Beadle's Pocket Library (no. 32) (1884 08 20)
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Copy righted, 1 1884, by Breanne ann Apames. Entered at the Post Office at New York, N, Xs »y as Second Class Mail Matter. August 90, 1884. Vol, IIL. &2.50 _ Published. Weekly by Beadle and Adi Price, No 39, a Years No, 98 WinLiam St., New Yorx, Five Cents, BLACK JOHN ACK JOHN. The Roal-Agent; or, The Outlaw’s Retreat. BY JOS. EK. BADGER, JR. “THE ROAD-AGENT’S ATTACK,
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Me fF 1 Black John, the Road-Agent. ry Black J ohn, THE ROAD-AGENT; THE OUTLAW’'S RETREAT. BY JOSEPH E. BADGER, JR., AUTHOR OF ‘‘ YELLOWSTONE JACK,” ETC., ETC, CHAPTER I. AN ADVENTURE UPON THE ROAD. SwWAYiInG heavily from side to side, and creaking uneasily, as though protests. against such rough usage, the stage-coach lumbered down the steep bank. The sweat-marked lead- ers tore through the narrow, shallow creek-bed, anticipating the cutting lash, as they gallantly breasted the abrupt, rocky, rain-gutted ascent that led to the fair, rolling prairie beyond. * As nasty a ford as you Ea easy find,” quoth Ben Cockles, the swart-browed driver, as bis animals settled down into a steady, swinging trot. ‘ Chaw, strangers?” Two of the threo ‘outsides” declined; the other, a tall lithe borderer, with long black locks streaming elfishly about his thin, shrewd countenance—lazily gnawed a chunk from off the proffered plug. “fs used to be a nastier hole, though, in the time o’ Ham Murden,” the long man drawled. ‘«That was Monte Pete’s corral—whar he giner- ally went through the coach whenever he htt wu’th while.” m you ain’t astranger in these parts, Cockles darted a quick glance at the rfrom beneath his shaggy eyebrows. f much. I war ‘long when Ham went under, back thar, two year gone by—the time Monte Pete passed in his checks, See, this is how the varmint sp’ilt my beauty,” and the man chuckled grimly as he traced with his fin- er adesp scar upon his cheek, half hidden by the shaggy beard. ‘‘ But I raised his pile an’ he caved,” r “Then you're Curly?” “‘ Folks do call me that, sometimes.” “T's a good enough name, but I reckon you'd better change if while you stay in these parts. Let Black John strike your trail, an’ I wouldn’t give a continental cuss fer your chaince.” - “Tye heard tell o’ the varmint,” quietly re- ae Curly. ‘Bub I don't know what grudge e kin hey ag’inst me,” “Tt’s well know’d all over the line, so I kin tell yer. This feller, Black John he’s called beca’se he’s a nigger, was with Monte Pete that time. What they was to each other, I don’t know, but I jedge they was extry good fri’nds, fer some time a’terward thar war a lot o’ bills stuck up ‘long the line, offerin’ a thousand dol- lars ef any one would tell whar Curly, or Israel Tostivan, could be found. Black John was tho name signed to it. I've been stopped twice the past year, by fellers what axed for Curly, but when they didn’t find him, they left us slide.” ‘Then there is such a person as this Black John?” asked a young man, booked upon the way-bill as Kent Morgan. ‘‘ And he is a Road- Agent” ‘Jest as I tell you, stranger. But I reckon he don’t mean to bother us on this trip, or we'd seen him afore.” ‘‘ What would you have done in case he had made his appearance?” ‘¢ What else but let him work his will?” “What? There are two young ladies now inside, in a measure under your care. And you would allow. them to be plundered—perhaps in- sulted, or still worse—by these rascals, without raising a helping band?” somewhat hotly cried Morgan. . “Don’t git your back up ’thout cause, stran- er. Look how I be. I run this route every ay, year in an’ year out. It’s the way I live, Half the time I_only hey the mails to kerry, Then git the Road-Agents down on me, an’ whar’d be my show? I wouldn’t hev a smell, A shot from the tall grass or bresh—an’ thar ’d be. I don’t think I’m a coward, but'I’d be a pesky fool torun my head ag’inst a bullet, jest fer nothin’,” sullenly replied Cockles, ‘* There'd be no need of his help, on this trip,” drawled the third passenger, as he drew a tiny Smith & Wesson seven-shooter from his bosom, gingerly handling it. ‘I am armed, asI per- ceive you two gentlemen are.” ““What mought you call that, stranger?’ asked Curly. ** A revolver, sir,” “Do tell! I thought it looked like a ’tatur pop-gun.” SS “Sir, the weapon is rather diminutive in size, but as a destructive engine, of almost mar- velous power. Why, sir, with that weapon [ killed a bull-bison at a single shot, in the mountains. I paced the distance afterward —just two hundred yards, sir.” ‘I pass, stranger. You're too big a shooter fer me. I reckon you’re a preacher's son, ain’t ye? “No, sir; my name is Kershaw—Frank Ker- shaw. There is my card, As you see, I am in the real estate business; cash capital, ten mil- lion, As a secret, sir, I don’t mind telling you, Lam now looking up a bit of land—one hundred miles square—that I purchased of the Govern- ment some time ago. I had forgotten all about it until last month. It’s so troublesome, you know, to remember all these trifles,” drawled net caressing his pot mutton-chop whis- ers. ) “Then you ain’t in the gold-minin’ business?” “No, not now. [ sold all my shares in the California mines. It was too slow work for me. 1 “T mean the Kansas placers, Talk ’bout Californy—why, that ain’t nowhar! Now, L could tell you of & ming that Pye run, that would make you open yowr eyes; but I told it once, and a chuckle-headed| fellow up an’ called it a lie. Of coyrse, thar yar a subject waitin’ fer a crowner’s quest’, -iché& off; but sech littlo matters kinder throw me my poeeike, an’ I don’t keer "bout exposin’ miyself to even thunk a liar.” { ie “ But lam really interested, and as I profess to be a gentleman, you need faar nm And then, per d ments on my part. hite —__ |
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———— arrange—but of that we can speak here- after.” “Wal, Dll give it to ye kinder easy, at fu’st, an’ tell of one o’ my Jittle placers. Jest at sun- riz’, oné day this spring, I tuck my ox-wagon an’ driv down to the place. I worked mighty steady all forenoon, beca’se I war out 0’ tobacco an’ powder an’ wanted some change to go sbop- in’ with. I didn’t lift-my head to see how full war gittin’ the bed, ontel noon. Then I start- ed up the ox critters. They jist laid down to it, but couldn’t budge the wagon. The gold hed sunk the wheels in the solid airth, plumb down to the bubs, So, you see, I hed to pitch out purty vigh half o’ the dornicks ag’in. I manidged to git the outfit up to the cabin, a’ter ullin’ the wagon-tongue out two or three imes.” “But the—you didn’t leave the rest of the gold lying there exposed, did you?” eagerly asked Kershaw. ‘*Yes—but I’m goin’ to rope it next week, ef it don’t rain. Now you don’t want to think that this is the best placer I’ve got, for it’s only one o’ my P Sev ones, an’ the stuff hain’t sca’cely hed time to grow yit.” “Thar comes the wet, strangers,” cried Cock- les. “ Reckon you'd better pile inside, hedn’t e?” - For an hour or more a huge mass of black clouds had been sweeping down from the north- west, and the air was growing rapidly cooler. Now, afar off over the rolling prairie, could be seen a dense, whitish, mist-like sheet as the rain- flood swept nearer. Joined to the sullen boom- ing of the thunder, whose peals were now almost incessant, the scene was anything but agreeable to a novice, and, as Cockles reined in his steam- ing horses, the two Wane men hastily de- scended and entered the coach. The back seat was already occupied by two passengers, of a class not often met with in the stage-coach of that date. They were both young ladies, neatly but plainly attired, and from their smiles, as the men entered, if would seem they were mutually acquainted. Yet. two days before they met for the first time. . Since then they bad been companions in traveling, and un- der no circumstances are acquaintances more quickly made, or characters read. May Howard and Eunice Lee were life-long friends and acquaintances. Eunice, though an orphan, bad found a father in Thomas, Howard, a distant relative of her mother. For two years past the girls had been at boarding-scbool in the East. Now they were returning home for a visit. Both were more than usually comely, endow- ed with considerable good sound common sense, though not yet past their teens, May was a brine, a trifle the tallest, of a round, lithe form; Eunice a blonde, slighter in build, seemingly more fragile. Mora or less all were affected by the coming storm, Morgan quickly secured the curtain upon the. more exposed side, and then spoke a cheering word to his fair companions, A cheery laugh replied, for the maidens had not yet forgotten ti®ir prairie experience of by- gone days. . His head bowed to the increasing blast, Black John, the Road-Agent. 3 Cockles drove rapidly on. Behind him, crouch- ing down among the mail-bags and other articles of baggage strapped upon the deck, was Curly, jealously shielding his revolvers from the fierce. pelting rain. Snorting angrily, the full-spirited horses dasbed on, shaking the drops in torrents from their steaming sides, the age a coach rocking and swaying from side to side like some storm-tossed vessel. For full an hour the uncouth vebicle rumbled on through the storm, uninterrupted. A long, dark belt of trees and undergrowth loomed u more and more distinct, extending at right- angles with the trail. Cockles bowed his head still more, and rode on with increased speed, but from beneath his shaggy brows he kept casting quick, uneasy glances around, as though ill at ease. “That ought to be Little Wildcat, jest abead thar,” uttered Curly, shaking back the now dripping chevelure that bad given him his sob- riquet. “So it is—an’ [ wish we was wellover it, too. It’s the devil an’ all a’ter a big rain,” growled Cockles, ‘‘ Ef it’s only the crick to bothef us, we won't hev much trouble, I reckon.” * What do you mean by only?” quickly de- manded Cockles. “Didn’t you say Black John was lookin’ fer me? Ef he is, thar’s the last cbaince he’ll hev to size my pes sence I stop at Barrett’s.” “* Mebbe he don’t know you're on this trip?” “Better fer us both ef he didn’t, It’ll save powder,” was the quiet reply. “You don’t mean fight? Why he never rides onless he hes a full dozén dax’-devils jim! They’d massacre the entire kit o’ us at ff t blow you struck,” cried Cockles, with a: y air. “Curly Tostivan don’t lay down to give the fu’st feller what axes it, hisskelp. Them’ll be fooled who think that. Mebbe my life ain’t wu’th much, but it’s the best I’ve got,” and he chuckled at tbe idea. Cockles said no more, for the leaders plunged into the undergrowth that here brushed both sides of the coach, bis voice ringing out clearly to warn the inside passengers of an abrupt de- scent, And then, seemingly about to topple over upon the slipping borses, the coach plunged down the guttered bank, and into the muddy, roaring waters of Little Wildcat Creek. With a fierce oath, Ben Cockles jerked up the plunging animals, throwing the leaders almost upon their haunches, forcing the wheelers back against the coach, and then the old coach settled down in the middle of Little Wildcat ford, threatening with every moment to yield to the mad rush of the waters, to be swept over the uneven rocky ledge, and carried into the deeper waters below. There was little occasion to ask the meaning of this action upon the driver’s part. At the same moment each one of the five passengers realized the truth. There could be no mistak- ing that command. From the rocky side of the western bank echoed a sharp, spiteful report—the voice of a revolver. A ragged bullet whistled uvpleasant- Jy near to Cockles’s head, causing a peculiar
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Black John, the Road-Agent. thrill to creep along his spinal column. He knew that this bullet was but a warning for him to halt; should he refuse, the next missile would probably pierce his brain or heart. So, throw- ing all his skill and strength into the effort, be checked his snorting animals, even as a stento- rian voice rung out, high above the roar of -Lit- tle Wildcat: ‘‘Halt! You carry property there that be- longs to Black Jobn!” All was confusion within the coach. The abrupt halt, despite their efforts, flung May and Eunice from their'seats forward upon their fel- low-travelers. For a moment the crazy vehicle stood almost on end; but then settling down more like a sober stage-coach, the crumpled pas- sengers quickly disentangled themselves, and, as they accomplished this, the ringing summons came to their ears. ‘ The girls shrieked faintly—Kent Morgan ut- tered a low curse; but the valiant Kershaw was silent. Kent thrust a fist through the closed curtain, bis revolver clicking significantly. As though in answer to the cries of the women, the commanding voice from the side of the ford added: ° : ‘Have no fear, ladies. Black John wars only with those of his own sex.” With the words a single man leaped lightly down the rocky bank, alighting in the water, knee-deep. In one hand be carried a revolver. Another showed at his waist. A little ery of wonder parted Kent Morgan’s lips, as he peered through the rent curtain. And Jittle wonder, for truly this man was a saengs locking being. The being seemed beyond the usual hight of man, of truly Herculean build. His garb was mostly composed of Indian-dressed buckskin, gaudily ornamented and bedecked with beads, stained quills and feathers. Upon bis hands were riding-gloves, the fur gauntlets reaching to the elbow. A felt hat was slouched over his face. From beneath this there fell a profusion of coarse, wrinkly black hair. The face was in color that of a full-blooded negro, but with features horribly grotesque and misshapen. A oe hairy wart disfigured the right cheek. he mouth was large, with red, swollen lips, drawn far down upon the left side, where a broad, purplish sear extended from eye to chin. Uneven, discolored teeth, that might almost be termed tushes, showed through the coarse, brist- ling beard and mustache. There could be no mistaking the person. This man was the notorious outlaw, Black Jobn, upon whose head was placed almost a fortune in rewards; the man who, for two years past, had set both civil and military powers at defi- ance—whose very name was a terror to all