-wheeled vehicle, whose con- tents were hidden by a long wooden box. The general appearance of the emigrants and their outfit was not of the rougher and meaner sort, On the contrary, they were a pleasant, bright and intelligent-looking party, and their bey, aed and stock were of a superior grado. The party was composed of some forty per- sons, including several African servants and teamsters. The presence of the negroes was evidence of itself, that’ most of the party hailed from the Southern States, as was, in fact, the case, The eldest of them, and the apparent leader of the party, had passed the meridian of life, yet he was a tall, powerful man in whose air and deportment there was a strong military bear- ing, which evidently cacie as much of nature as habit and disciplinary training. His face wore a faw wrinkles, and his hair and long flowing beard were white as snow. There was a remarkable degree of firmness and dauntless courage manifested’ in his steel-gray eyes and upon his stern, bearded face. This was Major Thomas Bronson, or more familiarly known as Major Tom. He had won the title of major by invaluable services as a soldier; and as an old campaigner, there were none in the party better ——— to lead it into the dangers of the Great West, than Major Tom Bronson, He was a widower, and in fact, it might have been said he was alone in the world bad it not been for his adopted daughter, Dora Barnwell, a bright-eyed little maiden of some sixteen summers. In her the old major found much joy and happiness, for she was a merry-hearted and vivacious little creature, full of innocent mischief and enthusiasm, which had a tendency to gain the love of every one, and which kept an air of cheerfulness around all. There is another person in the party who re- quires our personal notice. It is Frank Hey- ward, a youth of some two-and-twenty years. He was not only prepossessing in appearance, but a man whose whole bearing indicated intel- ligence and mental culture. He was kind and lite to all, full of life, brave and daring to a ult; and like Dora Barnwell, he was one of the bright attractions of the little party. Frank bad no relations in the company, but between him and the major there existed a ——— mutual friendship. The young man’s father and — Bronson had been friends from early boyhood, and when David Heyward died, the major found a true representative of his old friend, in bis son Frank. During their journey, Frank and the major were noticed, upon many occasions, in private consultation, which was invariably ended when- ever any one approached them, And although not the shadow of a suspicion of any wrong was entertained by any of the party, they all believed the two had some secret object in view in coming West, far more important than the major’s colonizing scheme. But what it was, no one could form the slightest conception. As before stated, the party hailed from the South, with one or two exceptions. Taey had the fertile valley of the Raccoon river in view for planting a colony, although they were breasting many dangers in their undertaking. The creek upon which they had encamped was covered on one side by a dense growth of cottonwoods, beneath whose arcading boughs and foliage, the wagons were drawn. and the tents pitched. The animals were corraled at the edge of the prairie, and a guard posted on either side of the encampment. _ During the preparations of the Gy meal, those that were not engaged passed the mo- ments in various ways. A group of four were seated at one side, look- ing over a map of the Great West. “You see, major,” said Ethan White, ‘“‘ we must be nearing the Raccoon—I should judge we were not over a day’s journey from it, at furthest.” “That is my opinion, exactly,” said Major Bronson, ‘‘and if we are in the right latitude, I am almost certain we will strike the very point of which 1 spoke. It has been some ten years since I passed up the river with the party of explorers; but at that time, I remarked upon the great natural advantages offered for a colony upon the river where we are going.” ‘‘Then the tract of land lies contiguous to the river?” “Tt is a vast plain rising from the river’s banks, and extends eastward for miles, whereit meets a low escarpment of table-land, or rolling prairie. There is timber in abundance north of the little creek that forms the northern boun- dary of the plain.” ‘“But I fear, major,” said White, ‘we will be too far inland to make agriculture a suc- cess, “ Why so?” “We will be too far from a market for our products.” ‘‘That depends entirely upon circumstances. If we should make stock-raising a specialty, it would—” “A horseman! a horseman, coming this way at a rapid speed!” These words rung in stentorian notes from the lips of the guard stationed at the edge of the prairie; and the next moment the whole camp was in a state of general excitement. Men, women and children rushed to where the guard was on duty, and gazed with anxious and inquiring looks in the direction indicated. ‘ar away upon the plain, over a mile distant,
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Keen-Knife, Prince of the Prairies. uv é they could see through the gathering twilight, the dim outlines of an approaching horseman, Almost simultaneous with this discovery, they saw another horseman far behind the first. This was followed by a third, fourth, and so on, until —_ a dozen appeared in sight, and were apparently in pursuit of the one furthest in ad- vance, This was suddenly verified by a wild, savage ell. They were Indians, and that solitary relic a fugitive. Yes, and by Heavens, that fugitive is a woman! This the settlers could plainly see in the flying skirts of her dress, the flowing hair and white, scared face. “To arms, men!” cried Major Tom. ‘ Let us to the rescue of the fugitive! It isa woman, and God only knows what a tale of horror her lips may unfold. There must be, or have been, a settlement near, and she alone has escaped. Where else could she have come from?” “From an emigrant train, perhaps, major,” said Frank Heyward. ‘Well, we'll soon know,” replied the major; ‘tforward, boys, to meet the savage foe!” The next moment the men, with rifle in hand, issued from the grove onto the prairie. But no sooner had they done so than the Indians were seen to come to a sudden balt, evidently taken by surprise at sight of the armed emigrants. But the fugitive seemed tu take new courage, and came on directly toward the camp. In a few minutes she drew rein in the midst of the excited emigrants, from whose lips a ery of surprise and pity, mingled with thanks, issu- ed in low accents. The fugitive was a young woman scarcely twenty summers of age; and, although her face wore an expression of despair, she was a being of rare and wondrous semen Her eyes were black as midnight, and shaded by long, drooping lashes that gave them a timid and languidexpression. Her hair, like her eyes, was black as ebon, and bung in long, flowing tresses to her animal’s back. Her dress, cast of features, complexion and small white bands and tapering fingers were evidence, satisfactory, that she was not a bor- der maid, but a lJady—one that had been raised in wealth and refinement. And there was that in her dark eyes and silken hair which satisfied Major Bronson, without considering her com- plexion, that the blood of a Southern creole— such as were usually met with in Louisiana— coursed her veins, She was mounted upon a fine-looking animal of the American stock, and when she drew rein it fairly staggered with exhaustion. The fugitive was the first to aoneee “ Are you friends to me—a helpless fugitive?” she asked, in a tone which must have been musi- cal when not rendered harsh by fear and excite- ment, ‘Yes, yes: you can rely upon safety in our camp, young woman,” said Major Bronson; ‘‘Here, Heyward, assist this young lady to dis- mount.” Frank Heyward advanced and assisted the fair fugitive to the ground, and giving her ani- mal to one of the servants, he conducted her to camp. She was tall and queenly, graceful of move- ment, seeming to float along upon the air by Frank’s side. ‘* How does if come that you are a fugitive fair lady?” asked young Heyward, when e had seen her seated in mF All gathered around her, and in breathless interest listened to her tale of woe. “Father and I,” she said, “‘in company with two other families, were journeying from a point on the Mississippi river to a settlement on the Missouri, At dawn this morning, just as we broke camp, we were attacked by a band of Indians. I was mounted upon my horse, and slightly in advance of the train when the first shot was fired, I saw father go down under the blow of a tomahawk. His last words were for me to flee. I—” Here the maiden broke down and sobbed bitterly. Major Bronson spoke words of cheer to ber, and tendered ber the heartfelt rae of the whole party. He promised to look after her father on the morrow, and if be could not be found, to return her safe to her friends. ‘But, kind sir,” she moaned, ‘‘my father was the only friend I bad in the world, that I know of.” “Then I hope you may find him still alive, But what is your name?” ** Mildred Cleveland.” * Cleveland!” exclaimed Bronson. “I had a dear friend once by that name. He lived in Tennessee.” ‘Father was formerly from that State,” re- plied Mildred, a ray of hope beginning to shine from the — depths of her dark eyes, “From Tennessee!” exclaimed the major. ‘* Was his name Orville Vane Cleveland?” “The same.” ‘Great Heaven! is it thus that I meet thechild of my beloved old friend, Orville Vane? Rest assured, Mildred, that you will have a friend and protector in Major Tom Bronson as long as his life-lamp holds out to burn.” “Bronson? I have often beard father speak of Thomas Bronson.” : “No doubt of it—no doubt of it,” returned the major; ‘t but here, Mildred, is my ward, Miss Dora Barnwell, who will keep you com- pany, and in her society I bope you will find some relief for your bereaved heart.” The major left Dora and Mildred together and alone—the others baving already withdrawn— and went to see about peepee pat their posi- tion against the Indians, who he feared would make a night attack upon their camp. But the night wore away without any demon- stration on the part of the foe. During the short time they were together, ra and her companion became strongly attached to each other; as much so, perbaps, a was possible for two of such te na- ures, Dora was a little, petite creature, full of sun- shine and merriment. Mildred was tall, grace- ful and queenly in proportions, with features slightly traced with hauteur —just enough, thought Frank Heyward, to enhance her pecu-- liar style of beauty. Ke A y was sent out in search of Mildred’s
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3 oe ne sete oe ee ae ees Sees ~==t all our earthly 8 Keen-Knife, Prince of the Prairies. father, but after an absence of two days they returned, having found no trace of the unfortu- nate man nor of any of the party. Poor Mildred! she gave up all hopes of recov- ering the remains of her father, and quietly submitted to fate. She accepted Major Tom Bronson’s proffered friendship and protection and on the third day, when the party resumed — journey, Mildred Cleveland went with them, CHAPTER IV. DORA’S SURPRISE. “ Benoup the promised land!” This was the exclamation of Major Tom Bron- son, as the whole train came to a halt upon the summit of a long range of low hills looking westward for miles and miles. Before them lay a vast plain whose green bosom was traversed by the Raccoon river and some of its adjuncts. Here and there a tiny lakelet lay slumbering upon the vast expanse, reflecting the sun-rays like mirrors, Groups of deer and prong-horned antelopes could be seen in the distance. The plain was bounded on the west by the river, on the north by a dense body of timber, and on the east by the-range of hillsupon which | they. stood, ‘Tis a grand and_beautiful plain,” said Frank Heyward. “ What say you, Mildred and Dora?’ ‘¢My opinion coincides with yours exactly, Mr. Heyward,” said the dark-eyed, queenly Mildred. ; “And mine, too,” added merry-hearted Dora; ‘‘ but if yonder woods are full of ugly ae it might mar the natural beauty of the in. “T hope we will have no trouble with the In- dias, daughter,” said Major Bronson. ‘‘We have presents and gold enough to buy their pesep spd good-will, at least, until our colony comes strong enough to defy their hostile proclivities,” At this juncture young Heyward noticed that Mildred Cleveland started quickly, and —— toward the different wagons with an quiring look. * What is the matter, Miss Cleveland? You seem agitated,” said Frank. Mildred’s face showed no little confusion as she replied: “T was startled by Mr. Bronson’s remark. I heard our guide tell father it was very danger- ous traveling through this wild land with money and valuables. The robbers, or prairie-pirates as they call them, are said to be numerous, and if an emigrant-train has any valuables they manage to find it out and get them.” “T hope we will meet with no such loss, for ssions, amounting to some thirty thousand dollars, we have with us. To lose it, our colonizing scheme would be ruined. Again Mildred Cleveland involuntarily ran her eyes over the wagons, and as they wander- ed from one to the other, stopped when they came to that two-wheeled vehicle with its broad tires and its rude, closed box, as though her fears had singled it out as the treasure-vehicle. The train now descended into the green, fer- tile valley, which they crossed to} the northwest extremity where the timber reached down to the river. Here, almost upon the banks of the stream, the train halted. It was the point se- lected by Major Tom for their permanent camp; and it was an admirable one for that purpose, being flanked on all sides by water. The little water-bound tract of prairie was of a triangular form, the river forming the base; the creek that divided the plain from the woods, the perpendicular; and a large, deep bayou ex- tending from the river diagonally across the plain almost to the creek described the hypothe- nuse. The narrow space between the creek and the head of the bayou admitted the teams to and from the place, The Peninsula, as Major Bronson not inap- propriately named the triangular tract, was about five acres in area, and of sufficient alti- tude to escape the periodical overflow of the river, and the malaria so common to the low, wet lands of the river bottoms. It wanted two hours of sunset when the train reached the Peninsula. The wagons were ar- ranged in a hollow square, inside of which the tents were pitched with more than usual care, for they were not to be moved soon, at least, until cabins were erected. A new spirit seemed to have been infused into the heart of each one, unless it was that of Mil- dred, for all felt that this was the beginning of a new life in a new home, Mildred Cleveland still felt that she was in the midst of strangers, and could not indulge in that social and familiar freedom of those around her; although every one tried to make her feel at home, and as one of the party. During the short time they had been together, Frank Heyward had been quite attentive to the beautiful fugitive, and more than one believed he had been smitten by ber wondrous charms, But be this as it may, it was more readily per- ceived that his attentions were received with smiles and blushes, which spoke plainer than words—told that she loved Frank. It did not require much time to go into camp, corral the stock to grass and procure wood for cooking purposes from the adjacent forest, On the morrow they were to commence build- ing. The party passed the time in various ways during the evening. The abundance of fish in the river drew the attention of the boys aud they were soon group- ed along the bank with rod and line in hand. The girls wandered at pleasure about the Pen- insula, culling the wild flowers that w in profusion everywhere, while the old folks gath- ered and laid their plans and made their calcu- lations for the work that was before them. Mildred Cleveland and Dora Barnwell stroll- ed away alone and seated themselves upon the river-bank at the upper side of the Peninsula. Here they entered into converse, Dora’s voice rippling away in musical notes and merry peals of Jaughter; while the tall, dark-eyed beauty at her side spoke in a low, soft tone, and smiled holt-hangaiy’ at her vivacity and merry-heart- edness, Something besides the loss of her father seem-
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Keen-Knife, Prince of the Prairies. 9 ed to make Mildred unhappy and uneasy. Dora was keen of perception, as all women are, and she saw at once that Frank Heyward was the object of her restlessness of heart. She—Mil- dred—loved him, and yet was in doubt whether her love was in the least reciprocated. This doubt was occasioned from the fact that Frank had been + its frequent in his attentions to Dora herself, At last Dora said to her: ‘Why is it, Mildred, you seem uneasy this evening!” **Oh, Dora! I have been so very uneasy ever since I learned you had so much money and valuables with you. The prairie-pirates, they say, are more dangerous than the Indians, and have scouts and spies out in all directions.” “T would not let that trouble you, dear Mil- dred,” replied Dora kindly. ‘Father will see that we are not surprised by an enemy. Are there any prairie-pirates about here that you have heard of, Mildred?” Mildred hesitated, and turned her dark eyes away to keep from encountering those of Ser little estioner. The subject, itself, seemed terrifying to her sensitive heart and mind. But seeing Dora did not change the theme of con- versation, she finally said: ‘*- Yes, Dora, I heard our ide speak of a band of robbers under the outlaw brothers, call- ed Bodsford. They not only steal horses and Pion emigrant-trains, but make a business of idnapping young girls and women and selling them to the Indians, or holding them for ran- som, Dora uttered a little ery and would have made reply, but approaching footsteps caused her to desist. “ Pardon my intrusion, ladies, but I could not resist the temptation of your society.” It was Frank Heyward who addressed them. He came near and seated himself by Mildred’s side, at the same time making some pleasant re- marks about his own impoliteness. Mildred’s eyes glowed with unusual brilliancy, and a deep flush came to ber cheeks, which Dora, as well as Frank, himself, did not fail to observe. Soon Dora framed an excuse, and rising to her feet, left Mildred and Frank alone, She strolled listlessly along the river-bank, gazing down into the murmuring waters, or Tee ng the wild flowers thai bedecked her t Suddenly her eye caught sight of a small canoe, lying balf-concealed under the edge of the bank, At first she thought it might contain an occupant who was in the concealed portion of it, but she soon became convinced that such was not the case, when she saw it moving with the gentle pulsations of the water. Her young spirit of adventure at once became aroused, and she resolved to have a boat-ride upon the river, She was no novice in the use of oars, having been raised on the shores of a little lake where she could have daily access to the boat-house, and row upon the lake, which de- As ang a skill with the oars, and a love for the water. Without calling any one to her assistance she sprung lightly down the bank and stepped into the little craft which had evidently drifted there, for it was not made fast. It was an Indian canoe, made of bark, and about large enough for two persons. In the bottom lay a paddle, so there was nothing want- ing to insure the success of the maiden’s ride upon the river. Seating herself, she headed the bark up- stream, and skirting the bank for a rod or two, shot abruptly out into the stream directly in front of Frank and Mildred, causing them to start suddenly. A clear, qorees laugh pealed from Dora’s lips on seeing her friends start with surprise, then plying the paddle she sent the little craft flying up the stream, “Do not venture away too far, Dora,” cau- tioned young Heyward, ‘tor you might get caught by some lurking Indian.’ “If there should be but one, Frank,” Dora re- plied, in a playful manner, “J will take him prisoner and bring him to camp. I know you would all like to see a genuine wild Indian. She used the paddle with remarkable dex- terity, and after skimming eround near Frank and Mildred for a few moments continued on up the stream. Young Heyward saw that Mildred watched her movements very closely, as if balf-envwous of the attention he bestowed upon her; and whenever he spoke in praiseworthy terms of Dora, a smile, in which there was a shadow of jealous envy, played about her pretty red lips. Dora continued slowly up the riyer without seeming to notice the distance she was leaving the camp behind her, but watching each shore with a cautious eye. Suddenly she saw that which arrested her at- tention with an admiring interest. m the boughs of some low, scrubby trees that stood upon the east shore and were inclined outward over the water, hung a curtain of green vines resemblin pe moss. _Upon the face of this Gurtakn the maiden saw numerous clusters of small white flowers and red berries, It wasa sight very pleasing to the eye of an enthusiastic maiden, and Dora at once headed her canoe inshore, with the intention of procur- ing a cluster of the berries and flowers, to carry back to camp as a trophy of her adventure, It required but a few strokes of the oar to carry the canoe before, and within reach of the green facade of creepers and parasitical vines that hung to the water’s surface and concealed the shore beyond. Dora rose to her feet and reached out for the nearest cluster of berries, but in so doing the canoe rocked slightly and the paddle fell over- board. Before she could make an attempt to recover it, it was carried beyond her reach. This was quite a misfortune, as she was out of sight of her friends, there being an abrupt bend in the stream below. She could go ashore where she was, but then the river would be between her and her friends. ‘© What should she do?—what could she do?” She had scarcely asked herself these questions when she detected a slight rustling in the green foliage before her. She started and grasping the vines for sup- port, listened intently, She could still hear q
