Beadle's Pocket Library (no. 229) (1888 05 30)
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I at New York, N. Y., as Second Class Mail Matter. May 30, 1888. 2.50 Published Weekly by Beadle and Ad rece, gear ee eer ee i Ee Oy Bote ~ =. —— AT A MOTION FROM OLD HICKORY, BRUTUS FORCED HIMSELF INTO HIS OLD QUIETUDE, AND FIXED HIS GLARING EYES ON THE DEN,
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Old Hickory’s Grit. Old Hickory’s Grit. A TALE OF EARLY KENTUCKY. | BY JOHN J. MARSHALL. CHAPTER I. COON’S TAVERN. A nieut of wind and rain closed down upon a wayside tavern, which stood close to the road in one of the northern counties of Kentucky—a stormy night, such as some- times ushers in the frosts and bleakness of autumn. The house was a log structure, a single story in hight, and was backed by a primeval forest. The fire which snapped and roared in the large fireplace of the bar- room lighted up that apartment with a ruddy cheerfulness which made the sound of the rain dashing against the small windows, and of the wind whistling about the corners of the house, add to the sense of warmth and comfort within. Several travelers were weather-bound at the tavern; and their num- bers had been added to, just at dark, by the arrival of a party of hunters, who had been out on a regular hunting-expedition, camp- ing out for several previous nights in the boundless forests which overspread that por- tion of the country. Their traps and ac- couterments littered up the place, never very tidy; a heap of skins, the trophies of their success, were piled in a corner, and their rifles stacked in another. They had made a bounti- ful supper from the game with which they had furnished the landlady, with the addi- tion of corn-pone and coffee, and now they returned from the kitchen in boisterous spir- its, and joined the four or five others who lounged about the bar-room hearth. The hunters were a rough-looking set, un- shorn, unshaven, with flannel shirts, deer- skin leggings, and knives glittering in their leather belts. One of them was a man near- iy sixty years of age, larger than any other person in the room, rugged as a rock, with an eye like blue fire, and iron-gray hair, which lay heavily about his powerful neck and shoulders. Any one, looking at him for the first time, would be sure to give him asecond glance. He was addressed by his companions as Hickory, or, more frequently, Hick. Three or four of the travelers appeared to be very common people, two of them team- sters returning from Maysville; but one of the group attracted much silent curiosity by his unlikeness to all the rest of the company. He was a well-dressed man of about twenty- five, wearing a fine blue broadcloth overcoat, which he had not yet remoyed, though the great fire made the room entirely comfort- able. He had a ruddy complexion, rather wiry form, and very light hair, which gave him a boyish appearance. He had already stated, in answer to various questions— which, according to the etiquette of the place, had been addressed to. him—that he hailed from Connecticut, that his name was Smith, and that he was traveling partly for his health, and also as a land-agent. The company soon became exceedingl merry; one or two soiled packs of cards were produced, while the corn-juice of old Bourbon circulated freely—this being the ‘native element” of all human animals in that part of the country,” Some played, but the larger part got to telling stories. It was a capital night for stories; no yarn could sound exaggerated when the storm was making so much noise and bluster outside. If the hunters or the other wayfarers sus- pected that Coon’s tavern was a hard place, and that some of their companions were hard cases, why, each was well-armed and accus- tomed to looking out for number one; while the sense of lawlessness, even of danger, added to the excitement and enjoyment of the hour. The trees of the vast wilderness bent and creaked above the roof, and the light of the fire flared out against the bran- ches which scratched the dismal little win- dow-panes. The down-East geutleman, in his fine clothes, made himself one of the talking party, perhaps from having the good sense not to hold himself aloof in a crowd of rough, suspicious men, but to do in Bourbon as the Bourbons did. He listened with profound interest to outrageous tales, generally of some unheard-of exploit, in which the teller was the hero of his own narrative. He never doubted, where it was not safe to doubt, nor failed to express admiration in the right place, so that his entertainers began to con- ceive a favorable opinion of him, and to overcome their prejudices against his broad- cloth. One of the teamsters told of an accident which had happened to him, with a runaway horse, which was so incredivle that the whole company were obliged to strengthen their faith with another ‘‘bracer” of corn-juice all around. ae: “That was purty considerable of a ride,” remarked a hunter in the right-hand corner of the chimney, who had been poking the fire reflectively during the teamster’s narra- tive, ‘‘but it don’t quite ekal my trip to New Orleans last fall, my friend. Did I ever tell you about that, boys? Didn't? I was out on a fishin’ excursion, you see—I ginerally . fishes awhile in the fall, afore I settles down for the winter, I had my own boat, a small
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. FEIT oor ETS ts ' into the Ohio, above Maysville. .me. Old Hickory’s Grit. : affair, jist big enough for me, my traps, and the fish I expected to cotch. I'd been out a day or two, spreadin’ around Mill Creek, near the mouth, and hadn’t cotched much more’n served for my own fodder. I begun to get provoked, and concluded I’d run out into the Ohio, and see if it wouldn’t change the luck. It was a cloudy day, tip-top for fishin’, and about three o’clock in the after- noon, as nigh as I could judge, without my old silver turnip, which I'd lost to Joe Fris- bie the last time we played seven-up—about three o’clock, then, I fixed about half a pound of fresh meat onto a stout pot-hook, which I kept for catfish. Catfish is known to sometimes grow to an enormous size in the Ohio. Mill Creek, p’raps you know, empties It was jist at the mouth of Mill Creek that I threw out my bait, and gettin’ ruther sleepy, settin’ in the sun with nuthin’ to do but wait fora bite—which wasn’t by no means as plenty as *skeeters in August—and was jist dreamin’ that I’d beat Joe at brag, and got back my turnip, when I was woke up by bein’ jerked almost out of the boat. ‘It’s a big feller’s got hold of the hook this time,’ says I to my- self, tryin’ to haul in the line—but, blast me, if I could pull an inch. I worried about five minutes, withcut makin’ any headway, when I suddenly discovered that I was a-go- ing down the river at a rate which made the trees on the shore seem to be runnin’ t’other way, like a big green snake. Wal, I didn’t mind it for awhile; I ruther enjoyed the ride. But when I found I was passin’ Cincinnati, I begun to think I was gettin’ too fur away from home—'twould take too much time to get back again. ‘He must be about tired out by this time,’ says I, pullin’ with all my might and main; but my pullin’ didn’t set us back abit. We was going tre-mendous. I begun to git my danderup. I wasn’t goin’ to cave in toa catfish. ‘Jl take that feller back with me, if he don’t bring up for au hour ‘te says I, as it begun to get towards night. could ’a’ cut the line, but I hadn’t no notion of lettin’ him go, arter the trouble he’d made ay dander was up, So was the cat- fish’s. wonder they don’t make use of ’em on the canawls, instid of horseflesh. We passed everything on the river. I reckon I astonished the navigators some. You see, they couldn’t tell, to save their gizzards, what it was made my boat go along at that thun- derin’ rate. I wasn't a-rowin’—I hadn’t no oars—I hadn’t no sails—I jist shot past every- thing like a streak of chain-lightnin’. I’m bound to say there’s lots of fellérs on the Ohio and Mississap will sw’ar they’ve seen the devil out in his pleasure-boat. Things got out o’ the way for me! When they see ‘me a-comin’ without no visible means of pro- pelsion, them flat-boats and vessels scud to one side purty quick. ‘HaJlo, ther! what’s up?’ ‘Who be you?’ ‘ Whar ae gwine?’ they yelled arter me, but afore could an- swer, tell me I’m fibbin’, if ther’ wouldn’t be three miles between me and my words, so’s I couldn’t put an answer together. We went it all night. My ha’r stuck out straight be- hind, and my clo’es was mostly flyin’ in rib- bons with the wind we made agwine so fast. It was ev-horbitant. As it was getting day- light we passed Memphis. About that time I was willin’ to cave. ‘See here, old feller,’ said I, taking out my knife to cut the line, ‘I guess you’ve ’arned your freedom—let’s part friends;’ and, reaching over to cut the line, tell me I pre-var-i-cate, if it wasn’t stretched so taut, that it curled up the edge of the knife like a cabbage-leaf. I couldn’t make no more impression on it than if ’twas a lightnin’-rod—which I ruther reckon it ww —about that time! I begun to feel ser’us, The catfish wasn’t the least bit tired. I knew we should reach New Orleans aginst night, | and if he didn’t give out afore that, the ocean was afore us, and what my fate might be I shuddered to think. I had a ringin’ in my ears, and numerous onpleasant sensations. Wal, about sunset I saw New Orleans in the distance, and I braced myself for a chance for life. The river was chock full of craft, and how that fish steered his course without runnin’ afoul of any of ’em, I never could sce. J knew now that he was makin’ for the Gulf of Mexico, straight as a string. As I said, I braced myself. I stood up, keepin’ a sharp eye ahead, and as we cum up opposite a favorable spot on the levee, I jumped. I lighted right in a crowd of surprised people. ‘Blast that catfish,’ said I, lookin’ around for my boat, which was disappearin’ down the mouth of the Mississap, ‘ef 'd’a’ known he was goin’ to take me so fur away from home, I’d ’a’ put on my t’other suit of clo’es.’ Wal, my friends, I had to work my passage back on a flatboat, and never got home till the first of November. Sence then, I’m re- solved not to fish no more. Catfish makes too fast a team.” “Ts that incident true?” asked the down- Easter, in the blue overcoat. ‘« Stranger,” answered the narrator, impres- sively, ‘‘do you see how thin my ha’r is? It was mostly blowed out by the wind, durin’ that trip to New Orleans!” The stranger directed his attention to the hair, with evident interest. “Tt ds rather -thin,” he said. ‘‘ All I’m surprised at is, that you wasn’t blowed back as fast as the boat went forward, so that when it reached the Gulf of Mexico, you'd ee brought up standing, against the Nerth, ole.”
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fs Oid Hickory’s Grit. ‘*Stranger,” said the teller of the fish- story, ‘will you try a leetle of this corn- juice? It’s a better article than they make in your country.” hile they were attending to this import- ant duty, a bush-ranger, who had cast several ill-natured glances at the blue overcoat, re- marked: ‘“‘T thrashed one of them set-up fellers as travels around in broadcloth, last summer. He insulted me, and I whipped him.” “ How did he insult you, Johnny?” queri- ed several. ‘* Wal, there was a lot of us travelin’ to- gether in the stage-coach to Maysville. I went by stage, ’cos | had business, and was inahurry. We stopped to a tavern to get dinner. One of the passengers was a fixed- up chap, from down East. He talked free enough, but after dinner, as we was standin’ about the door, waitin’ for the hosses to be put to the stage, ke got a glass of water to the pump, and brushed his teeth with a fixin’ that he had made a-purpose. You know our free-and-easy ways out West. Folks ain't afraid neither to lend nor borrow. seen a tooth-brush afore, and I thought I'd like to try it, to see how it went. Sol asked him if he wouldn't obleege me by lending it to me a minit—and, blast the stingy, stuck- up scamp, if he wasn’t too mean to lend it! I didn’t care a red cent for his old tooth- brush, but [ did for his meanness; and I cut a hickory switch from a tree near by, and licked it out of him.” “ Stranger,” said the blue overcoat, quiet- ly, ‘‘’twas a friend of mine refused you the use of his tooth-brush. I heatd him tell the story when he got back from his travels— only your account and his differs a trifle. My friend says that it was /e who made use of the hickory switch, after you had been so impolite as to squirt tobacco-juice on him, by accident.” At this crisis in the story-telling, there was danger of an interruption to the prevailing good feeling; the surly ranger made an ad- vance upon the broadcloth, but his fellows held him back, and laughed him out of it. “Fair play, to-night, for everybody, and no quarrelin’,” said a good-natured hunter; “‘you’re always like a cross dog, Johnny. Take a little drop of corn-juice, and see if it don’t help your temper.” The advice was complied with. During the temporary lull within, the storm burst forth more furiously without; the windows rattled, the branches of trees grated and ereaked against the roof, the wind shrieked dolefully, rushing past the house with Jong, unearthly sighs and screams. * Glad we ain’t out of the woods to-night,” said Old Hick, the chief of the hunters, Se Td never | a baa ro esl “Come, now, friend Smith, from down East, it’s your turn.” “I’m no hand at a story,” answered the traveler, pulling out his bandana handker- chief from his pocket, and rubbing the side of his face. ‘‘1 can turn a grindstone and a spinning-wheel, but I can’t turn a story. But, speaking of turning a spinning-wheel, puts me in mind of a ride I had down Hast, almost equal to that trip down the Missis- sippi.” At this crisis in the story, Old Hickory suddenly rose, giving so strange a look out of one of the windows, that the eyes of all involuntarily followed his. What they saw there caused all to spring to their feet. The face of a woman was pressed against the glass—a white, young face, with dripping locks blowing about it; the next instant it vanished, the wet branches of the trees swept against the panes, while a piercing shriek rung high above the tempest. The blue overcoat was the first to reach and throw open the door. The light of the door, streaming out, betrayed the form of a huge negro, who had apparently just come up in front of the house, and who was turn- ing his head in all directions, as if endea- voring to follow up the imploring cry. His bare arms, his wild, aroused face, like that of an animal which is being hunted to death, his enormous size, his glowing eyes, made a figure so unlooked-for and terrific, in the midst of the darkness and storm, that all, except Colonel Smith, were appalled. He seized his rifle which, like the others, he had placed in a corner, and sprung out. ‘What is it, for God’s sake, Brutus? Has anything happened to her?” ‘“She’s done gone, sah. her, I’s afraid.” “ Hark!” Again that sharp shriek rung over all other sounds, prolonged, desperate. It sounded further away now, down the road, and by a flash of lightning the party had a glimpse of three persons running along the road. Colonel Smith dashed after them, followed by the negro and Old Hickory. Half a dozen others joined in the pursuit, but these three soon distanced them, and af- ter a time, losing all trace of their leaders, the others returned to the tavern, wel, won- dering, and dispirited, sitting about the fire to dry themselves, and looking as if they had seen ghosts. “That beats all I ever saw,” remarked one, taking a little more corn-juice to raise his spirits. ‘It couldn’t ’a’ been no young female out such a night as this—and that nigger was the devil hisself, for I saw his horns.” ‘So did I, plain,” asseyerated another, They’s caught sie tae y= See rds eR ebm
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Old Hickory’s Grit, 5 “We all saw ’em,” added a third, ‘plain as I see that fire this minute. It’s my opin- ion ’twas a scaly trick of Old Nick to get hold of us fellers; and I’m rigbt sorry Tlickory was led away by it.” “‘Let Old Hickory alone,” said the first speaker; ‘‘he’ll take care of himself, He’s an honest man, and needn’t fear even Satan himself. Now, if it was I with this here pack o’ cards in my pocket, there might be more reason.” ‘© Well, I wish he’d come back, anyhow.” But back neither he nor the blue overcoat came that night. It required an extra quan- tity of old Bourbon to compose the travelers to sleep; and after they had stretched them- selves about the fire on their extemporized beds, a louder outbreak of the tempest would cause them to start and mutter in their sleep. CHAPTER II. THE HARPES AND THEIR CAPTIVE. Axsovut four months previous to the night with which our story opens, a young man who had been riding all day through the boundless forest, stopped, a little after sun- set, before a log-house which stood near the narrow bridle-path: It was a pleasant, pure evening, and the place, though solitary, had no particularly bad look about it. The traveler threw a sharp glance in at the open door, which betrayed a group of women and children. In those days it was only the most ordinary prudence for people to go well armed when abroad from home; and to look twice before they confided themselves to the hospitality of strangers; though the warm-hearted friendship of the better class of settlers was given to all who asked it. Yet Kentucky, like every other border State, was Overrun with another and worse class, who, fleeing from Eastern justice, or too lazy to make an honest living, sought refuge in the woods, whose coverts hid them from pursuit, and whose plentiful game furnished them a living without much exertion. One glance would have told that the traveler was from the New England States; his air of intelligence, as well as his dress, which was not ofthe Kentucky style, togeth- er with a certain shrewd brightness of the eye, proclaimed the fact. Looking forward along the darkening path, which promised no end, and again into the cabin, swarming with the inmates, who now began to cluster about the door, he finally called out: “Hallo the house! Will you tell me, ma’am,how far it is to the next tavern?” “Don’t know of none in these parts,’ was the answer of one of the three women who blockaded the entrance—a wretched speci- men of her sex, with a savage expression of face, and garments neither neat or becom- ing. “T reckon you'll ride till you get tired, if it’s taverns you're after,” added the second, with a smirk, as if she took pleasure in the ability to disconcert the stranger. “Then I shall have to ask you for food and sheiter to-night,” said he, pleasantly. “T’ve been going all day, with nothing to eat but what I brought in my knapsack, and my- self and horse are both tired. Will you ac- commodate me?” The three women exchanged a glance. A peculiar smile crept over their faces; after a moment's hesitation, the first one spoke again: ‘‘ We sometimes takes people who can pay their way.” “Oh, as to that, said the young man, laughing, as he leaped from his horse, “T shall feel it a favor to be allowed to pay well for everything. If you’ll get me some sup- per, I'll water my horse at the spring there, and then bring him around to the back of the house, and let him graze awhile before I tie him up. Haven't you any men-folks about?” he continued, with some curiosity. “My husband’s off on a hunt, and won't be back for a week or more,” said the wo- man first mentioned. ‘‘ These ’ere’s hus- bands is gone, too, and they and they’re young-’uns is stayin’ witb me, ’cos we feel more safe under one roof. It’s a lonesome country for women-folks to live in when the men’s gone.” ‘“What do you fear? Wild beasts or In- dians?”” “Well, we reckon the Injuns the most troublesome, ’kase we can keep the b’ars out, but the Injuns can burn us up in our beds.” Half a dozen children, like their mother, dirty-looking and wild, crowded around the traveler as he took his horse to the spring. To get rid of them, for they were not clean enough to make close companionship desir- able, he threw them a handful of pennies. It was some time before he was ready to enter the house. First, he cared for his ani- mal, then he batbed his face and hands in water from the spring and wiped them on a towel which he took from his knapsack, rightly guessing that the wash-bowls and towels were luxuries foreign to the cabin. Having combed out his long, light hair to his satisfaction, he took up his baggage and en- tered the general room, which, a little to his surprise, had an addition of a kitchen in the rear—two rooms being a fuller supply than settlers usually possessed. An inviting odor of fried ham and eggs and coffee already came from this rear apartment, in which the women were to be heard moying about,