peace-loving settlers. “My lads,” said Black John, slightly turning his head as he spoke, ‘‘keep your places, and offer these people no harm unless they attempt to make mischief. Now, Ben Cockles,” he add- ed, addressing the driver, speaking in astrange- ly musical voice in one so repulsive, ‘‘ who have you along with you on this trip?” “Two ladies—three men,” was the prompt reply. if The ladies—God bless the divine creatures! _ shall pass scot-free, but the rest of you must pay toll, for our pockets are moon empty. By the way, lads, just show yourselves, that our friends may see the folly of attempting resis- tance.” ‘ Like .magic, nearly a dozen men rose from their coverts, their revolvers covering the coach, Over their faces were black masks, upon their hands gloves, Evidently their object was to avoid recognition. Then, as Black John waved his hand, the band as suddenly disap- peared from view, 7 ‘You see, gentlemen, I am not trying to bluff you. If you accept the situation ame all right; if not, the fault lies with you. Toll you must pay—but ’tis a rule with us to leave every ove enough dust to keep his pockets from flap- ping in the wind. But first—Cockles!” bit driver grunted uneasily. ‘ct ‘* Have you with you a passenger by the name of Curly—or Israel Tostivan AY “Hyar I be, my covey—'ith four aces for your pile!” cried a clear voice, the last words partially drowned by a sharp, ringing report as # revolver spoke from the coach roof. Black John staggered back, droppiog his pistol, and then fell at full length in the muddy water, one hand clasped to his breast. At the first summons Curly had flattened himself along the coach-deck, hidden from the Road-Agent’s view by the numerous packages before alluded to, that could not be stowed away upon the crowded rack behind, And from this covert he had answered the demand of Black John. Without waiting to note the result of his shot, Curly turned his pistol toward the driver, fiercely orying; ' “Drive on, Cockles, or you're a dead galoot Eyen had surly Ben dared refuse obedience, be could not have done so, for the now thor- oughly maddened horses plunged forward with a vigor that strained every band and buckle, almost dragging the driver over the footboard. The lines snapped like bits of packthread— the crazy vebicle rocked and swayed as the ro ame animals madly tore up the slippery rail. For a moment the outlaws seemed petrified. by the unexpected fall of their Jeader, but then as he struggled to his fect with a hoarse cry of rage, their revolvers spoke rapidly, sending a leaden hail after the coach, From the roof, Curly’s pista promptly replied, Through the rent curtain Kent Morgan added his share to the thrilling tumult; but the jolting, swaying coach prevented anything like an aim. “After them—to vour horses!” yelled Black Jobn furiously. ‘Kill every one but the wo- men. I'll shoot the one that harms a hair of their heads!” ? ‘Use the whip, Ben Cockles,” gritted Curly, sternly. ‘‘ Don’t or I'll plug ye—sbore! The road’s good, an’ the critters ‘ll make for-thar stables, it’s like. Any- how, ef we fall into his hands, we're gone pare ers. Use the leather, man!” oy Pale and trembling, Cockles knew batter than to disobey, and with a band that even then did not forget its cunning, he plijd the long-lashed se waking the echoes with pistol-like cracks: as the wiry lash cut first one and then another show the white feather now, — f aay eaeet
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ae, ber Mi Black John, the Road-Agent. of the racing animals, parting the hide like a knife. As though trying to run through their harness, the horses darted forward, carrying he coach over the almost level road with a truly wonderful speed. The station was now not more than five milesaway. Until that was reached the road was good, broken only by the entle swelling of the rolling prairie. And to the maddened brutes the weight of the coach seemed buta trifle, as they stretched out flat to the springy turf, running like race-horses, the broken lines flopping over their backs, There was a peculiar exhilaration in this mad, break- neck race—but how was it to end? Could the result be other than death? ‘You fellers inside thar—how goes it? Any one hurt?’ inquired Curly, bending over the rail. ‘*T believe not—but yonder come those devils!” ““T see’em. Whar’s that buffalo-shootin’ fel- ler? I hain’t heard nothin o’ him yit. It’s like he'll hev a ebance to try his pop-gun now,” and Curly laughed recklessly. « He's under the seat—where he’s been from the first,” replied Morgan, in a tone of con- temptuous disgust, af Pm hunting for—for my pistol,” the valiant Kershaw explained, in a not very steady tone of voice, Curly’s laugh rung out clearly, as he tossed back his long hair. A bitter, vindictive yell re- lied from the lips of Black John, as he spurred Fis horse on, closely followed by his men. Yet, though finely mounted, they gained but slow] on the coach, that, drawn by four stanch ani- mals, almost flew across the prairie. “Don’t waste your powder, young feller,” cried Curly, coolly. ‘‘ It’ll only be a little brush, for we're not fur from Barrett's, an’ the noise’ll soon fetch us help from thar, But keep the ladies low down, whar the baggage’ll keep the bullets from them.” A mile further on, the pistols of the Road- Agents began to speak viciously, But discharg- as they were at full speed, the missiles were but little better than chance shots, Taunting] Tostivan’s laugh rung out, maddening his dead- ly enemy. Snarling like a wild beast, so full of rage and fear that his prey was slipping through his hands, Blavk John mercilessly spurred on his horse, a noble creature. Neighing with pain, the beast rapidly overhauled the fugitives. All but one of the Road-Agents were distanced. Better mounted than the rest, the man kept close to his _leader’s heels. Both Curly and Morgan opened fire, but their bullets sped wide of the mark. The swaying of the coach rendered their aim futile, and the outlaws drew steadily nearer, as yet making no attempt to return the fire, until within a score yards of the coach. ; ~ Then the revolvers were raised. At almost the first report a shrick of agony filled the air, and a human figure rolled from the coach-deck. It was Ben les. He layin a quivering heap, Fpete not feel the fall; he was shot through as a7 You're my man, Curly Tostivyan—remem- r te Pete!” snarled Black John, “You'll be toastin’ longside him at the same fire this night, my covey!” retorted the tall bor- derer. ‘Thar comes our fri’nds!” ‘But not soon enough to save you /” With these words Black John forged up along- side the coack. Both pistols spoke at the same moment. An involuntary cry broke from per. and the outlaw. Then other reports followed. The next moment both outlaws were down! And Curly uttered another exultant yell, Two miles away, upon a prairie swell, he could see a body of horsemen, whom he believed to be friends. But would they be in time to save them from destruction? The coach threat- ened to upset with every moment, At such a reed the result could scarcely be otherwise than atal. A glance back showed him the Road-Agents clustered about the fallen forms, He knew that nothing more was to be feared from them then, If the horsemen beyond were friends, the out- iene would have to ride fast to save their own ives, “Git ready in thar for a upset, if I fail,” he cried, coolly, prepared for a desperate attempt to avert the impending peril, Crawling to the foot-board, he calculated bis chances. The chances were greatly against him. To fail could be nothing less than desth, instant and certain. And yet he did not shrink from the trial. Though unconscious of the fact, Curly was a hero. For a moment balancing himself, Curly leaped down upon the back of the wheeler, clinging to the harness like a monkey. The animal crouch- ed low down, then with a ery of terror, plunged forward, snapping both traces like packtbread. A strong hand now wound in the reins, and after a brief, tbrilling struggle, the animal was held in check. A moment later, Curly had both the leading lines tight wrapped round his bands, and the greatest danger was passed. Gradually he checked their mad speed, until, as the horse- men swept up, he brought them to a stand-still. The Road-Agents were just disappearing in the distance, and though pursuit was instantly made, the proseect of overtaking them was small. In their flight they had borne their dead with them. ; While the few who remained behind were placing the body of the ill-fated Cockles upon the coach, Kent Morgan was narrow ly searching the, ground, Pr be eagerly picked up a small object, quickly hiding it in his bosom, un- observed. Then, as if his object was fully at- tained, he returned to whére the ladies stood. With Curly upon the box-seat, ora he was slightly wounded in the shoulder by Black John’s last shot, the coach rolled on to Bar- rett’s, where an excited crowd awaited its com- ing. That night Frank Kersbaw was in bis glory, telling how “‘we defeated the rascally Road- Agents!” CHAPTER IL BLACK JOHN'S CHALLENGE. THE little dingy bar-room of ‘*hotel”—as the swinging sign boldly proclaim- ed the rude story-and-a half building to be— contained a much larger number of people than it usually gave shelter to, on the morning of the arrett’s sole
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@ Black John, the Road-Agent. day corsage! J the Road-Agents’ attack Been the coach at Little Wildcat. Yet the chubby little man presiding behind the rough pine bar did not seem happy. The freshly-washed glasses were innocent of alcoholic scent—the stout bot- tles were still full to the throat, The sturdy settlers had something of even deeper import- ance to talk about. The news of the attack and defeat of the Road Agents had spread like wildfire, and eager to learn the truth of the affair, the farmers and stock-breeders left their work, flocking into Barrett’s. This was the first time for nearly a year that the stage-coach had been waylaid along this stretch. And when it, was known that Ben Cockles had been killed, deep and dead- ly threats were breathed, and, as if by common consent, the settlers collected at Barrett’s to consult upon the best course to pursue. Then, as had been the case beforé, the subject of or- ganizing a Vigilance Committee was broached. “T don’t say but what you’ré right, stran- gers,” said Curly, upon being appealed to for an opinion. “ Ef you kin git the right man to lead, a vigilance outfit is a hard pill fer sech varmints to swaller, as this Black John’s boys be. But the trouble is, in matters like this, each man’s as goad as his neighbor, an’ thar’s jest as many leaders as thar is noses in the crowd,” *«« Will you take the office, then?” said Thomas Harvard, “No, I won't. I don’t mind lendin’ a helpin’ hand, ef it’s needed, but P’ve pot business o’ my own to ’tend to. Besides, I’m a stranger to most 0’ you.” “Don’t forget that you promised to tell me more about gold-placers, Curly,” eagerly whis- pered Frank Kershaw. ‘‘If it’s as you say, there’s money in it.” “But, if understand ‘aright, this man— Black John I believe you call him—was killed yesterday,” observed one of the party, a stran- ger. He had arrived at Barrett’s shortly after dusk, the night before, riding along the Denver trail, Owing to the excitement, te had been but little noticed by the usually curious settlers, yet he was a man that few persons would pass without turning for a second glance. In stature, he was but little above the medium hight, lithely, elegantly formed, with ‘a supple grace in every movement that was a charm in itself. His dress was plain, though of costly material. In his linen front gleamed diamond studs. An elegant chain crossed his vest. A beautiful diamond cluster-ring einige upon his left hand, that now caressed his smooth- shorn chin. His close-trimmed hair was jetty black, covered by a military forage cap. His face, almost classic in its contour, was very handsome, though wearing a firm, self-reliant expression, that redeemed it from effeminacy. His eyes were large and of peculiar brilliancy, seeming to pierce through and through those upon whom their regards were turned. He had given the name of Wayne Appleton, just from Denver, bound for Fort Leavenworth. Though he had not stated as much, the impression was that he was in some way.connected with the service, at Leavenworth. **T don’t believe the man was killed,” quietly obseryed Kent Morgan. ‘‘ His horse was shot, and stumbling, flung its rider. If I mistake not, we shall hear more of this affair.” **The varmint has got as many lives asa cat,” eieeeedy said Curly. ‘‘ Ef I didn’t plant two ae ets plum whar his heart ought to be, ’m a iar! “‘Tt would not be the first time that a secret coat of mail stopped a well-aimed bullet. I thought of that after your shot at the ford, and gave my last bullet at his head,” said Morgan. ‘“‘ But you missed him?” asked Appleton. - ‘* No—I made a mark,” was the quiet reply, ‘* A good clew to work by, then. A negro, shot in the face cannot be easily mistaken.” “TE so eT er But I am not sure that my bullet touched his face, any more than I am that this Black John is a negro.” A general exclamation of surprise greeted this remark, but Kent Morgan stilled the gath- ering with a gesture. Then he addressed Curly: “ You had a fair view of this Black John?” “ Yes—why shouldn’t I?” ‘Did you notice his right cheek?” “Yes. He had a great big thing like a wart growin’ thar, kivered with bair. The size of a peach split in two, I should judge,” thoughtfully added Tostivan. “You have a keen eye, Curly,” and Kent laughed shortly, as be tossed something upon the low bar. ‘* There is the wart, just as you described it, You can see where my bullet left its mark,” _As one man, the settlers pressed forward, Appleton among the foremost. But his was the only hand that offered to touch the curious- looking object. In size and shape it closely re- rien a full-grown tarantula, deprived of its legs. “You choose a rather inopportune moment for your practical jokes, Mr. Morgan,” slowly uttered Appleton, dropping the object, witha . gesture of disgust. > “Tf a jest, tis none of my making. Gentle- men, that is an imitation wart, made of paste and silk, but it is the one worn by Black John, as he terms himself, yesterday afternoon. When I saw that he was proof against our bul- lets when aimed at his body, I fired at his head. I saw him start, and then something fell to the ground, leaving a clear white spot upon his cheek! This I saw plainly, as I turned to at- tend to the other rascal, Him I shot through the body, just as Carly dropped the leader, After the affair was over, I went back and searched the ground carefully, finding this mock wart,.or wen.. Put this and that together, and what is ‘the result? That the outlaw is no negro, but a white man. And, beyond a doubt, this fact has been his greatest safeguard against discovery, for only a negro was looked for. It” is easy to see now how he escaped so often. In- deed, when his disguise is once cast aside, what is there to ties him from ka pape feria aring in your councils, aiding you you—even s his own de- to form plots and lay snares for struction, laughing in his sleeve, the double role he is playing? more than a bold, quick-wit with very little danger to himself.” t is nothing 1 the time, at man might do, — \ ( ‘ be t