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10 Keen-Knife, Prince of the Prairies. slight rustling in the drapery of vines before | the party of emigrants spoken of by Bold-Heart, her, such as would be made by the movement of a buge serpent. Dora grew alarmed, and almost paralyzed with fear, felt certain that she had got herself into trouble, and was in the act of calling for help when she saw the flash of something red through the vines upon which the setting sun was streaming. The next instant the selvage of the green drapery was parted, and a pair of Lense scintillating orbs peered through upon er. Dora attempted to cry out, but terror held her speechless, Then the vines were parted wider and the np reaa head and grim, triumphant face of an odian warrior appeared in the opening. CHAPTER V. WHOSE WAS THE BODY, SLOWLY, and with all his natural precaution, Keen Knife approached the lifeless form that lay covered under the leaves. He felt satisfied that it was the body of Bold-Heart, yet he did not let this belief blind his precaution, for fear of some trap. When he reached the body he raked the leaves therefrom with the muzzle of his rifle, and a cry of triumph pealed from his lips when he saw it was the body of a Sioux warrior, with a bullet-hole through his forehead. The dead savage was unscalped. This con- vinced Rob’s red friend that he had been slain by Bold-Heart, who had either made good his escape or been captured. The latter appeared the most probable, else the warriors would have carried their dead comrade with them. However, the young Indian resolved to wait till midnight, and then if Bold-Heart did not meet him at the gage place, he would go in search of him. So turning, he began retrac- ing his footsteps down the river, moving with great rapidity, yet with the most extreme silence, close along the shore. He had traversed over two miles, when his keen ear suddenly caught the dip of a paddle. Peering out upon the river, he saw a small canoe, with a single occupant—a beautiful white girl. pe eee closer to the edge of the river, he od himself within the deep shadows of a clump of vines, to watch the fair, sylpb-like creature. Much to his surprise, she turned ber canoe and came directly toward him. Like a grim status he sat and feasted his eyes upon her, for shs was a being of extreme loveli- ness, She came near him—within arm’s length— only a curtain of trailing vines separated them, Allowing her canoe to stand still, she arose to her feet as though she were going to leap ashore, but instead of so doing, she reached upward to- ward a cluster of scarlet berries on the vines. The movement. caused her canoe to rock _ slightly, and her paddle aiipped overboard, Disappointment was written upon her sweet ; oe ay and she gazed around her like one ble. a Koon Knife felt satisfied that she belonged to and so he resolved to release her from her di- lemma. He arose to his feet, and that he might not frighten her, he carefully parted the vines and made his presence known. The sight of bim seemed to fill the maiden with terror, seeing which, Keen-Knife said: “Lat the pale-face maiden fear not. I am Keen-Knife, the friend of the white mau,” Dora Barnwell breathed freer, yet it was several moments before she had regained her composure to speak, “Tf you area friend,” she at length asked, ““ why have you come upon me so noislessly?” A grim smile swept over the Indian’s face as he replied: ““T was here before you came. But if you mistrust me, return to your friends and tell them Keen-Knife, the white man’s friend, de- sires an interview with them.” “ But I have dropped my paddle in the river,” Dora replied. The Indian quickly withdrew, and Dora heard his footsteps hurrying down the stream. In a few moments he returned, and handed her the truant ashen blade, Dora thanked him kindly, adding: “This act of kindness, red-man, removes all doubt from my mind of your friendliness, If you like, you can take a seat.in my canoe and go with me to my friends. I have heard of Keen-Knife, the Prince of the Prairies, before.” Keen-Knife made no reply, but leaped lightly into the canoe. Seating himself, he took the paddle from Dora’s hand, and headed the bark down the stream. Dora could not help admiring his rude gal- lantry, as well as his noble form, dark eyes, and long, flowing hair. He was a noble specimen of manhood, In the mean time, those at the camp had be- gun to grow uneasy about Dora’s protracted absence, when all at once, Major Bronson discovered the canoe rounding the bend of the river. ‘“By Heavens!” he exclaimed, “ there comes pom now, and as I live, there’s an Indian with er! “She has kept her word then,” said Frank, “aud has captured an Indian. He must be friendly; what think you, Mildred?” Mildred fixed ber dark eyes upon the ap- proaching Indian, and Frank saw that her cheeks grew pale, and that ber lips quivered with emotion, as she replied: “ Yes, it must be a friendly—probably the ote Keen-Knife, of whom you have heard, perha) “Yes, I have heard of Keen-Knife, Prince of the Prairie; the white man’s friend.” At this moment the canoe touched upon the shore, and the occupants landed. Ashout of joy pealed from the emigrants’ lips when they learned who the Indian was. Major Bronson conducted the young Prince to his own tent, and eeded to question bim, while Dora gave a pleasant account of her ad- venture to her friends. “ Are you well acquainted with the country, and the dangers hereabouts, Keen-Knife?” aske
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Keen-Knife, Prince of the Prairies. 11 a os of his guest, after they had conversed aw ie, **T have hunted and trapped here for many long months,” replied the Indian. ‘‘ There is no watercourse but what I have followed, no path but what my feet have pressed. You are in great danger, for the Sioux are on the war- ath, and the dark-browed man at the Lone “state furnishes them with fire-water to make them mad and crazy for white blood.” “What do you mean by the Lone Estate?” “Tt is the place where a pale-face lives, with many black slaves. He is a bad man, and con- sorts with the Sioux and many white Indians.” * Does he live alone with his slaves?” “No. There are white women there.” “Did you ever see them?” “‘T was never et Lone Estate. It would be death for me to go there. But Bold-Heart saw one to-day, fair as the rose upon the plain.” ** And who is Bold-Heart?” “ A white friend of mine.” ‘Where is he now?” “*] know not, but at midnight he promised to meet me in the forest, not far away. Fs “Then he has been to the Lone Estate, has e?" “He has; and to-day he talked with the daughter of the dark-browed man.” jor Tom started, and an anxious light beamed in his steel-gray Soper * Keen-Knife,” he asked, “‘ will you do me a favor by bringing your friend toour camp? I want to see him on important business,” ‘‘Keen-Knife will tell Bold-Heart what the chief of the pale-faces desires,” replied the In- n. “T will reward 7 well for your services, young man; but if you are not to meet Bold- eart until midnight, you will remain with us till then, will you not? You shall occupy this tent if you so decide.” : “Keen-Knife is the friend of the pale-face, He never sleeps when there’s danger around. will watch over your camp till it is time to go and meet my friend,” “You're a noble fellow, Keen-Knife—” began the major, but before he could conclude his sen- tence, Keen-Knife had glided from the tent, and when he next saw bim, he was carefully inspecting the situation of the camp. CHAPTER VI. WHAT KEEN-KNIFE SAW. No one watched the movements of Keen- Knife more closely than did Mildred. The sight of the Indian seemed to fill her with fear, and although Frank noticed the Friendly fix his gaze upon her more than once with a strange, admiring expression, he never permitted his dark eyes to meet those of the fair, queenly maiden. Before nightfall, a number of guards were posted at different points, and Keen-Knife promised the major that he would keep on the scout around the Peninsula until midnight. With a double assurance of safety while the noted young Prince of the Prairie watched over them, the emigrants retired early to bed. Be- fore he left, Keen-Knife had promised to report their situation to the major, who was then to station a new set of guards. The night was one of extreme darkness and silence. Nothing save the coruscations of the fire-flies could be seen, and only a few sounds peculiar to the northern night could be heard away off in the wilderness, Keen-Knife bad disappeared from sight after nightfall as if by ven But the guards, now and then caught sight of a shadowy form flit- ting about from place to place, and they felt satisfied of its being the young Indian. As the hours wore on, a low, half-stifled ery suddenly pealed out on the still night air, caus- ing the guards to start with alarm. It wasa cry as of human agony. But it was not repeat- ed. A silence that was more intense than ever now ensued, Half an hour later, Keen Knife, crouching under the edge of the river-bank, caught sight of an object that deeply arrested bis attention. It was a dull ~ oem of fire floating on the river close along the eastern shore, apparently at the will of the current. It was choat the size of a small bird’s egg, and bad it been in the woods, Keen-Knife would have taken no — ticular notice of it, for there, after night, he had often met with such objects commonly known among the hunters and old woodmen as fox-fire, a piece of fungus or decayed wood. But its being upon the surface of the stream arcused his native curiosity, and he resolved to inquire into the object when it came nearer. But just at the moment when he would have done s0, his acute ear caught the sound of alight footstep on the bank below him. He turned his head and was nota little surprised to see a figure wrapped in a blanket or gown, standing on the bank, plainly outlined against the starry sky, and seemingly magnified into a being of colo stature. The Indian scarcely breathed, so silent did he remain and watch the giant, shrouded form. Finally it moved down the bank to the water's edge and paused afew paces below where he lay concealed. The dull speck of fire floating on the water seemed to arrest the attention of the shrouded figure, and when it came nearer, the fi knelt down—put out a hand and lifted it from the stream. Keen-Knife could scarcely restrain his silence longer, but curbing his anxiety with that true Indian patience, he waited and watched. He saw the shrouded figure, still kneeling, draw the dark blanket over its head closer an remain in that position several minutes, during which time the Indian caught the vivid flash of a light between the edges of the blanket. At last if arose and tossed the glowing object out into the river again, then turned and moved back from the river. x Keen-Knife watched the stealthy form, and saw it disappear among the tents of the emi- grants’ camp. What did it all mean? What mystery was banging over the encampment? een-Knife now turned his attention to the floating object again. In the middle of the cur- rent, it was being carried quite rapidly down the stream, and went gliding along so that it would haye appeared to a casual observer more
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pS ee = SSS —— : ote yet aimin 12 Keen-Knife, Prince of the Prairies. — Itke the coruscation of a fire-fly than aught else. Stealing swiftly alung the bank to the mouth of the bayou, the Indian quickly threw aside his outer clothing, with the determination of taking to the river to secure that mysterious object. He laid aside all his weapons but his hunting- knife. This he placed between bis teeth,-and stepping into the stream, was soon swimming out toward the object. So silently did he move that he scarcely stir- red a ripple upon the smooth bosom of the river. He swam upon his back, and only his face was visible above the water—even that seemed like an inanimate thing floating with the current. The wily youth had almost reached the glow- ing object when a small, circling wave, followed by another and another, dashed over his face and caused bim to raise his head slightly. His fears were instantly aroused. He knew those tiny wavelets had been caused by some living thing in the water, for not a breath of air was stirring. Carefully be turned bimself and glanced along the surface of the stream. The glowing object he saw was within arm’s reach of bim. He put out his hand to seize it, but at this instant he beheld a pair of dull glow- ing orbs just beyond, and a dusky human hand upraised in the same attitude as his own, and no doubt for the same purpose. It paren but an instant for Keen-Knife to comprehend all. The savage, for such the young Prince recognized him to be, was there to inter- cept the Mearns. object after it had passed through the hands of the shrouded figure at the camp. Kion-Knife d his knife and dashing for- ward, grappled with the foe. There was a quick floundering in the water, a low, gurgling moan, then all became sileat as the grave again. A few minutes later a figure crept from the river and stood erect where the white man’s friend had first taken to the water. It was Keen-Knife himself. In one hand he held a reeking scalp in the other he held asmall object that glowed like a coal of fire. _ What was the object? Keen-Knife examined it closely. 1t was simply a small glass bottle, corked air- tight. Within it wasa small bit of phosporus and a slip of white paper—nothing more, Donning his clothes, the young Prince of the Prairies swept the sky with a quick gazs as if to read the hour of night by the stars. Then he turned and retraced his footsteps to camp. He proceeded at once to the tent occupied by Major Bronson. He found him up with a light in bis a ment, ‘Well, how do matters stand, Keen-Knife?” the old man asked. Io a triumphant and significant manner the oung Indian tapped his girdle, where the major held two scalps dangling. “Then there have Sheen Indians about?” be said, fairly shuddering at sight of the reeking to conceal his disgust. es,” returned Keen-Knife, “let the gray- haired chief of the pale-faces be on his guard. His whole band is in danger. And I must leave | now. The stars point close to the hour of mid- night. When I have met my young friend, Bold- Heart, then will I come back.” ‘Do so by all means!” exclaimed the major. . a Keen-Kuifo will be as good as his word, but here is something for the white man. I took it from the river when it glowed like fire,” said the youth, handing the major the mysterious bottle. Major Tom examined it with no little sur- prise, although the light of his lamp dimmed the glow of the phosphorus within it. ‘* There is a bit of phosphorus and a white paper within it,” said the major, holding the bottleup to the light. “Then let the white man take it out and read it. Were it the writing of the Great Spirit on the trees, the wind or the clouds, then could Keen-Knife read it. But the silent talk of the ale-faces is darkness tome. But now I will eave the camp of the pale-faces, and as a part- ing injunction let me say to the pale-face chief, beware! there is a traitor in his camp!” Major Bronson started up to confront Keen- Knife. But Keen-Knife was gone—he had van- ished from tbe tent like a shadow, and the major stood alone with his excited thoughts, CHAPTER VIL IN A DILEMMA. At the hour of midnight, Keen-Knife was at the place sok ie for his meeting with Rob Radcliff, the Boy Hunter. But to his surprise and regret the youth was not there, and his ab- sence now convinced him that he was either dead or a captive. He waited an hour or more, hoping he might yetcome. The moon had arisen, and flooded the forest and prairie with its soft, yellow beams. Keen-Knife was not long in deciding upon his next course. He would go at once in search of Bold-Heart. Gliding from the covert, he crept away directly north. In a few minutes he paused just within the thicket that skirted the Lone state. The great opening lay like an island, bathed in the mellow light of the moon. Carefully he swept its bosom as far as his vision would reach, but all was like a blank, wrapped in the stillness of the midnight hour, No—all was not silence either. While Keen- Knife stood there within the thicket, he sudden- ly heard the quick, heavy tread of a foot which » knew wore no moccasin, It was a booted ‘oot. The next instant a man wrapped ina long, dark cloak, emerged from the forest into the moonlit opening. He paused and glanced wari- ly around him, then strode on toward the cabins of Manuel La Mort. Keen-Knife started at sight of him. He re- cognized him at once, for he caught sight of the face when he gazed around him. Jt was face of Frank Heyward ! And Keen-Knife was positive that his form was the same that had stolen to the water’s edge and intercepted the floating bottle. But he was not the one whom the Friendly had mistrusted as being the traitor of whom he had warned the major,