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There were no signs of poverty about the place; he had found quite a serviceable log- stable behind the house with two really fine horses in it; and now, as he took a seat on the door-sill and glanced about the room, he saw two or three excellent saddles, a hand- some harness, and all kinds of hunting-gear depending from pegs in the wall. There were a couple of beds on home-made bed- steads;. and a very large blue chest, which stood between them, at the end of the apart- ment. Under the beds was a confused heap of boxes, harnesses, boots, and household “‘trash,” put there to be ‘“‘out of the way.” One little circumstance struck the traveler as queer. Being a Yankee, he had a head for numbers; and, although he was tried, and thinking of supper, it floated dreamily through his brain that there was an unusual and unreasonable number of portmanteaux, saddlebugs and knapsacks among the stowed- away rubbish. He gave it no particular thought at the time, but afterward he recalled it very vividly. Two of the largest boys were tossing up the pennies he had given them, beginning a life of prospective gam- bling by playing ‘‘heads and tails.” The other children had stampeded to the kitchen, attracted thither by the strong smell, which almost caused the traveler to forget how very dirty were the women who prepared the viands. Presently one of these appeared and bid her guest ‘‘ come into the other room and sit by.” The table was set for four; it was too small to accommodate the younger members of the family, who were sent out into the yard to await their turn, The young man found the food not only more various in kind, but more neatly served up than he had dared to expect. Ham, fried chicken, milk, coffee and wild honey graced the board. But for the first moment or two, he noticed nothing of this; his attention was completely ab- sorbed by another inmate of the cabin, whom he had not previously seen. Even now she did not look at him, but stood by the baking-kettle on the hearth, with folded hands and downcast eyes. She was a young girl, no better dressed than the others, except that her linsey-woolsey gown was clean and fitted her figure; but she appeared so totally distinct from the others in features and ex- pression, that she seemed to have dropped into this abode from some better sphere. About sixteen years of age, with a clear skin, smooth, plentiful hair neatly braided, and the form of a Hebe, it scarcely needed her modest, grave expression to make the trayel- er think her very pretty. He was twice asked by the hostess if he took ‘lasses in his coffee, before he withdrew his eyes to an- swer thut he did not. His interest was not Old Hickory’s Grit. rs unmarked by the woman who, as she passed him the cracked cup, spoke sharply to the girl: “What be you standin’ thar like a fool fur, Peggy? Hand up the cakes, if thur brown enough.” ‘“Who is it?” the traveler was impelled to ask, curiosity or surprise overcoming pru- dence. ‘‘ Your daughter, ma’am?” “Yes, my darter; and an idle, good-for- nothin’ girl she is.” As the woman said this, the girl flashed a swift glance at the guest; her cheeks, already flushed with the heat of the fire on that June evening, grew red as roses; she stooped, and busied herself removing the corn-cakes from the bottom of the kettle. “Of course it will do for her mother to say that,” answered the young man, striving to do away with the effect of this rude re- mark, ‘‘but I wouldn’t like to see any one else venture to say so in your presence.” “La, ’'m not so partik’ler. Howsomever, Peg’s well enough when she’s a mind to work; but she’s powerful shiftless.” The young man’s eyes meeting the young girl’s at that moment, as she was placing the cakes on the table, both smiled. The vixen who presided over the coffeepot did not ob- serve this; but it established a magnetic telegraph between the two, which placed them in silent correspondence. While the others ate, Peggy baked cakes for them; but she did it witha regal air, like a princess serving under protest. ““What a magnificent woman she would make, under favorable circumstances,” spec- ulated the traycler, as he varied his corn- cakes and honey with glances at the fair at- tendant. ‘‘I feel like stealing her from these harsh people, and giving her to some one who can appreciate her. It’s a shame, really, the way that woman drives her around,” Although angry with the hostess for her harshness to the girl, he kaew better than to show it, and continued to make himself as entertaining as possible in payment for the trouble he was giving. He told several amusing anecdotes of his travels, and gave the latest news from the East, with such spirit and good-humor,.that the three shrews laughed and listened with many admiring glances at ‘“‘the peart young feller.” His efforts to amuse were not so entirely for their pleasure as they imagined; he saw the kind- ling color, and the long, fixed look of an- other listener, Darkness crept over them before they abandoned the table. Peggy lighted a thin yellow dip, ana stuck it in a wooden holder. As the others left the meal, she called the eager children and sat down with them. The trayeler resumed his seat in the door;
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Old Hickory’s Grit. but it was the back door, not the front one. Presently he pulled the pieces of a flute from his pocket, and putting it together, began to play. At first he made the woods resound with merry dancing-tunes, until the three women declared themselves ready to dance a jig; but, gradually, the character of the music changed to soft and melancholy airs, which are so indescribably touching upon the flute, with twilight and the whispering forest about one. Even the children huddled about, sitting on their knees till they fell asleep and tumbled over; their mothers sat wrapped in pleasant wonder, and Peggy, who knew not that the tallow-dip revealed her face, was weeping fast and silently. There was a softer expression on the face of the girl’s mother than he had thought her capable of; but when he ceased to play, it went away again, and she bustled apout as coarsely as ever, hustling the children off to bed, and scolding Peg for not having her dishes washed. Our New Englander was a keen observer, and it began to impress itself upon him that this isolated cabin in the backwoods had an uncanny air, as if it really were not the home of an innocent family of settlers’ wives and children. He began to feel as if the husbands of such wives must be bad men, and to be glad they were away from home during his visit. He would have liked to talk alone with the girl Peggy, to find if she really was as superior as she looked; and to let her know he liked her, and pitied her; but the women were like Cerberus, and effectually guarded the golden fruit. At every attempt he made to get near her, or on the same side of the room, one of these would foil his wish. He was certain, at last, that the girl had something she wish- ed to say to him; and he would have given a five-dollar go!d-piece to know what it was. He was obliged to give up the hope when his hostess hinted to him that it was time to re- tire. or the last fifteen minutes Peggy had been absorbed with an old ragged book, which looked like a speller, and paid no at- tention to him, «She can read, then,” he thought, and as he was requested to “turn in” in no cere- monious manner, he said, ‘‘Good-night, Peg- gy,” and moved out into the front room, where he took his carpet-bag and began to ascend the ladder, to which he was pointed, as leading to his place of rest. “Td really like a light a few moments,” he said, insinuatingly, to the woman. ‘I al- ways write a few words in my diary before I go to bed,” “Peg, bring that candle!” shouted her mother, and Peg brought it meekly. As she gave it to the guest, she pressed something else into his hand. Instantly comprehending that she wished the act to pass unnoticed, he covered the little wad of paper with the end of the candle, thanked her, and went up the ladder. “Yer bag’s right heavy—sha’n’t I tote it for ye? Reckon thar’s shiners in it,” had been the unpleasant remark of one of the group, as she handed up his baggage. ‘Nothing but stones,” he said, quickly. “Tm a geologist, and I always have my pockets and bag full of specimens.” ‘“Tell that to the wolves,” she answered, with a sly laugh. His curiosity was intense to learn what had been mysteriously given him. Placing his wooden candlestick on the floor, he knelt be- fore it insuch a position that should any pry- ing eyes be lifted above the ladder, they could not discern the nature of his occupa- tion. He then examined his new possession. It was a leaf torn out of the old spelling- book, and over it were written, in rude let- ters, with a piece of coal, a communication which it took him some time to decipher. It had evidently been composed with an effort. A cold shiver crept over him as he began to make it out. It ran thus: “Do you know whar you are? This howse is the Harpes. They ur gone away; but wil be bak late to nite. If you ur here they wil kil you. Clere out if you kin, and don’t forgit Peggy who wil be kiled mebby for tellin’, If I’m not hited try and come bak with help and tak me away. 1’m not thare dauter. Iwas stole when I was ate years old. I could rite some then but I’ve most forgot how, I’ve runaway three times, but they got me ag’in. You look kind—so I tel you this. Don’t come unles you are shure you kin git me oph.” The bravest of the brave might have been excused for feeling a chill of horror creep over him, at finding himself thus shut up in the very den of the terrible Harpes. No reader of the history of Kentucky but is familiar with their reputation. They were, or represented themselves to be, bro- thers, who appeared in Kentucky about the year 1798, spreading death and terror where- ever they went. They had with them three women, who were treated as their wives, and several children, with whom they traversed the mountainous and thinly-settled parts of Virginia into Kentucky, marking their course with blood. Their history is wonderful, as well from the number and variety as the in- credible atrocity of their adventures. Passing rapidly through the better-settled parts of Kentucky, they proceeded to the country south of Green River, which at that time, was just beginning to be inhabited. Here they soon acquired a dreadful celeb- rity. Neither avarice, want, or any of the usual inducements to crime, seemed to goy- ern their actions. A savage thirst for blood '—a deep-rooted malignity against human
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' 8 Old Hickory’s Grit. nature, could alone be discovered in their conduct. They murdered every defenseless being who fell in their way, without distinc- tion of age, sex, or color. In the night, they stole secretly to the honest settler’s cabin, slaughtered its inhabitants and burned their dwellings; while the farmer who left his home by day, returned to witness the dying agonies of his wife and childrea and the conflagration of his possessions. Plunder was not their object; travelers they robbed and murdered, but from the inhabitants they took only what would have been freely given them; they destroyed without having suffered injury, and without the prospect of gain. Females, children and servants no longer dared to stir abroad; un- armed men feared to encounter a Harpe; and the solitary hunter, ashe trod the forest, looked around him with a watchful eye, and when he saw a stranger, picked his flint and stood upon the defensive. The spoils of their dreadful warfare furnished them with the means of violence and of escape. Mount- ed on fine horses, they plunged into the for- est, eluded pursuit by frequently changing their course, and appeared unexpectedly, to perpetrate new enormities, at points distant from those where they were supposed to lurk. On these occasions they often left their wives and children behind them. So says the careful historian of characters so black that otherwise we should not dare paint them. It is not strangethat the young trav- eler, albeit brave, self-possessed, and armed with a pair of pistols and knife, should shudder at knowing himself in tne house of the Harpes. He glanced about him ner- vously, and again read over the charcoal scrawl. Although a traveler, and from the East, he was not unfamiliar with the State he was traversing; having been out once before, and spent the better part of two years in land-surveying. It was to look after the in- terests of the vast quantity of land he had earned as a surveyor—land which promised to make himimmensely wealthy within a few years—that he was now journeying through this wild, half-settled district. Everywhere, since he entered the West, he had learned of the terrible brothers; they were the talk over tavern-fires and by farmers’ hearths; and he, though full of courage, had given more than one look behind him that very day, thinking he heard the distant sound of horses’ feet. Thoughts were pressed so rapidly upon his brain that they almost. made him dizzy. This explained that strange omnium gatherum of stirrups, bridles, saddles, portmanteaux, ete., under the beds, down-stairs—the rifled property of victims, trapped, sommes them, ‘ ] like himself. No wonder the faces of those fearful women looked cruel and brutal, de- based as they were by such associations. He understood, now, something strange and startled in the expression of the young girl— a wild look, which had sometimes passed over her otherwise sweet countenance. No doubt she had no sympathy with the people about her, but was obliged to live in the midst of scenes which she loathed, The fact that she had several times attempted to escape from them, proved that, as she grew older, and comprehended more of what she saw and heard, her pure soul shrunk from contact with it. Poor girl! What would her ultimate fate be? He could not think of it without distress; neither could he make up his mind to abandon her, perhaps to be punished for warning him to leave, At first he decided that he would go bold- ly down, call Peggy, mount her behind him on his horse, and break for the deep woods. For he knew that of course this was nota permanent residence, and that perhaps by the time he was ready to return with a pro- per escort to secure her release, the family might be hidden in some remote wilderness which would baffle his search. They would pack up, on the morrow, knowing themselves discovered, and fly to a new den. Yet, even did they get away from the house successfully, how would he and his companion continue their flight along that narrow bridle-path, which was not any too well marked to be kept by daylight? If the men returned soon, familiar as they were with the woods, they would easily overtake their prey. One thing, certainly, was in his favor, and as he thought of it, his heart bounded with joy. The moon was at the full. It would shine, all night, in the cloudless summer heaven. With Caleb King, to think was to decide. CHAPTER III. THE NIGHT FLIGHT. Tur little tallow dip fluttered and sputter- ed in its wooden socket; it would burn but a moment longer. Caleb opened his carpet- bag and transferred from thence what coin was in it to his pocket; looked at his pistols, to see if they were in order; loosened his knife, saw by his watch that it was already ten o’clock of the brief June night. He then wrote on a slip which he tore from his note- book: “Come out to the stable in five minutes, I shall be ready to go, and wish yourcompany. WhenI whistle, run like a deer, no matter what they say,” This he printed, rather than wrote, so that it could be easily read; and then, just as the flame expired, he removed two or three smal]
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— Fee ae Old Hickory’s Grit. 9 articles from the bag to his pockets, and abandoned the rest of his property. Going to the top of the ladder, he called out in a cheery, innocent voice: ‘Hallo! ladies, may I comedown? I hear my horse making some fuss, and I’ll have to look after him, I guess the other horses are uarreling with the stranger, and l’d better tie him further away.” Then, as they gruffly ane consent to his reappearance, he crawled down the ladder, rubbing his eyes and saying peevishly: “That horse of mine is always getting into trouble with his neighbors. It’s too bad to be called out of bed when a feller’s so tired and sleepy he can’t keep his eyes open.” The women had none of them retired, which induced him to think they intended to wait up for the men; and therefore that these might be home sooner than Peggy had inti- mated. They eyed him suspiciously, and by the dim light of one dip, they looked dan- gerous and savage as men. He understood that the three rifles in a corner of the room were loaded. The fact that he had left his carpet sack up-stairs lulled an they might have entertained, and he was per- mitted to pass out. ‘Peggy, won't you come and hold a light for me? If the horsesare untied, I’ll have to have one.” “‘That she «won’t/” responded her pre- tended mother sharply. ‘‘ It’s time gals were in bed. If you need a candle, I'll hold it.” She went to get one as she spoke. Here wasadilemma. If she went with him to the stable, how could he saddle his own horse and another under her surveillance? He opened the door and spoke as if he had just discovered it: ‘Why, how bright the moon is! Really, I shall not need a light at all, ma’am, and you need not trouble yourself.” Peggy, as if some instinct told her what was wanted, stepped to the door and looked out, giving him the opportunity of slipping the paper into her hand. Gayly humming a tune, he stepped toward the stable; the girl, pretending to look at the moon, read the paper. “Come in, Peg, and shut that door. One would think you was cracked after that young man,” The girl obeyed; closing the back door, and thus concealing the traveler’s proceed- ings, but going coolly to-the front door, and sitting down on the step, gazing up at the moon, as if she had not a thought but that it was big and bright. In less than five minutes she heard a low whistle just around the corner of the house; her heart was in her throat, and suffocated her, but she forced it down by an effort suspicions: worthy of a hero, and glided to the corner. There stood the stranger with two horses, which he had ‘‘saddled and bridled,” “ all ready for flight,” and led out softly from the stable. “Can you ride?” he whispered. eS Yeu. “‘ Mount, then, and go to the east.” She sprung into the saddle without help— in one half-minute had all this been accom- plished. “Peg,” called a furious voice at the door, ‘Peg, where are you?” ** Here!” answered the sturdy voice of Caleb King, ‘‘and good-by to you, ma’am.” And the two riders darted out of the covert, close to the garments of the astonished wo- man. A curse was the last thing they heard, as they bounded into the road and dashed along, the stranger leading and the girl keeping close behind. ‘We are safely out of that, anyhow,” he said, after they had left the house out of sight. “ Yes, but I’m afraid of worse,” said Peggy, coming alongside. ‘‘ Unless I’m mistaken, this is the road they were to come home. We shall meet ’em, I’m sure,” “The men?” Yes.” ““Keep a stout heart, Peggy. When we hear or see them coming, we'll conceal our- selves in the forest until they pass by.” * But they'll be coming slower than we are going; and they will hear us first, and ride in the woods themselves. They will shoot us as we pass.” “That’s well thought of, Peggy—we'll go slower then. We'll not talk much, but will listen hard. But there’s this thing—if they should come home some other way, and take after us, we lose time by going slow.” ‘*Their horses will be tired out—they al- ways are when they get home, and now there’s but one fresh one, since we have the other. If it comes to a race we'll beat ‘em.” She said this su resolutely that he felt a new admiration fer her. “You are sure, then, that you could ride hard, if necessary?” “Yes! I’ve been with them often enough! to learn that.” They rode slowly along, in many cases the road so narrow that they were obliged to go in single file, the moon’ nding high in the heavens, but casting wild, fantastic shadows over them, from the branches of trees, which hung so close and low they sometimes brush- ed against them. Speaking but seldom, and listening always intently, their animals step- ping lightly on the turf, which was trodden so seldom as to be still grassy, they had pro-