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s ¥ Black John, the Road-Agent, ‘* Just so—supposing him to be what you sus- pect; and I do not deny that you have grounds tor your reasoning—but is it likely that somany persons could have been deceived so thoroughly, and for such a long time?” Kent Morgan turned quickly toward the speaker. phar eh met his gaze quietly; but the words of the young man were checked by the rapid beat of horse’s hoofs along the road without. Instinctively, alleyes were directed toward the open doorway. The shape of a horse and its rider abruptly halted at the door, so close that the long mane of the animal floated inside the room, The rider made a rapid motion with his right arm. A heavy, peculiar thud followed. Then with a single, low, taunting laugh, the vision vanished, ° A ten-inch bowie-knife was quivering in the door casing, a sheet of paper fluttering upon the bright blade. And above the clattering of iron- shod hoofs, the insolent laugh came to the ears of the astonished settlers. The affair had been so sudden, so unexpected, that the borderers could scarcely believe their eyes. And yet, scarce one among the party but had caught sight of a black, repulsive face, as the horseman glared in upon them. ** BLack JOHN, BY THE Lorp Harry!” The words were Appleton’s, as Le sprung across the threshold and into the open air. The spell was broken, and the entire party quickly followed. The daring horseman was now nearly clear of the village, and turning in his saddle, he shook his clinched fist at the party, uttering a loud peal of insolent laughter that stung the settlers to fury. A score of revolvers began to speak, but_rid- ing erect, as though despising them, Black John quickiy passed beyond pistol-range. Seeing this, the farmers leaped upon such horses as were standing ready-saddled near at hand, and set out in hot pursuit. Still others ran afoot, until the folly of such a course cooled their blood, when they rejoined those gathered around Kent Morgan, as he read the knife- pierced paper. On it was written in bold, clear characters: “To My DEAR Frienps OF BARReErT’s:—GREETING: Some time past yon have been threatening to organ- ize a company of Vigilantes, for the express purpose of wiping out the band I have the honor to captain. As I am curious to Jearn whether you are really men, I make this proposition: To-morrow at noon I will be in camp at the Twin Mounds, having just twenty- one men, I shall remain there until sunset, y to receive and entertain visitors. “T send this challenge, becanse your boasts and threats of what you would do—if you were able—are growing monotonous. Do not fetch less than forty men, a8 my lads. wish something to liven them up. Now, dare you accept this challenge? _ “These, from your masler, : : “Brack JoHN, THE Roap-AGent.” *"Twould be no easy matter to find words by which to ae the wild storm of rage and fury that followed the reading of this precious t _ document. .A biting, stinging insulé from first _ Sgn delivered added to the humiliation. to last, the manner in which this bold defiance joud and deep, broke from the sturdy —_—_ Eee mw settlers, weapons were drawn and brandished, and for a few moments it seemed as though the entire party were gone suddenly mad. Again the clatter of hoofs rung through the little village, but as the crowd ous quickly along the road, they recognized a friend and neighbor. As he abruptly drew rein beside them, the man suddenly demanded: ‘*Whar’s Tom Goodheart—any o’ you fellers know?” “What's up now, Ike? You look as though you had seen a ghost!” asked Howard. “You seen my brother?’ hoarsely repeated the man. ‘Not since the first of the week. But there’s Nothing wrong, I hope?” ““Yest?day Tom started fer here, but he didn’t git back last night. This mornin’ I see’d his critter in the corral, whar she’d jumped in, the saddle kivered with blood, I set the boys to work, lookin’ fer sign an’ kem on here to see ef I could Varn anythin’.” Ike Goodheart spoke in a low, strained and unnatural voice, and there was a strange look upon the hard, rugged face, as the settlers, knowing the deep, almost passionate love that bound the brothers together, read aright the sickening dread that even the stoical borderer could not entirely mask. The story of the bloody saddle told of yet another black tragedy to be added to the almost endless catalogue of crimes andgbloodshed that stain the annals of Kansas, both as a Territory and as a State. “Some more work of Black Jobn, beyond a doubt!’ eried Wayne Appleton. ‘ Mon, how long are you going to submit to this—how much longer ‘are you going to allow this devil and his imps to ride rough-shod over you? I am a stranger to most of you here, but I am ready to lend you what aid can. I will be one to pledge my life and honor never to cease the hunt until os gang of outlaws is broken up and destroy- A general cry greeted this declaration,.and it was evident that not the slightest objection to such a decided course was felt now, whatever might have been the case a few minutes since. For a time all was confusion, each man talking, none listening; but then, as anotber horseman came spurring along the road, followed by Ike Goddheart, the tumult died away, for by his face—the manner in which the new-comer turn- ed toward Goodbeart, they knew that he was the bearer of evil tidings. ‘You needn’t say it, Hank,” the brother ut- tered, in a strained, husky tone. * Whar is ? ‘By Little Timber—throwed in his tracks,” was the terse reply. “Frinds,” said Goodheart, speaking in a strangely quiet tone, ‘you hear what. Hank says. Brother Tom hes bin rubbed out, Will some 0’ ye go “long o” me to Little Timber? Mebbe your eyes’ll be sharper fer sign than mine, to-day, fer somehow I feel a bit off my feed; reckon it’s the ager ag’in.” “That we will—and woe be to those that have done this murder!” solemnly cried Thomas Howard, > @ For the time Black John’s bold challenge was forgotten, and almost to a man the settlers
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g Biack John, the Road-Agent. hastened to prepare their horses for the ride to Little Timber. Among them were our friends, Kent Morgan, Curly, and Kershaw. The half-dozen miles were quickly traversed, and the creek known as Little Timber, from the stunted trees and shrubbery that lined its banks, was reached. As the party rode up, two men glided out from the undergrowth, armed to the teeth. They were those left to keep guard over the dead. Ike Goodheart dismounted and stood beside a little heap of fresh branches torn from the sur- emo ¢ trees. With a strange gentleness he removed this covering, revealing the stiff, life- less figure that had so recently been full of life and activity. Fora moment he eased fixedly upon the ghastly face of his dead, in silerice. Then he spoke, in the same Jow, monotonous voice that bad marked his tone since his appear- ance at the hotel, ‘You see, gentlemen, whoever ’twar, made sure work 0’ it. —jest over the heart. I don’t reckon he ever knowed what hurt ’im.” “Don’t crowd around, boys, ontil we’ve had a look fer sign,” said Curly Tostivan, peremp- torily. For full half an hour the vicinity was closely and syenatioaly searched, but nothing was found that could thr gedy. Yet this was not so surprising to the — . A simple solution for that. *Thé settler nad been shot some time during the preceding day; even those least skilled in gunshot wounds could tell that much. And the heavy rain- storm, that had continued long after nightfall, had thoroughly obliterated all traces left by the murderers, In turn, the members of the party had exam- ined the corpse, merely to satisfy that morbid curiosity one naturally feels upon such occa- sions. Kent Morgan was the last. He seetned not a little interested, closely scanning the body from head to foot, a peculiar light in his eyes. Msi slipping a hand beneath the body, he gently turned it over, and then, drawing a knife, slit the clothing between the shoulders. Several of the settlers pressed forward, mur- muring; at their head was Ike Goodheart. Mor- gan returned their gaze frankly. “ve found a bit of ‘ sign’ that you all over- leoked. The bullet that killed this man did not clear through his body. I can feel it now, Jost beneath the skin.” ‘Stan’ aside, stranger,” muttered Goodheart. ‘*1T must have the fu’st look at that bit o’ lead.” With a hand firm and steady as steel, the borderer parted the clothing, and pressed his knife into the livid flesh. Then a bullet lay in the palm of his hand. With as much care as though this was some great treasure, Goodheart year the telltale missile and then eyed it eenly. It was the pellet of a revolver, ‘navy sized.” It bore the plain marks of the deeply-grooved barrel, but was not otherwise disfigured, and Goodheart’s eyes glowed vividly as he saw that the bullet was “‘ billeted ”—that it bore the pri- vate mark of its owner; the ivitials M. C. _ “Them thar’s my letters, but you fellers all Thar’s whar the bullet struck | ow any light upon the tra- | | peared deep buried in thought. know how I mark my bullets,” promptly cried one of the settlers. ‘ ‘ “T know it wasn’t you, Mat Craythone,” as readily replied Goodheart. ‘ But here, by the dead karkidge o’ brcther Tom, I sw’ar to find out whose work it is, and to hev his life, if it’s fifty years from now!” Kent Morgan examined the bullet, and then handed it back to Goodheart. Turning around, he noticed the eyes of Wayne Appleton search- ing his face, A faint smile curled his lips as Appleton turned away. ‘What shall we do about— I mean how can we help you, Goodheart?” asked Howard, ‘‘No way, jest now. The boys an’ Pll attend to Tom, But I'll come oyer to the town this evenin’. Thar’s this Black John affair, and I want somethin’ to keep me from thinkin’ too much 0’ him,” Ike Goodheart mounted his horse, and then the corpse of his brother was handed up to him. Balancing this across the saddle, he slowly rode away. As he disappeared, the settlers retraced pias steps to Barrett’s, conversing in low, eager ones, Kent Morgan had but little to say, and ap- And the keen eyes of Wayne Appleton often wandered to that pale, handsome face, with an expression that could not easily be read, An hour later Kent Morgan sat in his room at r Before him lay a bullet-mold and © the hotel. several bullets. Each one bore the initials M, C.; the same as that which had been extracted from the body of the dead man, And thus he sat thinking for a long time. ‘ CHAPTER JIL THE DEFIANCE ACCEPTED, **T pip not think I could be mistaken; at first sight I felt that I had seen him before, and that quite zecently, The bullet explains it. ‘This man was with Black John, yesterday. He ks the one I shot down as he rode beside the coach; And yet—these men grieve over him as though he had been the most faithful and honorable of friends, instead of a masked renegade and out- aw. ‘“* And the brother—this Ike Goodheart—does he know or suspect the truth? That there was love of no common strength between the two, no one could doubt, after a look at that man’s face. At least there was no counterfeitin there. And he means every word of that oat —of his vow of vengeance. But does he know—. or does he believe that his brother was murder-. | ed by the outlaws—by Black John? It don’t © seem possible that the two could live together, be brothers, and yet one belong to such an or- ganization without the other being a aw of the truth. And if he does know it, then Goodheart knows who shot his brother—and he - knows, too, why it was Lsoughé for the marked bullet. He must know that I see through his. story and know it to be false, But does he know why I held my peace and did not denounce the man all supposed to have been foully mur-— dered, as a Villain and an outlaw who bad only met with a richly-deserved punishment}, Per- haps he attributes my silence to fear—that his threats of vengeance frightened me, Well, let