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Keen-Knife, Prince of the Prairiés, 13 The Indian was sorely tempted to follow Hey- ward and see where he went to: but he knew he would have great difficulty in doing so; be- sides, he would neglecting his friend, Bold- ae who migbt, at that instant, be in need of his aid, If he wasa captive, it was more than likely he had been carried to the Indian village, in case he had not been placed in the power of Don La-Mort, and so Keen-Knife at once shaped his course toward the Indian stronghold. This was situated many miles north of the Lone Estate, yet the young Prince knew he could make the point long before daylight, and under cover of the darkness make such inspec- tions as would satisfy bim, beyond a doubt, of Bold-Heart’s whereabouts. Deep in the heart of u dense forest, the village of tabpadmeaks, the Sioux chief, was located. It was flanked upon. the east side by the Rac- coon river, and on the north by a range of bills, whose steep facade defied ascent or descent. The other two sides were a level tract of deep, dense woods, admitting of an easy approach to the town, so far as natural obstacles were con- cerned. It was nearly daylight when Keen-Knife hove in sight of the village, which he approached from the south. With all the silence he could master, the In- dian crept toward the town. He found it silent inslumber. Only the dying embers of a num ber of camp-fires marked the exact location of the place. How was the young Prince to gain the infor- mation he desired, now that he was at the out- skirts of the town? It could be obtained only at risk of his life by entering the village, but this he resolved todo. Like a shadow he crept on- ward until the footsteps of a sentinel caused him to pause, and reconnoiter, with eye and ear, his situation. Not over an arm’s length from him he saw a ‘im, shadowy form standing in the attitude of intense listening. It was a savage guard, and the slightest sound had riveted his attention, and put every facultyon the alert. Keen-Knife grasped the heft of his tomahawk and with one sweep he buried the weapon in the savage’s brain Only alow moan escaped the doomed sentinel’s lips as he fell to the earth a lifeless mass. Waiting until he was certain that the sound had not been heard, the youth crept on. But soon he found another guard directly in bis. path, from which there was no deviating. The savage was seated upon a fallen log where the moon’s rays fell partially upon bim, and where it would be impossible to pass him unob- served. The log upon which he sat was about fifty feet in len and lay parallel with the course Keen-Knife was pursuing. Its ends were both concealed from the savage’s view by clumps of bushes. The wary red-skin sat near the middle of the log, while the Prince crouched down at the south end to watch his movementsand take him when off his rd. Bui ti mg ome was not likely to be af- forded soon, for the eyes of the savage were on & constant move, Crouching lower to escape discovery, Keen- Knife saw that the log was hollow—be could see the glow of the dying camp-fire through the opening far beyond. A thought struck the Friendly. Why not crawl through the log and thus pass the guard? The thought was no sooner formed in bis mind than he proceeded to carry it into execution. He laid aside his rifle and tomahawk and such clothing as would diminish bis size, then with his knife between his teeth, he crept softly into the log. The end that he entered was the small- est, and as he advanced he found the hollow gradually increased in size, so that be had no trouble in making his way along. He crawled slowly and with all the silence of a serpent, keeping his eyes fixed on the open- ing before him, through which he could still see the glow of the fading camp-fire. He had crept along more than half the length of the log, when he saw the opening before him suddenly closed up as if by magic. Some dark form had partie it. There was no doubt of this; the Friendly could hear and feel the faint vibratory touch of the moving creature—what- ever it was, Keen-Knife was now in the horn of a dilemma, as well as a hollow log, from which there were little hopes of a safe escape. The form was still approaching—now so near that he could see the dull glow of the eyes, and feel the breath in his face! CHAPTER VIL AN EXCHANGE OF PRISONERS. RETREAT was the only resort for the Prince; but be would have sacrificed his scalp rather than retreat beforea single enemy. It would have been a reflection upon his hitherto spotless courage and manhood, and nerving himself, he seized his knife in a firm gripe. But if it was an enemy, why would he ven- ture into the log to confront him? It seemed a little strange—nay, mysterious, Then he suddenly remembered that the out- law brothers made their headquarters at the Indian village, and that Death-Trail kept a number of fierce bloodhounds, and might not the form before him be that of one of those terrible beasts? But whatever it was, it suddenly ceased its approach, having, evidently, discovered the presence of the Prince before it, Two pairs of dull, glowing orbs now glared upon each other with unwavering glances—two beings possessed of life were in doubt as to what each other was, But suddenly a savage yell, mingled with the baying of hounds, broke the silence of the hour. The sound came from the village, and into- nations told of excitement and baffled triumph. Higher rose the yells as the savages rushed from their couches and joined in the confusion, Then the hounds of Death-Trail gave tongue as though they were me | upon a trail. “God of. mercy! the lopin’ devils bave dis- covered my escape!” were the words that sud- denly fell upon the ears of Keen-Kuife. They issued from the lips of the being in the log before him. He recognised the voice with a thrill of joy. {
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i4 Keen-Knife, Prince of the Prairies, “ Bold-Heart,” he said, in a low tone. “Thank God! it’s you, Keen-Knife!” “Yes,” replied the Indian. ‘‘Follow me, Bold-Heart. The Sioux and Death-Trail’s hounds will find us here.” ‘Yes, quick, quick, Prince! I would never have entered this log after 1 had escaped, but to elude the guard seated upon it. Ah! the accursed knaves are at the end of the log now!” With remarkable rapidity Keen-Kuife re- treated from the log, closely followed by his friend, Rob Radcliff. Grasping his weapons and clothing from where he had cast them, the young Prince glided away into the dense shrubbery. Rob started to follow him, but, before he had gone three steps be fell to the earth under the blow - a club in the hand of the outlaw, Tim Bods- or Then with yells of triumph, a hundred say- aaee-gathered around the prostrate youth. n-Knife paused in his retreat when he comprehended the misfortune of his friend. Above the lg a yells he heard Death-Trail calling his hounds back to the village. This convinced him that his presence had not been discovered. With the half-unconscious Bold-Heart, the In- dians retired to the village, In a few minutes new camp-fires were twink- ling all over the town, and from bis covert Keen- Knife saw the savages gather in council. He knew well what it meant—Bold-Heart’s fate was to be decided on at once. Foremost in the council was Tim Bodsford and his brother, Death-Trail. Every conceivable mode of torture, almost, was spoken of and commented upon by the say- ages; but their vindictive ingenuity could not invent a punishment for Bold-Heart, of a se- verity sufficient to satiate their devilish thirst for revenge. At last, Tim Bodsford suggested a torture that was received with a shout of ap- probation by all. It was to skin Bold Heart alive! This fearful torture was postponed until day- light, and a strong guard set over the captive. Day, however, soon came, and to Tim Bodsford was given the lead in the preparations for the torture. Great excitement prevailed—a gala-day was anticipated by the red barbarians; and when the d, slain and scalped by Keen-Knife, was found, new fuel was added to the flame of their wrath. With some thirty men, Tim Bodsford retired to the woods shortly after sunrise, and soon re- turned bearing along, half-decayed log with em, They deposited the log near the center of the square, then Bodsford ordered the captive brought out, Bold-Heart. was led forth bound hand and foot, yet betraying no fear by look nor word. His step was firm and his face wore an expres- sion of fearlessness and po He was thrown rudely across the log and bound in such @ position as would soon bring death itself. ford now announced that all was ready for the torture to begin, and with yells and howls of fiendish delight, the warriors, squaws ‘ and children gathered around to witness thé sufferings of the Boy Hunter. Inkpaducah, the head chief, with his little son, Appauoosah, the future chief of his tribe, a child of some five years, took his stand near the large end of the log where they could command a fair view of the torture. Tim Bodsford, with sleeves rolled up, and knife in hand advanced toward the doomed pale-face, feeling the keen edge of his weapon as he went. He reached the log and stooped to begin the work of torture, but at the same instant he fell dead with a tomahawk quivering in his brain. ‘‘Keen-Knife! Keen-Knife!” The words burst from the lips of the old chief, for he alone saw the form of the young Prince of the Prairies rise, as if by magic, from the earth at his feet, and hurl the weapon at the outlaw’s head, ‘* Keen-Knifel dred throats. But with his peculiar and terrifying war-cry Keen-Knife turned, and seizing the child of Inkpaducah by the heels, threw it over his shoulder and dashed away like a deer. A glance showed the chief from whence the outh had come. The log was hollow, and in it he had been carried into the heart of the village by Bodsford and the savages. Though feeble with the weight of years, the old chief bounded away in swift pursuit of the cunning foe, calling loudly on his warriors to follow. Little Appanoosah set up a fearful scream, and struggled like a young panther, but his captor held him firm, and ran on at a marvel- ous speed that defied any pursuer. He ran directly toward the river, and there the savages expected to head him off, and scat~ tered out to the right and left to keep him from turning up or down the stream. 2 A hundred rifles were raised time and again upon the daring young Iodian, but each time lowered, They dared not fire, for the cunning igitine covered his body with the child of the chief, On toward the river he ran, A canoe was moored upon its banks, and without slacking his speed, he leapedinto the craft. The impetus of the bound carried the little bark out from the shore, and drove it clear across to the oppo- site bank. Leaping ashore, Keen-Knife turned, and hold- ing the child up between him and his pursuers, uttered a fierce, defiant yell. Again a hundred rifles were leveled upon him, but the cry of panpeonees: stayed the fire, for the child as well as his captor, would have been riddled with bullets. ‘Let the cowardly Sioux fire if they would slay the cub of their chief,” exclaimed Keen- Knife, defiantly. The savages rushed frantically up and down the bank, and some plunged into the water and began swimming across. ‘Call your dogs of warriors back, chief,” continued the young Prince; ‘call them bac if you would save the life of your child, moment 9 warrior sets foot upon this shore, the boy chief shall die!” Keen-Knife!” chorused a hun-
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Keen-Knife, Prince of the Prairies. 16 ee et He drew his knife as he concluded, and raised it why the child, as if to give emphasis to his words. Fall well Inkpaducah knew the foe with which he had to deal, and at once recalled his war- riors from the river; and then ina low tone, inaudible to Keen-Knife, he addressed them. Their rage and cries at once became stayed; and with the river between them, the hundred fierce warriors stood gazing in silence upon the single youthful foe who had baffled them. “Tis well the chief recalled his braves,” said our hero, ‘‘ or bis child would now be food for the hounds of Death-Trail.” Although fifty yardsef water separated them, Keen-Knife could see the scowl of vengeance, mingled with paternal anxiety and fear, upon the chief’s face. ‘Let Keen-Knife release the child of ae — then shall he depart in peace,” said the chief. A grim, scornful smile swept over the face of the MA At oie “Does Inkpaducah think Keen-Knife a cow- ard? He defies the Sioux to take him, with the child of the chief alive.” **But the hounds of the Death-Trail know Keen-Knife from the child whose hand has _ them meat,” replied the chief, with a malicious smile of triumph. “You threaten me with the fangs of Death- Trail’s hounds, When they tear the flesh of Keen-Knife, his i to Ea fé will have drank the blood of Appanoosah. But when you set at liberty the young pale-face in your camp, then shall you have your child unharmed.” The face of the chief grew brighter, and had our hero been nearer him, he might have seen a smile in which there was a hidden Foam move his lips; but from the silence that prevail- ed, the youth knew his old brain was hatching some plot to capture him as well as secure his child. At last he turned to one of his warriors, and addressed him in a low tone. Then the warrior turned and moved away toward the village, and in a few moments re- turned with Rob Radcliff, the Boy Hunter. The chief now turned to Keen-Knife and said: “The Boy Hunter shall be released. Let Keen-Knife return the child of the chief and take the pale-face away.” “The old Sioux chief is a fool,” returned Keen-Knife, contemptuously; ‘does he think Keen-Knife will run into the power of his cow- ardly varlets?” ae Indians scowled fiercely at the defiant youth, “What, then, does the sneaking boy want?” asked the chief. “Want you to send your braves all back to the village, then will I bring yourchild and take Bold-Heart away.” Defeat was written upon the face of the chief and his warriors, and for a moment an outbreak of vengeance seemed imminent, But that deep, paternal love for his offspring soon mastered the old chief’s emotions of a hostile character, and he ordered his warriors to fall back to the vil- een-Knife watched their sullen retreat, and saw them take a position in the village, ready to dart forward at an instant signal. The youth knew that they intended deviltry, but neverthe- less he determined to improve the moment for Bold-Heart’s release. With the child of the chief he entered the canoe, and in a few moments he was upon the opposite shore, It required but an instant to pass the child to bis father and for Rob Radcliff to leap into the canoe; but at the same instanta wild, savage yell rent the still morning air, and the whole band of Inkpaducah came pouring toward the river. Before they reached the bank, however, ie. youth had put the stream between them, ¥ with a yell of defiance sped away into the woods. But they had not gone far when they happened to glance back, They saw that a num- ber of the foe had crossed the river and were in hot pursuit, Deep into the dark and almost impenetrable shadows of the woods the youths sped on—on where it would have been difficult for the sav- age foe to follow, But hark! what sound is that comes echoing through the woods! Ah! ’tis the hounds of Death-Trail giv: tongue, and they are close upon the track the fugitives. CHAPTER IX, FRANK HEYWARD MISSING, “ A TRAITOR in camp!” Major Bronson repeated the words, time and again. He could scarcely think it possible that een-Knife’s assertion was true, unless the In- dian was the traitor himself. But, such a thought he could not entertain, in justice to his own conscience. It was true the Indian was eccentric to one unaccustomed to his ways, but from the time they had set foot within the bor- ders of the territory, he had heard Keen-Knife spoken of as immovable in his fidelity to the whites, : In fact there were none upon whom the major could fix suspicion. Not one of the em ts besides himself and Frank Heyward had ever been within the Territory, nor within a hundred miles of it until their coming with the colony, And he could as easily have suspected bh little ward, Dora Barnwell, or Mildred Cleve- land of the crime as Frank Heyward. No, there must be some mistake, or else the Indian was simply aiming to work upon his fears to keep him on the alert for danger. “But let me see,” he finally said to himself, ‘perhaps the paper in this bottle will furnish a clew to the matter in question.” He sat down near the lamp, uncorked the bottle and extracted the little roll of paper sat BTowe hee ceeetinnad das bighialisaaseea eae ow,” he continu meelf, as he I: ed the paper, “if Keen-Knife’s words. true, this bottle and paper must have. thrown into the river by that traitor, who trusted to the current to carry it_to some ac- complice down the river, And the Indian must have seen him toss the bottle into the stream, hence his suspicion. But Ill see what the paper says.” The paper unfolded, be held it close to. the light, and saw written thereon, ina bold band,
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—— —= 2s a ao ene eae 4 it 4 = SS rae Oc a Se ee 16 Keen-Knife, Prince of the Prairies. with a lead pencil, a number of words which ran thus: “Look sharp! Reached the place to-day. We've two beautiful girls and thirty thousand dollars in camp. Keen-Knife is here on the alert. Wait till I communicate again before attacking the camp. It may be we can get the girls and money without running much risk, me gy A muttered exclamation burst from the lips ‘of Major Bronson, not through surprise at the contents of the paper, as the initials of the writer, ‘$F. H.” They were those of his be- loved young friend, Frank Heyward, but the handwriting. was evidently disguised. And who knew better than Frank did the amount of money in the camp? The two beautiful girls referred to were Dora and Mildred, anda groan of agony burst from the old man’s lips when he thought of the dangers to which those innocent maidens were exposed. “T will go this moment,” he said to himself, “ arouse them from their sleep, and warn them of their danger. Toon I will go straight to Frank and show him this paper. Suspicion oe to him, although I would rather find bim than to learn that he is the traitor, and has decoyed me ani others here to robus, God forbid!” Tho old man arose, and leaving his tent made his way to that of Dora and Mildred. They were asleep, but he awoke them and bade both dress aud hurry to his tent. In obediencs to his wish they were soon here. “What do you want, father?” asked Dora. “Oh, you must be sick, you're so very pale.” - No, no, children,” he said,.in his familiar manner of speaking. ‘‘ We are all in danger— you girls in particular.” ‘A little cry pealed from Dora’s lips, and Mil- dréd turned pale as’ death. “ Keen-Knife told me there was a traitor in our camp,” continued the major, ‘and here is a paper which be found in a bottle on the river. It is a communication from that trai- tor, whoever he is, to some one outside of our camp.” Tuen the major read the letter, omitting the initials. Again Dora uttered a little cry, and the stately Mildred fairly staggered under the shock the news gave her sensitive nerves. “ Ob, father! whodo you think the traitor is?” asked Dora, “T cannot say, Dora. I have had such per- fect confidences in every man, woman and child in this band that it seems impossible one of them could be guilty of such acrime. However. Vl investigate the matter fast as possible, and in the mean time let me caution you, children, about wandering away from the camp. No telling what danger may bo lurking about the ores Now go to your tent, implore the protec- ion of the Divine power, and try and rest easy. Good-night, girls.” When they were e@ the major rested his face on his hand, and for a moment a desperate struggle seemed raging within his breast. A pot sigh now and then told of his agony of | that seemed to conyulse his powerful Finally he arose to his feet and throwinga cloak around his shoulders, said to himself: “Yes, I will go to Frank with the letter and demand an explanation. If he is the traitor, the presence of the letter will be undeniable evidence.” He went out and proceeded slowly toward Frank Heyward’s tent. Arrived there he tap- ped lightly on the flap door, There was no response, ** Frank,” he called. Still no response. “ Frank Heyward ” No response yet, and with a ery of surprise the major rushed into the tent. But it was empty. Frank was gone, and his absence forced upon Major Bronson the terrible conviction that Frank Hey ward was the traitor! CHAPTER X. THE PRAIRIE PIRATES, A party of ten horsemen were moving west- ward over the plain near the close of the same day that the emigrants went into camp on the Peninsula, The leader of the band was a man of some thirty years of age, of medium build and fine, commanding proportions, He might have been called handsome had it not been for the hard bold expression of the dark, flashing eyes, and the sensual bearded mouth. He was dressed in a flashy suit of velveteen, with a jaunty ca and feather, and high-topped boots upon whic! jingled a pair of silver rowels. His companions were dressed and painted like Indians, yet it was easy to be seen that the were white men. This was not only observable from the contour of their features, but the man- ner in which they sat their animals, In fact, it would have been an easy matter for one accus- tomed to the prairies to have also recognized them as a band of prairie pirates. They were headed directly toward the Lone Estate, and ere the sun went down, they drew rein before the door of the pretentious cabin of Manuel La Mort. The leader hastily dismounted, and his exam- ple was followed by his companions. A troop of negroes and half-breed Indians came swarming from the adjacent cabins, and took their horses, while the freebooters were conducted into the cabin, where they were met by La Mort. “Ah, my good Rubal Ryan,” said he, to the leader of the outlaws, ‘‘you are on time, as usual,” “ Always, Manuel,” returned the outlaw chief; ‘‘ but, by my soul, old fellow, what ails your eyes? One would think, the pious, tem- pevate Don La Mort was a regular whisky mug, judging from your optics.” “Be seated, men, be seated,” returned La Mort; ‘never mind my eyes. The cursed whelp that struck me is having a foretaste of fire and steel by this time in the Sioux village.” “To whom do you allude?” queried Rubal Ryan. ‘ % To Bold-Heart, the Boy Hunter.” ——> “Bravo!” shouted the Pavia captain, ‘and I would give considerable if they could catoh that infernal Keen-Knife, also.”