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10 Old Hickory’s Grit. ceeded forward not quite an hour, when sud- | eye, he was glad to see that the girl kept up denly Peggy pressed forward to her com- panion’s side whispering: “ Hark!” They checked their horses, and distinctly heard the regular trot of two horses coming toward them at moderate speed. There was a bend in the road just ahead, and the sound being so muffled in grass, they guessed that the riders could not be far away. ‘‘Intu the woods, quick!” whispered Caleb King; and turning his rein, he darted into the dark shadow of the forest, followed by the girl, who said, keeping up with him: “ Further—further in!. Do you know I’m afraid my horse will neigh.” All her courage seemed to have forsaken her. The mere thought that these men, whom she so feared and detested, were so near at hand, set her heart to palpitating frightfully. “Keep up your courage, that’s a good girl,” murmured Caleb, They made their way about a rod into the forest, when they checked their horses, and stood silent as death. The other travelers, whoever they were, approached along the road, passed opposite, and were already be- youd them, and they beginning to breathe more freely, when the animal which Peggy rode, seemiug to recognize his friends, gave a loud, prolonged neigh. Instantly the strange riders checked their course; our party could not see them; but they caught the words, uttered with an oath: “That's my horse, Bill. What mischief is up, now?” ““ We'll soon see,” said the other, and to- gether they dashed into the woods directly toward the concealed couple. ‘“Now, my girl, follow me!” cried Caleb King; and wheeling, he dashed off among the trees and underbrush at a rate which might have proved dangerous, had not his horse been possessed of almost human saga- city. At it was, they miraculously escaped death among the branches and thickets which impeded their progress, and came out upon the road a few rods above the point at which they had deserted it. Their pursuers follow- ed them by the sound of crashing under- brush. The point at which they reappeared Was more grassy and open than usual, the forest circling off leaving an open space, which, as they rode over it, made them fair marks for the two men, who dashed after them, not three minutes behind. ‘Stop, or we'll fire!’’ they yelled. The flying couple knew too well that they would fire if they did stop; Caleb stroked his horse, urging it on with some familiar word which made it fairly bound over the ground, while looking back with anxious with him. Crack! crack!—two pistol-shots, which whistled around them doing no injury. ‘«They have rifles, too. On to the shadow of the wood,” cried Peggy. Another and louder shot—another! Caleb looked to see where the girl was; she was close beside him, unharmed, her gallant animal keeping up with his. ‘“‘Thank God, the shadows will distract their aim,” murmured Caleb, as they sprung forward where the path was again close in with woods. He did not attempt to guide his horse, leaving the choice of the way to him, and the noble fellow galloped as if he knew that he bore his master’s life in his paces. Peggy kept close behind, and once she screamed: “Faster! I hear them coming—faster!” Fora terrible half-hour it was all suspense. Then, as the girl had said, the previously worn cordition of the pursuers’ horses began to tell on them, their speed flagged, they fell so far behind as to be neither seen nor heard. Still they did not feel safe; the enemy might be making a detour, to dash out upon them, by some shorter path with which they were familiar. On—on—they urged their steeds, until every muscle of the hardy ani- mals was strained, and foam and sweat coy: ered them. “TI think we may venture to rest,” said the young man, after what seemed an age, but was, in reality, an hour. ‘‘ We shall kill our horses if we keep on at this rate.” They drew rein, listening attentively. Nothing was to be heard except the panting of the horses; the moon shone brightly through a rift in the trees; all was quiet, solemn, and strange. ‘*You are a brave woman, Peggy, to keep up with me to-night.” He could see her blush and smile in the clear moonlight, pleased with his approval. The ride had shaken down her hair, which glistened and waved about her face. Really she was very pretty—more than pretty— handsome, spirited, equal to an emergency. It was a wild and curious adventure which had thrown this young woman upon his pro- tection, under such novel circumstances. He had a few moments’ time to think of it, before she spoke: “Oh, sir, let us not rest very long. I do not feel safe yet. Indeed, you do not know how bad they are, nor what they can do.” Her cheeks grew pale with the thought, aug she glanced about her like a frightened eer. *‘Well, Prince, are you ready to start?” said Caleb to his horse. ‘‘ The young lady thinks we are not yet free from danger,”
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Old Hickory’s Grit. +P | His cheerful tones reassured her. Sbe was almost ready to laugh, as they again proceed- ed on their singular journey, swiftly, but with less wild speed than before. Caleb had many things to consider during the long hours of their night-ride—the principal of which was the safety of the girl he had taken under his wing. He well knew that pursuit would be long- continued, persevering, and conducted with the malignant skill and re- vengeful malice to be expected from such characters, Every acre of the State of Ken- tucky would be minutely searched, by night, by day, by unexpected methods; and a devilish ingenuity racked to track the fugi- tive to her concealment. Where, then, should he convey her? How conceal her until his business in the West was finished, and he could take her to the East, and place her under proper protection? For this he had already resolved to do. CHAPTER IV. BRUTUS AND HIS NEW CHARGE. Four days after the adventure of the last chapter, just as the family of a wealthy planter in Bourbon county were about re- tiring for the night, horses were beard riding up to the door, upon which some one knocked witha whip. The good ‘‘ squire” himself, in his shirt-sleeves, opened the door and peered out, light in hand, at the new-comers. ‘Hallo! King, is that you? Glad to see you. Where'd | you come from? And who m wonder have you got with you?” he added, sotto voce. ‘It’s me, no mistake, Squire Claiborne. I promised you I’d come out West this sum- mer, and here lam. Can I put up with you to-night? Ive a little business to talk over.” “T reckon you needn’t ask that question here. If my house wasn’t big enough for my friends, I’d have it made bigger, ‘ short order. I'm right glad to see you, too; I’ve been thinkin’ a good deal about that Jand opera- tion this season. Ho! Brutus! come and take the gentleman’s horses. Who’ve you got there, King—your sister or your wife?” The squire might have been excused the look of curiosity he bent upon the bare- headed girl in her linsey-woolsey frock, who, with downcast eyes, sat upon a horse beside the young man. ‘She is a friend, squire, and that, I trust, will secure her a welcome among your women-folks until I have time to tell you all about her. , She has a history which will in- terest you.” “ All right, my friend. She’s welcome; and I’m sure you needn’t keep out here to teil any stories. Come in, come in, Ohb-h, _ Brutus! here, boy, take these horses away et treat "em well,” . ane, SS eee ‘Ah, Brutus, still as sublime as ever,’ said the young gentleman pleasantly, as a large, singular-looking negro came up and took the reins of the animals. He doffed his cap and smiled, showing himself well pleased when he recognized the | guest. ‘* We're glad to see you back, Massa Caleb. Tl ‘tend to dem hosses, sartain. Why,” he exclaimed, as the light fell more plainly on the weary and panting animals, ‘“‘dey looks like dey’d seen hard times.” «They have—they’ve passed through a try- ing ordeal, Brutus,” said Caleb King, turn- ing to assist his companion to dismount, but she had sprung to the ground, and was look- ing swiftly about her asif she wished to ss her position, however doubtful it might e “Passed through a frying ordeal, have they?” repeated the ser vant, who, like all of his race, preferred high- sounding words. “That’s what's the matter wid ’em, is it?— Oh, ho! I don’t wonder dey looks bad.” The squire ushered his guests into the hall, where his wife came out to meet them; and a hospitable bustle succeeded the previous quiet. They were taken into the kitchen to wash themselves, where the cook soon placed a cold but substantial supper on the table, their hostess rightly guessing they would prefer this to the delay of a warm meal and the dining-room. Mrs. Claiborne was as kind-hearted as it was possible for a woman to be, which is saying a good deal, and was very motherly to the young girl; yet she could hardly conceal the curiosity she felt as to who she was, where she came from and why she had no bonnet. Her curiosity was soon gratified. As soon as the guests had finished their mea}, King asked a private interview with his friends, and the four adjourned to the ‘‘ keepin’ room,” where, with closed doors, and chairs drawn closely together, the whole story of the last. four days was related. The Clai- bornes listened with breathless interest, for the mere mention of the name of Harpe was enough to thrill them with mingled horror and curiosity. The girl bore, with a dignity which could hardly have been expected, the inquisitive looks which were bent upon her; her cheek was pale and her eyes heavy with fatigue, and yet a sort of gladness illuminat- ed her countenance, like that which might the face of one rescued from some terrible danger. Every look, every word, betrayed how utterly she loathed the companionship into which she had been forced. It was fear- ful to think of the years through which she had passed—years which should nave been the most joyous ¢ gf her life, filled with inn darkened by this: cent hopes, Fhe
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as ea ey sat 12 Old Hickory’s Grit. turned to dread and misery by the knowledge which crept about her, like a serpent, of the character of those with whom she had made her home. Now, as the four sat there, discussing her case, she was asked many questions in re- ard to the statement she had made Caleb King, that she was not the daughter of these people, but had been stolen by them, when eight years of age. She answered according to the best of her ability. ‘‘ A fever,” shesaid, “brought on. probably, by fright and home- sickness, during which she was delirious for some time, had atiacked her after she was stolen from her own parents; and when she recovered, her memory of the past was very much impaired. For a long time she recalled nothing—not even her own name—but grad- ually she had regained many recollections of her former life. For one thing, she remem- bered that her own mother used to call her Bella and Isabel, though by no effort could she recall her family name. ‘* That woman names me Peggy, but won't you say Bella, when you speak to me?” she asked, looking at good Mrs. Claiborne in such a way that her eyes filled with tears, *‘Yes, yes, honey, you shall be called what you like, here.” From the few fragments to which the lost girl still clung, her new friends came to the conciusion that the Harpes, as many as eight years ago, were engaged in their present un- lawful pursuits, and that her parents had fallen victims to their murderous propensi ties. That these parents were probably educated people, with money, perhaps living in some isolated Virginia country hone— but what the purpose of the murderers had beeu, in carrying off the child, could not be conjectured. lt miy have been that the bright face of the little girl--which could not have been otherwise than pretty and at- tractive—had touched a fountain of merey, and unsealed it, in the black depth of one or both their hearts, filling them with a fancy to adopt her. Wretches, so isolated from humanity as they, have been known to ex- hibit some such incongruous glimpse of feel- ing. Caleb also gave a brief account of their four days’ flight—or, rather, four néghts’ flight, for they had remained concealed in the houses of friendly settlers three of those days, keeping their horses strictly out of sight in some clump of underbrush, or little bush-hidden dell, so that if the Harpes came about the cabins, they would get no trace of the fugitives. The last day, being in a more thickly-populated country—though still wild enoigh ~and on a road which King knew erfectly, they had ventured to ride by sun ht, keeping sharp watch all the time, a, “‘T have brought her to you,” Caleb con- cluded, ‘‘ because you are my friends—the best I have in this part of the country, and I know Mrs. Claiborne’s goodness of heart. I believe you'll take my little girl, here, into your family, and do all you can to keep her from those fiends, until my business is fin- ished in Kentucky. We are now two hun- dred miles from the place where she forsook the Harpes; then, too, you live so near the village, that they will hardly come about your place, and if Bella”—with a smile at the girl—‘‘changes name and dress, and is very cautious about going out, wearing a vail when she does go, and you will repre- sent her asa young friend or relative stay- ing with you, I believe she will be tolerably safe here. I expect to be four or five months in the State; when I am ready to return to the East, I think I will take her with me, for I cannot feel as if she would ever be perfectly safe in this vicinity. I can turn her over to my mother, or some other good lady, who will see that she is put in the way of taking care of herself. She can learn dress-making, or bonnet-trimming, or any other feminine art she pleases.” So said the young man, but it is doubtful if those four days with a beautiful girl, who looked up to him as her savior and pro- tector, had not already put thoughts in his head of a different destiny for Bella than that of millinery, Perhaps he did not know himself; for, graceful and handsome as she was, with a spirit of haughty independence mingling with feminine timidity, she was, of course, deficient in all proper accomplish- ments which would fit her to become the wife or adopted sister of a man like him- self. Still—she was so picturesque, so in- teresting by her very singularity! He was convinced, too, that she was of good blcod. Not only did every clearly-cut feature pro- claim it, the delicacy of her feet and hands, and the fineness of her hair, but there was that in her bearing which no degradation could humiliate—a spirit which had doubt- less evoked, on her unhappy head, many hard words, if not blows, from the virago who desecrated to her the name of mother. “Pears to me, it wouldn’t be exactly proper for you to be her only escort, on such a long journey,” said the matron, with a smile. “Well, I never thought of that—I was only thinking of the poor child’s safety,” and the young man looked perplexed at this dilemma—‘“‘ indeed, ma’am, since the night- and-day journey we have just taken together, But we'll not trouble our as my own sister. It may be that you, heads about that, now. __ Mrs, Olaiborne, will consent to take that — tet ee, = it seems as if she belonged to me, as much