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lis. ees se sae q Black John, the Road-Agent, 9 it be sd, then. I must walk carefully, and keep my wits about me.” Sitting with bis gaze riveted upon the marked bullets, Kent Morgan mused long and thought- fully. Occasionally a sentence fell audibly from his lips, but there were no ears near save his own to hear it. Had there been such, the settlement of Barrett's might have gained a more correct idea of who this traveler really was, . ; Morgan believed he could read aright the story of the past few hours—could unite the broken thread of the events that so perturbed Barrett’s. He knew that this Thomas Good- heart was none other than the outlaw who had fallen at the same moment with his leader, Black Jobn, attacking the stage-coach. The Road-Agents had removed their dead from the field. Their next move was to avert the dis- covery that threatened. Goodheart was a prominent stock-raiser, respected and looked up to in the settlement. Should it become known that he had fallen as one of Black John’s masked riders, what would be the result? Suspicion would be aroused, and each man would become aspy upon his neighbor. And this might end in unpleasant discoveries! The mask might be torn from otber faces. So, at least, Kent Mor- Zan reasoned. ‘The body had been prepared and conveyed to the crossing on Little Timber. And then Ike Goodbeart played bis part in the drama. It had been a success in so far as the settlers.were con- eerned. Not one among them suspected the te h y then I ty h e was playing a t, then I must watc' my steps well. Though. for the sake of his dead _brother’s honor, be’ll not dare accuse or attack me openly, he was in deadly earnest when he swore vengeance. He means to give these pev- ple another sensation, with my corpus in the - title-role,..Forewarned, fore-armed, they say, and we'll see be Sg Paper out ey pra iat se 8 tered Morgan, bis blue eyes sparkling brightly, as he Seared the mold and bullets, and then left the room. He had just remembered that he had prom- ised Mr; Howard to tcke dinner with him on that day, and it was full noon. The warm- hearted settler could not find words enough to express his thanks, for be sure the young ladies had not lessened the danger they kad run, nor underrated the courage shown by the male pas- sengers. And Howard had included Frank Ker- ‘shaw and Wayne Appleton in the invitation. Morgan already knew the house—a substan- tial stone building, standing upon the edge of a goodly-sized farm, that reached to the oatskirts of the village. He found that dinner was in readiness, awaiting only bis arrival. The stran- per received a cordial greeting, and after being ntroduced to Mrs. Howard and the host’s fa- ther, the table was occupied. 4 Morgan talked but little, being unusually si- lent for one of. bis naturally gay, careless spir- . More than onee a puzzled expression rested upon his face, as he glanced across to where -. Wayne Appleton sat. He felt a vague remem- of haying met this man under other and _ Yery different circumstances; but he could go no further, Beyond, all was confused. He noticed, too, that Appleton acted as though well acquainted with the two younger ladies. though it was evident that Mr. Howard hi never met him before that day. Somehow, even while forced to admit to himself that Ap- pleton was very handsome, witty, and a good conversationalist, Morgan began to feel a pecu- liar dislike for the stranger, and to watch him with suspicious doubt, Had any one binted at this feeling being the cffspring of jealousy, Kent Morgan would have laughed heartily. Yet it was because Wayne Appleton wore such an air of deep devotion whenever he spoke to or listen- ed to pretty May Howard, that this dislike was gaining ground, for, if not in love with, Kent was Geoply interested by May, the black-eyed. - Frank Kershaw was in bis glory. Mischievous little Eunice was drawing bim out very skill- fully, and in a manner that brought bis pecu- liar foiblesinto full prominence. Such startling statements, such marvelous adventures, did he skim over;w ith the half- bored air of one to whom such things were quite a matter of course. And perhaps no one around the table believed these wonders more implicitly than Frank did. It is a settled fact among those who know him—and this character is a live one at the present day, though it is far beyond the power of my pen draw him to the life—tbat Kershaw can ‘‘ dis- count” Baron Munchausen at that worthy’s own game, with a devout belief in his own fan- tastic creations. } After dinner, Morgan and Howard resumed the one subject of interest: what was to be done in regard to the challenge of Black John? Then the young folks left the room, almost unnoticed by them. The afternoon was hazy and cool, a fresh breeze sweeping over the rolling prairie. Eunice had led Frank off _to view the garden; then A pleton spoke to May, who was now unusual es a slight sbade resting upon her fair brow, ‘* Shall we walk as far as the maples yonder, Miss May?* The shade will be pleasant, an there we can talk more freely than here.” “‘T have nothing to say that all may not hear —nor do I wish to listen fo—” ~ “But 2 must—I_ mean that I must speak out plainly now, for the last time.. You cannot refuse to hear me, though those words may not be pleasant So your ears,” rapidly returned Ap- pleton, drawing her band through bis arm. Evidently ill at ease, after a brief hesitation, May yielded to his superior will, and they walk- ed on to where a rustic seat stood beneath the sturdy nag pea At a motion from Appleton, May sunk down upon the seat, but he stood be- fore her, pale and serious, a bright light filling is eyes. : “You bave not a word for me now—you sit there in silence as cold as though we were per- fect strangers—as though the warm, passionate words of love had never passed between us, May—in God’s name, tell why you bave pony F ed—what is this that has come between us?” said, in a voice that trembled with ill-sup- pressed emotion. Fs “S30 “Y should not think you would need ask me os Mr, Appleton,” coldly replied May How: ard, . ;
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10 “JT understand you,” and his proud head drooped a little. “But I was innocent; I was first lured into drinking, and then betrayed by a man who had sworn he was my faithfol friend, You hear my defense—it was published in the papers of the day, and all of them joined in laughing at and casting ridicule upon it. But surely you do not think I was lying?’ “Mr. Appleton, why bring up this matter again, when nearly a year had sunk it into ob- livion? .It can do no good—it can only end in disappointment for both of us, As I told you before, the past is dead and buried forever.’ “Tt ecan—it must live again! Think how bapp we were then, loving and beloved. I only ived while with you—I worshiped you—” ‘“Mr, Appleton, if this is all that you have to say to me, 1 will bid you good-day. I can listen no longer,” coldly said May, arising to her feet. “ And yet the time was—not so many months since—whben. you told me that you loved me, when you fully reciprocated my vows—” “You make me speak harsh words, despite myself, Mr. Appleton. As you say, tho time was—but it is not now. Then, I believed you represented yourself—a man of honor, a gen- tleman in the truest sense of the word, and not a— ‘*Why do you hesitate?—why not finish with the words upon your tongue? When I was not a conyicted felon—before I was branded with _ the name of thief—burglar! The words are simple and easy spoken; then why hesitate?” bitterly said Wayne. “You forced this upon me, I did not wish to say so much, but you pressed me for an an- swer, and I could only speak the truth,” quietly vepted May. ‘Stay—do not leave me yet, If I have said aught to offend you, forgive me. My mad love for you has so changed me that I scarcely know myself. And then this last year has been a very bard and trying one to me. _I have suffer- eda thousand deaths in it, not for my bodily sufferings, though they treated me like a dog until I made my escape, but because I feared that you would learn to loathe and despise me, believing me guilty of all they said. But I swear to you now, by my hopes of a hereafter, that [ was and am innocent!’ “Por your own sake, I should be glad to be- lieve this,” “You speak as though the matter had no interest to you—as though I were a perfect stranger!” ¢ “T speak as I feel. You force me to speak plain words, though they must be disagreeable to you. And since so much has been said, the subject may as well be settled now, once and for all. You say that once I confessed that I loved you. I do not deny. it. I was but a sim- ple country girl, unused to society, You sought to win my love, as I firmly believe, merely as a kill-time. You were handsome, polite, a gen- tleman in manners and dress. Little wonder, then, that I believed you, and turned a deaf ear to those who would have warned me against trusting you. At that time I fan- _cied that. I loved you— perbaps I did, in a measure; but that does not matter now. You know the end, You were arrested, tried and Black John, the Road-Agent. convicted. True, you declare yourself the vic- tim of a conspiracy. But other matters came out through the trial, erough to disenchant one far more ay, in Jove with you than I was. The scales fell from my eyes then, and | saw what a blind fool | had been. But thank God! the discovery did not come too late.” “ But I was innocent—” “Still, that can make no difference, All is over between you andI. Only that I desired to avoid a scene, I should have acted differently from what I have to-day. You have only your- self to thank for this reopening of an old wound.” It was a strange sight, that proud-looking man standing there with bowed head, his face ghastly pale, listening to such cutting words from the lips of the woman he so madly loved, And May, offended as she was, felt a thrill of pity as she looked upon him. “You are very cruel—it is a fair face to cover such an unrelenting heart,” Appleton said bit- terly, his eyes beginning to glitter, his pale cheeks to flush as the words stung home, ‘ And once I believed that you could love! But then —I do not care to reproach you. Perhaps I de- serve it all. Yet I never like to begin a thing without carrying it toanend. I ecame here to- day intending to learn my fate, to ask you if you would make good ‘your vow of last year. 1 ask you now: May Howard, will you be my wife?” “ And E answer you, no. That is my final answer, and unless you wish to insult me, you will not give me occasion to repeat it,” coldly replied May. “J shall not rep2at the question again. Good- by. Stay coldly bowed her head and swept past him, unnoticing the outstretched hand. Apple- ton stood motionless, watching her until she re- entered the house, then turned and strode rap- idly away. As the grove shut the house from view, his assumed com re vanished, and be flung himself upon the ground in a paroxysm of rage and mortification, groveling in the damp grass like some wounded snake, ; The sun had nearly disappeared behind the rairie waves when Wayne Appleton returned o the hotel. But then his face bore no trace of the terrible struggle: he was the same cold, proud-mannered man of that morning. He en- tered the bar-room where a number of settlers had already collected, and joined in the debate. If he possessed no other talent, Wayne Apple- ton was a good actor. The settlers around and the inbabitants of Barrett’s had collected, almost to a man. The main subject under discussion was the challenge of Black John, There seemed to be but one opinion regarding it: the bold insult must be avenged. A number were in favor of riding to the Twin Mounds, and thus deciding the matter by a pitched battle, but others were suspicious that the defiance covered a trap. OE 3 “We kin muster forty good men, all knowin’ how to use the A ged they kerry!” crie Abram Leigh. ‘‘ Black John can’t hey en ] to give us much bother, less he’s got the Injuns— to help him, which ain't likely. Then, 7 say, | le’s go for ’em|” —_ Maser i |
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“ But he won't fight fair. It’s more like be'll a *bushment ‘long the road.” “Bushment be durned! Ain’t thar more than one trail crost the prairie? More like he did it jest for devilment, thinkin’ we’d bluff.” @ “May he not have some design upon the vil- lage bere? By drawing you away to the Twin Mounds, the coast would be clear for him to swoop down and work his will before we could get back,” suggested Morgan. ‘©Wekin leave enough fellows at home to orale that game, and still hev a-plenty to bag him at the Mounds, I say—le’s go. An’ al those who don’t want to be called durned goose- livered cowards, ‘ll j'ine me,” hotly cried Leigh. That speech settled the affair. Not one among them all would hold back after such words, Then the question was more fully discussed one acompany of Vigilantes regularly organ- Some little difficulty was found in selecting a leader, for, in succession, Curly and Howard de- clined to serve. But then, Appleton, whose counsels had been acceptable to the majority, consented to serve as captain for the time. The party then separated, returning to their bomes to make preparations for the ride and an- ticipated NS th With early dawn they were to take the trail. CHAPTER IV. OUTWITTED, As the first faint streaks of gray n to een the eastern horizon, the sound of hoof- strokes filled the little village of Barrett’s. The Vigilantes were gathering for their ride to ac- cept the challenge of Black John. There were pale and anxious faces among the women, though the tears that dimmed their eyes were not suf- fered to fall. They knew that a collision be- tween the rival forces would be astern and desperate one, in which more than one man might lose his Jife. And to them the face of the dead was ever that of him most dear to their hearts. “The only delay was that occasioned by the drawing lots to decide who were to remain as a guard at the village. ‘Those whom fate selected were far from pleased. They did not relish the idea of being forced to remain at the vilage in inglorious (dlaness, while their comrades were enjoying themselves in the wild, egies | skirmist or hand-to-hand conflict. But, thou muttering bitter curses upon their crooked luck, ‘not one rebelled, ' And from the village, through the narrow tract of sparsely-timbered land, the Vigilantes entered upon the broad, rolling prairie. The party was composed of nearly two-score men, clererient and courageous, armed to the teeth weapons that bad beon familiar to them ood, Ba ae were for the most Ao) ‘born skirmishers, their tactics lea from the wild beasts and the no less crafty red- b> who won victory in their own way, Se rir peal following any particular system cs, i _ The party were, for the most part, mounted. 7 ee "2 os = r ae ej Black John, the Road-Agent. 