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Keen-Knife, Prince of the Prairies. i? “It’s hard catching the devil’s own,” retorted La Mort. ‘*Yes, good Manuel, or you and I would have been caught, long, long ago.” An outburst of laughter followed the truthful remark, “Full of your wit as ever, Rubal,” said La Mort, “ but not Shenaitg the subject, how did your emigrant ruse work?” “ Like a charm, Manuel, like a charm.” Good!” ejaculated La Mort: ‘* now, gentle- men, we'll have a bottle of my best ‘ enthusi- asm’ over it, after which I shall see to sending some dispatches down the river, then entertain you further.” ' He ordered bottle of whisky and glasses, which he placed on the table before his guests, with whom he drank freely, then left the apart- ment. Down under some willows by the river-bank he met three Indians—evil-looking fellows—to whom he addressed some instructions; then giv- ing one of them a small glass bottle, with addi- tional instructions as to its use, he returned to the house, while the Indians crept away down the river. La Mort did not rejoin his guests on entering the cabin, but, continuing along the narrow hall, entered a room to the right. The apartment was neatly and comfortably furnished, and bore evidence of feminine deli- cacy and handiwork. A rich carpet was upon the floor, and the walls were covered with some woven hangings of a rich and harmonious color. Here and there was arranged a bouquet of wild- flowers, that diffused delicious odor through the room, A musical instrument, upon the chords of which the fairy fingers of the evening zephyrs were lightly playing, lay upon the window-sill, and near it sat a young female, whose form was almost blended with the twilight shadows that were stealing into the room. It was Camilla La Mort, the fair maiden with whom Bold-Heart had met that day on the edge of the glade, and with whom he had been over- heard in converse by her father. Her eyes were red with weeping, for her pa- rent had reproached her angrily and with threats of punishment, for her meeting with the Boy Hunter. He accused her of plotting against his life, and forbade her going beyond the con- fines of her room without his consent, And now, as he entered the apartment where she sat weeping, she turned her eyes to elude the fierce gaze he fastened upon her. “T hope my truant daughter,” the villain said, “feels better, and that by this time your con- science has upbraided you for the course pur- sued to-day.” aS t nothing I have done,” replied Ca- milla, bitterly. “4 Well, it makes but little difference to me since I mropose to be master of this ranch, and have my-will obeyed. And now I will tell you what I came in for: Rubal Ryan has returned, and within the next three days you will prepare to become his wife.” “Father! would" you have me wed an out- law?” the maiden cried. “T would have you marry Rubal Ryan, no matter whether he is priest or pirate. The safe- ty of the Lone Estate is owing to him and his men, and in lieu of his services he demands your hand, and his desire shall be gratified.” The villain turned and left the room, slamming the door to after him and locking it. Poor Camilla! She threw herself upon a sofa = he and sobbed as though her heart would reak, La Mort rejoined the prairie pirates, and then began a night of carouse that emery until most of them had fallen to the floor ina drunken sleep. La Mort and Rubal Ryan alone remain- ed awake at the hour of midnight. In fact, they had imbibed less freely than the white In- dians, taking care not to swallow too much of the liquid poison, for during the night they ex- pacted some important dispatches from the emi- grants’ camp on the Peninsula. To pass the lagging moments, the two revelers indulged in cards and dice, taking an occasional “draw ” from a bottle that sat near. At last La Mort broke out: ‘*Curse the stupid dolts, they've had time to go twice to the camp and back.” “It may be they’ve gone there and are un- able to get back,” replied Ryan. ‘If that lynx- eyed Keen-Knife is there, ten to one your spy will get entrapped.” ; ‘Time will tell, but I'l swear I hate to lose this night. Weought to have been at work hours ago, and not give the emigrants time to Hog Sh themselves, or they might give us trou- e, “Very true,” responded the pirate chief. The hours wore on and the red streaks of dawn were seen in the eastern sky. Still the messengers had not returned, and La Mort was going off ina fit of rage and fury, when a step sounded in the hall. ; ‘* Ah, the snails have come,” he said, and ris- ing and opening the door, he admitted a small Indian half-breed, whose whole being was the embodiment of subtle cunning. “Where are Cule and Joht, Snake?” asked La Mort, with a savage frown. ** Dead, master, dead,” replied Snake. “Dead?” exclaimed La Mort. “Dead,” repeated the balf-breed. ‘The white man’s friend, Keen-Knife, slew them.” “ Piends and furies!” raved La Mort, “‘and - how does it come that youever got back with your op, Snake?” “The Snake is too cunning for Keen-Knife, He was within the confines of. the emigrants’ camp and came out again safe.” ‘* What was you doing in their camp?” “Went to meet the Spy, for Keen-Knife found the bottle on the river after it had left the Spy’s hands with the dispatch.” “ Ah, you’re a cunning dog, Snake. Now tell me whether you met the Spy in the emigrants’ camp?” “T did.” - 8 ‘*Bravo! What did the Spy tell you?” ‘* Said—tell you thére were two purty girls in the camp.” A A “4 of laughter burst from the outlaw’s ips, , “Go on, Snake.” What else?” said Rubal yan. ; “Said there was lots of money in the camp,
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r 4 is Keen-Knife, Prince of the Prairies. Hadn’t found out where it was kept, though thought it was in a two-wheeled wagon with a box on it, Said you’d have to wait till to-mor- row night, as the death of Cule and Joht has delaye work to-night. Keen- Knife gone now. “Well, that’s a good riddance,” heartily ejaculated Ryan. “He may be back in time to thwart our plans,” rejoiued La Mort; ‘“‘but have you any more news, Snake?” “Yes,” returned the evil-eyed messenger; «when T left the camp of the emigrants I saw the cloaked form of a man moving away before me. My fingers itched for his scalp, for I knew he was one of the emigrants; but I followed and watched him. He came directly to the cabins of Don La Mort. Under the Forked Cotton- wood tree he stopped. Then I saw him take something from under his cloak, and lay it in the crotch of the tree, Then he went away. 1 didn’t follow him, but went to the tree and found this,” and Snake drew from the bosom of his calico shirt a small bouquet of wild flowers, around the stems of which were twined some broad spears of grass. “By Heavens!” exclaimed La Mort, as he took the flowers, ‘‘ this may give us some infor- mation—who knows?” “ But L.can't see what information a bunch of posies would give you,” said Captain Rubal. “Then you don’t understand the language of flowers,” said La Mort, fumbling the bouquet over. ‘Well, it is a little strange that one of the emigrants should put thisin the tree, now isp’s it?’ “{t surely is, Don Manuel; but I shouldn't wonder if it was put there for Camilla by some sneakiag lover.” * Ah! see here!” exclaimed La Mort, remoy- ing the grass from about the stems, under which he found a neat, folded paper; ‘ this will pro- bably explain the whole mystery.” He unfolded the slip of white paper and saw it was written uponin a plain, bold hand, and read thus; “ My pzar Camriia:—After long, weary months of anxiety and suspense, I have again returned to the Raccoon with a colony which I was instrumental in gettingup. My sole object, as well as their interest, was your release from the power of La Mort. And, Tiold ‘ou last May, I believe I have found your ther—Major Thomas Bronson, who is with our arty. I will place this note in our old post-office— The Forked Cottonwood, and I hope you will find it to-morrow. If you do, dear Camilla, make haste to answer it. To-morrow night at twelve o'clock, Iwill be under the tree, and would like an interview with youthere, If you can meet me, come prepared to with me to our camp. Once there we can defy 6 minions of Don La Mort, for we are prepared for any emergency. Frank Heywarp.” An oath burst from the lips of La Mort, and he brought his clinched fist down upon the table with such force as shook the floor of the building. “ What now, impetuous Don Manuel La Mort?” exclaimed Rubal Ryan; ‘don’t I implore you, doviiomp ont of your boots, nor go off on a tangent, Take a whiff of ‘enthusiasm’ to set- Seager and then explain the cause of your ordship's wrath.” —_— “Read that, read that!” bissed La Mort, thrusting the paper under Captain Rubal’s nose. “ Stea y, La Mort, steady!” suid Ryan, placid- ly, and taking the paper, read it. **So, so!” exclaimed the outlaw when he had finished the letter. ‘‘Then my affianced Ca- milla has another lover. Frank Hey ward—who is Frank Heyward, my dear, tumultuous Don Manuel?’ “* You tell!” fumed the lord of the Lone Es- tate; ‘“‘one of the cursed emigrants of course. And he bas been in this neighborhood before— last May—and met Camilla and fell in love with her! Now he bas returned to release her from Sasynians of Don La Mort! By Heaven, that’s coo) Raubal Ryan burst into aroarof Jaughter, and thumbed bis nose in a significant manner. Knitting bis brows with rage and fury, La Mort continued: “Tt seems that the girl and her lover have mistrusted something of her earings Major Thomas Bronson! ell, well, we'll see about this matter. Frank Heyward shall be entrap- d to-morrow night at twelve o’clock, and his ife shall pay for his meddling. Here, Snake; take this bouquet and put it right where you got it. Vil watch Miss Camilla to-morrow; and to- morrow night—well, ’'ve said what I’ll do—en- ai Mr. Heyward, and Camilla, too.” e carefully rearranged the paper and blades of grass, and then Snake carried the purloined missive back and deposited it in the forks of the cottonwood where he had found it. Alas, poor Camilla! she little dreamt what a snare was being set for her young feet, and the lover for whom for long weary months she had been fretting her young life away. CHAPTER XL WORK BEGINS. Tue morning dawned clear and pleasant, and as the sun rose above the distant range of hills, it shone upon a scene of life and bustle in the camp of the emigrants. Refreshed by a peace- ful night’s rest and quiet slumber, all felt fresh and vigorous, and filled with a new spirit of joy. To his surprise, Major Tom found Frank Hey- ward in bis tent at daylight, and for a moment he felt like demanding an explanation of his ab- sence during the night. But he had had time to study over the letter found in the bottle, and so he concluded to keep the whole discovery a secret with Dora and dred, and maintain a watch upon Frank’s movements. If he really was guilty of being in league with the enemy, it would be the way to convince himself of the fact—by casciing. him in some act that would paint directly to his guilt. However, be hoped @ would make no such discovery, and tried hard to convince himself that Frank’s fidelity was above reproach. Mildred and Dora seemed more light-hearted and charming than ever, and during the morn- ing they strolled leisurely about the Peninsula in quest of pleasure and exercise, and to pour out. the exuberance of their young spirits in song and admiration of the beauties of nature around them,
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Keen-Knife, Prince of the Prairies, ; 19 Most of the wagons were now unloaded and their canvas tilts removed, so they could be used in drawing building logs from the timber. The two-wheeled vehicle, with its long, narrow box, remained as usual, and more than once Mildred fixed her eyes upon it with an inquiring Ae. 4 After their morning meal was over, several teams were harnessed, and with ax and rifle, the men repaired to the woods for logs, crossing the creek some distance above the camp, Guards were deployed in all directions to pro- tect the choppers, and soon the ring of the white man’s ax was heard in the virgin forest. Anxiously was the return of Keen-Knife looked for. Surrounded by the dangers of hos- tile Indians, the colonists felt greatly the need of one of his experience as a scout to watch the movements of the cunning foe. As the day wore on it found Dora and Mildred seated on the river-bank, at the lower side of the Peninsula, in conversation. ““Who do you think, Dora, Major Bronson suspected of sending that dispatch afloat on the river last night?” *T have not the least idea, Mildred. None but Frank Hey ward could be in league with the Indians and outlaws, for none but he and father have ever been in the country before they came in with the colony.” “Then Frank has been here?” “Yes, Just last spring he and a number of oung men came West on a hunting excursion. ut Frank soon returned, and at once proposed to father to form a colony and go West. From that I always thought he had more than a com- mon interest in this country, so you see he is the only one upon whom father could possibly place ong of being in league with the Indians or outlaws. But, Mildred”—and there was an earnest light in Dora’s sparkling eyes—‘I would as soon believe you guilty of the crime, as Frank Heyward.” clear, metallic laugh rung from Mildred’s am little chit,” she said to Dora; “I see you love Frank Heyward.” Dora colored and tingly replied: “No, I do not, Mildred; but he is worthy of any woman’s love, and— But look yonder! Isn’t that Keen-Knife, now? It surely is!” Mildred looked in the direction indicated and saw a plumed head, with a bromary § red cap upon it, appear above a little clump of bushes on the Oppos te side of the river. Yes, it is Keen-Knife,” said Mildred, and bs ye grew white, as if with affright at sight of him. “Tt is,” replied Dora, ‘‘T recognize his red cap and white feathers, though I was sure I saw another dark face peering ‘ough the bushes to the right of him. “Tut! tut, Dora! it is only imagination. Surely Keen-Knife would not be that close to a hostile Indian end not know it. See, he is mo- tioning for one of us to bring the canoe over after him,” “The men are all in the woods and I'll go and bring him over to camp,” said Dora, and risin to her feet, she tripped lightly along the bank _to where the little canoe lay moored, CHAPTER XII. HIDING A TRAIL, On sped the fugitives, Keen-Knife and Bold- Heart, with the hounds of Death-Trail bellowing close bebind. “The lop-eared brutes will git us yit, Prince,” said Rob Radcliff, glancing Sock at the forms gliding on with nose close upon the ground, “Tf Keen-Knife and Bold-Heart had each a tomahawk, then they could defend themselves ¢ ainst the fangs of the brutes,” replied the In- an. “Yes, yes; here I am without a weapon of any kind, and you’ve nothin’ but your rifle and knife.” “Take the rifle, Bold-Heart, and I will and stop the hounds for a moment, at least.” Bold Heart took the Indian’s rifle; then the Friendly removed his crimson head-gear and threw it upon the ground as he ran on, ’ The act served his purpose, for the bounds stopped by the fillet and sniffed around it with a loud hte that told they had been thrown from the trail. But the sagacious old beagle soon struck the track again, and giving tongue, was off like a dart. Keen Knife now removed his mantle and drop- ed it, and again the hounds were detained, but twas only for a moment. He now took his rifle from Bold-Heart and changing bis course 80 as bring the hounds in fair view, he stopped short, and, turning, brought bis rifle quickly to his face. It cracked, and the beagle—the fore- most hound—fell dead. This stopped the other hounds entirely, and not until Death-Trail came up and called them from the body of their leader, did they take the track again. But. the fugitives had now gained much ad- vantage, and turning to the left, they entered a stony defile, which, as they continued to follow it, grew narrower at each step. And at last the hig walls came so close that the fugitives were compelled to press their forms through sideways for several feet, when they found themselves in a little open valley, or plateau. “Stop here,” said Keen-Knife. “What for, Prince? The hounds are close upon us,” “Let us slay them here, They can come through the defile only one behind the other, and we can kill them as fast as they come,” “True, trae, Prince. An Indian for wit, every time. It will be a good riddance to slay them hounds, for—” The rest of the sentence was drowned in the crack of the Friendly’s rifle, and a howl of pain that told another of the bounds had been slain, Laying aside bis weapon, the Indian grasped a bowlder in his right hand and awattedt tire apy proach of the dogs, which had already entered the defile, Bold-Heart followed his friend’s example and grasped a rock from the ground at his feet. In two minutes more the last of Death-Trail’s bloodhounds lay crushed and mangled in the de- e, Then with his deflant war-ery the fearless Picea iat ots Tape’ chides un @ woods beyond, c ‘ollow- a by Bold-Heart, r sf ee b