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Old Hickory’s Grit. trip to i old home at the East, which you was telling me you was so anxious about. In that case, I might have the privilege of escorting you both. Now, my trouble is, to keep her from falling again into those ter- rible hands.” “‘She shall be guarded every hour, like gold,” said the squire, heartily. “Thank you—I knew you would say so. Our first step must be to get rid of that horse which she, rode. It belongs to the Harpes, and if it was seen by them, it would, of course, lead them directly to their prey.” ‘* But how to get rid of it! Shall we kill it, and bury it?” ‘““What would you say to Brutus’s taking him post-haste, across the Ohio River, and selling him to some Ohio traveler? It’s a pity to kill so fine an animal.” “He might do that. He’s brave and wouldn’t be afeard if we told him all about what's up.” “‘T think he had better be told the whole affair, squire. Brutus is a sharp fellow; we could not set any better guard over Miss Bella than him. If you should charge him to keep an eye on prowlers, and to make her safety his special business, I don’t believe even the Harpes could get too close to her. None of the other servants need know any- thing about her history—the fewer who are trusted with it the better. But. Brutus must be appointed her body-guard.” ‘Jes’ so,” said the squire. right.” ‘And now let’s give the poor dear a chance to rest herself,’ said the matron, rising; and soon the household was at rest. The next morning Caleb King called Brutus into the front yard. away from all listeners, and gave him a brief sketch of Miss Bella, and of the post of protector assigned to him. The negro was absorbed in the story from the first; but as the young man proceeded down to the point of giving Peggy’s real first name, and one or two little “* You're -things which she remembered, a strange ex- citement seized upon the sable attendant. The whites of his eyes began to roll, he stood on one foot, then the other, started to run toward the house, and came back again, until his agitation became so funny and so apparent, that King stopped and asked him what was the matter. : “Oh, sah! ’scuse me, sah. My head is done turned upside down. 1 didn’t rest ber- z well last night, and I’s sort o’ giddy-like. oor little babby! I’spects her folks was murdered, sure ‘nuff. Trus’ ole Brutus for to take careo’ her. They sha’n’t hurt a ha’r of her head. I'll sleep wid one eye open, Massa King; won’t cotch dis weasel asleep, no sah! You can trus’ that young lady tome with perfeck compunity.” “You won’t regret any trouble that you ; May take on her account,” continued Caleb, drawing forth a half-eagle from his pocket, but Brutus made a gesture of disdain, and would not touch the glittering bribe. ‘‘Don’ want no pay for waitin’ on Her, massa, But wouldn’t yer jis’ let me go and take a good look at her? So’s f know her when I come to see her, yer see,” he explain- ed, and without waiting for an answer, he dashed frantically up to the house and disap- peared within. The young man followed, surprised and amused at the half-crazy man- ner of the negro, and reached the keeping- room a little behind Brutus, where Bella (as by her request they now began to call her) was holding some yarn for Mrs, Claiborne to wind. Theservant dashed into the room with a want cf ceremony quite different from his usual studied politeness, stopped short, gazed on the girl a moment, with open mouth, and suddenly fell on his knees with outstretched hands. Then he jumped up and began rub- bing his knees, as if the kneeling position had been injurious to him. His mistress regard- ed him with astonishment, while her young companion, struck with the ludicrous move- ments of the old fellow, burst out laughing. ‘‘Dar, dar; I se’d so!” cried Brutus, stop- ping, and gazing straight at heragain. “I se’d so, and now I’s proved it!” ‘‘What did you say, and what have you proved?” asked King. The question seemed to partially recall him to the figure he was making: He retreated toward the door, put on his usual deferential manner in Mrs. Clai- borne’s presence, puiled his wool, and witha sort of quick slyness, answered: ‘‘Didn’ ’no’ what I was a-sayin’, massa. T’s had de headache bad Gis mornin’; ’scuse me, missus, but I was so upsot bearin’ sich an ineredulous story dat I mos’ forget to be- habe myself—dat’s a fac’. Laugh away, Missa Bella, at ole nigger—he lub to heer young folks Jaugh—soun’s like ole times— w’en I use to lib in ole Virginny. On dis one t’ing you may reckon, for a dead sure, and dat is—dar sha’n’t nobody hurt you wile Brutus is around!” And with this comfort- ing assurance, he backed out of the room which he had so unceremoniously entered. ‘* What an odd person!” cried the young irl. : “He'll be a good friend of yours, I feel certain,” replied Mrs. Claiborne. ‘‘ We've had him now nearly eight years, and we vices are tous. He can do anything he is asked to—and his judgment is excellent. The squire trusts the whole farm to him when he is away, He’sa great hunter, too— realize, every day, how important his ser- ~ ag Min ieee 5,
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Old Hickory’s . almost equal to Old Hickory. His great holiday is when he has permission to put on his hunting-suit—a queer rig which he has— and go off into the woods to get a supply of venison and wild-fowls for family use. What’s the matter with him this morning I can’t guess. Maybe he was out to meeting last night, and got so excited that he hasn’t settled down yet. Iassure you, Bella, if he takes you under his wing, you'll be well eared for.” * Oh, I like him!” said she, laughing again at the memory of his ridiculous actions; **T’ve taken a great fancy tohim. I feel as if he and I were old friends a’ready. I b’lieve I’ve seen him somewhere before to- day, but I don’t call to mind where.” “That's only a notion of yours,” said the matron. ‘‘ He hasn’t been over twenty mile from here since we brought him from old Virginny; and, of course, you've never been in this part of the country before.” “‘[’m sure I’ve seen him,” persisted Bella —and then her dark eyes, meeting those of Caleb, softened and drooped, and she dropped the chain of memory which linked her to the sable servant, the broken links of which she had been trying to put together. That day Brutus started off with the horse which had belonged to the Harpes, conveyed him safely across the Ohio, sold him to good advantage, and returned with the proceeds, which were devoted to fitting up such a wardrobe for the fugitive girl as was suitable to her present position. After his return, Caleb went to another art of the State, where business called him. n those days, a journey to the seaboard was a long and arduous undertaking; and no plan could be formed for sending Mrs. Clai- borne and Bella forward, until King was able to act as their escort. All that could be done was to use the utmost vigilance to pre- vent the Harpes from getting possession of the fugitive; and in this, Caleb trusted much to Brutus, who expressed the utmost interest and a determination to guard the young mis- sus as he would the apple of his eye. So she was left in the kiad home of the Claibornes, while the young man went about his affairs. The summer sped swiftly on; Caleb paid several brief visits to the squire’s, and those good people whispered and smiled to each other upon the turn matters were taking with the young couple. During those many weeks Bella and Bru- tus had become warm friends. There was something peculiar in the interest he took in her, and in return for his faithful zeal in her behalf, she felt for him the affection of a childish, impulsive nature for one who is very kind. She felt almost safe under his eye; though he, and others, knew that a dread like a hateful nightmare, hung over her young life; her cheek would blanch, and she would start and tremble at an unexpected sound. Bella had many long talks with her colored servitor—she liked to hear his gossip about the good times past in ‘‘ ole Virginny;” and often he asked her questions about her own childhood, before her parents were murdered, putting them in such a way as greatly to as- sist her memory—so that, before the summer was over, she was quite certain that she should know her old home, if ever she saw it, and even began to tell him incidents of her infancy. If any one more experienced than this wild girl had overheard their con- versation, they would have known that Bru- tus had some special object in leading her mind back to those days; and it would not be difficult for them to conjecture that he knew more about her and her past history than she did herself. But he was careful not to betray this before others. He tried hard to make her remember her family name, but she could not recall it, though she mused upon it many a time, until her head and heart ached. Finally, one day she came to him, her cheeks red and her face lighted up with exultation. ‘Brutus, I know now what my name used to be.” ‘‘How do you know, missa?” He looked at her eagerly. ‘*Tt came to me last night, in my sleep.” “What do you t’ink it is, honey?” “T don’t think—I know. It’s Moultrie. My father’s name was Jefferson Moultrie, and I’m going to tell Mr. King so the next time I see him.” “T wouldn't tell him jist yet,” said Brutus, earnestly. ‘‘ Don’t tell him till I tell yer to, Missa Bella, don’t! I’s got good reasons for it. But I’s mighty glad ye recollected it—oh Lordy, yis! Moultrie’s quite a respectable name, honey, and we'll hev it looked to. But, mind ole Brutus now; yer wait a little while.” She was rather reluctant to promise, but did'so finally. And now it will not be hard for the reader to guess who were the characters introduced in the first chapter, although Caleb therein Was masquerading a little, as he was fond of doing, when he got in a company of inquisi- tive strangers —nor will it be difficult to con- jecture that the ever-feared, carefully-guard- ed against calamity had at last taken place. CHAPTER VY. HOLED. Cates Kine (alias Smith), Brutus, and the hunter, running, down the road in the rain and darkness, paused simultaneously, It was
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Old Hickory’s Grit. 2 id the swift clatter of horse’s hoofs receding in the distance which thus brought them to a standstill. 7 ‘‘Oh, Lord, we shall nebber cotch ‘em now,” groaned the negro. “No, they have mounted and ridden off with her,” and Caleb gave a groan of despair. “Oh, Brutus, did you not promise me to watch her?” “T hab watch her, Massa King—you know dat—night and day. She nebber sot foot out- side dat door, ‘cept when I was clust arter her heels. Don’t go for to blame me.” ‘Well, well! don’t stop even to tell me how it happened. Run to the stable of the tavern, and bring me my horse—run, boy, do you hear?” The negro was off before the command was finished, “What good’ll that do?” asked the hunter, with a deliberation which chilled the young man’s hopes still more—‘‘ they will be out o’ sight or hearin’ long afore you can overtake ’em. Andon such a night as this, what can you do? Tain’t likely they'll keep in the right road; and if they did, and heerd you after ’em, they could dodge you easy.” “T know it,” was the desponding reply. “‘ Jes’ tell a friend what's up, won't yer? Tf I can help you, I will. But what in crea- tion all this rumpus means is more’n I can guess. Old Hickory is put to his stumps. Here you are, racing out in the rain, with the devil himself for a friend, and a woman a-hollerin’ and yellin’, and two men runnin’ after her—it beats me to make head or tail of it. I’m rather partikelar about the com- pany I keep, and the fu’st thing 1 want set- tled before I offer my company, is, whether that’s the old feller himself?” meaning Brutus. If Caleb had not been so troubled in his mind he would have enjoyed the hunter’s perturbation about Brutus. As it was, he could not. be otherwise than serious; he an- swered, plainly: “You know Squire Claiborne? Well, that’s his colored boy, who cares for his horses and drives for him. He’s a very pe- culiar ‘nigger’ at all times; and to-night he’s fixed himself up in this style for some pur- pose, I expect.” “« Jes’ as we hunters fix ourselves to fool the deer,” interposed Hickory. ‘‘I see now. He’s out on the trail of somethin’, and he’s dressed himself to suit.” ‘*T was goin to the squire’s—expected to reach there to-night; but it rained so very hard, I concluded to stop at Coon’s till day- light—it’s only about three miles further to the squire’s. What has happened, I can zasily guess—and if I thought you could ysist me, 1’d tell you all about it,” “T’m willin’ to lend a hand, if it’s any- thing in my line.” ‘*You know the country better than any other man in the State, I’ve been told.” «So they say.” “Well, I hope, then, that you can help me. You have heard of the Harpes?” ‘Heard of ’em!” exclaimed the hunter, with an oath. ‘* Who hain’t heard of them infernal demons. I'd consider it the biggest hunt 1 ever made, if I could unearth them wild beasts. It works on my mind, to think I hain’t trapped ’em yet.” ‘‘Those men who have just escaped us are the Harves!” “Thunder—and blazes!” ** And they have stolen a young woman who was visiting at the Claibornes’. She was the daughter of some persons whom they murdered, and carried off and adopted the child—but she never liked to live with them, and finally succeeded in getting away from them. The Claibornes were hiding and protecting her. I'll tell you her story some time. I’d give all I’m worth to get her safely out of their hands—for I’m afraid they will either kill her, or torment ker in some manner, to punish her for running away. Besides, if they once get fairly away with her, we'll never get trace of her again.” If it had not been dark, the young man might have noticed the hunter, scratching his head vigorously, with a reflective look, as if trying to waken a sleeping idea. “Oh, Brutus, why do you not make haste?” again cried Caleb. *«See here, stranger, what’s yer name? Smith, I b’lieve. You needn’t—’ “My name is not Smith—it’s King—I said that for a joke on the fellow who asked me sO many questions,” said poor Caleb, in remorse for having played tricks on those whom he might now need for friends. ‘“‘I always say my name is Smith when any one asks: who has no right. Call me King, friend.” ‘«Wal, Mr. King, I’ve a notion I can help you a little.” “In what way?” was eagerly asked. “Mind, I don’t say I Ain—I only say I’ve a notion I kin. So you mustn’t be disap- p'inted if I make a mistake—” “Oh, why doesn’t he come with that horse?” interposed Caleb. “ Andif I should be right in my guess,” proceeded the hunter, “thar’s no need of bein’ in sech a terrible hurry. Now, mind, 1 say I ain’t sure, but I deléeve I kin show you what them devils has their den at present, and whar they'll take the girl.” Caleb made a dodge in the dark to seize
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16 Old Hickory’s Grit. his new friend’s hand, in a sudden burst of hope und gratitude: “Where? Where?” ‘‘ Well, I reckon it’s nigh on to about ten miles from here. I’m nowise sartain ’twas them I saw, about two o’clock this arternoon but ’ve my reasons for thinkin’ ’twas. And if twas them, they’ll put up thar to night— *cause it’s too stormy for man or beast to be abroad; and we can reach the spot afore ip oan rutus now came up with King’s horse and another which he had taken without permission from the stable—the emergency justifying the liberty, in his opinion. He breathed hard with the haste of his expedi- tion. “‘What reason have you for thinking you saw the Harpes?” “‘A good deal of reason, come to put it all together. I was comin’ in from the hunt, with the rest you saw there to the tavern, We was in a wild sort of a place, full ten miles from hyer, trudgin’ for Coon’s, as we saw the storm comin’; I was quite a piece ahead of the others, when I thought 1 heerd an animal trampin’ and snuffin’ some ways off, toward a desput wild holler, which I knew lay to the right. It wasaravine, with rocks risin’ up on t’other side—a place I knew well, and had been through often, though none of my friends knew about it. I'd killed two b’ars in that ravine the winter afore, and as [ heerd the critter movin’, I thought it mought be another b’ar, so I jist moved softly toward it to diskiver. I want- ed the glory of killin’ the b’ar without help; so I didn’t wait for t’others, but crept along about a hundred yards till I come to a spot where I could peep into the holler, and there I saw, instid of my b’ar, a couple o’ tame horses, tethered with ropes, and with thur saddles on, quietly grazin’. I thought, at the time, it was mighty queer, and I was mad, for two reasons; one at not findin’a b’ar, and t’other bekase I was afraid some- body had diskivered my house, as I call it. Yer see, under them rock thur’s an openin’ into as purty a cave as ever ye sot eyes on— dry an’ high, with a nat’ral sort of a chim- ney, where a person can have a fire. I’ve staid in it more’n one night. I've often used it for a storehouse; by puttin’ up a timber or two against the entrance, to keep out wild animals, I could keep my skins and blanke‘s and things in thar, when I was out on a trappin’ frolic. Wal, when I see’d the horses I made up my mind somebody was prowlin’ around and makin’ headquarters in the cave. I couldn’t decide whether it was Injuns racin’ down here on a stealin’ expedi- tion, or some o’ them counterfeiters as has been chased pretty lively lately. It wur a- Sack t beginning to rain pretty smart, by that time, so | made up my mind Id say nothin’ to the boys to-night, but’ arly in the mornin’ we’d make up a party, and inquire into the mat- ter. I never thought of them Harpes! Blast ’em: if I had, we'd ’a’ had thur skins afore this, for thar was six of us, and we’d ’a’ quickly smoked them out o’ thu’r hole.” “‘But do you really think they'll go back there? Won’t they ride all night and be far away before we begin our pursuit?” “T recken they won’t, stranger. They wouldn't be cute if they did. They know very well the whole country'd be roused in the mornin’, men closin’ in all directions, runnin’ fifty and a hundred miles arter’em, while here they’ll be, right under our noses, safe and sound. If I hadn’t bappened to see their horses this arternoon, I'll bet they mought stay thar six months without bein’ tracked. They sart’inly won’t stir out of that afore to-morrow night, and I doubt if they do then. They’ve probably got things fixed for a comfortable stay.” “‘Well?’ asked Caleb, groaning with im- patience as he thought of the girl’s fright and danger, in that lonely place with those terri- ble men. ** You don’t s’pose the gal’s in any purtik’- ler immejit danger?” asked Old Hick, seeing his distress of mind. “T don’t know. She says the men have always treated her kindly, especially the one who calls himself her father; but their anger at her escape, and the trouble they have had in finding her, may exasperate them into murdering her. Why they have ever shown any more mercy to her than to the other help- less creatures who have fallen into their hands is a mystery.” ‘Tain’t no mystery to dis pusson,” mut- tered Brutus to himself. ‘‘I knows what der arter—no mistake ’bout dat.” “°Tain’t likely they'll kill her if they’ve had an object in keepin’ her so many years,” re- marked the hunter. ‘‘ But, whatever’s up, it’s safest and best to wait a few hours, since we know whar they’ll bring up. Yer see, if we track ‘em too close, we run the resk 0’ bein’ shot down in the dark without doin’ her no good; while, if we wait till they’s housed, and p’raps sound asleep, we can bag ’em without no trouble. Another thing in favor of takin’ it cool: I reckon the rain will quit off a little after midnight, when the moon rises; it would be impossible to find our way in this darkness, and to carry a light would be to expose ourselves and kiver them. We must get a good ready, and set out about two o’clock, by the light of the moon. I'll do mighty well then, if I keep the track, for I tell ye, thar ain’ta wilder