11 upon that mongrel breed of animals, unsurpass- in any country for long and steady going be- neath the saddle, the half-breed mustang—the ‘Indian pony.” With the spirit that even a long day’s travel cannot entirely subdue, the animals pranced and curveted at the unwonted restraint of a tightiy-drawn rein,dashing the sparkling dew-drops from the bending blades of grass, scaring the rabbit, or occasionally its overgrown brother, the jackass-rabbit, from its form, flushing tbe» quail and prairie-chicken from their grassy coverts. Anon a fleet-footed deer-or antelope would dart out from some clump of shrubbery, disappearing over the prairie swe}l like some phantom of the gray dawn, unheeded, unnoticed by its usual enemy, save, perchance, by a passing glance. For the time being they may pass toll-free, for more ex- citing sport filis the minds of the prairie-riders, In the midstof the party rode Frank Kersbaw, far from being at ease. A ‘‘city-man,” Frank was scarcely up to these free-spirited, | iene born horses. He had been furnished by Thomas Howard with a mount second to none in the band; but Frank failed to appreciate the kind- ness. The poor fellow was enduring the ‘‘tor- tures of the damned.” . The pony would try to free its head, its mus- tang blood on fire with rivalry. Frank would tug beng ae © at the reins until the cruel curb almost broke the animal’s jaw, at the same time closing bis bony legs close to the pony’s side, when the sharp spur acted as a counter-ir- ritant. A series of plunges was the result, in which, only for the bigb-horned Spanish saddle, Kershaw would scarce have escaped an igno- minious tumble. “ Don’t hold such a tight rein, stranger. Durn it all—you’ll git the critter to buckin’, and then you will be gone!” expostulated Curly. ‘‘I—I don’t think I’m well—I feel so queer,” faintly muttered Kershaw, ‘If I only knew the road back, I believe I’d go home. -I fear I'm going to be ill!” ‘ ; “T don’t reckon 'twould be any great loss if you was to go back,” muttered Abram Leigh, disgustedly. ‘‘A goose-livered feller ain’t 0’ mnch a’count whar we’re goin’.” “Sir!” exclaimed Kershaw, ‘‘do you mean to insinuate that Lam deficient in either moral or physical courage?” **{ don't mean to insinivate nothin’, becaise I don’t know what the jawbreaker stan’s fer; but if it’s anythin’ onbecomin’ a man, why you Jit in sayin’ of it.” “ Well, since. you apologize, we will let the matter drop. I’m not one to bold malice after amends are made,” jerked forth Frank, clinging desperately to pommel and mane. “*Pologize nothin’! I said I didn’t think you'd be o’ much a’count in a serimmage’in this Black John outfit, an’ I stick to it. I don’t sw’ar that you’re a coward, but if a feller was to pay me to find him a raal coward; durn my cats if I wouldn’t ax you to go with me to see him, anyhow.” ‘Peace, gentlemen,” interposed Wayne Ap- pleton, speaking in the authoritative tone of one not unaccustomed to obedience. “This is not the time for petty wrangling among cur- selves, Save your breath; if this defiance of * a
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12 Black John, the Road-Agent. B complaining among yourselves. What is the lack John is genuine, it is very likely that you both will have your fill of fighting before the matter is ended.” “All right, Cap; you’re boss here just now, an’ l’ll walk the chalk. But this much I dosay —an’ them as knows me ’Il tell whether I ever go back on my word—ef the stranger plays his part like a man when the pinch comes, I’ll ax his pardon, an’ own up ’at I was wrong in my guess, But ef he don’t—ef he shows the white feather—ef ho turns tail an’ tries to crawfish out o’ the mess, send me to everlastin’ glory, ef I don’t bore a hole through bim big a-plenty to kick a yearlin’ colt througb.” Perhaps twas as; well that Frank Kershaw was 80 fully occupied with his native charger that he could not reply to this threat with the retort he would otherwise have offered, for Abraham Leigh was one of those hotblooded, reckless, unreasoning animals that are seldom found but upon the verge of civilization. A man that his friends fear fully as much, if not more, than his enemies, because they know not at what moment, nor with what pretext, he may turn upon them, for the moment a fiend incarnate. A man who is ‘“ sp’ilin’ for a scrim- mage,” caring little whether his antagonist be friend or foe, so long as his pugilistic propensi- ties be gratified. “Best steer clear o’ that a youngster,” muttered Curly, warningly, as he rode close beside Kershaw. ‘‘ He’s on it, bigger’n a wolf, he is, Thar ain’t anybody in the State that keers to cross him, when the fit is on. IL know you ain’t afeard, becaisefl b'lieve you'd nat’rally eat him up ef once started, but you wouldn't like to leave his wife an’ fambly pore lone wid- ders, would ye?” : “Wor their sake I’ll overlook his words, Mr. Curly, provided he don’t say any more,” mag- nanimously replied Frank. ‘*I) don’t suppose he knows who I am.” The sun gradually mounted the horizon, its warm rays evaporating the heavy dew. A fresh, tool breeze swept across the prairie, bow- ing the grass-tips before its breath in waves that seemed fleeing and pursuing, here and there, ia fantastic curves and angles, or. else long, regular columns. As far as the eye could see, there was nothing but a sea of living green, the gentle prairie swells closely resembling the long, majestic rolling of the ocean. . Not a tree or a bud was to be seen. Nothing but the waist- high grass, dotted here and there with the brilliant crest of some gaudy flower. The Vigilantes rode steadily onward through the sea of grass, following no trail, but heading direct for the Twin Mounds. If Black John had calculated upon drawing the settlers into an ambush along the regular trail, as had been ‘suggested, he would be disappointed in the ho xs than one of the party chafed angrily at the deliberate movements of their leader, who, however, took no notice of them, until their dis- satisfaction found vent in open speech. Then he drew rein, and, with a gesture, commanded attention, - - 5 ‘*Gentlemen,” he said, and there was a pecu- liar firmness underlying the soft, mus ‘tone, that each man felt, ‘I hear you grumbling and matter—what is going wrong?” ; “T reckon they think Black John'll git tired - o waitin’ fer us,” promptly replied Leigh. . ater do look like we was goin’ to a funeral, ruther than a scrimmage,” “You are impatient to meet this bully, and avenge the insult he offered you all, ee I am glad that it is so, Though Iam a stranger to the majority of you, I can sympathize with your feslinars But to be prudent is not to be cowardly. If you think fora moment, you will see that I am taking the wisest course. In the first place you say the Twin Mounds are thirty odd miles from.the village. By hard riding, we could possibly do the distance in two hours and a half, buf then what condition would our — animals be in when the Mounds were reached? Totally used up unfit for duty without a night's rest. And if I am not mistaken in this man, Black John, as he is called, we will need all the — advantage we may have, before the affair is settled. Is it likely that he would send such a defiance unless he felt able to make the boast good? True, it may be only a trick to give us — the ride for nothing. But in that case, we will wish to return bome rather than camp out for — the night. And if he is there, better meet him with fresh horses, that one can depend upon, rather than broken-down plugs, ; * At the rate we have been traveling, we can make the Mounds by noon, or perhaps an hour later. His challenge stated that he would await our coming until sunset, That will give us Plealy of time. “This is my reasoning, and the plan which must be followed while lam Ne pps wi But, if ip fails. to satisfy you all, resign the position in favor of any other whom you prefer as leader. I can see the fun as well, whether I be captain or private.” This terse, pointed speech was well received | by the settlers. They saw the soundness of bis reasoning and the folly -of their remmtniogs, As one man, they promised blind ience 9 leton, declaring that he and no other should Tead them, and even Kent Morgan, who was un- accountably prejudiced against the stranger, could not but admire his clear foresight. He sees a born leader among such men as ese. . A. short time after this interruption there came another that for the time bade fair to end — fatally. For several miles Frank Kershaw had been progressing tolerably quietly, his horse having fretted some of bis extra spiri away. Curly was riding beside Frank, pouring won- derful information into the greenborn’s ear, all the while maintaining the gravity of a statue. — At an unusually brilliant wont ene of the splendor of a gold-placer that Curly possessed — upon his farm, Frank’s long peas up spirits found vent in a loud hurrah! and unconsciously he plun; both spurs rowel deep into the flanks | of his horse. Snorting with pain, the animal — plunged forward. Naturally Kershaw upon the reins, forgetting the eruel cur His mouth torn, the neko beast sean: whirling half-round, and: plunged madly for
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a ne L L L 7 2 eee ee oe eK Ne eee PrP wee Se elULeEeEelULhw : mark from their being the eo h Black John, the Road-Agent. - other alighting with crushing force upon the borderer’s horse’s head. Both horses and riders Came to the ground together in a confused, struggling heap. For a minute all was confusion. Then the settlers managed to extricate the fallen men, ‘and raise the horses to their feet. Frank was un- injured save by a few trifling bruises, but Curly had fared worse. Reeling, he sunk to the ground half-insensible, @ blow he had re- ceived was a severe one, and the horse had fal- len across his legs. A hasty examination, however, showed that no bones were broken, and after a taste of corn- whisky, Curly declared he was all right again. It was found then that bis horse was unable to travel; besides the gash upon his head, one leg bad been broken by the fall. Still Curly declared that he would not be cheated out of the anticipated scrimmage, and mounted bebind Abram Leigh. A pistol-shot put the crippled animal out of its misery, and then the pa asa on at an increased pace to make amends for lost time. But as the numbness gradually grew less, Curly began to suffer excruciatingly, until at last he was forced to cry out. It seemed as though he had been injured internally, the mo- tio of the animal was more than he could bear. . ** You'll hev to leave me here, boys,” he said, faintly though reluctantly, ‘I cain’t stan’ the ridin’, but mebbe [ kin do better afoot. I'll try an’ git to the Mounds in time to take a hand in. Id ruther lost a hand then to miss it —durn the crooked luck!” There was nothing else to be done, and so the party swept on, leaving the tall borderer gaz- ng after them with eyes almost filled with tears of disappointment, his chest heaving con- vulsively, Yet, perbaps, had he known what was to be the ultimate result of that accident, he would haye been content. Only for that fact, much that follows would never have been written. It was full noon before the base of the nearest f the Twin Mounds could be distinguished, a) ough for an hour past their summits had been visible. There was nothing remarkable in their formation, but they had become a noted land- ‘ound for miles around. They were probably three bun- dred feet above the level of the prairie, standing side by side, of precisely the same size and 3 . Their crests were covered with broken rocks and bowlders, but the sides were clothed in waist-deep grass. Not a tree, bush or shrub _ broke the green surface. “Thar goes a smoke!” cried Abram Lee, as & slender column of dense black vapor steadil -asce from the top of the nearest mound. he varmints is thar, waitin’ fer us—an’ here ar the fu’st lick at em!” Halt!” rang the clear voice of Wayne Ap- m, a8 his white hand caught the borderer’s jerking the horse back upon its haunches. rou rer to spall all by your mad haste? "av rioude' be aildd speaking | NOW, my mds,” he added, speaking rap- “you can see that I was right in my first Wane et the p RE ech and ped ani- are fresh, and ready, if needs be, for a tail-on-end chase, Then surely you can trust me for the rest?” “You bet we kin! Go on—we’ll do jist as you say,” was the general cry. ‘Good! I shall not betray your trust, believe me. But now listen. Yonder are the Mounds, and that column of smoke tells that our game is close at hand. As you see, they bave fair cover among the rocks, and, doubtless, upon this fact they rest their hopes of success. They depend upon picking us off as we charge the mound. And so they would were we to charge mounted, as friend Leigh here was about todo. But lcok yonder, The grass upon that side-hill is full three feet high. By close creeping, we can get to within twenty yards of their position; and then, by a vigorous rusb, they’re our meat. You understand me? Do any of you object to this plan?” ‘‘Where will we Icave the animals?’ asked Howard, “ On this side of the ravine, yonder. "Twould be hard work crossing with them, anyhow.” There was not a voice raised in objection. Appleton had acquired a wonderful influence over the rough, hardy settlers, and if his reason- ing was unsound, they did not notice it. 3: Even while he was speaking, the base of the smoke-column broke and lest the creft of the mound clear, the mass of black vapor regen further and further away, may | more ant more dim, until lost among the light, fleecy clouds that flecked the heavens. Nota sign of human life could be detected upon the Twin Mounds. Only for the smoke-signals, the Vigil- antes might have believed their ride had been a wild-goose chase. But that plainly evidenced the presence of human beings upcn the mound; and who else could it be but the senders of the insolent defiance? The prairies were not so densely peopled as that. Riding up to the edge of the ravine, the Vigil- arites dismounted and tethered their animals to the fringe of stunted bushes that grew along the escarpment, Then, led by Wayne Appleton, they crossed the gully, and_ glided rapidly on toward the Twin Mounds. Their attention was mainly directed toward the nearest elevation; the one from whose summit had arisen the smoke cclumn. “‘Look! yonder is a man’s head and shoul- ders!” cried Thomas Howard, when within sev- eral hundred yards of the mound’s base, ‘The challenge appears to bave been made in ‘ood faith, ufter all, though I must confess that F doubted it,” quietly remarked Appleton. “Shall we begin firing now?” asked Kershaw, nervously. “Don’t be a fool, man—we don’t carry cannon with us. But one word more; my lads, Yonder is the enemy, and if we work it right, his strong position will be no great advantage. By close creeping, this grass will cover us until near enough to run in upon them, After that, you know what to do. So scatter out and p down in the oo. Then creep on as close as you can, undiscovered. When you bear my ery, dart in, and when you strike, remember the insults this Black John an nd of cut- throats have heaped upon you,” hurriedly said Appleton. : .