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A savage yell, mingled with oaths and curses, told the fugitives when the pursuers had reach- ed the spot where the defile was blocked by the bodies of the dead hounds. A grim smile of triumph swept over the face OS a a and in a low guttural tone he said: ‘“‘Noneed run now. The savages will have to follow us 4 sight of our trail, and not by the sound of the hounds’ yoice. We can make tracks faster than they can count them.” one you think they will follow us, do you “Yes. They will never leave our trail until they know we are safe beyond their reach. But we can throw them off the scent, Bold- Heart. Come.” Not far away a little creek went purling southward through the forest, and toward it Keen-Knife led the way. When he reached the bank, he turned and moved down its course, keeping to the water’s edge, and bidding Bold- Heart to follow behind, but not to step in his tracks. Consequently both left a plain trail behind them in the sand. They had continued thus over two hundred yards when they sheered gradually to the left until they found themselves wading in the cen- ter of the creek. They now paused, and at a signal from the Indian both began walking backward from the water and along the shore, taking great care to plant their feet in the same tracks they had made in.going down. When they had thus re- about a hundred yards, they stepped aside into the water again, without leaving the least sign, whatever, of their having done 80. They now waded across the stream and con- cealed themselves under some dense foliage that hung to the water’s brink. 7 Scarcely ten minutes elapsed before a number of Indians came gliding from the woods upon their trail, and not a little surprised were our friends when they saw that one of them wore to laa head-dress and mantle of Keen- nife. A low cry of triumph escaped their savage lips when they discovered the track of the fugi- tives in the yielding sand, and with the switt- ness of hounds they glided away upon it. They soon came, bowever, to where the trail entered the water. and here they seemed to hesitate, Keen-Knife was afraid they might possibly detect his ruse. For several moments they ex- amined the spot carefully, but despite their keenness of instinct and perception, they did not discover the cunning retrograde of the fugitives; but, supposing they had taken to the water and i on down the creek, they pressed on in swift pursuit. low, silent laugh escaped Keen-Knife’s lips, while Bold-Heart expressed his admiration of the Friendly’s cunning in eluding the crafty f Midd Heinatnea in their covert over an hour, and as the qnemay did not return, they felt as- sured they h goue on, and were about to issue from their place of concealment, when the mre cautious Keen-Knife laid his hand quickly oo Bold-Heart’s arm and drew him back into Keen-Knife, Prince of the Prairies. the shadows, at the same time pointing through a little opening at a form that emerged from the woods on the oopeae side of the creek. It was the form of Death-Trail, and bis rough, brutal face wore an expression of rage and fury. In one hand he carried a rifle, in the other a tomahawk, The latter Keen-Knife quickly recognized as hisown—the one with which he had brained Tim Bodsford. The rifle was Bold- Heart’s. Stopping within earshot of our friends, the outlaw burst out in a tempest of rage. “Every hound dead!” he exclaimed, aloud. “Curse them boy imps! This tomahawk”— and be raised the weapon as if to strike an im- aginary foe— shall be buried/in the brain of that Indian, as he buried it in Tim Bodsford’s— not that I care so much for Tim, but them hounds, And this rifle, I hope, will send a bul- let through its owner’s heart, for if it hadn’t been for him, my hounds wouldn’t have been smashed into a jelly this minit. There was old Sult, the leader, and a better hound never sunk tooth in the flesh o’a captive. And Sult’s dead, poor dog—yes, every devil o’ ’em’s dead! Cuss them boy imps!” At this juncture Bold-Heart saw his compan- ion stoop and pick up a small stone; then step- ping quickly from bis covert, hurled it with all is power at the outlaw, The villain caught sight of the youth just as he drew back to throw, and in order to avert the blow, he stooped slightly forward. Keen- Knife, however, had anticipated this very movement on the’ part of the foe, and aimed at the breast. The missile struck the out- law square on the top of the bead, crashing in the skull, and felling him dead without a moan, “ By blazes, Prince! you throw as you shoot— dead to the center!” said Bold-Heart, ‘Ugh! was the response of the Friendly, as they crept from their covert, and advanced to the fallen outlaw. ‘Stone is good as bullet if you know how to use ’em,” The outlaw was indeed stone dead, and Bold- Heart lost no time in possessing himself of his rifle and accouterments, and Keen-Knife secured his tomahawk. Nor did rhe victory of the In- dian end here; before Bold-Heart could stay him from the bloody act, the scalp of the white ruffian hung at bis girdle, The next moment they were moving away through the woods. They traveled on in silence for hours, seldom speaking, and. keeping a wary watch around them. Their footsteps weré echoless, and they seemed like phantoms gliding amid the shadows of the wood, Keen-Knife was in advance, and Bold-Heart, younger and less experienced in woodcraft, had only to imitate, as near.as possible, his move- ments in order to proceed with equal silence. Suddenly the young Prince stopped, and with a low, guttural “ugh,” threw himself down flat upon the earth, as if he had been shot. Bold-Heart followed his example, and it was then that be heard a low sob, followed by the crashing of some heavy bodies through the un- dergrowth hot far away. :
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Keen-Knife, Prince of the Prairies. CHAPTER XIII. DORA IN TROUBLE. Ir required but a few minutes for Dora to reach the canoe and enter it, Then she plied the oars vigorously, and the next moment was dropping down toward the opposite shore. Mi dred watched ber with an expression de- noting uneasiness and uncertainty. The Indian still maintained his position bebind the clump of bushes. Only his head aud shoulders were visible to Dora, while he was screened entirely from those at camp by an in- termediate knot of bushes, ‘*Oh, Keen-Knife!” exclaimed Dora, when the prow of her craft had touched upon the beach, ‘how anxiously have we waited your ro- turn!” The Indian made no reply, but advanced quickly toward her, and it was then that Dora saw it was not Keen-Knife, but a Sioux warrior wearing the Friendly’s red héad-dress and blue mautie, With great presence of mind Dora essayed to push the craft back into the river, but’ the savage saw her intention, and quick as the movement of a panther, be sprung forward and seized the boat by the prow, and drew it half- up on the beach. Thex another dusky form ided from the shrubbery, and ae a lanket over her head and shoulders, lifted her lightly in his arms and bore her rapidly back into the woods. For fully three minutes Mildred sat like ‘one in a trance, then springing to her feet as if from a fearful dream, she ran back to camp with the startling news of Dora Barnwell’s fate. The information almost produced a panic among the women and children, but one woman ‘retained her composure sufficiently to seize a dinner-born and blow a few sharp blasts upon it. This was the signal—agreed upon—to the men in the woods, that danger menaced the camp and that their presence was needed. Dora Barnwell struggled desperately for free- * dom and tried to ery out, but the thick folds of the blanket meet wert stifled her voice, She was conscious of being borne swiftly away—of hearing the patter of feet, then all became blank to her. There were four of her captors, a part of the band we left on the supposed trail of Keen-Knife and Bold-Heart, and one of whom, it will be re- membered, had donned the Friendly’s discarded head-dress and mantle, by which the capture of the maiden had been cunningly achieved. The subtle foe knew that only great haste would enable a me served oes captive against pursuers, and changing the inanimate firm from one to the other, they were enabled to move with great ny me Not until they were far away did they attempt to hide their trail. Coming to a point where a small creek debouched from a dark valley they stopped. One of bench pone pointed out what seemed to be the dry of a stream, | ing par- allel with, and not a great way from the living stream. Close examination showed the wily red-men that the little stream had been turned from its original course for some purpose or other; how- .| brave, too; but I fear they have had troub 21 ever, it was just what suited their pr they proceeded at once to avail t! its proffered advantage. wo of the savages took the a and step- e, and mselves of ing into the dry bed proceeded down its course or some distance. Then they turned aside and moved away into the forest, while the other two Indians proceeded to turn the stream into the dry bed, thereby obliterating the trail of their comrades. This done, they turned and moved away in a direction altogether different from that taken by the two with the captive, leaving a broad trail behind them to mislead any one dis to follow them into the belief that they the captive, Believing they had effectually concealed their trail, the two captors moved on more leisurely, for the unconscious form of the maiden was no light burden. Only their dogged.patience and savage triumph kept them from braining and scalping their helpless captive. They moved on, and soon entered a dense thicket — which they pressed with great difficulty, and emerged into a densely-wooded spot clear of undergrowth. Just then two dark forms arose before them from the ground—there was a vivid flash—the sharp report of a rifle—a death-wail, and one of the savages fell dead—shot through the brain. The other dropped the inanimate form of Dora and fled, but the sound of pursuing footsteps rung upon his ear. hen Dora awoke to consciousness, the mur- mur of rippling water was the first sound that broke upon her ears, Then, through the tree- tops overhead she saw the light of day, and a shadowy form hovering over ber. She felt the gentle touch of a bard, cool hand, that thyilled her with a new life and strength. And then she soon became conscious of a fair, boyish face, beaming with anxiety and admiration, bending over her. Who was it? She tried to recall her situation and a remembrance of the face hover- ing over her so tenderly, but without avail. ‘then a footstep sounded near, The boyish face turned aside and a voice asked softly: “Did ye git the lopin’ varlet, Prince? Ah, yes! I see you did. Throw the bloody thing away—sbe’s returnin’ to life, and ’ll sicken at sight of it. But, I tell ye, Prince, she’s an angel!” ; Keen-Knife removed the scalp from his girdle = tossed it aside, then advancing nearer, said: * “Yes, she is very beautiful, ad je al the camp.” At sound of his low, musical voice, Dora’s bewildered senses came back, and soon she was enabled to sit = Then she recalled the past, and acquainted her rescuers with the manner of ber capture, Keen-Knife angrily shook the folds of bis re- covered mantle, as if to expel an evil spirit from it. “Tet us hurry to the camp. We may be needed there,” be said. “Yes; the woods may be full of the skulkin’ knaves,” added Bold-Heart. “Can you walk, fair girl’ questioned the young Prince, 4
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22 Keen-Knife, Prince of the Prairies. “head I feel strong as ever now,” she re- F Then she arose to her feet, and supported by the arm of Bold-Heart, they set off on their re- turn to the camp, Keen-Knife leading the way. CHAPTER XIV, BOLD-HEART AND THE MAJOR IN CONSULTATION. Wuen the young hunters, Keen-Knife and Bold-Heart reached the Peninsula with Dora, they found the emigrants in a state of great ex- citement. A party had been formed and was just on the eve of starting in pursuit of Dora’s captors, when they arrived. he young men were received with great re- joicing, and words of kindness and heartfelt thanks were, poured upon their heads by Major ‘Tom for the restoration of his little ward. And none seemed more 5, over her rescue than did Mildred Cleveland. The major now took Bold-Heart into bis tent, and proceeded to question him in regard to the maiden at the Lone Estate. “No longer than yesterday I met the gal at the Lone state,” said the youth, in reply to a question of the major’s. ** Did she tell you her name?” She said it war Camilla La Mort.” “Do you think that she resembles La Mort— that she is his own daughter?” “She don’t resemble him, major, mors than one of your niggers resembles the moon. And I’m satisfied that she’s not his child, though she called him father. Thar’s other white women "bout that ranch, but I never see’d one of ’em 7 be in the face. La Mort and me had a little difficulty yesterday "bout the gal. I met her ridin’ out and had a little talk with her. She her father was a villain, and promised, if I'd never tell whar I got the news, and would carry a message to some one far away—a lover, I suppose—she’d tell me all about the old man’s bisness. I promised I’d do as she re- quested, and so she war about to tell me, when who shou!d step out of the thicket nearby but Don La Mort! He had heard all we said, and undertook to tan my jacket, but I grabbed his whip and gave him the blind staggers quick as a wink, know he’s a villain, major, and in ‘league with the Indians and Rubal Ryan’s prairie-pirates. I’ve been a-threatening to re- port him to the authorities, but I hate to on account of that innocent little gal, Camilla. But, major, La Mors has crossed my path, and boy though I be, he’ll have to pollygise, or leave the country, and that soon.” “Do not be in a hurry, Bold-Heart,” said Ma- jor Tom, ‘for I have every reason to believe Camilla La Mort is my daughter.” “ Your darter? The dickens! how’s that, ma- jor?” asked Rob, in his free, familiar manner. “Years ago,” said the major, with a sigh, ‘T had a child stolen, and years of search proved fruitless. About the time she was missed, a vil- Jainous Spaniard—and a bitter enemy of mine —left the neighborhood and was never beard of more. And now, although it is not the name, I have been led to think La Mort is Gaspard La Muerte, himself; and she who gives her name as Camilla, my child,” “Tt may allbe, major,” returned Bold-Hea' “for I know an angel can’t be the offspring o! a demon, and Camilla is the one and La Mort the other.” “Does Camilla resemble that, Bold-Heart?” asked Bronson, taking from his breast-pocket a likeness of a child some six or seven years old and handing it to the youth. “By the blue blazes, major!” he exclaimed, the instant his eyes fell upon the fair young face, ‘that’s Camilla’s eyes and features toa es heel, though she’s got long hair now, and ‘cooks older and more womanly than the picter.” “That is very probable, Bold-Heart, for it has been ten years since this picture was taken.” “Tt may be your gal then, major.” “Tt must be!” repeated the old man, as though loth to believe otherwise; ‘‘ but, Bold- Heart, how long can you remain with us?” “Jf thar’s need for me, I can stay as long as wanted.” “Tdo want you, Bold-Heart, at least until I bave seen and talked with Camilla La Mort. I will doubly satisfy you for your loss in being absent from your traps and hunting.” ‘Never mind the pay, major,” replied_the youth, as his mind reverted to pretty Dora Barnwell; ‘‘I shall be glad to serve you for the sake of—of bein’ in your camp.” “Then I have one request to make to you.” “Name it.” “That you keep a close watch upon the move- ments of every person in this camp. Keen- Knife told me last night, there was a traitor in camp, and confirmed the fact by producing an intercepted dispatch that was being sent in an air-tight bottle on the river to some one out- side of camp. He did not say who the traitor was—it may be he did not know. But I want you to try and find out. Say nothing of your intentions to any one—not even Keen-Knife.” “Your request shall be granted, major,” said Bold-Heart. “Then I shall resign to you the defense of our camp, for our experience in Indian cunning is limited, and we have felt greatly the need of an efficient scout and guide.” Bold-Heart felt greatly elated by the confi- dence bestowed upon his experience, and the responsibility imposed on his young shoulders; nevertheless, he accepted them with thanks and manifest pleasure, and at once repaired to i duty. He wandered about camp, carefully noting the advantages and disadvantages of its loca- tion, the horses, cattle and wagons with an eye of critical admiration. But when he came to the two-wheeled vehicle with its broad tires and long, narrow box tightly closed, he found some- thing that puzzled him. Hecould not, for the life of him, make out what it contained, and why it was kept guarded so closely; and Jike Mildred, he did not like to inquire into its con- tents for fear of being considered inquisitive. While Bold-Heart was thus occupied, Keen- Knife and Frank Heyward were ensconced in the latter's tent, deeply engaged in conversa- tion. ‘« Keen-Knife, I want your service to-night in a little matter which I want to keep secret from
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Keen-KEnife, Prince of the Prairies. £3 a the rest of the emigrants until it is over with,” said Frank. “What is it?’ asked the Prince, as his mind reverted to the person he bad seen abroad the night before in the vicinity of the Lone Estate. “There is a maiden,” Frank replied, “ at the Lone Estate whom 1 am going there to meet, Last night I was near the place and left a letter for her inatree, If she gets it, she will either leave an answer or be there herself, If she is there, she will come with me to camp, for she wishes to escape from La Mort.” Tbis explanation removed all suspicion from the Indian’s mind of what be had seen the night before, and he at once replied: “Then you know the maiden of the dark- browed man?” “Yes, Prince; six. months agoI met ber in the woods near the Lone Estate. I was in the country then with three others on a hunting ex- cursion; and I would have gone to the maiden’s home, but she begged me not to on account of her father, who was a bad man. I met her sev- eral times after that, and then when she was for- bidden to take her daily ride through the forest, we carried on a correspondence by letter, using a forked tree near the place as a post-office, By this means I learned that she was unbappy, and in doubt as to whether Don La Mort was her father. From some facts that I gleaned, and others which I already possessed, I had some reason to believe she was the daughter of Major Tom Bronson, an old friend of mine. He bada child stolen years ago, and from thedercription I gave him of her, he believes Camilla is his daughter. But, now that he is so near her, he is in painful doubt as to whether he would rec- ognize her, She was but a little child when sto- len. So I wish to go to the Lone Estate to-night, unkvown to any one but you and [, and if possi- ble, bring Camilla to our camp, and present her to the major|without telling him who she is, and see if he will recognize her as his lost daughter, after so many long years of cruel separation,” “The heart of the os man beats with kind- ness,” said Keen-Knife, “and I will assist him todo the good work he proposes.” ani Then, an hour before midnight call at my nt. ‘“‘ Let my white friend be ready. Keen-Knife will be there.” . CHAPTER XV. AT THE HOUR OF MIDNIGHT. ALTHOUGH Camilla La Mort had been abso- lutely refused the privilege of leaving ber room, unless accompanied by the mistress of Don La Mort, a dark-eyed woman of fiery yon) are ees and passionate nature, she was not a little and happily surprised,when her father rescinded that order of limitation on the morning following the arrival of Captain Rubal and his men at the Lone Estate. He ue her permission to take her accustomed walk in quest of such pleasure as her nature longed for, but under no circum- stances was she to go beyond the limits of the estate. Camilla thought strange of her father thus re- voking his previous order, and wondered to what influence was owing the change of heart. She little dreamed, poor girl, the meaning that lay hidden like an adder behind the act of ap- parent kindness, Anxious to get beyond the dark, prison-like walls of her room, Camilla donned a light shawl and wandered forth at an early hour to enjoy the cool morning air within the shadow of the little wood that skirted the river, She seemed grave and thougbtful, yet from the fixed ex- pression of the eye, it was plainly evident that ber thoughts were not upon any thing around her, but something far away that gave her both py and pain, as an occasional smile or sigh re evidence, But she lite dreamed that every movement she made—every expression of the face and glance of the eye, were being closely watched and noted by ber father’s half-breed scout. As she had been accustomed to do for the past two months, Camilla made the Forked Cottonwood a resting point in her morning walks, She did this more through a longing desire to find there a communication from the lover to whom sbe had betrothed herself months before, and who was entirely unknown to La Mort. The lover had promised to return and carry her away from her prison home, and he bad requested ber to watch their secret post- office closely, for be did not know how soon he might return with a force of sufficient strength t release her, in spite of the minions of Don La ort, So, upon the morning in question, when she went to the old trysting-place and there found a delicate little bouquet of flowers, her heart fluttered wildly and tears of silent joy filled her eyes. She kissed the flowers and pressed them to her heart. There was no mistaking who they were from. Intuition told ber this, Frank had come back, and now her life of misery would be over, and her marriage with the outlaw, Ru- ml Ryan, averted. This was a joyous realiza- on, She knew where to look for the letter, and when she had secured it, and read it, she knew not whether to cry or laugb, her emotions of joy and happiness were so great. She read and reread the delicate missive until committed to memory, then for fear it might fall into the wrong hands, she tore it into pieces and threw them into the river. The Snake saw all these movements and emo- tions of joy, and when she went back to her room, he went directly to Don La Mort with the news of his observation. La Mort and Ryan chuckled together over their devilish cunning. And during the they remained in close consultation, plotting, not only for the capture of Camilla’s lovery but the destruction of the emigrant camp for the sake of the Pipadsr, and gold, which their spy had informed them, was no little sum, The Snake was still set to watch Camilla, up- on whose freedom, and access to and from rg room there was not the least restric- tion. The day wore away and at dark Snake report- ed that Camilla had put no letter in the tree, From this La Mort knew she intended to r ig her lover in person, and no doubt flee witi m,