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e Old Hickory’s Grit. AF spot in Kentuck than that same holler, and the path that leads to it.” “Better adjourn, den, to desquare’s. He’ll be mighty oneasy when he finds me and Miss Bella missin’; didn’ have time to stop in de house and tell ’em what had happened. Oh, my! Oh, Lordy! To tink I should set my- self round about dat young lady like a ring of glory or a hedge-fence, fur to purtect her, and keep dem painters ’way all summer, jest to spring on dat poor lamb and carry her off afore my eyes at last in de whisk of a pig’s tail! Oh, Lordy! it’s too bad!” The old servant’s distress was too great for Caleb to add to it by reproaches, even if there had been any cause for reproach, which he had no reason to think. He knew that the cunning of those diabolical men was more than a match for the utmost prudence; and he blamed himself—only himse]f—that he had left that helpless young girl so long exposed to the dangers of her situation. Why had he not dropped all his business in- terests and conveyed her to a place of safety? It was what he should have done. How paltry now appeared every other considera- tion beside that of ber welfare. Ah, Caleb King had not made those five or six visits to the squire’s without becoming more and more deeply involved in the cause of the beautiful orphan, It is dangerous to the generous and sensitive heart to extend protection to youth and beauty. The mere fact that Bella regarded him with such grati- tude, and had such faith in his promise to protect her, was enough of itself to make him think tenderly of her. The bright blush which sprung to her cheek when they met, the flutter of her heart, the trembling of her hand, the soft light of the full, dark eye, had already done their magic work upon. his heart. Yet he did not know it—he scarcely suspected it now. He only felt that his soul was weary with intolerable suspense. “Yes, it will be best to go to the squire’s in the mean time,” he said, *‘unless it takes us too far away.” “Tt’s to the south, ain’t it, Squire Clai- borne’s?. Then it’s out of our way; but I think thar’s a cross-cut from there, ’twill bring us out nigh to the p’int where we leave the main road. We may as well stop there as anywhere.” “But how about getting more help from the town?” asked Caleb. “Three to two’s enough, if thu’r trusty,” said the hunter, curtly. ‘‘ Are you sure with the rifle, my colored friend?” “JT dunno any man, ’ceptin’ Old Hick, that I’d guv up to.” “Yes, Brutus is better than two ordinary fellows,” continued Caleb; ‘‘ strong as a lion, cool, and familiar with the rifle.” “Then we don’t want more company. It’s my experience that enough’s better than too much. Silence and cunning is what traps the game. Lead on, stranger, to the squire’s.” ‘And you, Brutus, put that borrowed horse back in the stable.” As they passed the tavern, Brutus return- the horse, and the three men walked rapid] forward in the rain, leading Caleb’s animal, which his master would not mount, since the hunter was on foot. It was not until they were drying themselves in the great kitchen of the house, with the squire’s family gather- ed anxiously about, that Caleb learned the incidents touching the kidnapping of the young woman. Incidents they could hardly be called, for there was but the meager fact that Bella had been in the kitchen, after sup- per, unusually bright and happy, and wish- ing some cool water to drink, had stepped outside to the well, which was not four feet from the door, and upon which the light from the kitchen fell distinctly. When she did not come in again, the cook went to the door, looked about, called, and thinking Miss Bella had run round to the front door, thought no more of it, until her mistress came out and asked for her; and then “There were hurryings to and fro.” The squire was summoned from his com- fortable seat in the keeping-room, and great inquiries were made for Brutus. When it was ascertained that neither he nor Bella were anywhere about the place, the alarm increased. The young girl had won herself too warm a place in the childless hearts of the good couple for them noet’to feel the keenest dismay at the disaster. The squire had pulled on his big boots, put on his oyer- coat, and, with his gun and a lantern, ac- companied by his servants and dogs, had stumped all over the place—which, without Caleb, or even Brutus, to advise him, was all he could think to do—and had come in a few moments before our party, very wet and tired, and very melancholy. Brutus had now to add his mite of information. He had seen Miss Bella in the kitchen, when he went out, after getting his supper. A few minutes later, as he was in the stable, he thought he heard the sound of feet running past, but he would not have considered it, if, a moment later, a muffled scream, “‘ clip- ped off,” as he said, ‘right in the middle, hadn’t brought it home to him, like a streak of lightnin’, what it all meant.” For an in- stant he stood, paralyzed by the suddenness of the shock; then, with the lantern in his hand, by the light of which he was currying the horses, he rushed out, and holding it up and turning it all around, he saw two men
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is Old Hickory’s Grit. making off with his young missus through the cornfield. We did not stop to give the wlarm, for they were already climbing the fence into the woods on the other side, and he was afraid he should lose them, They had a good deal the start, when he gave chase, yelling at the top of his voice; but the storm made such a noise that his shouts attracted no attention at the house. Two or three times they got entirely out of sight and hearing, and again he would approach so near that a ray of his lantern would light on them as they ran, dragging the girl between them. When he found they were coming out into the high-road, and would have to pass Coon’s tavern, he thought he might get help. It was conjectured now, by her friends, that when the poor child saw the light streaming out of the tavern window, in- spired by hope, she had made a frantic ef- fort, by which she freed herself from her persecutors, and running to the window, she had endeavored to call attention to her situa- tion, but that the men had immediately re- seized her, and hurried her off to the spot where their horses were concealed. There was no doubt, if the suspicions of Old Hick- ory were correct, that the brothers had been in the neighborhood some time, concealing themselves in the cave in the ravine, and coming out in the evening; that tney had tied their horses at some spot so distant as to attract no attention, and then had prowled about the vicinity, seeking the opportunity which had at length offered. Good Mrs. Claiborne laughed hysterically when Old Hick assured her that there were good prospects, not only of the young wo- tan being rescued, but of the Harpes being brought to justice. The squire rubbed his rheumatic legs, and declared he should make one of the party; but this the hunter firmly opposed. THis idea, as he had previonsly ex- pressed it, was silence, discretion, and skill; so that the game might be quictly bagged, if possible, without the loss of valuable lives. Lhe plan was to ride within a couple of miles of the cave, then to dismount, cautiously ap- proach on foot, and silently, by the first rays of dawn, take up each man a concealed posi- tion, commanding the mouth of the cave; and when the men came out, as they would be sure to do, sooner or later, to reconnoiter, and to attend to their horses, to shoot them down, This plan required qualities which the sqnire did not possess—patience, endurance, and the ability to keep perfectly quiet. After position was once taken up, there must not be the movement of a hand, though they should be compelled to wait for hours, for, undoubtedly, the villains had some loophole | through which to overlook the ravine, and would never venture forth without a cau- tious examination of the vicinity. There- fore, as it would be impossible to guess what moment their eyes might be searching the |} movement which might alarm them until they saw fit to come forth. Nor, if one ata time should appevr, would it be desirable to dispose of him, even if they had to wait dreary and uncomfortable hours; for their object, above all things, was to preserve the safety of the young lady, and ualess the Harpes were both secured in such a manner as to prevent the possibility of their wreak- ing revenge upon her, there was great dan- ger that they would murder her out of pure malice, should they find themselves at all likely to be snared. After the matter had been thoroughly dis- cussed in every possible light, Mrs. Claiborne went about providing for the physical com- fort of the besieging party. As it was prob- able that they would be kept breakfastless, if not dinnerless, she prepared a midnight luncheon of cold ham and pumpkin-pie, with a large bow] of hot negus—which latter stimulant their exposure to the storm had made a sanitary measure. ‘ As the hunter sat by the fire, toasting his feet, he kept his eyes upon Brutus, who remained respectfully in the background. He was making up his mind as to the exact worth of the new re- cruit.. Caleb King he believed to be fearless and prudent, if not deeply skilled in border tactics; the manner in which he had carried himseif during the story-telling and quarrel- ing in Coon’s tavern—where he had played a part for the mere fun of it—proved this to the quick-witted ranger. Apparently he be- came well satisfied of the true character of Brutus—that he was a fellow of exceeding sagacity, and to be relied upon in any emerg- ency—for he addressed to him some pleasant remarks, bidding him come closer to the fire, so as to be throughly warmed and dried for the exposure which was to follow. ‘He thinks a power 0’ the gal, anyhow,” thought Old Hickory, observing the restless- ness of the negro, which would not permit him to be still a moment, and tae expression of de- jection, mingled with determination, which made still darker his dark and uncouth fea- tures. Indeed, the negro’s uneasiness was fully equal to the young land-agent’s. Once he muttered audibly, forgetful of the ears about him: ‘* Oh, Lordy! I duuno but I oughter ’a’ told him all at first. But she would ’a’ been no safer for dat, if I had,” he added—then, conscious that he had spoken aloud, he cast a curious look at Caleb, who was gazing at him in astonishment, hollow, it would be necessary to make no - i ae
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2 RCE ee eee ete agp ee of it, but Caleb, who “ whispered the leader, “but I Old Hickory’s Grit. ‘If you’ve anything to tell, Brutus, that | hunter, either through much sagacity, or will help us in this emergency, speak out!” | through familiarity with the place, always he said sternly. “Deed, Massa King, I don’t know nuffin’ as will help us in dis missionary. If I did, TI shouldn’t keep it back, yer better bilieve. I was only a-wishin’ 1’d ’a’—done sutbin’ I didn’t.” ; Seeing that he did not like to be questioned, and having so much confidence in him, Caleb made no further ingviries. As the hunter had predicted, shortly after the rising of the moon, the heavy pall which stretched from one side of the heavens to the other was lifted, and a faint light began to glimmer through. The three adventurers, after carefully examining their rifles and _ knives—the former having been in danger of injury from the rain—mounted the horses which were prepared for them, and with the earnest prayers of Mrs. Claiborne for their safety and success, took the little by-road which led off through the woods in the di- rection of the murderers’ haunt. They had not much more than left the path, and taken to apparently trackless depths of forest, when the moon broke forth in renewed splendor, casting a fantastic and ~ rather unreliable glimmer through the rain- laden birches, which, uncertain and waving as it was, materially assisted them to keep in the way. Caleb King thought of that other night, upon which he had fled with the maiden from the demons who again nad her in their power. It seemed along time to look back to, although it was little over four months; but in these four months, the girl, who was then to him but a beautiful and in- teresting stranger, had become to him dear as a sister—ay, dearer! The air was cold, and felt still chillier from contrast with the warmth of the squire’s kitchen. The hardy ranger thought nothing vas sensitive to the weather, felt his hopes sink with the temper- ature. After about two hours’ careful pick- ing of the way through the wild chiaroscuro of the moonlit forest, Old Hickory drew rein, and whispered to the others to dis- mount. In a moment, Caleb’s feet and hands, which had been cold, were burning with excitement; his courage leaped to the trial; it seemed to him then, as if all things were possible, “We've got a good two miles to foot it,” don’t want these pesky brutes no nearer. They’d be sure to make a noise. and go forward.” The horses were tied; and the men pro- ceeded through a wilderness so dense and ‘errun with bushes, that it seemed impos- sible to force a passage. However, the We'll hitch ’em here contrived to find an accessible path through which to creep forward; and, after a slow journey of another hour, they approached the ravine, into which they now entered with redoubled caution. With the same ex- pedients which he would have used had he been on the track of Indians, Old Hickory led the van, creeping from bush to bush, sliding from tree to tree, until, in perfect silence, he had reached a spot distant about twenty yards from the mouth of the cavern, and from which he could bear full upon it with his rifl . There was no doubt but that the Harpes had returned to this den, for he observed, with joy, the same horses he had discovered on the previous day, lying in an open patch not far away. This fact he communicated in a whisper to his companions, whom he placed on either side of him, and about ten feet from him, behind thick clumps of bushes, which were admirable as completely conceal- ing them, yet giving them full opportunity to reconnoiter the mouth of the cave, be- tween the branches. He pointed out to them the exact place in the rock, where the en- trance, partially hidden by overhanging rocks and bushes, was to be found, directing them to rest their rifles in such a manner as to be in range, and yet so as not to weary themselves. He then took up a_ position midway between the two, where a fallen tree, by the side of which grew up some tall, rank grass, gave him not only a perfect con- cealment, but enabled him to move either way, so as to communicate with his aids as occasion required. It now began to grow quite light. Never did it seem so long between the first gray ray of dawn and the final uprolling of the sun, as it did, that morning, to Caleb. Yet, after the sun was risen, the time went even more slowly, to his intense, excited wish. If expectation of the most vivid kind had not held them spellbound, their position would have been inexpressibly tedious, com- pelled to watch and wait so long in motion- less silence. ¢ The sun was two hours high. The black knelt like an ebony statue, as patient as if there was no life in him; Caleb had begun to find the restraint intolerable. Earnestly as he had deen warned, he was about to attempt to creep over toward the hunter, when of a sudden, his heart leaped and fell—stood still, and bounded again. Hesaw a moss- grown log, which lay before the cave, slowly pushed aside, and a man, in a stooping pos- ture coming through and standing, finally, erect, outside the retreat, look all about him as if with the caution of habit, Involunta-
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20 Old Hickory’s Grit. te rily his finger pressed the lock, for the fel- low’s breast was in full range, but he remem- bered the counsel of the ranger not to shoot until both the brothers appeared, and re- frained. This, then, was one of the Harpes!—one of those monsters, so much worse than wild beasts, as man’s ingenuity enables him to accomplish more cruelty. The morning sun shone full on him, as he stood there, a large, spare man, dressed in the leather breeches and flannel ‘‘warmus” of the foresters. Caleb shuddered as the man’s small and deep-set eyes turned hither and thither with a crafty and cautiouslook. His large mouth showed his long teeth, glistening like those of a wolf, and giving to all his other fea- tures an expression of beast-like ferocity. Oh, to think that Bella was in the power of that creature! Caleb breathed hard, setting his own teeth firmly together, as if, in im- agination, he ground his enemy to powder. The man, afterstanding two minutes look- ing about him, gave a hitch to his breeches, and started to look after the horses, which were quietly cropping the grass, tied, as he had left them. He had not gone a dozen steps when he paused, looked in the direction of the hidden foe, began to whistle carelessly, at the same time to retreat, and was soon back in the cave. As soon as he had disappeared, the ranger began to crawl toward Caleb, along the line of the fallen tree, until he came within whis- pering distance. “King, draw in your rifle a little—so, very keerful. I mistrust that feller saw suthin’ suspicious. In fact, I’m e’ena'most sart’in of it, from the way he backed down. He was mighty cool about it—whistlin’ and takin’ it easy—but ’m afraid he saw some- thing, Most likely the sun may have struck on the muzzle or lock of yer rifle, and he see’d it shine. If so, it'll be some time be- fore we sce ’em out agin, and all our hopes of takin’ ’em by surprise is over.” “Oh, dear, I’m confounded tired,” whis- pered Caleb. ‘I wish I’d shot the villain when I had a chance.” “Never say die, young man. Why! I’d lay low for a b’ar longer’n ¢h7s, and not eee out—and here you ar’, with a pretty ga fe ?? “That's just it! suspense,” ‘* Wal, now, you keep very cool and very still, and very sharp watch. Ef they’re con- vinced they’re watched, they’ll be purty sure to dash out.” ** Are you certain there is no back exit to that infernal cave?” asked Caleb. ‘‘ It would be a pretty joke to stay here like three fools, It kills me to bear the while they made off in some other direc- tion.” ‘A cat couldn't get out o’ that cave except by the way they went in. I know it all over. They might, p’raps, crawl through the hole I use for a chimney, but that comes out jist atop o’ that rock, and you kin keep your eye on it. They’d be wuss off, to come out thar, than by the nat’ral entrance, ’kase it’s further from their horses, and it’s just as exposed.” The hunter turned to craw] back to his place, remarking: ‘‘ Keep yer eyes skinned, young man—I can’t abide to lose the game, after it’s fairly holed.” CHAPTER VI. OLD HICKORY'S STRATHGY. AnotuEr long and weary watch now be- gan, Hunger, thirst, but most of all impa- tience, tormented the besieging trio, he sun mounted higher, until it stood at its meridian. The ranger was thoroughly convinced that the man who came out in the morning had seen some cause for suspicion, or they cer- tainly would have been out again to attend to their animals, if not to procure food for themselves. It now became his fear that they would remain in the cave until evening and then effect their escape, which he would have no power to prevent, unless it were by the three closing up around the mouth of the cavern, so close as to be aware of the slight- est movement, and thus to grasp their prey in the dark. He now regretted that he had not brought a larger force with him, the idea having struck him that if he could have a sufficient force in the front, he himself might creep, by a wide circuit, quite to the base of the rocks, crawl along to a position over the chimney of the cave, through which, come to think well of it, he might take aim at one of theskulkers, and thus drive the other to flight by the door, where he could be pan shot down. He thought of this so favorably that at last he crept to Brutus, and. laid the plan before him, asking him if heand King would be certain to do justice to the rascal in front, or toboth, if they should suddenly emerge, while he was making his way to the rear. The negro’s face glistened with satisfaction at the proposition; he was getting tired and uneasy, and change seemed desirable. Old Hickory then proceeded toward Caleb, and made his intention known to him, after which he began to back out carefully down the little hillock, across the top of which they were ranged. Hardly had he taken two paces backward when a little flash of fire and wreath of blue smoke suddenly burst from the entrance of the cave, and, simultaneously with the re-— ' Pas SE EIT ED: Se