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14 Black John, the Road-Agent. The Vigilantes sunk down into the grass, dis- appearing like phantoms. No sound betrayed their progress—nothing but a slight swaying, bending of the prairie-grass; and even that seemed the work of the wind. Many a time and oft had the settlers, in a like manner, stalked the wary deer and timid antelope; but now a higher game filled their eyes. With the others, Frank Kershaw sunk down and began crawling along; but not for far. Of course he was not afraid; Frank would have eballenged to mortal combat any one who dared hint at such a thing. But he wastired. The long ride had exhausted him. This recollection assailed him in full force as he came across a small hollow in the prairie, and Kershaw curled himself up io the hole, feeling much better than he did when steadily nearing the chosen fastness of Black John. And there he awaited the issue, Abram Leigh was one of the foremost of the stalkers, burning with eagerness, impatiently listening for the signal of assault, even while advancing further up the mound. With char- acteristic recklessaess, he crept close enough to peer into the irregular pile of rocks and bowl- ders that thickly covered the hill-crest, Sud- denly his eyes lit up with an eager glow, and he raised the muzzle of his rifle. Scarcely ten ards from his position he beheld a battered elt hat, just above a long bowlder. . As the silver drop covered this, he fired, then leaping to his feet with a wild yell, darted for- ward with drawn revolver. Answering: yells came from. the hillside, but nose others. In athazement, Abram Leigh stood still, while his comrades rushed forward, eager to meet the 08. But the mound was deserted by all save the W igllanies. Laigh had fired at an old hat upon a rock, Yet the ashes of the fire that had sent up the smoke column were still smoldering upon the rock, and other unmistakable evidence of the mound, haying been lately occupied lay upon every side. ‘*Look yonder!” cried Kent Morgan, pointing toward the second mound, a distance of nearly quarter of a mile separating the two summits, as the crow flies. There, among the gray rocks, could be dis- tinguished a number of human figures. But why had one mound been abandoned for the other, when botb were equally secure? ‘* Boys, they've fooled us!” cried Appleton, postin along the back trail, as a faint yell woke the air. _ CHAPTER Y. RACING AGAINST TIME, A LONG, exultant yell came.up from the prairie—a yell that confirmed the emphatic words of Wayne Appleton. And, with that one. exception the settlers stood in speechless ‘amazement, whilé their cunning foemen were reaping the reward of their strategy. . Above.the tops. of the stunted bushes that fringed the further edge of the prairie ravine or Parrpat, could be distinguished the horses of © settlers as they had been left. Butas Ap- pleton uttered the cry that terminates the last chapter, a change came. Fully a dozen human forms leap out into the open, from the ravine, The horses snort and leap back, but are quickly checked by their tethers. And, as the exultant yell soars over the prairie to the ears of the | men upon the mound, each of the human figures leap into a saddle. Then, after a brief confu- sion, they turn and ride rapidly away from the ravine, leading with them extra animals. The Vigilantes saw this, and were powerless to pre- vent it, And, adding insult to injury, once more the loud yell and taunting laughter came — floating to their ears as the enemy rode away upon the stolen horses, “A cute trick, an’ played ekil to a Cheyenne or a ’Rapahoe!” muttered Abram Leigh, twist- — ing off a ‘‘ chaw.” : “But why are we standing idle here, while they are every moment increasing their advan- tage ” said Kent Morgan, * What kin we do, stranger?” coolly retorted Leigh. “Kin we outrun a hoss-crifter when - it’s got a good quarter the start? I reckon not. Then whar’s the use o’ tryin’?” “A glorious day’s work! To set out after Road-Agents, and have to return home dis- mounted!” - “Expecting to shear, but being shorn—'tis pera provoking. But we may fare better, after all. See—ycnder mound is still occupied. If we do lose our animals, perhaps we may yet accomplish our main object,” said Wayne, —__ ‘Or make a clean job of it by getting whip- ped instead of whipping—for those fellows yon- der. are fully our force, if not superior in num- rs ‘ z “Let them be ten to one if they will—we are not cowards. Those that fear the result bai better wait here until we clear the path for them,” said Appleton, with a Aunerooallt sneer. “If you mean that for me, I can follow wher- . ever vou dare lead,” retorted Morgan. =. “ Durn your long-winded clickety-clack ary- how—your wasser’n 2. many women!” disgnst- edly cried bp? “Follow me, bo: fe Bere te for the first s lg on yonder hill and as he spoke the hot-headed settler leaped far down the hillside, breaking into a pace that would almost have distanced an antelope or coyote, The example was contagious, One after an- other the Vigilantes sprung forward, each striy- 5 hci Th leaped f above bis _ As if by optus the same impulse, the
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ee ew oe ee ea oe ee) are oe is Black John, the Road-Agent. pean, their gaze riveted upon this man. A ook of doubt gradually oyerspread their coun- tenances. Could it be that they had made a mistake after all? “That 1s Shika-chetish!” exclaimed Howard, blankly, : ‘Bad-Wolf, by the jumpin’ Jupeteer!” inter- Pupted Abram Leigh, lowering his rifle. he rest of the party stood in speechless amazement at this transformation of their bated enemy into a parcel of peaceful Indians, They scarce knew whether to rejoice or be angry. They were puzzled most thoroughly. ; ‘““What has the Kickapoos Sone that their white brothers hunt them like dogs?’ demanded Shika-chetish, lowering the flag of truce, speak- ing in his own tongue, knowing that several of the settlers understood the patois. “We are looking for enemies, chief, and thought we had found them here. Were you upon the other mound, yonder, a short time ago?” pro mpely returned Wayne Appleton, “Yes, @ mounds are not the cornfields of the pale-faces, They are not fenced in like a corral. _Taey are free to the foot of the Kicka- poo—or is that a crime, too?” “Easy, chief; don’t get your back up for nothing,” coolly said Appleton, ‘It will save time if you answer such questions as_we, ask you, in as few words as possible. And for your own sake, I trust your answers will be satisfac- . The Mickapoo turned and glanced rapidly over his band, and then contrasted it with that of the force of the settlers. A grim smile briefly curled his lip; but then bis face resumed its wonted expression of stolidity. Bad-Wolf is a character that many still living in will recognize. In more than one way he made bis mark. Cruel, crafty, and treacherous, he was undeniably a brave man. At one time he. had been a noted chief of. his tribe, but when jealousv and partisan spirit broke the tribe into different clans, Bad-Wolf found himself the leader of not more than a ‘hundred braves. But. they were the flower of the tribe, devoted to him, body and son], . Led by their idolized chief, they would have. hurled themselves upon certain death, And now they stood with ready weapons, their eyes watching every movement of Bad-Wolf, ready to obey bis slightest gesture. Both parties stood above a voleano; a single spark might cause their de- ‘struction, | ' : “Speak on; the ears of the chief are open,” he briedy. said, _ ‘You were on that mound and saw us com- ous why did you send up the smoke signal?” ed Appleton, : _.**The sun was in our eyes; we thought, you enemies. The coyotes with the black and faces have uncovered the tomabawk and ick the war-pole. They say that the Kickapoo Saves are in their way, and that. they will sweep them from off the prairies. We thought _ that ‘they were coming to make their threats {Bat the smoker” aE ee. e. Shika-chetish flung out.one = |; pointing to the west, _ Afar off over the. prairie swells could be dis- have?” tinguished a compact body of -horsemen, mee ly galloping down upon the Twin Mounds, For a moment the settlers were startled, believing that Black John and his band were approach- ing in answer to the Kickapoo signal, and if they were allies, there could be but one result. The chief seemed to read the doubt written up- on their faces, and quickly added: “They are my braves, They bave been seek- ing the double-faced men. .But my brothers need not fear; the Kicka are their friends,” “Fears! an’ of a red-skin? A leetle more sech talk, an’ you'll git hurt, old man—you hear me ?” cried Abram Leigh, contemptuonsly. ‘This is an idle waste of time—and that may be precious now. Ask bim what connection he has with those men who stole our horses,” im- patiently cried Kent. Appleton repeated the question, but the chief did not appear to comprehend him. A puzzled expression rested upon his crafty features, and not until the Vigilante chief “reiterated his words, did Bad-Wolf make any answer, He declared. that he knew nothing whatever. of the matter; that he bad retreated from the mound, between him and the suspected enemy, hoping thus to gain time during which the rest of bis braves might come.up. in answer to the smoke - signal. Until that moment he had known nothing whatever of the horses being stolen. 25) ‘‘Mebbe thet’s the truth, but durped ’f I don’t belieye you are lyin’,” candidly uttered Leigh. ‘The chief seowled angrily, and one band dropped tothe knife-hilt at his girdle. With one accord his braves flung forward their rifle- muzzles, with fingers upon the triggers, Quick as thought the settlers imitated the movement. A desperate, deadly collision seemed inevitable, but Wayne Appleton leaped forward and. in a loud tone commanded peace. After a moment’s hesitation, Shika-chetish motioned the braves back, and then, with uplifted hand, made a pe- culiar gesture. The mounted savages upon the prairie below abrapaly drew rein and remained motionless, quarter of a mile distant. EG ‘Does that look as though Shika-chetish was an enemy?” he uttered, in a quiet, cold tone. ““No—my young man did you wrong; but he did not mean what be said, We know that the Kickapoos are our friends, But listen: will you lend or sell us new horses?” ’ “No. We have taken the war-path against the double-faced men. Until their scalps drag in the dust, there isno trading or hunting in our hearts,” coldly said the chief, t: ‘“We can’t foree him to do it, friends, I don’t see but what we'll have to foot it back to the village.” “And the sooner we do that, the better, I fear there is more in this matter than,we see upon the surface, I believe we have been ont- witted from first to last—that. Black John sent that challenge just to draw us away from home,” cried Howard, uneasily. ePvut ay “But for what—what ‘object. could. he txt ) Jig Teh] | Ed “God knows! Lonly feel. that. therede'nite- hief brewing—that our dear ones at bome are in Sail I cant Fh a aichokt paasetk as : 4
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16 been haunting me since this morning when we first started.” The words of the settler found an echo in the heart of almost every man present, and a vague, undefined fear sprung up in every heart as they thought of their loved ones left almost defense- less in their homes. Thus it needed but the ery of Howard to set them in motion. ‘*Conte—back to the village! There’s devil- try going on there—I know it—I feel it in my heart!” As he spoke he darted down the hill-side, closely followed by the Vigilantes. As though taken by surpriss, Wayne Appleton remained behind for a moment, speaking earnestly with Shika-chetish. But then he darted swiftly af- ter the excited settlers, As he darted past the other mound, the form of a man spruvg up before him, rubbing biseyes violently. It was Frank Kershaw, who started from his grassy nest as the settlers swept by. * Where ’ve you been?” gritted Appleton, fiercely, with a suspicious glance around. “ T—I fell asleep as we were crawling through the grass. You see, I couldn’t sleep last night— had the nightmare, I believe. But the— Are they killed? The road-agents, I mean.” “No; they are after us now. Unless you wish to be scalped alive, young man, you'll keep up with us. It’s only a bit of a ran—some thirty miles—and we'll be safe when the village is reached. But remember, keep up with us, or your life isn’t worth a copper,” grimly said Ap- pleton, increasing his pace, scrambling through . the barranca with the skill and celerity of a gE ee jon’ ion © so—fast, please,” g: Kershaw. _ “ Not That I'm afraid—don’t think that—but I wouldn’t like to—deprive you all of a share in the—glory of exterminating these devils!” Appleton laughed shortly, and running with chest squared and head erect, forged ahead of the young man, who in vain strove to emulate his speed. And thus, strung out-as the swifter- footed gained upon the other, the settlers raced over the prairie, a sickening dread gradually gaining ground in their hearts, It was-a race such as none among them had ever entered into before; thirty miles of rolling prairie to be crossed, where there was no trail, where the stiff grass grew nearly waist high, twisting about their feet, more than once causing an awkward fall; but then another would take up the agit thus partially breaking the if for those who followed. It was a terrible, kill- ing race; but the settlers thought not of them- selves, scarce felt the fatigue that caused them to reel and stagger likedrunken men. Steadily the panic had gained upon them, until, as the village was neared, each man believed that the races would end beside the lifeless bodies {of all that he held most dear upon this earth. As'the ridge was gained from which the first glimpse could be caught of Barrett's, a gasping cry of joyful relief broke from the lips of the foremost men. The village still stood seeming- ly peaceful and undisturbed. In that moment reaction came, and for the first time since i ere hm the Twin Mounds, the Vigilantes drop- ped into a walk, ; Black John, the Road-Agent,. They saw the village spring into a sudden life, and in the red rays of the descending sun they could distinguish men, women and children | flocking toward the point from which they ap- | proached. “T reckon this kes bin a durned fool day’s work, from eend to eend,” growled Abram Leigh, hoarsely. ‘ We went out on four legs, an’ come back ’th only two!” From out the group beside the village, a single horseman rode swiftly toward the returning Vigilantes. As he drew rein before them, they read black news in his face, even before he spoke, “ Boys, thar’s bin the devil to pay here! Black John an’ his cut-throat gang hes bin here, an’ kerried off with them Howard’s gals— Thar! look to bim!” he added, as Thomas Howard started back with a faint ery, reeling, falling to the ground. The blow bad been tod much for him in his greatly exhausted state. It had felled him as though with a death-stroke. Kent Morgan and others bent over him, hg. | to restore his con- sciousness, while the rest formed around the rider with eager questions. “T don’t rightly onderstand it myself,” he added, with a puzzled air. ‘ We was led off on a wild-goose chase by that devil, Ike Goodheart, an’ when we got off the harm was did. May an’ Eunice was gone, an’ old man Howard was dead—murdered by them ar’ very devils. I’m dub’ous the old lady, too, has got her death- They say she goes from one fit into an- It’s a black, biack day, blow. other, like a mad body. this!” “But what’re we standin’ here like durned gumpbeads for? Ar’ we goin’ to let them cusses bluff us this-a-way? Somebody say what to do, for ge-minently sake!” spluttered Abram Leigh, almost beside himself. ~ i ‘*The boys tuck the trail an’ follered it to Little Timber, but thar it was lost in the water. © They sent me back to see ef you fellers hed got back yit,” : ‘*Come—if you are men, follow me!” gasped Howard, staggering to his feet. ‘‘Help me rescue my children from that devil—oh, God! why am I so helpless when I need all my strength!” : ‘Lean on us—we will take you to your house and then we will do all thaf men can to find your children and restore them to you. This shall be Black John’s last day ot evil—we will never rest until both he and his beatae 8 are dead and food for the buzzards!” cried Kent Morgan, hotly, but determinedly. Helpless asa child, the stricken man was as- sisted to his now desolate home—the home of mourning and of death. Once there, he sunk into a deathlike stupor; from which it seemed that nothing could awaken him. And hour after hour the kindly neighbors watched beside the two couches, that bade fair to be death-beds | before the rising of another sun, PON = The village was left almost whats to the wo- men and children that night. The Vigilantes, worn and jaded as they were with their long race, mounted fresh horses and scoured the prairie for miles around in the hope of over- taking the kidnappers, or coming upon some —