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Keen-Knife, Prince of the Prairies. In fact, this was just what Camilla had de- cided upon doing, and to allay all, or the least suspicion, she retired as usual, to ber bed- chamber shortly after dark. But she did not go for sleep and rest, as usual. There was no light in her room, nor was there one to be seen in all the house, As hour after hour wore on and the time for her meeting with her lover drew near, Camilla grew restless, and a. feverish impatience, min- gled with fear and hope took possession of her, All was still in the house. The repulsive voice and ribald laugh of Rubal Ryan and his men could not be heard, as on the previous night, in drunken revel with the master of the place, Don ort, Camilla knew by the stars which she had studied in her lonely. bours, that it was near midnight, and having first implored the Divine protection and guidance of the steps she was about taking for better or worse, she arose from her humble position and threw a dark cloak hood-like over ber head and shoulders. Softly she a the door and passed on tip- toe out into the narrow hall, along which she stole to the rear entrance. Here she paused and listened. All was still. She opened the door and passed out into the gar- den, then by a circuitous route reached the Forked Cottonwood. She could scarcely restrain a cry of disap- pointment when she found her lover was not there. Still she thought it might not be mid- sr and so quieted her emotions with the be- lief that he would yet come. She seated herself and listened—listened so in- tently that her own heart seemed to create a tumulé in its a Once she was#sure she heard the rustle of a leaf—then the low, sup- pressed breathing of powerful lungs; but all this she accorded to the feverish excitement of her mind, as fancy. Suddenly alight footstep fell upon her ear, then she saw the figure of a man approaching her through the gloom. Love’s memory instantly recalled the famili- arity of that footstep and that manly form, and with beart oe joyously, wildly, she arose to her feet and advanced to meet her lover. *€ Camilla!” “Frank!” CHAPTER XVI. CLOSETED WITH THE DEAD. In due time Keen-Knife called at Frank Heyward’s tent. He found Frank armed and cloaked for his midnight journey to the Lone Estate; and without delay, they took their departure from the camp, carefully eluding the g and Bold-Heart, whom Keen-Knife knew was scouting about the Peninsula. The Friendly led the way through the dark forest, and at such a rapid speed that Frank could hardly keep oe with him. However, it was not long until they found themselves in the immediate vicinity of La Mort’s cabin. Frank’s emotions now became aroused. Anxiety, hope and love were crossed with fear and uncer- tainty. When they had gained a point not far from the cabin of La Mort, he and his red companion came to a halt in order to interrogate the surroundings. All was quiet about the place—not a sign of life could be seen nor heard, not even the fiash of fire-fly, nor the chirp of a cricket. All and every thing about the premises seemed wrepved in profound slumber. “If you will remain here, Prince,” Frank finally said, “I will move on to the Forked Cottonwood and see if Camilla has left a note, or is there in persona. In either case I will rejoin pa in a few minutes, un- less I should get into trouble, then a sharp whistle will be my call.” “ Keen-Knife will remain here,” said the Prince, seating himself upon a huge log, ‘‘ and will come to your assistance if needed. Go bring the fair maiden that the heart of my friend loves so well.” Frank turned and moved away toward the cotton- wood, which was about two hundred yards distant. Keen-Knife now relapsed into silence, ie every faculty on the alert. Accustomed as he h been from infancy to the signs of the wilderness after nightfall, there was no deceiving his sense of hearing. If there were nothing at all to be heard of animate nature, it was a certain, infallible sigu that danger was abroad in some form or other; and this he believed to be the case at the present mo- ment, He was concealed in anarrow strip of woods skirt- ing the river, and with the true Indian precaution and sagacity, he made as careful a survey of his situation as the darkness would permit. The log upon which he had seated himself was a linden of immense size, The white ends showed that it had been quite recently chopped down, It had, also, been cut in two, the portion upon which Keen-Knife sat being about Cag 4 feet long, and entirely free of limbs or knots, e Friendly sup- posed it had been cut—by La Mort’s negroes no doubt—for the purpose of making a canoe, by the natives called a dugout. But in further qratiby ing his Indian curiosity, he discovered that the log was hollow at one end—in fact, was a mere shell. It be- ing thus rendered unfit for a dugout, he could form no idea for what it was intended. He, also, noticed that from the log the bank sloped gradually down to the river's brink, and he was careful about it when he realized what alittle power it would take to send the prostrate monarch rolling down the slope into the river, Something like ten minutes had_ passed after Frank had left bim, when Keen-Knife suddenly caught the light tread of feet mingled with the sound of many voices. He became alarmed, not for his own safety but that of his friend. He knew by the sound it was not Frank returning with the maiden, He—Frank —would not have been so thoughtless of the sur- rounding dangers, as to have been so pape Se Spee and careless in movements, No, the was heavy, like that of booted feet moving under a weight, and the voices were coarse and husky, The Indian quickly threw himself upon the ground to make a more careful examination of his situa- tion. He now saw fully a half-dozen forms coming directly toward him from the direction of La Mort's ranch. From their movements and talk he knew Gey. were white men—a party of outlaws without a oubt. To elude discovery, Keen-Knife slipped himself uickly backward into the hollow log some ten feet rom the opening. Here he lay in breathless silence and listened to the approaching hear ge The party came on and he was not a little sur- Sg when he found they had stopped_near the og. Hers they engaged ina brief consultation in- audible to the Prince, but which was followed by a slight commotion; then the Friendly saw the mouth of the log closed up, and at the same time he be- came painfully conscious of the fact that something or some one was either crawling into the hollow, or was being forced into it. The log was over three feet in diameter, and there was ample room within it for the Indian to sit erect; and no sooner did he hear and feel the movements of the creature—whatever it was—entering his re
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Keen-Knife, Prince of the Prairies. ee treat, than he raised himself to a sitting posture and drew his knife for defense. But, to his peace of mind, the sound soon ceased, and then he saw a faint glimmer of light again at the entrance. ‘He listened, and heard a strange voice say: “That'll do, boys. I presume no one will ever find it in there.” “Who cares if any one does, captain?’ asked a second voice. “Not me for one. Now block the entrance, boys, and let’s heave her in,”’ said the first speaker, Keen-Knife s' . He knew the persons were villains—no doubt La Mort and his accomplices. But what had they deposited in the log? He bent low and tried to ascertain, but the darkness was too intense. And what did they mean by blocking the entrance and heaving her in? The one he felt almost certain meant the closing of the log, and he experienced no little uneasiness when he suspected what the other might possibly mean. In the first he soon found he was correct. He saw the entrance of the log suddenly closed up with a block of wood, making all blinding’ darkness within the place. is was followed by a heavy poundiag at the entrance, and it was then that the ce ized more fully that he had been entrap- and that the block was being wedged fast in the end of the log. However, he did not permit his fears to betray his presence. Such an act would have been a mark of cowardice to him, and he would rather have perished in the log than to ask mercy at the hand of the outlaws, But he had little fear of perishing in the log, for with his knife he could soon chip his way out. As soon as the pounding ceased, all became quiet, and the entrapped Prince heard the sound of re- treating footsteps. But a moment later he heard them sepeveaiang. again, and felt a vibratory shock upon the log, and heard a stentorian voice cry out: “Now! all together! yea-he-o!”’ Keen-Knife felt the log move, and the next instant he was barely conscious of whirling in rapid evolu- tions within the log. Losing all control of himself, he was dashed with almost stunning violence against the sides of his narrow prison. But this did not last long. The log soon ceased its rapid motion by roll- ing, with a thunderous splash, into the river, and for a moment was buried beneath the waves. It was several moments before the Prince could pet himself aright and collect his thoughts sufficient- ly to realize the magnitude of his danger. His first fears were of the log filling with water, for already he could hear it crsephig in through the crevic. 8 at the entrance. He could scarcely, how- ever, | 6 »p his nee sufficiently to make any ef- forts ct escape, for the log kept such a continuous rolling and dipping in the water as kept him pros- trate. But at length it became quiet, and then our red friend was enabled to regain a sitting posture and define more fully the perils of his situation—o being afloat on the river in a hollow log from which there was little hope of pena: i He soon found, however, there was one thing in his favor that be had not calculated upon. One end of the log was perfectly sound, and this inequality of weight, tending toward an equilibrium, threw the hollow end of the log above the surface of the wa- ter. This he discovered from not only the inclined positin of the log, but the more sable fact that no water entered the log after it had become settled, He could feel that he was floating at the will of the current, and b inca 5 perfectly quiet the log would neither bone! roll in the water. But to remain quiet altogether was to remain inactive, and this the Prince could not do when he thought of his young friend suena and the dangers to which he would be exposed, He felt confident the outlaws knew nothing of bie ce in the log, but what had they put with- ti - , He had scarcely asked himself the question whe~ ‘25 his ears were greeted by a low gasp, that was followed by a slight movement at the end of the log. He was startled by the sounds, and for a repetition of them, but all was silent as the tomb, save the light swash of the waters over the outside. _The Prince, however, was not satisfied with this silence, and resolved to make some investigation in his prison-barge. He turned and slowly put his hand out before him . | toward the mouth of the log, and he started with a low cry when it came in contact with something which, upon closer examination, he found to be a! human body! 5 This was what the outlaws had put into the log, which they had rolled into the river to conceal the evidence of their crime. A shudder of horror thrilled the form of the In- dian when he realized that he was fastened up in the tomb, as it were, along with its silent, ghastly occupant! CHAPTER XVII. BOLD-HEART ON THE ALERT, Bo.p-Hxart, true to his promise made to Major Tom, kept a close watch over the camp during the night; but eg his vigilance, Keen-Knife and Frank Heyward had made their way out of camp unobserved, However, they had been gone but a short time when he discovered their al nee, and was on his way to by ee the fact to the major when he saw a cloaked figure, with muffled head, s out from the group of tents in a crouching attitude. He tried to identify the form, but failed. et from the stealth of its movements, he knew it was being actuated by some forbidden motive, whoever it was; and 63 he followed it up, determined to see where it went to, It‘crept to the two-wheeled vehicle and examined it closely over and over hen moved on, On banks of the river it stopped, and crouching down turned its head up and down the stream as if looking for something or some one. In this atti- tude it remained for several minutes, then it started up and began moving down the river, Bold-Heart glanced after the figure and saw some distance beyond it the quick flash of a blue. light, which he believed was a preconcerted signa] under- stood by the skulking form who was moving toward it. By acireuitous route the Boy Hunter got in a- head of the figure in hopes of finding out who it was, He threw himself in the tall prairie-grass under which he cunningly concealed his form from the most etrating ve. To his surprise the figure came on and stop) within arm’s length of him. Here it was gre by asecond person who stood dimly outline the starry sky and who he saw was an Indian, The poe hunter listened intently to catch the words that passed between them, ey spoke Ina low, hurried tone, glancing warily around them in the mean time. “What news?” asked the Indian of the cloaked figure, in atone just loud enough to reach Rob’s ear. “Their suspicion is aroused,” replied the figure; ‘you'll have to be quick. The money, I'm in'a large, rude box on a two-wheeled vehicle, pro- bably in an iron safe. The tent of the two girls, Dora Barnwell and Mildred Cleveland, is near the center of the camp. Keen-Knife and the Boy Hunter both are about. What news from the ranch?” “A letter was found in the Forked Cottonwood last night written_to Camilla_by a lover that signed his name Frank Heyward. But the letter was put back and Camilla permitted to receive it. They’re goin’ to run off to-night—that is they intended pe the Don and Ru Ryan are goin’ to kapter’ him.” The cloaked re started, and, in a tone that de- ~cted excitement, said: )