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“ ee ete Old Hickory’s Grit. 21 | port of a gun, Caleb clapped his hand to his shoulder, and gave a slight shudder, but no sound, The next instant all was silence—not a person was to be seen; one of the men in the cave had evidently fired from under shelter at the bush which had alarmed him, to ascertain whether his suspicions were cor- rect or not. That was the moment which proved Caleb King, if not as much of a woodsman, as much of a hero, as the ranger. He seemed to know by intuition what was intended, and, although severely wounded, never stirred or moaned, after that first clap- ping of his hand to the wound. ‘*That’s glorious!” whispered Old Hickory, fired by his conduct into enthusiasm, ‘‘ Don’t stir! keep quiet if you kin! We'll have ’em now. Yes! we'll have ’em! When they find that nothin’ moves, they’ll ventur’ out purty soon, and ther’s still two of us, which is enough. But I hope yer ain’t seriously hurt, young man.” “Tm bleeding pretty fast, I’m afraid,” murmured Caleb, but he kept on his knees, although growing very white. Presently he sunk a little forward, but not enough to stir the bushes, and the ranger saw that he had fainted. “Tean't reach him to stop the bleedin’ without thur diskiverin’ thar’s somethin’ in the wind. If he dies, I can’t help it,” mut- tered he, gritting his teeth; ‘it'll be one more murder to their account— but ef I don’t wipe it out afore dark this day, Old Hickory ll give up that he ain’t wu'th a b’arskin any longer.” Here he noticed the negro, who was terri- bly excited, fairly writhing upon his knees in the anxiety he felt about the young mas- ter; but at a motion from the hunter, he forced himself into his old quietude, and fixed his glaring eyes upon the den with an expression which boded ill for its in- mates. Fifteen minutes, which seemed at least twice that length of time, crept on, and the patience of the besiegers was about to be re- warded, for already they saw a hand con- taining a rifle stretch out from the cave, when, at that.moment, Caleb, reviving from his swoon, but totally unconscious of where he was or what he was doing, staggered to his feet and fell down again. The besieged evidently saw him, for the arm was quickly drawn in—as quickly did the ranger jerk the young man out of the bushes behind the safer barricade of the fallen tree. He then motioned to Brutus also to come into the shelter of the log, who did so. One great advantage remained to the outsiders, which was, that the enemy being ignorant of their - position and numbers, would not know how ' ade AK oy es ; = ee to conduct an attack; but then, the besieged had this adyantage—one man could defend their stronghold against a hundred if he had some one to load guns for him; or even, for that matter, with a knife. For a short time, while Brutus held watch of the cave, Old Hickory busied himself at- tending to King, who sadly needed some as- sistance. Tearing the shirt from his wounded shoulder, he bandaged the wound as well as he was able, stopping the bleeding with lint hastily scraped from the victim’s cambric handkerchief. ‘Then he poured alittle whisky from his canteen down the patient's throat, and left kim to rest and recover him- self as best he might on the grass. Brutus, with one eye pityingly bent on his young master, and one sternly on the stronghold of the enemy, was a picture worth seeing. The day was a fine one, calm and bright as the preceding evening had been stormy. The ranger only wished there had been a “right smart breeze” to cover some of the move- ments he wished to make—but not a leaf stirred; the sun was already beginning to decline. “See hyer, I can’t stand this no longer. I'm going to get a peep at ’em from the chimney—they won’t show their heads ag’in now, be sure—they’ll wait till dark. You've got two rifles, darky, and I reckon you'll know how to use ’em in case them rascals shows afore I get back.” ‘‘Don’t need to tell dis chile what to do with ‘em weepings, if he only cotch de chance. Oh, Lordy! if dey would only come out,’ “But they won’t—they know better. If they’ve got fodder, thar’s no reason why they shouldn’t stay thar a week or a month —'cept by smokin’, which would be too dangerous for the gal. Wal, look sharp, now.” The negro grunted an assent, and the ranger, slipping down into the long grass, where a slight eminence shielded him from sight, crawled along on his hands and knees, until Brutus lost sight of him entirely. He drew his own and his master’s weapon to his hand, and turned himself to watch tbe cavern. In the meantime King had par- tially revived, and attempted to get into a kneeling posture beside the servant, but the pain in his shoulder was so severe that he sunk back again. The negro was absorbed watching the en- trance, while Caleb was too much taken up with the intense anxiety of the present to take heed of those last words. Moment after _ moment glided away in suspense—nothing was to be seen or heard, betokening life in that little hollow, except the movement of the tethered horses, as they nipped the grass, - A
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Old Hickory’s Grit. in a circle about their stake. After tedious waiting, Brutus finally saw something stir- ring along the brow of the rock which rose fifteen or eighteen feet above the cave. The next moment the tall form of the ranger arose to its full hight, and he began to pick his way to a lower rock which he had pointed out as containing the chimney, or opening into the cave. The negro watched him with breathless interest. Getting down on his hands and knees, Old Hickory crept along the rock, carrying his rifle carefully, until he seemed to have gained the desired spot, for he paused, and began to bring his weapon to an aim. ““Now’s the time,” thought Brutus, ‘“ fur me to wing ’em, as dey break cover,” and he, too, brought his rifle so as to command the door. Just then another little wreath of blue smoke curled up owt of the chimney. Brutus saw the smoke, but heard no noise, for the thick walls of the cave shut in the ‘‘crack” of the rifle. The ranger jumped very sud- denly to his feet—so suddenly, and with such a queer gesture, that the negro, whose sense of the ridiculous was, at times, trouble- some, burst into a low, gurgling ‘‘ Hi! hi! hi!” “Oh, golly, massa, I’s afeard it’s all up now with Ol’ Hickory. Dey’s done gone and shoot at him tru’ de chimney.” “ That's laughing matter, is it?” “Yer oughter see him jump—reckon ye’d larf, too, Massa King. Howsomever, I didn’t mean to larf—I don’t feel a bit like larfin’, only sometimes it jes’ takes me like de wind catches a tree an’ shakes it. Oh, Lordy, I never feel less like larfin in my born days. He’s cuttin’ back, Massa King—he’s cuttin’ back—so I guess he ain’t sewerely used up, like you are.” Again poor Caleb tried to raise himself; but the effort caused his wound to bleed afresh, and presently he had swooned en- tirely away again. ‘Dis am abominable,” groaned Brutus, witnessing the catastrophe, but not daring to drop his rifle in this emergency. ‘‘ Massa King will die sartain’ sure. Dis am de mos’ misablum day ole Brutus eber knew, yet— and he’s lived a good many.” In a short time the ranger who had disap- appeared from the face of the cliff, was seen wriggling through the grass on his way back to his first cover. “Tt beats natur’!” he broke forth as soon as he came alongside the negro, ‘‘ how them imps keep watch. They’ve been too quick for us, so far. I expect, as I leaned forrad to look down the chimney, that I cast a shad- der, which they no sooner sees than they up and fire at it, just to see what’s the matter, ’T was altogether the narrerest escape I’ve had lately. Do you see my cap? The ball took the ha’r off, and a little off my head, too, I reckon. Of course, thar is no use comin’ at ’em in that direction, arter this, Hallo! King’s gone off the handle ag’in, has he? I tell you, now, that young man will die, if he ain’t got out o this.” ‘‘We can't give up till we get de young missus, sar.” “* Of course not. Who speaks of givin’ up? But suthin’s got to be done, and that right quick. — It’s three o’clock now, and more. I reckoned wrong for once in my life, that I didn’t bring more help. Yer see, I wanted the glory of trappin’ them vermin, I tell you what it is, boy, you'll have to go back to the settlement and return “for dark. What you've got to do is this. Get that young mau back to the squire’s, whar he can be ‘tended to. Ye’r’ strong and willin’—jest take him on yer back, and crawl off til’ out 0’ sight—then sling him over yer shoulder and make for the hosses. When you find them, put him across one—you wunt t’other —and get along as fast as you can.” “’Twon’t be berry fast, massa—dat so. Massa King can’t bear no fast ridin’; have to walk dem hosses.” “Tm afeard of it. But he'll sartingly die if he don’t have attention soon. So, off with him. Get into the main road as soon as pos- sible. Try and get back afore night, or I'll have to finish up this business without yer help. And bring a bit of fodder in yer pockets if it’s handy.” All this the hunter uttered without taking his eyes from the cave, and not even when he heard the negro crawling away with his moaning burden did he look around. Finally, as the silence deepened about him, Old Hickory felt that he was allalone. In that wild region it would not have been strange if a passing bear or Indian should have broken upon his monotony, and placed him between two fires. If such a crisis had arrived, he would not have been daunted. He was made of stern stuff; the day’s fasting and fatigue, following upon a sleepless night of exposure and exertion, had not yet begun to tell upon bis iron frame; his eye flashed its blue fire as keenly as ever. His most eager hope was that the brothers would make their appearance while he alone was left to confront them. No such good luck was likely to happen, and as he shifted his weight from one knee to the other, and lay down on his breast to rest himself, all the time watching and wait- ing, his mind was busy with the evening's work—whether the darkness would =e, ey otf Soeein “h st allow
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a ee $6 Old Hickory’s Grit. SS them to creep up to the cavern’s entrance, and grasp the men as they ventured out, or whether the brothers would get the best of | it. He doubted not that one or the other of the two was constantly on guard, and would detect the slightest movement, and be fully prepared for an attack. To close about the cave with a number of men, and to starve the marauders into submission by an unceasing | siege of days, would have been a plausible plan had not the girl been with them to suf- fer, and, of course, the first to sink under privation. It would not do to starve Her, certainly; it would be better, even, to let her captors go. Pondering over all these things, Old Hickory’s thoughts were suddenly in- terrupted. Much to his astonishment, he saw the gleam of something blue at the opening—the log which guarded it was pushed back, and the girl herself was thrust forward into full view. It did not take the old hunter long to read this strategy. «Blast thu’r skulkin’, cowardly souls,” he muttered, ‘‘thu’r’ gwine to use the gal fora kiver,” and sure enough one of the Harpes stepped out behind her, and held her up as a shield before him, looked hard in all direc- tions, and began to chirrup to the horses. Then he spoke to some one inside and the other brother appeared, both lurking behind the girl, and gliding along the base of the rock. It evidently was their object to reach their horses. The creature who held the girlin his brawny arm kept up a see-saw motion as he ran, which made it impossible to shoot without danger to her. Passing the base of the rock, the bushes and trees would be so thick as to allow taem every facility for evading danger. In fifteen or twenty running leaps they were into the covert, sig- naling their horses to follow, while they stooped and dodged and ran. It did not take the stranger long to decide on one step. His gun was a double-barreled one, and he had, besides, King’s rifle. He knew the men were well armed, probably with pistols as wellas rifles. But if he could place them on a footing with himself, he would attempt the odds of two toone. The girl had not struggled or screamed, nor made any resist- ance, as she was held up to shield her abduc- tors. Old Hickory only noticed that she looked pale and stunned. The horses must have been under good control, for they immediately started after their masters. This was the ranger’s oppor- tunity. Two shots of the double-barrel, fol- lowing so close upon each other as to seem almost like one, sent one of the horses roll- ing upon the grassin death-struggles, and the other flying, wounded and limping, off in the woods, , ¢ The Harpes set up a defiant yell, and dis peared in the thicket, with their victim. ‘“Now I’ve got’em on ekal terms,” mut- | tered Old Hickory, and in a moment he, too, was ‘‘ covered” by a tree, and was dodging, | stooping, and pursuing his enemies. He had only waited to reload his gun—but when he came upon the spot where they had entered the wood, all trace of them was lost. That, as soon as possible, they would break from the woods, steal somebody’s horses, and be off, he had no doubt. It was highly important, then, that he should keep the trail, and come up with them before dark. | Skilled in Indian warfare, he had no diffi- culty in the pursuit; all he had to look out for was an ambush—and this, as they did not know whether they were followed by one or twenty, it was not probable they would attempt. CHAPTER VII. ON THE TRAIL, Tur astonishment of Brutus, when he re- turned a little after sunset, and found no Old Hickory upon the ground was intense. He brought with him four hunters, whom he had encountered in the woods, and who were eager to join in the hunt after the dreaded Harpes. King had been sent on to the squire’s, with word to the family of how matters stood at that time. After cautious reconnoitering, nothing could be discovered of the ranger. One comfort was, that his body was not to be found. The dead horse gave some clew to what had been transpiring. It fully convinced Brutus that the Harpes | had fled, and that Old Hickory was after them. He therefore ventured to enter the cave. There was just light enough to show that it was deserted. A pile of hemlock bushes, a blanket, and the remains of food, looked as if it had been occupied at least several days. “Tf Hick’s arter ’em, he'll get ’em—that’s all,” remarked one. “Oh, Lordy,” whimpered Brutus, ‘‘ why couldn’t I ’a’ been along? Id liked no bet- ter fun and now I’ye got to miss it! Who’s a better right dan dis chile to look arter de welfar’ of his own dear young missus? It’s right down mean for Old Hickory to go off widout lettin’ me know!” ‘But, ef he’d stopped for that, I reckon you'd ’a’ lost. your missus, nigger, sure. So stop whimperin’, andtook-about. Wemay have a hand in the fun, yet. Hoorah! let’s look for the trail!” The whole five were soon on the track of it; but it was now too dark to follow. There was nothing to do but to trust the Harpes to Old Hick, and to camp out where they were now, so as to be on their way with the first a
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ra .awn of day. The cave being the dryest, they resolved to take up their abode in it. In the morning, as early as five o'clock, the little band were out in the woods, track- ing the path left by the four persons who had preceded them on the previous night. How had the night passed with Old Hick? Knowing that not more than two good hours of daylight were left to him, and that, if the Harpes got clear of the woods in the night, their escape would be easy and certain, he pressed forward, resolved that the girl should be rescued, and that the brothers should perish by his rifle. Excited as he was, and nerved to the highest tension of muscle and brain, he did not realize that he was upon the eve of one of the most extra- ordinary adventures of his life. He had gone forward for some time; already the declining sun threw his “‘ golden arrows” through the trees, almost on a level with the horizon. He had just picked up a comb, such as women wear, which had either dropped from the girl’s hair, or been thrown down on purpose to arrest attention, when he heard, so far before him in the the wood that the sound was faint as an echo, a woman’s scream. Then two shots were fired in rapid snecession; and while he was puzzling his brains as to what it meant, a huge bear rushed out of the underbrush, coming directly toward him. The animal was wounded, and ina towering rage. Al- though sure of his rifle, the ranger did not care to engage with Bruin at that critical time. He would rather rescue Miss Bella than slay all the bears in Kentucky. But Fate was obstinate. The bear saw him and came at him furiously. He raised his rifle, but lowered it again. “Tf I fire on the brute, they will hear me, and will pause to reconnoiter—at least, it will give them a warning of my whereabouts. [I shouldn’t like three beasts upon me at once. No, mister b’ar, it’s got to be a hand-to-hand tussle, I see,” So muttering, he dropped his two rifles, and, drawing his huge knife, fell upon his knee, and awaited the onset. As the beast sprung upon him, he plunged his weapon into its shoulder; but its claws were fastened into his shirt and flesh, and the two rolled over together. The hunter came up at the top, and again drew his knife, which had been wrenched from his hand, and was stick- ing in (he wound, and drove it again and again into the brute’s flesh. The bear had hold of his leg with his mouth, and would not be forced to release it by the pain of the wounds, while the hunter was in such a po- sition that he could not strike at the animal's heart or eyes. It was at this moment that a Old Hickory’s Grit. shot a whizzed by his ears. He comprehend- ed instantly that the Harpes had returned, to see what had become of the bear, and were rejoiced in this opportunity to put an end to a worse enemy than Bruin. Quick as thought he again rolled over, bringing the bear between him and his adversaries. A second shot designed more for him than the animal, pierced the bear’s heart, riddled the ranger’s jacket, but left him unharmed. The fierce clasp of the savage monster slowly relaxed—the brave man felt himself free, although scratched and bleeding. Still somewhat sheltered by the bear, he cast his eyes about to see the exact locality of his rifles. Then, with nice calculation, he sud- denly rose, made one bound, and was behind a tree, his weapon in his hand. Two more shots whistled harmlessly past. He felt now, that although one against two, the best of the fight was in his own hands. A series of maneuvers now com- menced. The Harpes, convinced that but one person was on their track, seemed to resolve upon revenge for the trouble he had made them. In attempting to make a circuit so as to come in his rear and front at the same time, one of them exposed himself incautiously for five seconds, and the quick rifle of the ranger did not miss the opportunity. The man fell, ap- parently severely wounded. The other only waited for the fast-increasing darkness to protect him. when he darted off like a deer, the girl flung across his shoulder. It was impossible to fire while she was in that po- sition; again she served as a shield to her abductor. ae and Jame from his contest with the bear, Old Hickory gave chase, furious at the trick which prevented him from fir- ing. At last, in the gathering gloom, the fugi- tive stumbled, staggered, fell, dragging the girl down with him; but almost instantly she was upon her feet, and flew, with lightning speed back toward the ranger, who she knew was near, though it was already so dark that she did not see him. “Tree, gal, tree!’ shouted Hickory. She sprung to one side as a pistol-shot whizzed past her. The warning of the ran- ger barely saved her. Not pausing to see whether his fire had taken effect or not, the ruffian again dashed forward. ‘* Let him go,” muttered Old Hickory, ‘I did hope to make sure of him, and I will yet, arter I’ve seen you safe home, miss. I guess the other is done fur, anyhow.” It was a sore trial to the ranger to leave the bear he had boxed with so handsomely without taking the fellow’s skin; but, he consoled himself for this, as well as for the