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Black John, the Road-Agent. i7 trace of their whereabouts, But the first rays ae morning sun shone upon them, unsuccess- ol. By this time they had nearly all learned the facts of the case—a tale of black treachery in one whom until then they had all respected and trusted. Riding in hot haste, Ike Goodhbeart had re- turned to the village about the hour of noon, bearing black tidings. He said the Vigilantes had been drawn into an ambush, composed of Indians and Road-Agents, led by Black John. Outnumbered, they had ensconced themsel ves— those who had suryiyed the first volley—dis- patching him for assistance. Every man and boy capable of bearing arms bad mounted and followed his lead to the rescue, In the con- fusion of the mad gallop Goodheart had given them the slip, but not until they were miles from home, - Scarcely had they left when a band of masked horsemen dashed into Barrett’s, and riding di- rect for the house of Thomas Howard, entered and carried away both May and Eunice, leaving old Mr. Howard dead upon the floor, stricken down as he strove to defend his idolized grand- child with the feeble strength old age had left him. This was the blow that Black Jobn’s challenge had masked! , CHAPTER VI. BORDER VENGEANCE. Curty TostryAn muttered more than one bit- ter curse against the greenhorn whose careless- ness had disabled him, as he saw the Vigilantes ride rapidly away to keep the rendezvous, and knew that he was not to participate in the wild, exciting scrimmage that would follow the meet- "ing of the rival forces. And to one of his reck- less, dare-devil nature, this was a very great deprivation, since, now that the country was so rapidly becoming “‘ civilized,” similar oppor- tunities were few and far between. “Dy bee it, anyhow,” he muttered, tight clinching his teeth, as a spasm of a pain shot through his side. “I kin take a nigher cut than they kin, fer the kenyons, Mebbe I’ll be in time to see the fun—ef I don’t, ’twon’t be my fault, ee, With indomitable pluck, the borderer pressed on, at times gasping for breath that seemed al- most like molten iron when itcame. At times he was forced to halt and either support himself upon his rifle, or else sink down upon the grass, the pain at his breast being so great and hard to bear. Yet as often would he start to bis feet ress on, cursing the accident that so de- m. : and aye hi . With dogged perseverance Curly popes on, _ though well knowing now that if the road- oieir were really at the Twin Mounds, the -alfair would be decided long before, he could gain the spot. But, as he muttered to himself, the boys should see that it was from no lack of will that he failed to be with them in the scrim- Mage. : a ; +6 was during one of his fainting-spells that the dismounted. V antes th gy aay ea Rot more than a minute, and full two miles to ‘or home, Though they were in sight. the right, bad Curly been standing up, he must have seen them, and would bave known that the affair of the Mounds was over. But he lay there buried in the yielding grass, panting, gasping for breath, a blood flecked froth tinging his lips. So strangely does Providence shape our actions, This was the second link, Ker- shaw’s careless riding being the first; the end was to be a tragedy. Half an hour later Curly paused in his pain- ful tramp, and shading his eyes, peered eagerly forward. Just rising the next ridge7he could distinguish the head and shoulders of a mar, evidently in hot haste. If his present course } was maintained, the two must soon meet. ’“ Who is it?’ He's in a hurry—bareheaded, too! Kin it be that the boys have been whipped out?” muttered Curly, uneasily, as he watched the man. ‘Looks like somebody was chasin’ ‘him— Ge-tbunder! it’s that durned greenhorn as crippled me up, skeered ’most to death! The pesky coward has got skeered at his own shad- der, I reckon,” Even in his pain, Curly could not resist the impulse to give Frank a scare, and, dropping down in the grass, he crept along to intercept the fugitive, who was running heavily and un- steadily, as though nearly exhausted. When about fifty feet separated them, Curly rose erect, with leveled rifle, crying out, in menacing tones: “ Halt! thar—gi’ me your brains, or I'll blow your money out! _ Kershaw instantly paused, with a cry of ter- ror; but as he saw the leveled rifle, he turned and sought to flee. The rifle spoke, and stum- bling, Frank fell, uttering a shriek as though mortally wounded. Chuckling grimly, Curly Tostivan approached him, reloading his rifle, ““W bat in thunder you lyin’ down thar in the grass fer?” he groffly demanded, as he gained the side of the prostrate figure, touching Ker- shaw with his foot, by no means gently. Frank slightly turned his head, stealing a quick glance at the speaker from bis nearly- closed eyes, A snort of relief told that be rec- ognized Curly, Then he sprung to his feet, laughing loudly, though the voice was not re- markably steady. “Hat ba! I knew it was you all the time. Dida} fool you nice? .Good joke, ain’t it, Mr. ur “Ivll do for once in a way, I reckon, I thought you drapped as though you wasn’t bad axerne But, say—where’s the rest o’ the fel- _ lers “ What, don’t you know—haven’t you heard?” ‘I don’t know nothin’—you took pesky good keer that I shouldn’t with your durned nice ridin’.. But what d@’ y’ mean by drawin’ that long face? Durn it, man, can’t ye speak out?” testily cried Tostivan, ; “They're dead—rubbed _ out—puckacheed— ‘one to glory—de this life from an over- ose of Black Jobn,” solemnly . replied Ker- “Look here, boy—nough’s enough, but too much is a plenty. I don’t blame ye fer actin’ ‘the fool, beca’se I b’lieve it’s only a’cordin’ to natur’. But when I ax a straig! Henares want a straight answer, an’, to save trouble, [
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Black John, the Road-Agent. reckon you'd better give me one. Now whar is the boys?” quietly repeated Curly, his eyes gleaming ominously. “Listen; I will a tale unfold—” ‘‘ Unfold your tail here, an’ it comes off, smack an’ smooth right ahind your ears. Mind what T tell ye.” ‘‘You have no poetry in your composition,” disgustedly muttered Kershaw; then, catching a glimpse of the devil glittering in Tostivan’s eye, he hastily added: “Til tell you all about if. We reached the Twin Mounds and found the enemy theré—about two hundred strong, I should guess. That is,” as the borderer made a gesture of impatience, “‘ there may have been one or two Jess than that, for of course I didn’t have time to count them. 1 gave the order to charge them, and the boys nobly seconded my efforts. Up the first bill we rushed, they firing all the time, rolling some of us over at every step, and closed with them hand-to-hand, Only for a moment, however, for they fled in dismay. As soon as we could gain breath we followed them to the second mound. There we had it hot and heavy. We slaughtered the villains like a turkey-gobbler slaying grasshoppers. Blood ran down the hillside in streams, until, upon my veracity, the mound was an island! Yes, sir! from that, judge the prodigies of valor we per- formed, 1 never led a braver squad in my life —not even at the forlorn hope of—that is, you understand me,” Kershaw added, slightly con- fused at the peculiar grunt of Tostivan. “Durned ’f I do, nuther.. Which whipped?” “There it is! what can the bravest of men do when outnumbered twenty to one? The villains were reinforced by about three hundred men— and we retreated; in good order, thongh. But we found that the Road-Agents had outflanked us and captured our animals. They tried to stop us, but we cut through them, strewing the plain with dead and dying wretches, They fol- lowed us, and we separated for safety. From this point I can only tell you of my experience ; from that you can judge the fate of the rest. Six horsemen followed me, For two miles [ racei with them, holding my own with the foremost, while the five others were strung out in a line, Then I wheeled and waited for him tocome up. With this revolver—at which you were pleased to jest, yesterday—I shot him through the brain, At the same moment his horse stumbled and fell, breaking bis neck. Thad meant to secure him, as I was tired going afoot. But why dilate? You see—there is only one charge remaining in this weapon. I fired six shots—and | do not often miss my aim. Yet, by a remarkable coincidence, every one of the six horsesstumbled and fell as I shot their rid- ers, every one breaking their necks. That ac- counts for my still being afoot.” “Boy, I reckon you was a lawyer whey you was at home, jedgin’ from the ph way you kin lie, 'Thar“-you needn’t deny if. I kin tell -your story a heap straighter’n po kin, though it mayn’t sound quite as highfalutin’,- You got skeered afore the Twin Mounds was reached, an’ turned tail an’ run away. ‘That's my ’pinion, fer Iknow you to be the outlyinest coward that ever sot up to be a man. You needn’t snort an’ grit your teeth and look so fierce, like a. sheep. Fer hafe a cent ('d down ye across my knee, an spank ye ontil yer nose bled—an’ durned ef I don’t do-it, too, the next lie you tell me. & mind that !” : Frank wilted. He saw that Tostivan meant just what he said, and was a man who knew how to make his words good. Curly stood in deep thought for a few moments. Of course he knew that Kershaw was lying, but he knew tha he could not reach the Mounds in his present condition much before midnight. Knowing this, he resolved to make the best of his way back to to the village, Telling Frank as much, he added: “You kin come, ef you like, but I'd ’vise ye not. The boys ain’t partial to liars an’ cow- ards, an’ mebbe ’!] take a notion to give you an overcoat o’ tar an’ feathers, onless they string ye up to the nearest tree, to save time,” “If they dare do that, the President shall hear of it. He’s a particular friend—that is— | [ll go with you,” he stammered, as Curly ut- tered a deep growl of warning. Together the two started for the village, but their progress was slow. Often Curly would sink to the ground, gasping for breath, eject- ing blood from his mouth, But then he would rise and stagger on, though every step was with a spasm of pain. And thus if was nearly mid- night when the two men suddenly paused with a startled air, ~ A hollow groan came faintly to their ears, A groan like that of a human being in intense agony, yet nearly exhausted. Yet nothing but the tall, waving grass could be distinguished by the clear light of the twinkling stars. “It sounded from that direction—le’s cree around it this way,” faltered Kershaw, his teet! chattering like castanets, “You're afeard—a’ter that wonderful yarn you told, braggin’ up your awful courage?” sneered Curly, contemptuously. “T ain’t afraid—but it might be a ghost!” “T shouldn’t wonder ef 'twas—the ghost o’ them fellers you shot off thar stumblin’-hosses, boy. But, ghost or not, here goes to arn the truth, An’ you, greeby—ef you try to run afore I tell yé you may, fi bore a holé through that gourd 0’ yourn, sure!” Sinking down into the grass, Tostivan crept cautiously through the tangled growth toward — the point from whence the groaning sound still proceeded. At first he had vague suspicions of some trick, but as he neared the spot, he knew that the groans were genuine—that this was no counterfeit anguish, <a] The groaus ceased, and at almost the same moment the borderer beheld a human bead lift- ed above the grass, pale, ghastly, pain-distorted, A ery of wondering surprise broke from Curly’s lips as he leaped to his feet, He had recognized this human head—it was that of Ike Goodheart. At the same momenta blinding glare filled his vision, ‘aud a stinging pain shot through his upor the night air, s ‘Not yet—vyou shain’t take mé aliv 7! e!” hoarsely and ic rope ain’t twisted thet’ll hang me! cried Goodbeart, as the hammer was raised he persons revolyed with a clear, elick, - a uaMy : - Feet ee Ser De face, The report of a revolver rung : iy 4