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— 26 Keen-Knife, Prince of the Prairies, ** What did they intend to do with him?” “Don't know, Spy,” returned the Indian. “Tell Don Manuel, for the sake of her who loves Frank Heyward, to spare his life, for the dagger that takes his life will reach the heart of Faye La ort! “Tl tell him, Spy,” replied the Indian, ‘ but to- morrow Inkpaducah and a hundred warriors will be in the vicinity, and to-morrow night the attack is to be made on the encampment, at the hour when the emigrants are all pare yped in slumber.” “But how will you know when that hour comes?” ** You are to give the signal. Here is a bottle filled with phosphorus, and at any moment q/ter mid- night, when you stand on the ‘bank of the river and toss itinto the air, it will be seen and the attack commence. But you'll have to be careful, Spy, if eu sr the cunning foxes, Keen-Knife and jold- eart. “From what direction is the attack to be made?” “Before midnight the Indians will descend the river in canoes to within a short distance of the camp. Then they'll take their canoes from the wa- leer 3 ‘em around through the woods and ap- proach the opposite bank, e instant the signal ven, the ay y will rush from their ambushment— unch their canoes—cross the river and attack the place before the men can seize their arms. Now re- member.” So saying the Indian scout turned and glided away, while the cloaked figure glided back to camp 80 ra- pidly that our friend was unable to follow him to see which tent he entered. The youth admitted himself somewhat outwitted. He was fully satisfied that there was a traitor in camp, and had he been better soqaainted with all its ane, he probably would have identified the voice. However, he went forthwith to the major’s tent and arousing him, made known all that had nspired under his observation during the night. e@ major was greatly surprised and somewhat excited by the youth’s story: but he felt thankful that Frank Heyward had been cleared of all sus- picion of being a traitor. But who was the traitor? “Rob described the figure as being tall, and covered from head to foot with a long blanket or cloak. @ voice was neither hoarse nor soft, but rising and falling in a quick, excited tone. “Great God! exclaimed the major in great agony of spirits, “* who can that traitor se? Which of the friends that I have always considered _a firm, tried friend is betraying our camp into the Indians power? The money they can have, if they will only oy the lives of my ens and my two darlings, ora and Mildred. No, no, Bold-Heart, they must not have my girls! I will die in their defense! But go, young man, and keep aclose watch over our camp, and your reward shall be whatever you name. To-morrow night we will be prepared for Inkpadu- cah and his minions. And then we must slay the traitor that’s bartering our lives away. Oh, it is : to talk of taking the life of a friend! Surely it cannot be Ethan White, for he has a family that would be in danger. No, no, it cannot be any of the Whites: It must be one of the blacks—probably ‘asco—Frank Heyward’s servant, a tall, powerful man, who has seen much of life as a Mississippi boatman and has made several overland trips from St. Louis to Santa Fe. Yes, it must be Vasco, al- though he has always seemed kind-hearted, honest and faithful. Go, Bold-Heart, and let your vigils be unceasing over our camp. Remember, over fifty lives are intrusted to your care.” Bold-Heart turned and left the tent, while Major Tom popined 10 pis ant fp brood over the in- creasing dangers, but not to sleep. ~The night wore away and morning dawned. All were early astir, filled with new life and vigor. The major concealed his emotion as best he could, and went forth, hoping to read in the face of the traitor, hoever he was, the evil of his heart. But he was ppointed, The face of every one seemed as joy- ous and innocent as the sweet, fair faces of his two pets, Dora and Mildred. Vasco was there, full of life and honest mirth as ever; and it was he who first discovered the ab- sence of his young master and Keen-Knife from the camp. Much speculation was entertained over their mysterious absence, but in the midst of their won- derment a human cry suddenly pealed out on the morning air, and riveted every form with terror. The cry was that of distress, and was faint at first, but as it continued to peal out again and again, it grew louder and louder with each succeed- ing ay . F mt is it?’ was the question that passed from p to lip. But the only answer that came to their ears was another ery, that seemed to issue from beneath the silent bosom of the river. CHAPTER XVOL THE FUGITIVES. * CAMILLA.” “Frank,” The hearts of the lovers, Frank Heyward and Camilla La Mort, were too full of joy for further utterance, and they clasped each other in one fond, lingering embrace. The silence that followed spoke plainer than words could have done of the love- communing of those young hearts. It was several moments before either spoke, but finally Frank breathed into the ear of his darling a ey of his love that found an echo in Camilla’s eart, They spoke briefly of their long separation, then Frank asked: Y. or “ Have you decided to go with me, Camilla, to the camp of the emigrants?” ** Would such a course be prudent, dear Frank?” *T would not ask you to go, if it were not, sweet Camilla.” “Then I will go, Frank, for within a few days, T was to become the unwilling bride of Rubal Ryan, the outlaw captain.” “Thank Heaven!” cried Frank, “Iam in time to prevent it! Come, Camilla, come.” “Oh, Frank! See those dark forms!” Before another word could be uttered, a number of dark forms glided from the thicket surrounding the tree, and the next instant blankets were thrown over the lovers’ heads, preventing them from crying out, Frank was then felled unconscious to the earth under a crashing blow of a club, while Camilla was lifted in a pair of strong arms and borne swiftly back toward the cabin. She struggled desperately for freedom, but all in vain. She had been carried over a hundred yards when she heard the quick rush of feet, followed by a dull, crunching blow. Then she felt the arms of her captor relax their vise-like gripe from around her form, and she sunk to the earth. Quickly she threw aside the heavy blanket that enveloped her form and sprung to her feet. Before her stood one of her father’s negroes, a gray-headed man of sixty, with a club in his hand. At his feet lay the unconscious form of Rubal Ryan. ‘Dico!” exclaimed Camilla, “is it you who have rescued me from that villain?” “Tt jis’ am dat, Miss Milla, and may de good Lor’ bless your soul, chile,” replied Dico, trembling with fear; ‘tole Dico smelt a mice and knowed dar war alg wrong wid de master and de pirate cap’n. ut, Miss Milla, ole Dico’s back ‘ll have to bleed far dis. I knows it all de time, chile, but I couldn’t see young missus "bused by the furnal bad men.” “Do you know what they have done with him— Frank Heyward, Dico?” asked Camilla. “Don’t know who he yar, chile; but de ole master and de cap’n’s men are doin’ debbiltry down dar.” e on my God, Dico! I fear they are doing mur- er —_
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—— 7 ‘ the river = ae Keen-Kvife, Prince of the Prairies. 24 “Oh, ch!” groaned Dico, “and s'pects dis nigger will have to die, too, fur strikin’ de cap’n down, *Dico, you can save your life and mine too. On low here there is a ane arty of emi- ants camped. We can seek safety there. Let us **Oh, de salvashun!"’ exclaimed Dico, clap- in, his withered palms with joy; ‘‘den come, Miss iif, and let’s hurry off.” Old Dico hurried away by a circuitous route so as to avoid the cabins, Camilla following close be- hind him. Entering the cornfield at the rear of the house, they threaded their way across the inclosure and en- tered the forest a mile east of the cabins, Poor Camilla! her situation and feelings were ter- rible, though the fearful uncertainty of her lover’s fate was more torturing than the fear of being re- captured by her father. The aged negro led the way onward through the woods without regard to the course he was pursu- ing, and Camilla was too greatly distracted to think of aught but her lover. They wandered on and on, and at last the kind- hearted and ignorant old darky realized that he was lost. But he had thought enough to keep the fact from Camilla, whose spirits he saw were already failing. At Tength they seated themselves on the trunk of a fallen to rest and listen, They were upon an elevated ridge, and far away through the woods they saw a number of lights bobbing about in the vicinity of the Lone Estate. “They are searching for us, Dico,” said Camilla, sadly. Sect so, Miss "Milla. But many’s de time dis ole slave hab heard de bay ob de bloodhound when hid in the swamps ob ole Lou’sanna. But dar’s no hounds now, Miss "Milla, and we needn’t be much *fraid, but it’ll be death to ole Dico if ebber cotched n. He’s gettin’ ole and feeble and can’t do much phen and so de master wouldn’t lose much by my eath.” ** But, Dico, it will be worse than death for me if Tam taken by my father again,” said Camilla. “ Lor’, Miss "Milla, if ye knows jis’ what dis ole nigger does, you'd nebber call de ole massa La Mort father again.” Camilla started, and laying her hand upon the darky’s, asked, excitedly: “Why, Dico, is not Manuel La Mort my father?” ‘Lor’, "Milla!”” returned the darky, ‘I’se ‘feared these trees hab ears and ‘ll bear witness ’g’inst ole Dico, den he'll hab to die if taken by de ole master.” *You need have no fear, Dico. There is nothing about us that has ears to hear. Speak, good Dico, and tell me what you know of my parentage.” “De ole master promised to meif I ever told it, Miss "Milla, but den I had nebber live happy wid de secret on my ole heart. No, no, Miss "Milla, you’se not dé chile ob Don La Mort, but'de chile ob’ a gen- tleman who lived wid his invalid wife at San Augus- tine, in Floridy, long time ago.” “How do you know this, Dico?”’ “God bress ye, chile, it war ole Dico dat carry ye one whole long night in his arms when de ole master stole ye from de bower in de grove ’mong de mag- nolias and orange trees.”" “Oh, Dico!”” moanec Camilla, ‘ why haven't you told me this before?” **Ca’se de ole master promised to flog me to death if ebber I told it, and, Miss ’Milla, life am sweet even to an ole nigger who had toiled under de lash fifty Ma Tees. < yes, Dico, life is sweet to all. I know the power that has kept you silent. Manuel La Mort would have kept his word. But do you know, Dico, what my father’s name is?” “No, Miss Milla; you was a little chile when stolen, and cried heap for papa and mamma, so pitiful dat dis nigger’ eart was almost broke.” Camilla was silent for several minutes, trying to recall the days when she had known a kind father and mother, other than La Mort and his wife. But in the continual change and excitement that must have followed her abduction, her young mind had failed to retain a remembrance of anything beyond her life as Camilla La Mort. They conversed awhile longer, and as they could still see the -_ flitting about the Lone Estate they arose and continued on, as Camilla sw pposed in a direction that would eventually bring them to the camp of the emigrants, CHAPTER XIX. AFLOAT ON THE RIVER, Kren-Knire’s feelings were anything but pleasant when he realized that he was fastened up witha human corpse; and drawing his knife, he crept as far away from the body as pnts and began chip- ing an outlet overhead, ut this was an undertak- ing of no little magnitude, and one that would re- quire hours of labor to complete, He worked away diligently, his mind occupied solely by the object of —— from the log and the loathsome thing within reach of him. The log retained its balance well, and he could just feel motion enough to tell that it was floating bee onward. Suddenly the Prince was startled by a low moan within the log, and there was something in the sound that seemed tamiliar to ashes ene eine SAAR aroused adark suspicion in his breast, for he knew that the sound must have issued from the lips of the sup- posed corpse. Leaving bis work, he crept back toward the and when it was reached, he fingered the face an head over carefully, then continued his fumbling along the body until he came to the booted feet. Then a ery of surprise burst from his lips, for he had discovered that the form was that of Frank Heyward. All the sympathetic anxiety of the Indian was aroused, and the next moment he was bending over the motionless form of the unfortunate young man, who he had discovered was_not dead, as he could feel his heart beating, and hear his jong, la breathing. For over an hour the kind-hearted Friendly work- ed with the unconscious man. But his administer- ings were not in vain. He soon had the joy of hear- ing him speak—inquire about his situation and here Camilla was; but his words were vehentent and disconnected, showing that he was still slightly delirious. Keen-Knife, after many attempts, finally succeed- ed in giving him a comprehensive understanding of his situation, and the manner in which he had come there. As to Camilla, he could tell him nothing. The half-unconscious Heyward groaned in spirit and tossed in agony. Keen-Knife succeeded in pacifying his oh and in learning the extent of his injuries. He had only been wounded on the head—stricken unconscious by the blow of a club. And then, when Frank was found to be in no serious danger, the Prince return- ed to his work of cutting through the log. But his progress was slow. The side of the lo was over three inches thick, and by the time he made a hole sufficiently large to see out, he saw it was growing light. f Still he labored on, and by daylight the hole was increased in size sufficiently to enable him to run his hand out. “TI should judge we were nearly down to the ocean by this time, Keen-Knife,” Frank finally re- marked, “The log floats slow,” replied the Prince; then, appl ing his ear to the hole, listened, £ "4 low ery escaped his lips. “What is it, Prince—what is {t?’ asked Frank, eagerly.
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Keen-Knife, Prince of the Prairies. —- “Hear voices. Ugh! heap good, for we're near the emigrants’ camp.” Se? asked. Frank recognized the voice and answered: “We're caged, major, and for God's sake get an ax and cut us out of this log!” ; The canoe ran back to shore, and procuring an ax, was soon alongside of the floating log Then the blows of a chopper were heard and felt by those within the log. and soon a large hole was made in " j exd floating prison, and its inmates rescued there- m. Great curiosity and excitement prevailed over the situation In which they were found, and not without ving a complete history of their movements, the object of their leaving camp so secretly, and so forth, could Frank explain the predicament into which they had fallen. So he told the whole story from beginning to end. Then, for the first time most of the emigrants learned that Frank had been in the country but a few months before, and that Major Tom’s coming West was through a hope of recovering a child stolen from him years before. The emigrants were all put upon their guard now, for not until they had heard Frank's story were they aware of their proximity to the Lone Estate which Frank, as well as the two young hunters, had previously pronounced the hot-bed of outlawry. Major Tom took the first opportunity to tell Frank that there was a traitor in their camp, and of the preconcerted attack to be made the coming night. “And could neither of the scouts tell who the traitor is?” asked Frank, after hearing the major’s ry. “No. It was a tall person, muffled from head to heel in a long blanket, and who always disappeared among the tents before the scouts could have time to follow it up. It may be some one that enters the camp after dark; butif not, I know of no one upon whom T could fix suspicion, unless it is your servant, “Never, major, never /”’ exclaimed Frank; ‘there isnot a truer heart in this camp than Lew Vasco’s.” “Then, in Heaven's name, who is the traitor ?” ex- elaimed Major Tom, excitedly. “Tt must be one of La Mort’s spies that enters the wer! after night.” “But how would a spy just stealing in in that way know aught of our money, and which tent is occu- pied by my darlings, Dora and Mildred? And then, acco! ing to what Bold-Heart says, the traitor is one of our party, and holds secret interviews with outside friends. The arrangement for the at- tack confirms the fact. The traitor is one of our party! To-night I hope we will find out who it is; and now, Frank, we have got to prepare for the L oylen hoe attack. Let us keep the whole terri- le truth from the women and children, for fear of undue excitement. But let us take each man aside and inform him of the ages he may be pre- pared for the conflict, We'll have to get the two- wheeled cart around close to the river, with the the devils so greatly covet, and which they'll got with a vengeance if they attempt to cross the ver, “If we succeed in defeating them, major, we should follow up our viceony, and push on to the Lone Estate and rescue Camilla at onee, for fear she may be spirited away. Rubal Ryan, the prairie- ripe is there, and Camilla said she was to become unwilling wife within three days.” Major Tom groaned in spirit. “1 ” he said, “ we can rescue her, Frank, for even if she is not my child, I am anxious to deliver her from such a uest of devils, because you love her, Fre cs bless you, Major Bronson!” exclaimed rank. Here the conversation ended and the two friends separated. The mare sought each of his fellow- travelers and acquainted them with their coming danger, Pre tions at once began to put the camp in a state of defense. Never did men work harder than did they that day, and before the sun went down, the lower sec- tion of a block-house was completed. This would afford the women and children a safe retreat. The wagons were all arranged around the tents on the outside of the building as a defense, while the two-wheeled cart, with its secret contents, was moved ’round close to the river-bank, facing the point from whence the attack was to be made, By dark all was prepared for the conflict, and the preparations had been made so quietly and with such little outward concern that not one of the wo- men suspected what was ops for, as the major had requested, not a man had hinted, to any of the wo- men, of their threatened danger. The women and children were sent into the block- house that night to sleep, while for want of room the men took to the tents on the outside. At dark a number of guards were posted, and Keen-Knife and Bold-Heart put on the scout. The hours wern on, Not a moment's sleep closed the eye of a man, but with throbbing hearts they lay ane waited for the signal, calling them to the conflict. CHAPTER XX. THE ATTACK. Ar the silent hour of midnight, fully a seore of canoes, containing, at least, three occupants each, ut out from the east shore of the river near the nme Estate, and dropped silently down the stream. Not a sound of a voice could be heard: only the — rippling of the water broke the silence of the our. Grim and silent sat the painted and ‘plumed voy- agers, each clutching a rifle or tomahawk. There were whites in the party, however. In a canoe in the rear of the main fleet, as it were, were three persons two of whom were whites. The latter were uel La Mort and Rubal kyan. The third person was the Sioux chief Inkpaducah. The three leaders were discussing in an undertone the gre of their & ition being a success. “T feel certain,” said La Mort, “that we have ample force to carry the camp by storm. The Spy sends word that the emigrants are all inexperienced in Indian warfare and cunning.” “That may all be, Don Manuel,” returned Rubal Ryan. “But you must remember that Bold-Heart and Keen-Knife are both there, and their equals are not onthe border.” “Waugh!” ejaculated the chief, indignantly, ‘“‘ Bold-Heart and Keen-Knife are cunning dogs and their scalps will hang at the girdle of the Sioux scouts ere morning.” “No doubt of it, no doubt of it, chief,” replied Ryan, at the same time nudging La Mortina i- ficant manner. “There is one whose scalp will not be there to- night, I presume,” said La Mort. You mean my rival, Frank Heyward.” “Yes. If he is still on the float he must be near the Des Moines ere this.”’ “Well, now, La Mort,” said Rubal. ‘you have said Heyward will not be there; yes you can say whether Camilla and the devil that knocked me cold last night, will be there or not,” “I feel certain we'll find them both in the emi- grants’ camp. If so, Dico shall be whipped till there is not a grease- mot of him left; and that girl, Pil—” “Never mind that girl, my dear Manuel. be- longs to me," interrupted the prairie-pirate.