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Old Hickory’s Grit. 86 eee ee escape of the murderers, by resolving to re- turn in the morning with a band of his friends and scour the country far and wide. It was now so dark that the girl had to cling to her preserver in order not to lose him. As he had no guide, except the stars, which he could not always sce, he wa» compelled, after trudging back for two or three miles, to camp for the night. The cold and dark- ness were both unpleasant and dangerous; he was very sorry for the trembling girl, whom he could feel shivering as shu clung to his arm. He resolved to have a fire, quite certain that the Harpes would take no back- ward steps. Should they do so, he was far off the track by which they came. They Ge- scended a hill, and at its base Hickory found aravine which would quite effectually con- ceal the light of the fire from observation. He then drew forth his tinder-box, struck a spark into some dry leaves, and soon had a brisk Itttle flame, and then a cheerful fire. He seated his charge before it, while he looked about for water, which he knew he should find somewhere in the hollow; for he was, as he expressed it, ‘‘ pretty nigh tuckered out,” being thirsty, hungry, and smarting from the hug of Bruin. For- tunately his tough leather breeches had _sus- tained the chief fury of the bear’s onslaught, by which means he escaped any very deep or dangerous scratch. When he had washed his wounds carefully, wet his head, and drank some water, he felt better. Gathering some hemlock-boughs for his companion, and heaping the fire well with such fuel as he could find, he prepared his weapons for use in case of necessity, and bidding his companion sleep, promised to keep guard over her. For some hours neither of them slept, but fatigue gradually won the mastery over prudence, and both sunk into slumber. The earliest bird startled them to their feet; and thus it was that the re-enforce- ments had no more than started out that morning, when they met the triumphant hunter with his prize. Brutus came running up and began a series of leaps and dances about the couple, then suddenly cast himself on his knees before his young mistress, caught her gown and kissed it, jumped up and almost looked seri- ously savage, as he cried: “Tt war right down mean of you, Massa Hickory, for to send me off de way you did, jis’ for to go and reap all de glory, an’ not let ole Brutus do nuffin’ for de salvation of his own missus. For she is my own missus, so she is, an’ 1'll prove it. Oh, Lordy! what for you let dat man be a-rescuin’ you? Didn't you know I was a-comin’?” “J didn’t care to wait,” said Bella; ar? despite her trials, she laughed at the absurd- ity of the idea. ‘‘I was very glad to take the first help that came to hand;”’ and she gave the ranger such a look out of her dark eyes that he felt well repaid for all his ef- forts in her behalf. ““We'’re both of us on the p’int of starva- tion,” said the hunter; ‘‘so if you re'ly car’ for your missus, darky, just fly around and git us some breakfast. Be quick about it, too, for I want these chaps to j’ine me in huntin’ down them human painters.” Brutus had come prepared for just such an emergency, and produced bread and dried meat from one of the capacious pockets of his jacket. While the two were eating, Old Hick laid out his pians, which were, first, for Brutus to take the horses he had brought and con- vey Bella safely to the squire’s; secondly, that he and his little band of hunters should start after ihe Harpes. “Tell the squire and young King to rest easy in tha’r minds,” was the ranger’s part- ing injunction to the two, as they started homeward; ‘‘one o’ them villains is already hurt or killed, and we don’t intend to come back till we find t’other.” CHAPTER YIII. BRUTUS AND HIS MYSTERY. “Laws, didn’ Massa Hick tell you Massa King was hurt tad?” exclaimed the servant, as he rode beside Bella, noticing that she nearly fell from her horse when he chanced to mention the circumstance of his injury. “No, he told me nothing.” “He was hit wid dat fu’st shot dem ras- cals fired; de shot took him in de shoulder. When I took him off he fainted dead away, an’ I’m afeard he’s in a bad way, but mebbe not so ser’us, arter all,” he added, as her face turned slowly pale, until every vestige of color faded out of it. “Can't we go a little faster, Brutus? Can’t we hurry more?” was all she said from that time forward until they came in sight of the squire’s. Once there, she leaped from her horse, her face still as white as a sheet. “She do lub dat young man ’sorbingly, no mistake,” mused Brutus. ‘‘I jes’ hope he'll do w’ot’s right. Ef he does, itll be good news for him, I kin tell him. But, he sha’n’t know w’ot I know till 1 see w’ot stuff he’s made of—that's so /” and the negro has- tened after Miss Bella. As she leaped from her horse, the door flew open and Mrs. Claiborne had her in her arms, laughing, crying, and squeezing her; and then the squire came flying out, as if twenty years younger, and the servants, little and big, gathered about; but, in the »ridst of all the joyous confusion, exclama-
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26) Old Hickory’s Grit. tions, questions, the girl grew paler and more quiet. Until one fact was known, she could not respond to these hearty welcomes. ‘*She’s skeered and tired to death—that’s it!” exclaimed the cook. ‘‘Let’s take her in missus, and make some coffee, and nuss her up.” But Brutus knew what was struggling at her heart, and asked her question for her. “Hows Massa King, dis mornin’, missus? We’s berry, anxious ’bout him.” Mrs. Claiborne’s bright countenance grew a shade more grave. ** Wal, the doctor’s seen him and got the ball out, and thinks he’ll get along; but, he’s quite bad to-day. I think the worrying has made him more feverish, but I hope he’ll get along better now. Come in, child, and show yourself to him; that will be the best medi- cine in the world for him.” Trembling, the girl followed into the best bedroom, where, on the couch, his eyes glittering with fever, and his face quite changed and pale, lay Caleb. He had heard the noise in the hall, and was looking with unutterable eagerness at the door. When he saw who entered it, a ery of joy escaped his lips, and he held out one weak hand. For a moment Bella gazed at him, striving to master herself; but, the self-control of the polished world was not hers, and after an instant’s struggle, she darted forward, drop- ped on her knees beside the bed, and burst into tears. “There, there, child, you’re just done over,” said the matron, with womanly tact. **Come, and lie down, in my room;” and she led the girl away, to compose herself in soli- tude, while Brutus expatiated, to his heart’s content, on the incidents of her rescue, as he had them from Old Hickory. For a few days Mrs. Claiborne had her hands full. Bella was so exhausted by ex- posure and mental distress, that, vigorous as was her constitution, she was obliged to keep her bed fora day or two. Caleb, also, was seriously ill; his fever ran high, and his prostration proved to be extreme. But, the cool weather, his previous good health, the lady’s excellent medicaments and nursing, brought him out of real danger in a few days. To better all things, and make his convalescence one long season of happiness, Bella had quite recovered from her temporary illness, and had been established in his room as deputy-nurse. Caleb no longer regretted his wound; all that he desired was to get well enough to take advantage of the Indian summer weather to return to the East. He could aot endure the prospect of remaining the winter in Ken- tucky, or of allowing Bella to do so; for the Harpes, despite the promise of the ranger, hen. had succeeded, as usual, in making their escape, and the young man never felt, fora moment, that the object of their search was safe. Old Hickory and his band, after three weeks of pursuit, abandoned the game for the present. But they established a sort of Vigilance Committee, which would render it extremely dangerous for the brothers to ven- ture into that vicinity. What the fate of the wounded one had been they could not dis- cover; though they conjectured, from the marks left about the place where he fell, that his brother had returned and carried him off, for they saw no traces of his having been buried thereabouts. Caleb long had been aware that he loved the nameless and uneducated orphan; but, his pride had struggled against his love. Her danger, and his own illness, changed all this. He decided upon the course which both pas- sion and honor called upon him to pursue— to betroth himself, with Mrs. Claiborne’s approval; to ask her to carry out her plan of making one of the traveling party back to the East; and to assist him there in placing his affianced in some suitable school, to re- main at least a year before their marriage should be consummated, The education of girls in those days was not so varied as at present, and despite her associations, there was about Bella, as we have said, the air and manner of a lady. Her quick wit, with small aid, would soon teach her those things in which she was deficient, while, as for natural beauty and grace, she would be a queen anywhere. So it happened one lovely day, about a month after the accident, that Caleb, stand- ing with Bella by the gate, looking at the sunset, was inspired to say something to her which called up a crowd of blushes, and sent the glance of those wild, shy eyes wandering everywhere but upon his face. It was the first time he had been out of his room, and the delight of being again in the open air had broken down the barriers of doubt and reserve, and let out all the rush and tumult of his feelings. When they walked back to the house, the observing Brutus began to ro his eyes and chuckle. “It’s all right now. Reckon I see dem roses on Miss Bella’s cheeks, and Massa King as proud as a peacock. It’s high time ole Brutus shouldn’t distress hisself no longer, keepin’ a secret which has most bu’st him open ebery day for five months.” The approval of the squire and his wife was not withheld upon the arrangements of the young couple. Brutus was summoned, and had fistened quietly to all that was said to him; but when the orders for preparation for the journey were finished, he asked: ‘But where is J gwine to ride, Massa a anit
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Old Hickory’s Grit. 27 Claiborne? Shall I sot on de carr’age and drive, or shall I take black Nance and ride along fur a guard, yer know?” “Why, you ain't going. Who said any- thing about your going?” cried the squire. “Of course I must go “long wid my own missus,” said the negro, doggedly. ‘‘Sorry Ican’t b’long to you any more, square, for ye’re a kind massa, but I’s Miss Bella’s nigga now.” “Ho! ho! ho!” roared the squire; ‘‘has Miss Bella been a-buying you, without my consent? No, Mister King, no such tricks! I gave a thousand dollars for Brutus, and I wouldn't take fifteen hundred. Can’t spare him!” “T've said nothing to Brutus,” answered Caleb, in surprise. “Nobody hain’t said nothing to me,” con- tinued the negro, intensely enjoying the sen- sation he was creating. .‘‘I’ve known all along, eber since de day Miss Bella sot her foot in dis yere house, dat 1 b’longed to her, and nobody else, shuah!” For weeks, Brutus had been full of hints and exclamations, which had more than once excited the curiosity of his hearers. As he had said to himself, ‘‘he was bu’stin’ with his secret,” and a drop or two of it would occasionally leak out. ‘Miss Bella,” he said, turning to her, ‘‘do you ’member dat time w’en I asked yer ’bout yer name—if yer could ’call the name of Toultrie?—and how I ast yer ‘bout de plan- tation, and yer seemed to ‘member more’n yer eber did afore?” “Yes, Brutus, it’s all grown quite plain to me lately. I remember my old home so weil that I should know it, should I see it again.” “Dat’s de talk. Ill ‘lighten yer under- standin’! It’s de power of ’sociation, Miss Bella. It’s livin’ alongside 0’ me has helped yer mem’ry.” “T don’t know what you are talking about,” she answered, staring at him in self- amazed perplexity. “Yer don’t purtend, Miss Bella, dat yer name isn’t Moultrie?” said the negro, step- ping into the full light, and looking intently at her—‘‘and dat yer don’ know yer father’s own coachman, Brutus, that carried yer to mammy Dinah dat day yer tore yer pretty red frock on de nail, and cried so hard *bout it, and mammy sewed it nice, so it didn't show? Yer don’t forget de day we found de hen’s nest togedder, and mammy baked yer de poun’-cake? Lors, Miss Beila, yer knows Brutus too well to forget him!” She gazed at him, like one upon whom a spell was working, a light coming over her face, a new memory awakening in her eyes. She stood a full minute after he had finished, while he looked at her appealingly; then she sprung forward and threw herself into his great arms, like a little chiid, sobbing out: “Brutus! Brutus!” ““Does yer know me, honey?” he asked, stroking her hair, and then setting her down on her feet, and holding her off to watch her face. “I know you well; I remember all.” ‘An’ yer understan’ why I ast so many foolish questions dis summer? I was a- tryin’ of you, Miss Bella, Fur my own part, I was sart’in who you was de fu’st time I heard of you, and see’d you, but I wanted to convince dese oders—and yerself, honey. I wanted yer recolleckshun to come back My degrees. Besides,” he added, with a sly loo at Caleb, ‘‘ I wanted to see wedder dis young gentleman liked Miss Bella first rate for her- self, I says to myself, ‘Hold on, Brutus, and see if he’s willin’ to take her as she is;’ for, if he was, den he’d be de bery one to desarve to l’arn dat he was a-marrying of de greatest heiress in Ole Virginny.” ‘For the Lord’s sake,” exclaimed Mrs. Claiborne, fairly trembling, “don’t keep us in suspense any longer—tell your story, and tell it as short as possible.” Brutus pulled his wool, rolled his eyes around and began: ‘“Yer reckollek, Massa Claiborne, yer buy’d me of de heir of de Moultrie estate, in Ole Virginny, as you was comin’ out to set- tle, bout seven year ago. Wal, don’t yer reckolleck what y often tol’ you, bout dese times, what had happened to our family, sah? Den we was one of de fu’st families, and de Moultries had but one chile, a daugh- ter, and de fadder and mudder were both murdered one night, and de chile either stole or killed? Nobody ever found de chile, or who killed de parents,” ““Why, yes, I recall it all now,” broke in the squire; ‘‘but I declar’ I never thought of it when I heard er story.” ‘‘ Word was sent to the relatives in Norf Car’lina, and de next heir-at-law, he come up and took possession; and all our hearts was mos’ broke, for we lubbed de massa and missus, and de dear little chile. De new massa, he sell off some of us, and I was among ’em who was sol’—and I come out here, and nebber could hear no more ’bout de ole plantation. An’ I allers grieved about it night an’ day, And when Massa King began to tell me ’bout dis chile, and w’ot she said, and how old she was, and how long she’d been stole, 1 guessed who it was, at once. Dat was what made me act so dat day. When I see’d her, den I know’d sure, for she’s de pictur’ of her mudder; and she’s a Moultrie, sartain, sir—one de fu’st families Virginny, Massa King—and I’m gwine along fer a witness, fer she’s worth tree hundred 4
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28 Old Hickory’s Grit. thousand dollars if she is worth a cent—dat’s so! —an’ dem relatives got to step out dat plantation. So you see, Massa Claiborne, I b'longs to Miss Bella, ‘spite dat t’ousand dol- lars; but I guess missus is honest, and will defund de money.” The air of importance with which Brutus made his concluding suggestion, was so ludi- crous as to cause a laugh from his listeners, excited and amazed as they were. “It’s allers necessary fur to hab a name to git married wid,” continued Brutus, undis- turbed by the merriment; ‘‘so I introduces Miss Bella Moultrie to Massa King ”’—with a flourish. The betrothed girl turned upon her lover a glorious glance of joy, love and exultation mingled. It certainly was_de- lightful to learn that her name was an hon- ored one, her birth as good as his, her fortune more than equal. Since he had taken her in her worst circumstances, how proud was she to be able to return his rich gifts! That was a happy and busy family that night, for they sat up until almost morning, talking the matter over, and carefully elicit- ing all the proof which both Bella and Brutus could bring to establish her identity. The proof was perfectly satisfactory to those who heard it; and it was now decided that her claims should be put forward at once to the property so justly hers. Caleb was to take the whole party at once to Virginia, to establish Bella’s rights; and when this was in a fair way of being accomplished, she was to find herself a home in some good school, until she felt prepared to assume the duties of her new and exalted station. We have only to add that this programme was carried out successfully. The travelers got out of Kentucky in safety; the heiress, within one year, was acknowledged mistress of the Moultrie estates, and it was from the stately old family mansion that she stepped forth the morning she was made a bride. What the object of the Harpes had been in sparing her, when they murdered her parents, and why they had brought her up as their own, remained always a mystery. Whether they hoped, through her, to ultimately gain possession of the vast Moultrie estates, or were simply instigated by some caprice of their lawless nature, cannot be asserted. As for Old Hickory, he had many a peril- ous hunt after the hated brothers, but their cunning continued equal to their ferocity, and they escaped, unfortunately, the rifle of the ranger, to perish—history does not men- tion how. Their names are written in blood on the page of Kentucky’s story. |THE END, een BEADLE AND ADAMS’ STANDARD DIME PUBLICATIONS Speakers. Each volume contains 100 large pages, printed from clear, open type, comprising the best collec- tion of Dialogues, Dramas and Recitations. The Dime Speakers embrace twenty-five volumes viz.: 1, American Speaker, 15. Komikal Speaker. 2. National Speaker. 16. Youth’s Speaker, 3. Patriotic Speaker, 17. Eloquent Speaker. 4, Comic Speaker. 18. Hail Columbia Speak- 5, Elocutionist. er. 6. Humorous Speaker, 19. Serio-Comic Speaker, 7. Standard Speaker. 20, Select Speaker, 8, Stump Speaker. 21. Funny Speaker, 9, Juvenile Speaker. 22. Jolly Speaker. 10, Spread-Eagle Speaker | 23. Dialect Speaker, 11, Dime Debater. 4, Recitations and Read- 12, Exhibition Speaker. ings. 13, School Speaker. | 25. Burlesque Speaker 14. Ludicrous Speaker. These books are replete with choice pieces for the School-room, the Exhibition, for Homes, ete. 75 to 100 Declamations and Recitations in each book, Dialogues. The Dime Dialogues, each volume 100 pages, em brace thirty-five books, viz.: Dialogues No. One. Dialogues No. Highteen. Dialozues No, Two. Dialogues No. Nineteen, Dialogues No. Three. {Dialozues No. Twenty. Dialogues No. Four, Dialogues No, Twenty-one. Dialogues No. Five. Dialogues No. Twenty-two, Dialogues No, Six. Dialogues No. Twenty-three, Dialogues No, Seven. Dialogues No. Twenty-four. Dialogues No. Hight. Dialogues No. Twenty-five. Dialogues No. Nine. Dialogues No. Twenty-six. Dialogues No, Ten, Dialogues No. Twenty-seven, Dialogues No, Pleven, |Dialogues No. Twenty-eight, Dialogues No. Twelve. |Dialogues No. Twenty-nine, Dialogues No. Thirteen. |Dialogues No, Thirty, Dialogues Fourteen, [Dialogues No. Thirty-one. Dialogues No. Fifteen, |Dialogues No. Thirty-two, Dialogues No. Sixteen. |Dialogues/No. Thirty-three, Dialogues No.Seventeen | Dialogues No, Thirty-four, Dialogues No, Thirty-five. 15 to 25 Dialogues and Dramas in each hook, Dramas and Readings. 164 12mo Pages, 20 Cents. For Schools, Parlors, Entertainments and the Am ateur Stage, comprising Original Minor Dramas, Comedy, Farce, Dress Pieces, Humorous Dialogue and Burlesque, by noted writers: and Recitations and Readings, new snd standard, of the greatest celebrity and interest, Edited by Prof. A. M, Russel, Lives of Great Americans. I.—George Washington. | VIII.—Israel Putnam. 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32 Octavo Pages, 1 Deerhunter, the Boy Scout of the Great North Woods, By O11 Coomes. 2 Buffalo Bill, from Boyhood to Manhood. tiss Ingraham, 8 Kit Carson, King of Guides. By Albert W. Alken. A Gordon Lillie, the Boy-Interpreter of the Pawnees. Major. H. B. Stoddard. & Bruin Adams, Old Grizzly’s Boy Pard, Prentiss Ingraham. 6 Deadwood Dick as aBoy. By ® Wild BAll, the Pistol Prince. Ingraham. 8 The Prairle Ranch, By Joseph EF. Badger, Jr. 9 Roving Joe: The History ofa‘ Bord.r Boy.” By A. H. Post, 10 Texans Jack, the Mustang King. Ingraham. 11 Charley Skylark. A Story of School-day Scrapes and College Capora. By Major HH. B. Stoddar 12 Mariposa Marsh, By Joseph E. Badg 18 Roving Ben. By Johr Marshall. 14 Spring Steel, King of the Bush. By J 15 Wide-Awake George, the Boy Pione Willett. 16 The Boy Wizard. By Barry Ringgold. 17 Peter Peppergrass, the Greenhorn from Gotham, “By Noah Null. 18 Adrift on the Prairie, and Amateur Kunters on the Buffalo Range. By Oll Coomes. 19 The Fortune Hunter; or, Roving Joe as Miner, Cowboy, Trapper and Hunter. By A. H. Post. 20 Trapper Tom, the Wood Ip. By 21 Yellow Hair, the Boy Chief of tne Pawnees. Prentiss Ingraham, 22 The Snow Trail. By T. C. Harbaugh. 28 Old Grizzly Adams, the Bear Tamer. Powell, 24 Woods and Waters. By Capt. Frderick Whittaker. 25 A Kolling Stone: Incicents in the Career on Sea and Land of Col. Prentiss Ingraham. By Wm, R. Eyster. 26 Red River Rovers. By C. Danning Clark. 27 Plaza and Plain; or, Wild Adventures of “ Buckskin Sain,’ (Maj, Sam, S. Hall.) By Col. P. Ingraham. 28 The Sword ‘Lne Romantic Life of Col, Mon- stery. By Capt. Froderick Whittsker. 29 Snow-Shoe Tom. by 1. C. Harbaugh. 80 Paul de Lacy, the French Beast Charmer, By C. Dunning Clark. $1 Round the Camp Fire, By Joseph E. Badger, Jr. 82 White Beaver, the Indian Medicine Chief. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham. 88 The Boy Orusader. By rhe Fred. Whittaker, 84 The Chase of the Great White Stag, and, Camp and Oanoe. By C. 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109 Ohvistian Jim, the White Man’s Friend. By Edward 8. Ellis. 110 Plucky Joe, the Boy Avenger. By J. M. Hoffman, 111 The Border Gunmaker, By James L. Bowen. 112 Lett-Handed Pete. By Joseph E. Badger, Jr. 118 The River Rifles, By Capt. J. F.C. Adame, 114 Alone on the Plains, By Edward Willett. 115 Silver Horn, and His Rifle Firedeath. By Roger Starbuck. 116 Bxploits of Hezekiah Smith, the Backwoodsman, By Emerson Rodman, 117 The Young Mustangers. By C. Dunning Clark. 118 Old Traps; er, the Hoy Kivals. By Barry Ringgold. 119 Center Shot, the White Crow. By T. C. Harbaugh. 120 A Mot Trall; or, Clark Cloverly Among the Tartars. By Charles Morris. 121 Hunter Pard Ben. By Roger Starbuck. 122 The Esquimaux’ Queen, By G. Waldo Browne. 28 Tim, the Boy Acrobat, By Charles Morris, n Beasle, the Border Girl. By Henry J. Thomas. m Tabor, the Boy Fugitive. By Barry Ringgold, Mink Cont, the Death-Shot. By Jos. E. Badger, Jr. 127 The Deer Hunters. By John J. Marshall. 128 Wolf-Cap; or, The Night-Hawks of the Fire-Lands. By Capt. Chas, Howard. 129 Silverspur; or, ‘I'he Mountnin Heroine. v By Edward Willett. 42 Black Panther. the Half. Blood 48 Carson, the Guide. By Lieut 144 Kent, the Ranger. By Edwa 14% Bill Robbins, Hunter. By Edw 146 The Half-Breed Rival, By Jos. E. Badger, Jr. 147 The Masked Avenger. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham, 148 Nat, the Trapper and Indian Fighter. Sy Paul J. Prescott. 149 The Elk Demons; or, The Giant Brothers, By T. C. Harbaugh. 150 The Boy Mustang-Munter; or, Enulalie, the Beautiful Amazon, By Fredérick Whittaker, 151 Frank Yutes, the Young Trapper; or, Mountain Kate’s Warning. By Joseph E. Badger, Jr. 152 Wild Raven, the Scout. By Ol Coomen, 158 Lynx-Cap; or, Four Trappers’ Among the Sioux. By Paul Bibbs, 154 The Champion Texan Rider}; or, Red Buffalo, and the Hercules Hunter, By Harry St. George. 155 Pusey Dick’s Doom, By Jos. E. Badger, Jr. 156 Frank Bell, the Boy Spy. By Ol] Coomes, 167% Nick Doyle, the Gold Hunter, By P. H. Myers. 168 Kidnapped Dicks or, The Fate of the FireFly. By 1, Stanley Henderson, 159 Sam's Long Trail; or, The Twin Scouts, By W. J. Hamilton. 160 Hank Triplet’s Vow. By Harry Hazard. 161 The Mad Skipper. By R. Starbuck. 162 The Trapper King. By Maj. Max Martine. 168 Simon Kenton, Hunter. By Emerson Rodman, 164 The Boy Chiefs or, Frank Bell’s Compact. By Ol Coomes. 165 The Trader Traitor. By J, Stanley Henderson, 166 Old Jupe’s Clew. By Mrs. Orrin |amen 167 The Young Trailer. By W. J. Hamilton. 168 The Specter Spy. By Maj. Lewis W. Carson, 169 Lank Lute, the Old Colorado Hunter. By E. W. Archer. 170 The White Wolf. 171 The Swamp Guide. 172 The Yankee Peddler. 178 The Scout and His Young Chum, St. John, By Edward Willett. By W. N. McNeil. By ©. Dunning Clark. By Warren 174 Blacksmith Tom’s Mask. By Geo. D. Gilbert, 175 Vhe Buckskin Rider. By Guy Greenwood. 176 The Squatter’s Surprise, By Mrs. H. J. Thomas, 177 Four Fellow Scouts, By J. Stanley Henderson. 178 Old Kit and His Comrades, By Jos. E. Badger, Jr. 179 Unele Grill’s Disguise. By Harry Hazard. 180 The Marked Miner. By Lieut, Col. Hazeltine, 181 The Wild Huntress, By Capt. Bruin Adams, 182 The Dwarf Decoy. By Maro 0. Rolfe. 188 Job Dean’a Tactics, By Ingoldsby North. 184 Yankee Eph’s Dilemma, By J. R. Worcester. 185 The Wily Witch’s Ward. By Edwin E. Ewing. 186 Frank, the Farrier. By J. Stanley Henderson, 187 Diana, the Fair Mountaineer. By Capt. F. Whittaker, 188 Jack’s Snare. By Mra. Ann E, Porter, 189 Sam, the Swamp Scout. By W, J. Hamilton. 190 The Dashing Trooper. By Frederiek H, Dewey, 191 The Boy Brave. By James L. Bowen. 192 Sandy Bill, of Texas. By Edward Willett. 198 bed Winkle’s Long Chase. By Wm. R. byater. 194 Creeper Cato, the Shadow Swamp Trailer. Frederick Dewey. 195 The Ranger Detective. By Harry Hazard, 196 Gypsy Mag, the Mountain Witch, By C, Dunning Clark. 19? The Branded Captain, 198 Old Crossfire’s Orisis. 199 Zebra Zack, the Texan. 200 The Nameless Hunter. 201 The Yankee Captives. 202 Teddy's Long Trall. 208 Old Hank, the Hermit, By Edward W. Archer, 204 Gooschend’s Best Shot. By Jos, E. Badger, Jr. 205 The Dutchman’s Dread, By Capt. Chas, Howard. 206 Kit Burt’s Mask. By W. J. Hamilton. 207 Eagle-Eyed Tim. By C. Dunning Clark. 208 The Village Sport. By James L. Bowen. 209 Buck Burt's Pluck. By Edward Willet. 210 The Tell-Tale Bullet. By J. Stanley Henderson. 211 The Boy Surveyor, By W. J. Hamilton. 212 Vunkee Drover Swipes. By Seelin Robina. 218 Silver City Tom. By James L. Bowen. 214 Nick, the Detective. By Edwin Emerson. 215 Mustang Rider Roy. By Albert W. Aiken. 216 The Dakota Dutchman. By Maj. Max Martine, 217 Yankee Josh, the Rover. By Boynton H, Belknap, M.D. Ready June 9. 218 New York Ned in California. Hamilton. Roady June 16. 219 Kentucky Kate’s Shot. Ready June 23. 220 *Frisco Frank’s Rival. Ready June 30. 221 Doctor Bag, Detective. Rendy July 7. 222 Sly Sam’s Snare. Ready July 14. Beadle’s Boy’s Library ts for sale by all Newsdealers, five cents per copy, or sont by mnil on receipt of six cents each, BEADLE AND ADAMS, Publishers, 98 William Street, New York. By By W. J. Hamilton, By Capt. Charles Howard, By W. J. Hamilton. By George W. Robinson. By Edward Willett, By Edward S. Ellis. By W. J. By Edward Willett, By Paul J. Prescott. By Lewis Jay Swift, By Louls Legrand, M. D,
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82 OCTAVO PAGES, 3 ¢ AD L E's “.. PRICE, FIVE CENTS. POCKET? LIBRARY. BGUGHGHRDHDRABHDDHHHHHHHDHHHHHEHERHHUHEE DBR DHS HB 1 Deadwood Dick, the Prince of the Road. By Edward L. Wheeler, 2 Kans.a« King; or, The Red Right Hand. By Buffalo Bill. The Flying Yankee. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham. The Double Daggers. By Edward L. Wheeler. The Two Detectives; or, The Fortunes of a Bowery Girl. By Albert W. Aiken. The Prairie Pilot, By Buffalo Bill. The Bulfalo Demon. Edward L, Wheeler, Antelope Abe, the Boy Guide. By O1} Coomes, Ned Wrlde, the Boy Scout. By “Texas Jack.’ Buffalo Ben, Prince of the Pistol. “ By E. L. Wheeler. Ralph Roy. the Buy Buccaneer. By C 1. Ingraham, Nick o' th ht. By T. C. Harbangh. Yellowate Jack. By Joseph &. Badger, Jr. Wild Ivan, the B ‘aude Duval. By E. L. Wheeler. Diamond Dirks or, The Mystery of the Yellow- stone, By Colonel Prentiss Ingraham, Keen-Knife, Prince of the Prair' By Ol! Coomes. Oregon Sol; or, Nick Whifll-s’s Boy Spy. By Capt. J. F C. Adams Death-Face, the Detective. By E. L. Wheeler. Lasso Jack, the Young Mustanger, By Oll Coomes. Roaring Ralph Rockwood, the Reckless Ranger. By Larry St. George. The Boy Clown. _ By Frank S. Finn. The Phantom Miner; or, Deadwood Dick’s Bonanza. By Edward L. Wheeler. The Sea-Cat; or, The Witch of Darlen. By Capt. Frederick Whittaker. The Dumb Spy. By Ol! Coomes, Rattling Rube. By Hurry St. George. Old Avalanche, the Annihilator. By E, L, Wheeler, Flass-Eye, the Great Shot of the West. By Capt. J. F.C. Adams. The Boy Captain. By Roger Starbuck. Dick Darling, the Pony Express Rider. By Captain Vredorick Whittaker. Bob Woolf, the Border Ruffian. By E. L. Wheeler. Nightingale Nat. By T. C. Harbaugh Black John, the Road Agent. By J. 8 Omaha ON, the Masked Terror. Bur’ Bunker, the aeeperd By Ge: The Boy Rifles ; or, The Underground Camp. By A.C. trons, The White Buffalo. By George E. Lasalle. Jim Bludsoe, Jr. By E. L. Wheele Ned Hazel, tne Boy Trapper. By Capt. J. F.C, Adams. 9 Deadly Eye, the Unknown Scout. By Bnffalo BIL Nick Whititens Pet. By Capt. J. F.C, Adams, Peadwood Dick’s Eagles; or, The Pards of Flood Bar. By ard L. Wheeler. The Border King. By Ol] Coomes. Old Hickory 3 or, Pandy Ellis’s Scalp. By Harry St. George. The White Indian; or, The Scouts of the Yellow- stone. By Capt. J. F. C. Adams. Buekhorn Bill; or, The Red Rifle Team. By Edward L. Wheeler. The Shadow Ship. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham. The Red Brotherhood, By W. J. Hamilton. Dandy Jack; or, The Outlaw of the Oregon Trail, By T. C. Harbaugh. Hurricane Bill; or, Mustang Sam and His“ Pard,”’ By Josoph E. Badger, Jr. : Single Hand; or. A Life for a Life. By W. a Hamilton. 4 Patent-leather Joe. By Philip S. Warne. The Border Robin Hood; or, The Prairie Rover. By Buffalo Bill. Gold Rifle, the Sharpshooter. By E. L. Wheeler. Old Zip’s Cabin; or, A Greevhorn in the Woods, By Capt. J. F, C. Adama, Delaware Dick, the Young Ranger Spy. By Oll Coomes. Mad ‘Tom Western. _By W. J. Hamilton. Deadwood Dick on Deck; Calamity Jane, the Heroine of ines aad By E. L. Wheeler. Hawkeye Harry, the Young Trapper Ranger. By Oll Coomes. The Boy Duelist. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham. Abe Colt, the Crow-Killer. By Albert W. Aiken. 1 Ceraneoy Charlie, the Boy Bravo. By Edward L. joeler, TMAWK SCAND Cryrco Jet pak at Jk ok OY Vee wet ee coe Na Badger, Jr, Wheeler. Will Somers, the Boy Detective. By Chas. Morris. Sol Ginger, the Gjaut Trapver. By A. W. Aiken. Rosebud Rob, By Edward L. Wheeler, Mehtning Joe. By Captain J. F.C. Adama, mi t Harcfoot, the Wood-Hawk. By T. C. Har- mang. Rollo, the Boy Ranger. By Oll Coomes, Idyl, the Girl Miner; or, Rosebud Rob on Hand. By Edward L. Wheeler. cee Dick; or, The Heroin Rags. By Charles Orris. Sure Shot Seth, the Boy Rifleman. By Oll Coomes. Sharp Sam; or, The Adventures of a Friendleas Boy. By J, Alexander Patten. 2 The Lion of the Sea. By Albert W. Aiken. 8 Photograph Phil; or, Rosebud Rob's Reappear- ance. By Wheeler. Picayune Petes or, Nicodemus, the Dog Detective. By Charles Morr's, Island Jim; or, The Pet of the Family. By Brace- bridge Hemyng (Jack Harkaway). Watch-Eye, the Shadow. By Edward L. Wheeler. Dick Dead Eye. the Boy Smugyler. By Col. P. Ingraham. Deadwood Dick’s Device. By Ed. L. Wheeler. The Black Mustanger. Capt. Mayne Reid. Old Frosty, the Guic B 3. Harbaugh, The Sea Viper. Col, tiss Ingraham. Seth Jones; or, Tle Captives of the Frontier. By Edward S, Ellis. i Canada Chet, the Cownterfeiter Chief. By Edward L. Wheeler Page; or, The Doge’s Daughter, By k Whittaker, % . By Edwerd 8. Ellis. ay in New York, By Brace- bridge Hemyng. The ftusear Captain, By Col. Prentiss Ingraham. Deadwood Dickin Leadville; or, A Strange St-oke for Liberty. By Edward L. Whi T. Bill Biddon, Trapper; or, Lite in the Northweat. By Edward S. Ellis. Tippy, the Texan, By George Glenson. ce E. Lasalle. | 91 Mustang Sam, the King of the Plains. By Jos. E. Badger, Jr. | 92 The Ocean Blcodhound. By Samuel W, Pearce. Phil Hardy, the Boss Boy. By Charles Morris. Deadwood Dick as Detective. By EK. L.Wheeler. 5 Buck Buckram. By Captuin J. F. Adama. Gilt-Edged Dick. By Edward L. Wheeler, The Black Steed of the Prairies, By James j a rpent. By Juan Lewis, 99 Bonanza Bill, the Man Tracker. By E, L. Wheeler. 100 Nat Todd or, The Fate of the Sioux Captive. By Edward §. Ellis. 101 Daring Davy; the Young Bear Killer. By Harry St. George. 102 The Yellow Chief. By Capt. ifayne Reid. 108 Chip, the Girl Sport. By Edward L. Wheeler. 104 The Black Schooner. By Roger Starbuck, 105 Handsome Harry, the Bootblack Detective. By Charles Morris. Night-Hawk Kit; or, the Daughter of the Ranch. Jos. E. Badger, Jr. yle’s Lend, By Edward L. Wheeler. Mountain Kit, By T.C. Harbaugh, The Branded Hand. By Frank Dymont. 10 The Dread Rider. By George W. Browne. 111 Boss Boh, the King of Bootblacks, By E. L.Wheeter. 112 The Helpless Hand, By Capt. Mayne Reid. qs Scar-F ree Saul, the Silent Hunte: Oll Coomes, 14 Piney vaul, the Mountwin T, The Little Arrow of the Adirondacks. By T. C. Harbaugh. 115 Deadwood Dick’s Double. By E. L. Wheeler. 116 Jabez Collin, Skipper. By Capt. F. Whittaker. 117 Fancy Frank, of Calorado. By “ Buffalo Bill.” Iasued Every Wednesday. Beadle’s Pocket Library 1|s for sale by all News- dealers, five conts per copy, or sent by mail on receipt of six cents each. BEADLE & ADAMS, Publishers, 98 William Street, New York. —
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2a 7 82 OCTAVO PAGES, gBADLE'y ~ le i FIVE CENTS, ™~ POCKET LIBRARY. 118 Will Wildfire, the Thoroughbred. By Chas. Morris. 119 Blonde Bill; or, Deadwood Dick’s Home Base. By Edward L. Wheeler. Gopher Gid, the Boy Trapper. By T. C. Harbaugh, Harry Armstrong, the Captain of the Club. By Bracebridge Hemyng, (lack Harkaway.) ter. By Edward S, Ellis. s y Road: Agent. By E. L. Wheeler, Judge Lynch, dr. By. C. Harbaugh. The Land Pirates. apt, Mayne Reid. Blue Blazes; or, The Brak o’ Day Boys of Rocky Bar. By Frank Dumont. Tony Fox, the Ferret. By Black Beas, Will Wildfire’ Eagle Kit, the toy Demon. Gold Trigger, thé Sport. By T. C. Harbangh, A rane of Gold; or, Bont Dick's Big Strike. By Edward L, Wheeler, Dainty Lance, the Boy Sport. By J Wild-ire, tho Boss of the Rond. By Mike Merry, the Harbor Police Boy. wood Diek of Dendwood. Wheeler. Old Rube, the Hunter. Dandy Rock the Man from Texas. Browne. Bob Roekett, the Boy Dodger. By Chas, Morrta, The Black Giants or, Dainty Lance in Jeopardy, By Joseph FE. Badger, Jr. By Philip S. Warne, the Boy-Girl Detective. By y Edward L. Wheeler, a Racer. By C. Morris. By ri Coomes. Badger, Jr. rank Dumont. By C. Morris, By Edward By Capt. Hamilton Holmes. By @. Wa do New Edward 1, Little Danan th Young Mustanger. By O11 Coomes, Doadly Dash3 or, Figoting Fire with Fire. By Jos. E. Badger, Jr. 1 che irlit, the Wild Rider; or, Bessie, the Stock der’s Daugater. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham, he Tiger of Taos. By Geo. Waldo Browne, The Cattle Ki By Frank Dumont. Nobby Nick of Nevada, By Thunderbolt Tom, By Hir Bob Rockett, the Bank Runner. By ©. The Mad Miner, By G. Waldo Browne, The Sea Trailer. By Col. Prenties Ingraham. Dandy Darke; or, The Tigers of High Pine. By William R, Eyster, “ Wild Frank, the Buckskin Bravo, E. lL. Whoeoler. ¥ nilers, By Jos, EK. Badger, Jr. the Boy Bandit; or, The Kid-Glove Sport. 1. Prentiss Ingraham. wilt Witanre in the wy ood By C. Morris, Ned Temple, the Border Boy ». Harbaugh. Deadwood Dick's rors L. Whoele Patent-Leather Joe’s Defeat, By Philip. S. Warne, Buffalo Billy, the Boy Bullwhacker. Ingraham. Rob Rockett, the Cracksman. By C. Morris. Little Murrieane, the Boy Captain, By Coomen. Deadwood Dick’s Dream. By E. L. Wheeler, Tornado Tom, By T. C. Harbaugh. Buffalo Bills Bet. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham. Will Wildfire Wins and Loses. By C. Morris, Dandy Rock’s Pledge. By ‘re Browne, Deadwood Dick’a Ward; or, Tho Black Hill. Jezebel. By Edward L, Wheeler. 39 The Boy Champion. By Edward Willett. 70 Bob Rockett’s Fight for xife; By €. Morris. 71 Frank Morton, the Boy Hercules. By O11 Coomes. 172 The Yankee Ranger. By Edwin Emerson, %8% Dick Dingle, Scout. By Bawant Se te 7 z z Wheeler. By Col. P. oll A Dandy Rock’s Scheme. By G. Browne. 5 The Arnab Dstective. By tawand L. Wheeler. Pluck. By Charles Morris. neindess ‘ByC ‘ol. Prentios Ingraham. nter. By Burton Saxe, a) or, The Mystic Marksman, By 6 WIL Wildfire’s t? The 5 Co: ea eal pat it By T. C. Harbaugh, By Charles Morris, By Lieut, Col. 180 The Boy Gola. Hunter. 181 The Seapegrace Son. 182 The Dark- Skinned Scout, Hazeltine. 188 Jabez Dart, Detective. By Oll Coomes, 1220 Orack-Shot Frank, | 227 Merle, the Boy Cruiser, RARE ORARHROREDHED HRD HEHRDGOH OR EH HOOR DADO wE & | 184 Featherweight, the Boy Spy. | 185 Iison Bill, the Overland Prince, Ingraham. Lance and His Pard. By Edward Willett. Ly Col. Prentiss By Joseph E, : dr. Trapped Tiger King. By Charles Morris. 188 The Ventriloquist Detective. By Edward L. Wheeler. 189 Old Rocky’s Bo By Maj. Sam. 8. Hall. By James L. Bowen, 190 Sim uaa) Peary Si . 191 Dandy Rock’s Rival. By », Waldo Browne, 192 Hickory Harr. By Harry St. George. 198 Detective uh: Grim. By Edward L. Wheeler. 194 Prospect Pete, the Boy Miner. By Ol} Coornes. 195 The VT endertoot Trailer. By T. C. Harbaugh. 196 The Dandy Detective. By Charles Morris. 197 Roy, the Young Cattle King, By Col. P, Ingraham. 198 Ebony Dan £ Mask. By Frank weg de 199 Dictionary. Nat, Detective. By T. C, Harbaugh. 200 The Twin Horsemen. By Capt. F. Whittaker. 201 Dandy Darke’s Pardsa. By Wm. R. Eyater. 202 Tom, the Texan Tiger, By Ol) Coomes. 208 Sam, the Office Boy. By Charles Morris, 204 The Young Cowboy. By Col. P. Ingraham. 205 The Frontier Detective. By E. L. Wheeler. 206 White Lightsing; or, The Boy Ally, By T. C. Harb gh. 207 Kentuck Talbot’s Band; or, The Red Lasso. By on By Capt. Mark Wilton, 208 Trapper Tom’s Castle Mystery. OMeK, 209 The Measenger-Boy Detective. By C. Morr's, 210 The Hunchback ofthe Mines, HyJ. Ee Badger. 211 Little Giant and Wis Band, By P..S. Watues 212 The Jimtown Sport. By E.L. Wheeler, 218 The Pirate’s Prize. By C. Dunning Clark. 214 Dandy Dave, of Shasta. By T. C. Harbaugh. 215 The Denver Detective. By 0}1 Coomes, 216 The Cowboy Captain. By Col. P. Ingraham. 217 Bald Mead of the Rockies, By Sam. 5. Hall 218% The Miner Sport. By Edward L, Wheeler, E 219 Buck, the Detective, By A. W. Aiken. By Charles Morris. 221 Merle the Middy,. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham. 222 Rosebud Ben's Boy By Ol] Coomes, 228 Gold Conrad's Watch-Dogs. By T.C. Harbaugh, 224 Frisky Fergus, the New York Boy, By GL, Aiken. 225 Dick Drew, the Miner’s Son. By Edward L. Wheeler. 226 Dakota Dick in Chicago. By Charles Morris, By Col, Prentiss Ingraham, 228 The Preacher Detective. By Ol! Coomes. 229 Old Hickory’s Grit, By John J. Marshall. 280 Three Boy Sports. By Capt. F. Whittaker. Ready June 6. 281 Sierra Sam, the Detective. By E. L. Wheeler. Reudy June 13. 282 Merle Monte’s Treasure. Ingraham. Ready June 20, 288 Rocky Rover Kit. By Ensign C.D. Warren. Ready Janez. 284 Baldy, the Minor Chief. Ready July 4. 285 Jack Stump’s Cruise, Ready Ju'y 11. Issued Every Wednesday. Beadle’s Pocket Library is for sale by all News- dealers, five cents per copy, or sent by mail on receipt of six cents each. BEADLE & ADAMS, Publishers, 98 William Street, New York. By Col, Prentisa By Capt. J. F.C. Adama, By Roger Starbuck.