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——— / Keen-Knife, Prince pf the Prairies. 29 “Suppose we capture those ¢wo beautiful girls at the em: tt camp, whose will they be?”’ Rubal Ryan laughed softly. “You know the spoils of this expedition are to be divided equally, Don Manuel, do you not?” “Oh, certainly,”’ replied La Mort, And so the conversation ran on. In the mean time, Major Bronson sat alone in his tent, wrapt in darkness and silence, He was wait- ing the return of Keen-Knife whom he had sent up the river to watch the movements of the Indians. t Suddenly, as the hours wore on, a step was heard without, Then the door was darkened by a shadowy aba and the Prince of the Prairies stood before im. ‘“What news, Prince?” the major asked. “Three-score of Indians are at this instant con- cealed on the opposite side of the river, waiting the signal to attack our orp bl ‘Then £2; Prince, and keep a close watch for the traitor! t him give the signal, then watch out for the foe. If they make their appearance, give the signel, and I will repeat it by a blast upon this orn.” Keen-Knife glided from the tent, and even at that instant he saw a tall, shadowy form emerge from the door of the block-house ! It stopped and gazed around, then crept on toward the river. The Prince knew it was the mysterious Spy and traitor, but what was it doing in the block-house? How came it there? The Friendly stole around to the right and reached the river-bank above the cloaked just as it tossed a dull ball of fire into the air. Quickly he bent his gaze upon the Sripesiee shore, from whose shadows he saw a number of dark forms emerge. Then he heard the foe launching their light canoes, and a moment later the soft dip of pad- les, The Indians are coming! A low cry like that of a hawk issued from the lips of Keen-Knife, This was quickly followed by the sharp twang of a horn; then forth from their tents rushed the men, rifle in hand. Down to the bank they ran, and form in line, poured a deadly fire into the approachin canoes, giving vent a loud, triumphant shou that seemed to issue in chorus from a hun throats. The savage foes were appalled—terror-stricken and recoiled like a wave before the deadly fire o: our friends. High upon the midnight air rose the din of battle— the crash of fire-arms, shouts of victory, and groans of the wounded. Some of the savages plunged into the river to try and escape what they believed an inevitable death, while high above the confusion of the moment could be heard the voices of La Mort and Rubal Ryan, trying to rally the panic-stricken sava, Vain attempt! In two minutes not a savage nor outlaw, save @ number of dead and wounded, was upon the river. Great excitement, however, had been created at the block-house among the women and children. Major Tom and Frank hurried thither to pacify them, and just as they reached the building they he a woman’s scream a short distance east of them. They burried on to see what was wrong, but could hear nor find anything. Hastening back to the block-house they succeeded in quieting the fears of the women and children and it was then that they learned Mildred Cleveland was xone. “That must have been her scream, major,” said nk, “Yes, yes. Some prowling devil of a red-skin has = (aka her. But, by my soul, she shall be rescued!” “But how came she out of the block-house? asked one of the women. “ How came you allout? She has started up from her sleep and rushed out, as the door was unbarred, with affright.” “She was gone,” said Dora, with whom Mildred had slept, “ when I awoke.” “ Poor opel sighed the major. “TI will hunt up Keen- e and put him on the trail,”” CHAPTER XXII. LA MORT’S FLOATING FORT. To describe the rage and disappointment of the three villains, La Mort, Rubal Ryan and Inkpaducah, would be quite impossible. . Mort swore and raved like a madman: the chief gave vent to his emotions in deep head while the reckless Rubal Ryan laughed at them ina half-rejoicing manner. With him there was little care whether the battle was won or lost, But they returned to the Lone Estate only to plan anew for the capture of the camp, and it was soon apparent what was next to be done, for all hands set to work, and soon a heavy raft was constructed, on which a bastion of logs was erected, and thus a lit- eral floating fort was ready by noon. : At two o'clock this formidable structure was man- ned by some fifty Indians and outlaws under Ryan and La Mort; and then, by means of long poles, it was pushed out from the bank and permitted to drop, at the will of the current, down the stream, So certain were they of the destruction of the camp, that Inkpaducah, with a number of warriors, had gone around upon the prairie to cut off the re- treat of the defeated emigrantsin that direction. But what would have seemed the most singular to a casual observer, who knew whither the savages were going, was the fact of there being a beautiful oe white woman aboard the raft with rifle in and, as if ready forthe coming conflict; and with poe La Mort was occasionally seen in consulta- on. Who was she? and why was she there? The raft drifted slowly and steadily on. CHAPTER XXII. THE SECRET OF THE TWO-WHEELED VEHICLE. Tae work on the block-house was resumed, and every defensive point strengthened. About noon some excitement was raised over the discovery of two persons far out upon the - et were on foot, and approaching the en- insula, By aid of the ge field-glass they were ena- bled to distinguish them as a man and woman, and they saw the latter waving a white object as if ap- pealing for assistance. /, “Tt must be Mildred!” cried the major. ‘‘ Frank, you and two or three others come with me to their assistance. They must be aided, for they seem in great excitement and distress.” Followed by Frank and others, the major ran to the corral, and mounting the fleetest animal there, dashed furiously away across the plain. The others followed on as fast as possible, but when the major reached the fugitives his companions were over a quarter of a mile behind. To Bronson’s surprise he found that the two per- sons were strangers—one a beautiful young gttl and the otheran aged negro, both seeming tired and travel-worn. It was Dico and Camilla La Mort? As the major drew rein before them, a low excla- mation burst from the darky’s lips, and he started back as if with sudden affright. “Who are you?” asked Bronson, fixing his eyes upon the shrinking negro. “Pugitives from the power of Don La Mort,” re- plied Camilla. Major Bronson started at the sound of her voice
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as though he had been struck with manager. He fixed his eyes upon the maiden with a wild ‘gaze, and his breast heaved as though a volcano was surg- ing within it. Great Heavens!” he exclaimed, as he threw him- self from his horse, “it is her voice and her image— my sainted wife—my dead Clarice!” “Ch, good Lor’! save dis nigger’s soul!" burst from Dico’s lips; “dat am de very man dat lib in Floridy—dat am your father, Miss "Milla. I remem- ber his face well, chile, and—” “This my father, Dico?” shrieked Camilla, “Yes, dat am him, Miss ’Milla, and now dis poor ole nigger will hab to die!” “Yes, yes, girl!” cried the major; “you must be mine—oh, God, yes—you are mine own daughter— mine own Annie! You bear er face—her voice—her eyes. The old major clasped the maiden in his arms and poured a shower of kisses upon her. Intuitive love ‘old him that she was his child, yet there was noth- ing positive—an uncerteinty more agonizing than the pangs of death tortured him. Frank and his companions came up. Then occurred another a: Se meeting—that of Camilla and Frank—which I will not attempt to describe. The party returned to camp. Camilla was re- ceived with much kindness and every thing done to make her comfortable. fhe major received from Dico’s lips the fact that Manuel La Mort’s true name was Gaspard La Muerte, and that he—Dico—had assisted his master to ab- duct Camilla from her parents ten years before at San Augustine. He narrated the cireumstances under which she was stolen, so in accordance with facts known to Major Bronson, that it left not a single doubt in his mind, but that Camilla was his child. He had known Gaspard La Muerte as a bitter enemy, who hesitated at no crime when inspired with reve . When the major was ri at San Augustine with his invalid wife aid little child, the latter suddenly disappeared and could not be found, not even the faintest trace of it. But Major Tom had more than one good reason to believe that La Muerte had stolen the child, for about this time the villain disappeared and was never heard of more, until Frank Heyward returned from the West and gave him some hope that his child was found in ‘Camilla La Muerte. As the day wore on, Keen-Knife left the camp and stole away into the woods, but ere long sudden- ly burst into the camp in a state of great excite- ment, never halting until he stood in the presence of Major Tom Bronson. aise tmnow, Prince?” “The Indians are coming again, this time upon a big raft! Walls protect them from which they can- ‘not be dislodged with our rifles."’ Instead of going into a fit of excitement, the major only smiled, ““When the white-haired chief sees the raft, he will not smile. And if he will look eastward over the prairie he will see a party of Sioux ready to cut off our retreat from the river.” “We'll attend to them, Keen-Knife,” said Major Tom, composedly; then turning to his friends who had gathered around. he said: “ Boys, the red devils are coming, and we have got to prepare to meet them. We will have to open the money-box on the cart, Ah! there she comes now —a regular floating battery!” All eyes were turned up the river in an instan ‘and behind a huge raft slowly rounding the bend o: the river, about four hundred yards away. Above the top of the defense, pee it, they saw fully fifty plumed heads and painted faces of the Indian war- riors, who set up a triumphant and demoniac yell as Scones they came in sight. ‘o the money-cart, boys, to the money-cart!” Keen-Knife, Prince of the Prairies. wheeled vehicle, “and let ussend them a bank-check on the happy hunting-grounds.” The men, with rifles in hand, hastily gathered in a circle about the vehicle, that stood near the river- bank, completely screening it from view of the enemy, while Major Tom and Frank Heyward were aay engaged about the vehicle, inside of the circle of men. On came the huge raft, but as it was not within rifle-shot yet, the yelling, joering savages did not withdraw behind their works. A dead silence reigned in the camp. A settled ex- pression of anxiety and impatience was written upon every face, “Fall back, boys, fall back!” a voice suddenly rung sharply out on the air. It was the command of Major Tom, and scarce! had it been uttered before the men fell back, reveal- ing a small drass cannon mounted upon the two- wheeled vehicle, and Major Tom standing with lan- yard in hand ready to fire it. This was the secret contents of the cart. The next instant there was a puff of white smoke, a thunderous roar, and a solid cannon-ball went skimming along the surface of the river, sending up great sheets of spray and striking the advancing raft near the center in front, throwing a cloud of splinters and sand into the air, and t ng @ breach in the wall that Don La Mort had pronounced im- pregnable. A yell of horror went up from the raft, and the next instant all the savages had disappeared behind their works. “ Ah, major!” exclaimed Frank, “you are a capi- tal artillerist. Load, and give them another.” Again the howitzer was charged with a solid shot, and brought to bear upon the raft, Another was torn in the wall of the floating fort, sendin, the sand and timber in a perfect cloud overhead, and death and confusion into the ranks of the enemy. And now, while Frank and the major continued to load and fire the howitzer, their friends opened a destructive fire with their long-range rifles, upon the rer whom they could see through the broken wal A perfect crash of firearms rent the air mingled with the occasional roar of the howitzer, But the conflict was altogether upon one side. Before the sobs ad could fire a shot, terror took possession of them. Their leaders tried in vain to rally them, but those that were not killed or wounded took to the river and swam ashore, In five minutes the floating fort, as La Mort term- ed it, was a perfect wreck, and cleared of all but the dead and dying. But these com the greater part of the enemy's force, and now their cries of pain and agony rent the air. Scarcely the firing ceased when the mounted Indians on the prairie were seen approaching at a sweeping gallop. They were not far away, and in less time than it takes to write it, the major had his howitzer trained upon them, and sent a solid shot plowing through their ranks. This terrible and unknown messenger of death, tearing both warriors and ponies to pieces almost, sent terror to the heart of every savage, and turn- ing, the Sioux fled faster than they had approached. s ended the conflict, The sav had received a chastising never to be forgotten; but now that the bree a was over, its horrors stared the emigrants in e face. Tue disabled raft had floated down and lodged against the bank. we opposite the camp, where every wail of the dy’ ng could be heard. Ouir friends, however, were not wanting in Chris- tian humanity, and with hearts that knew no wound- ed foe, but suffering creatures, they were soon aboard the raft soministoring to them, Over thirty forms lay prostrate upon the Les 4 or Major Bronson, turning toward the two- '| slippery logs, half of whom were dead, and ly a at
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Keen-Knife, Prince of the Prairies. si all conceivable attitudes. Some bore no wounds at all, but the awful expression of the rigid features showed that they had absolutely been frightened or stunned to death by the flying logs. The spectacle was a terrible one, and almost the first face that Major Tom’s eye fell upon was that of Don La Mort, © was dead, yet his face wore a natural and calm Ch eae The grim monster had seized him so suddenly that he had scarcely left his ghastly seal upon the wicked man’s features “ By Heavens!”’ the major exclaimed, “‘thatis the face of Gaspard La Muerte!” “Yes, or Don La Mort,” ae the Boy Hunter. “Heaven has meted him his reward at last,” said Bronson, “ but here is another white face.” “ Ah!” exclaimed Bold-Heart, peering down upon the grim, contorted face; ‘that, major, is Rubal Ryan, the notorious Prairie-Pirate.”’ ** Ma-jor—Bron-son!"’ The cry came from the further extremity of the wreck, and every one that heard it started with sur- prise and excitement—not because its intonations re the unmistakable evidence of death, but be- cause itwas the voice of a female, and one that sounded strangely familiar. Hurrying across the raft in obedience to the sum- mons, Major Bronson found a young woman half- sitting and half-reclining against the broken wall, Masses of long purple black hair fell over her breast and concealed the wound from which her life was ebbing away in crimson drops, As the major advanced to where she lay, she raised her eyes— dark, lustrous orbs—and gazed up into his face. A groan burst from the major’s lips, and he start- ed back with apparenc terror. “My God, it ts Mildred Cleveland !" The dying woman started slightly, and in a feeble voice she said: “No, major, T am not Mildred Cleveland! I am Faye La Muerte—the spy that has been in your camp.” Another groan burst from Bronson’s lips. “Ts this reality ?—oh, surely not! surely not!” he exclaimed, “It is, major,” replied the dying traitress, ‘I have play a wicked ‘ag against you and yours. My being pursued into your camp by ndians was all a farce. The Indians were Rubal Ryan’s prairie-pirates. And my story of being the daughter of Orville Vane Cleveland, of course, was untrue—told to ingratiate myself into your confi- dence, and learn the point of your destination and whether you had any valuable stock or amount of money in your party. Father knew that Orville Vane Cleveland was ‘a dear friend of yours, hence my knowledge of such a person,” ‘Then your father knew that I was coming into this country. did he?” asked the major. “Yes. Although father has made an outward show of honesty by the cultivation of the Lone Estate, he has been in direct communication with the Indians and prairie outlaws, And no sooner had you set foot within the territory than the fact was communicated to him through a spy that had known you in the South. The first nigkt that I stayed in your camp I held an interview with a spy that was about, and sent word to the Lone Estate of your roposed colony and the point of itslocation. Father fated you, and resolved to destroy your whole band. But he has failed—we have all failed. That two- wheeled vehicle—which I supposed contained your money—is what misled me, and thereby have I led all to death and destruction. Oh, what a life I have led. But I was trained to it from infancy, and I hope Heaven will forgive my sins, But, Major Bronson, you had a child stolen from you once, had you not? “Yes, yes!" gasped the major; “what of her, what of her, Mildred?” “Father abducted her from your home in San Augustine years ago, and—”’ “Where is she now?” “T cannot say. Two_evenings ago she escaped from the Lone Estate. We called her Camilla.” “Thank God! thank God! Camilla is my child!’ cried the major. “ — you have found her?” said the dying girl. ‘Yes.” “Heaven be thanked!” murmured the girl. | *But you must have your wound attended to, Mildred,” said the major. ‘Here, men, bear this poor girl tenderly to the camp, and let Doctor Pritchard dress her wounds and alleviate her suffer- ing. Tenderly, tenderly, boys.” ‘rank Heyward and Bold-Heart lifted her in their arms and bore her ashore and to the camp. But, when Hhey had laid her down Mpon the couch, pre- pared for her by Dora and Camilla, she was dead | CHAPTER XXIII THE END. We will pass over two days—memorable days in the history of the little band of colonists, Faye La Muerte, the beautiful traitress, or Mildred Cleveland, as we have known her, was buried by the side of her father, in a little grassy glade in the woods not far from the Peninsula, The dead and wounded Indians were given up to their red friends, who appeared under a of truce the day after the fight, asking for them. The little band of colonists were molested no more by the red-skins. The brass howitzer proved a greater terror to them than a thousand armed dra- goons would have done. The domains of the Lone Estate were taken pos- session of a few days after the fall of La Mort, It was found entirely deserted, and not one of the emi- grants ever heard of those that had composed the family of the outlaw. The colony, planted on the Peninsula, prospered and grew to prominence. The broad acres were soon marked by the hand of man, and vast herds were seen upon its bosom. : As the recompense for his services, Bold-Heart asked of Major Tom the hand of his litule ward, Dora Barnwell, The major was taken greatly by sur- prise, but of course he could not, and did not, refuse the gift; and in all his life he never had occasion to regret that he did, And no sooner had he recovered his lost Anni cae she was taken from him again, by Frank He ward, Keen-Knife, the Prince of the Prairies, spent vith of his time, when not out on the hunt or trail, wii Rob Radcliff and his young wife; and went often visit his dear old companion, Antelope Abe, and talk over their adventures when mere boys. Old Dico lived with Frank and Camilla, a faithful, duty-loving old servant until his death, THE END,
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BEA DLE’S POCKET LIBRARY. AAA 32 OCTAVO PAGES. PRICE FIVE CENTS. ee ISSUHD EVERY WHDNEHSDAY. No. 1. Deadwood Dick, the Prince of the Road; or, The Black Rider of the Black Hills, By Edward L. Wheeler, No. 2. Kansas King; or, The Red Right Hand. By Buffalo Bill, (Hon, Wm. F, Cody.) No. 3. The Flying Yankee; or, The Ocean Outcast. By Colonel Prentiss Ingraham. No. 4. The Double Daggers; or, Deadwood Dick’s Defiance. By Edward L. Wheeler. No. 5. The Two Detectives; or, The Fortunes of a Bowery Girl. By Albert W. Aiken. No. 6. The Prairie Pilot; or, The Phantom Spy. By Buffalo Bill, (Hon. Wm. F. Cody.) No. 7. The Buffalo Demon; or, The Border Vultures. By Edward L Wheeler. No. 8. Antelope Abe, the Boy Guide. By Oll Coomes, No. 9. Ned Wylde, the Boy Scout. By “Texas Jack” (J. B, Omo- hundro.) No. 10. Buffalo Ben, the Prince of the Pistol; or, Deadwood Dick in Disguise, By Edward L. Wheeler No. 11. Ralph Roy, the Boy Buccnneer. By Colonel Ingraham. No, 12. Nick o’ the Night; or, The Boy Spy of 76. By T. C. Harbaugh. No. 13. Yellowstone Jack; or, The Trappers of the Enchanted Ground, By Joseph E, Badger, Jr. No. 14. Wild Ivan, the Boy Claude Duval. By Ed. L. Wheeler. No. 15. Diamond Dirk; or, The Mystery of the Yellowstone. By Col, Prentiss Ingraham. No. 16. Keen-Knife, Prince of the Prairies. By Ol] Coomes, No. 1%. Oregon Sol; or, Nick Whiffles’s Boy Spy. By Capt. J. F. C. Adams, No. 18. Death-Face, the Detective; or, Life and Love in New York, By Edward L. Wheeler. Beadle’s Pocket Library is for sale by all Newsdealers, five cents per copy, or sent by mail on receipt of six cents each. BEADLE AND ADAMS, Publishers, No. 98 William Street, New York.