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Black John, the Road-Agent, ‘‘Hold! man—be ye crazy?” cried Tostivan, leaping forward and clutching the loaded ‘Weapon. ‘Don’t ye know better’n to blaze dN at a fri’nd who’s ready an’ willin’ to help ye 5 por youre not a fri’nd,” faltered Good- heart, as the pistol was wrested from his grasp, its charge being wasted upon the grass, the bul- let whistling in close proximity to the head of Frank Kershaw, as that worthy lay trembling under cover, : “Fer why ain’t 1? Don’t be a fool, man! What’s wrong wi’ ye, anyhow?’ impatiently added Tostivan, “Hoss threw me—leg broke—I—” and the head of the traitor sunk down in the matted grass, like one déad. But it was only a swoon. In the struggle for ssession of the pistol, bis right leg, broken th above and below the knee, was twisted beneath him, and the pain was more than he could endure. This much Curly ascertained, and then routed Kershaw. out from his grassy covert, ordering ‘him to go and cut a couple of stont poles from a creek-bank that he knew was only a short distance ahead. Kershaw obeyed, though in nowise relishing the task, since it must be performed alone, But he dared not cross the borderer. Before he returned, Curly’s face had grown much paler; a look of horror filled his eyes as he bent over the form of Goodheart, bolding him motionless upon his back. ‘The traitor was delirious, pene ialys yet not so incoherently but that: Curly knew that the wretch was black- hearted and guilty of many crimes—that blood had stained his hand—not in open fight, but the ‘blood of a murdered victim; that be belonged to Black John’s band—both himself and his brother, so lately found dead, i Swift retribution had overtaken the traitor, even as he was exulting in the complete success of his bold sebeme. He had slipped away from the settlers his artfully-told story had deluded, and was riding at full speed toward the outlaw rendezyous, to prepare for the coming of the aptives, when his horse stumbled, flinging bim violently into the rocky bed of the creek, For hours he lay insensible, and only revived as the cold dew of heayen fell upon his face. Then, knowing that as soon as his foul treach- ery was discovered hot and persistent search would be made for bim, he painfully and la- -boriously dragged himself out into the prairie in the yain hope of finding friends, He had suffered agony the most intense with his broken leg, but’ the bitter dread urged him‘ on and on, until his roans brought, Curly Tostivan to his ‘side. Believing Curly knew his crime, Good- heart had sought his life, in desperation. See- Ang his failure, being now disarmed, his senses Biven way. 2 hough he could only guess at the details, _ Curly gathered enongh sense from the broken, itor’s fate ar jest as well that I got that all,” he muttered thoughtfully, “Ef I hedn't this varmint’d ’a’ got clean away, or else died like a dog on the perairie. Mebbe the boys kin skeer the truth out o’ him about this Black John. Ef so, durned ef I don’t for- give greeny his awkwardness, an’— Hello! here he comes now.” Kershaw had managed to secure suitable poles, and in a few minutes they bad fashioned a rude litter, aided by their outer clothing and the stout, tough prairie-grass, Upon this they laid the cripple, and, not a little to Kershaw’s aston- ishment, Curly bound him hand and foot to the poles. so that his head was the only member oodheart could move, And then, each man bearing the end of one pole upon his shoulder, while the other ends dragged upon the ground, they took up their long and wearisome journey. Though the pain in his breast seemed growing less acute, Curly was often forced to rest, while poor Kershaw, totally unused to such rough ex- periences, could scarcely keep awake. The sun was. full two hovrs high when. they first sighted the village of Barrett’s, and, com- pletely exhausted, Curly sunk down upon the ridge, firing shot after shot from his revolver. The reports were heard, and nearly a score of men came straggling out of the settlement, half- dressed, aS though just roused from sound sleep. $ A Ling of execration greeted the pale, haggard eaptive, and for a time it seemed as though he would be sacrificed upon the spot by the men be had so cruelly deceived. But Curly stood over lim with his remaining revolver, and swore to shoot the first man who touched the prisoner to do him injury until he bad bed a fair trial be- fore JupGe Lynou, And reading death in the tall borderer’s eyes, the settlers calmed down, and dragged the litter into the village, others assisting Curly. ’ Though the rest did not notice it, one man turned pale, and shrunk back as he met the gaze of the prisoner, And as the captive wes carried into the bar-room, this same wan glided away unobserved, and five minutes later was gallop- ing swiftly away from the settlement. Had he gone for help—-or was he fleeing to save his own life? : There was little gely in making preparations for the trial. Nearly all the Vigilantes who had ridden to the Twin Mounds the day before, were there. They had been snatching a few hours’ rest, when the shots-of Curly aroused: them. The rest of the settlers were still in the saddle, searching for the kidnapped maidens, As order was called, it was noticed that their chief was absent. The name of Wayne Pp ton was loudly called; but no reply came. d yet he had been among those who went out to meet Curly Tostivan. The captive smiled grimly as no answering voice came, Kent Morgan noticed the peculiar ' expression, and the old suspicion renewed itself in his breast. But he said nothing. ° ““Whar’s the use wastin’ time?” gruffly cried Abram Leigh. “I move that Curly Tostivan take the posish.” She ‘The motion was promptly seconded, and after a momentary hesitation, the borderer consented. Tf not strictly legal, his ministrations were prompt. bia pire
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20 Black John, the Road-Agent. “Tke Goodheart, I reckon you know what you've done—did you do it or not—yes or no?” “What am I ’cused of?” sullenly demanded the prisoner. ‘“OF bein’ one of Black John’s gang, an’ of lyin’ to an’ foolin’ the folks of this ’ere settle- ment, gin’ally.” “You cain't kill me fer playin’ off a joke, I reckon, an’ I hain’t done nothin’ more. How'd I know that them fellers was jest waitin’ fora chance to slip in here?” “You told a straighter story’n that when you war layin’ looney out on the prairie yender. Don’t lie now.” “T won't. I know that I’ve got my death touch, anyhow, an’ I'll make a clean breast of it. But fu’st send out fer that Wayne Appleton, as yecallhim. Hes Back Jonn!” A yell of rage followed this communication. They believed Goodheart was maliciously lying. He added solemnly. ‘* As sure as thar is a God in heaven, it’s the truth. Ho is our chief. He w’ars a black mask when on the road, He uses false heels to make him taller, Me ee his body out to make him look bigger. He w’arsa vest of steel links, Bro- ther Tom and. I belonged to the Rang. So does others that you think your friends, but I won’t spliton them, I owe hima grudge, or I wouldn’t %g’ said so much. Now hang me if you will.” “Tell us whar the gals was taken to, an’ we'll let you go yet.” “T don’t know. He wouldn't tell me what he was up to. Ef Pd knowed he was aimin’ at them, Vd defied him, ’though he killed me for’t,” was the quiet reply. , J “Give us the uames of allo’ the gang, It’s all that kin save you,” “Not ef you was to kill me twicet over. I must go under soon anyhow—I kin feel it in my lee was the firm reply. urly earnestly consulted with the Vigilantes, and pleaded for the man’s life, since it was plain that death must soon claim its victim anyhow. But there was only this concession. “tke Goodheart, here’s a pistol; which do you ee = the ir cx ‘ ; "I e eagerly clutcbed the weapon, grimly s:il- ing, Ae rated it to his ae Mattering the name of his brother, he fired. ; A faint quiver, then all was still. He was _ OHAPTER Vit. SWOOP OF THE ROAD-AGENTS. Ice Goopmeart had spoken the truth in saying that the man known to the settlers as Wayne Apple- ton was in reality none other than the notorious Black John, the Road-Agent. And now, one or two o’her points may be cleared up: . Black John had attacked the stage-coach, for the sole purpose of killing Curly Tostivan, because the latter had shot Monte Pete, two years or more be- fore, Monte Pete and Black Jolin were brothers, and the bond of love was strong between them, Fora year Black John hunted far and near for the slayer of his brother, but unsuccessfully. He lost the trail at Leavenworth, and while pom dress of a gent! young school-girl. Handsome, of good address and Suave manners, appearing the wealthy gentle of leisure, a fine conversationalist, it is not to wondered at that he made a deep deapeceion upon the young, unsophisticated country gir! who had seenso little of society, and when he avowed his love, May confessed that it was reciprocated. Yet she had sufficient strength of mind to resist his eloquence when he urged her to elope from schoc!] with him. “ First the consent of my parents,” she said, “and I will no longer a ou. But I have never ied deceived them, nor now that I love you dearly.” And to this resolve she firmly held, despite his eae a Still hoping to conquer her, he continu the siege, yeenteen that keen-sighted Thomas Howard would not yield up his almost idol- ized child without closely inquiring into the charac- ter of the applicant, and he knew that his past ie would not bear tho scrutiny, cautious as he had prea to conceal his connection with the Kansas out- Jaws, In a fit of rage and mortification after one of these failures with May, he fell in with some of bis old associates, and after drinking ey, joined them in a burglary. Reckless from drink, they were dis- covered, and after a tough fight with the police, were captured, The proof was so strong that Black John—or Appleton as he then caHed himself—co only put in the not prevent his sentenced to ten years’ im- Lertalgee mars at ne — ages? nen pat of is life, he manag escape by guard and fied to Texas. There he found no difficulty in getting together a number of desperate characters, suitable for his work; and learning that Curly Tosti- van had lately been seen near Monte Pete's last tramping-ground, he returned to Kansas to make good his oath}assuming the disguise of a hideous negro. Through a creature of his own, he z that Curly was and that May Howard and Eunice Lee would re- turn home by the same conveyance. Heoolving se leton's men who assumed the to dlat ojo dhele piiedashod 4 ute | : ed uy and effected an entrance be door could be closed. May and Eunice and bound, Limber Dick exceedi ’ to. ding his orders, for he, too, had a taste for « bright eye and a rosy lip, — do so now, though you | se that he was drunk, which did © ny ed booked for the stage to Barrett's, — Te See a eer me ee Ye) le Tae tees |
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a Ow FS Ct bs ee velly bottom received. Thi i K arene. vi eir animals, Black John, the Road-Agent. 21 and resolved that Eunice Lee should be the reward of his exertions, Leaving old Mr. Howard lying dead. spon the floor, a bullet through his brain, an Mrs. Howard in convulsions, the outlaws rode swiftly awa: Striking Littte Timber creek, they entered its bed, separating, one-half riding up its gravelly bed, the other down. Atintervals a single horseman would ride out from the creek, striking over the rairie, leaving as faint 2 trail as possible, by mufil- ig the animals’ hoofs. And so, one by one, long after hitfall, they rode into their retreat. ni . This was a peculiar spot, and well worthy a brief | description, even did not the events yet to be nar- rated demand it. Nature had made a snu Place; and the hands of man now improyed upon it. A goodly-sized creek traversed the prairie. At this point it seemed to have cut its way through a con- siderable-sized ridge or swell, formed by a basin- like depression in the und, the sides of which were almost, perpendicular, some forty or fifty feet in hight, of a stiff, yellowish clay, mixed with gravel and sandstone. This basin was nearly round, sixty ards in diameter. Stunted trees and bushes, inter- laced with vines and climbing plants, covered the bottom and sides. Standing in their midst, a horse- man would be invisible from the prairie above. Shallow both above and below, the creek had eaten & deep hole in the basin, so that, as its bed offered the only chance of entering, to gain the retreat, one bons fi toswim, Such was the outward view of hiding- e basin. ; ertns Lhecreck some ace above, the out- own 6 swift current speedil obliterating what faint traces of their passace the used © water, unhesitatingly plunged into the deep, dark pool, scrambling up the cunningly-contrived ' stone landing, that so closely resembled the work of nature that even a minute examination might well fail to detect the cheat. One after another the horsemen disappeared amidst the undergrowth. Dismounting then, they advanced to the tace of the bank, <A mass of vines were lifted, revealing a dark opening in the ground. Into this the horses unhesi- tatingly ao It was a spacious excavation, used Upon the ae side of the creek was another, something similar, used by the outlaws as a | -house, whenever they desired or were ob! to lie ju. « Into this place the two maidens were carried. Naturally; they were greatly terrified, though, with the exception of being bound, they had been respect- . fully treated by the outlaws. They were deposited upon a soft pile of sweet-smelling prairie hay, and en a wa light shone around them. as a rude lamp was ted. There was little to be seen. ‘They were in a small chamber or. alcove, connected by a low passage with the main excavation. The place was cool, and ‘ ST well ventilated, a by some means not ible to them. The walls were hung with numerous garments, evidently disguises as well as rwear, And among them wasa large assort- ' weapons; rifles, pistols, knives, and Indian ut at that moment, neither of our en, I trust you will ve more agreeable quarters. You are to be kept here, close guarded, while we throw your le off Pe scent, by a false trail. You shall i Srecsbulie ted, and shall have every wish gratified--save one. Your liberty will come in due time, but not just yet. As a solace during the weary hours you musth have before that da: pens I let you a a little secret. You. Black-eyes, are to me the gen of our band—the bride of our noble chief, Bl 6 as you know him hest, Kor you, pretty Golden-dogks, fate has a little En? ri less exalted station~you will have to be resigned as the bride of Limber Dick—lieutenant of the band, our very humble servant,’’ and the outlaw bowed ow, with mock humility, a laughing devil in. his jetty eyes, that caused a shudder to creep over the maidens, for, even in that moment of terror, they read this man aright—knew him for a cruel, ret relentless foe, to implore mercy from whom wo id be an idle waste of breath. After amusing himself with a sight of their fear, Limber Dick turned and left the alcove. A faint. signal came to his ear, and he knew that the out- law lookouts had espied the spurceee of some per- son or persons. He knew that long ere this hour, the discovery of the kidnapping must have been made, and that search would be immediately made, was beyond a doubt. In expectation of beholding a party of the settlers, then, Limber Dick ran up to the lookout point. A single horseman was riding rapidly along the ereek-bed, heading directly for the Refuge. Tho next moment he recogni: his chief, Black John, or Wayne Appleton. . The outlaw chief could not force his animal to enter the dark penn of water, and Limber Dick bart my omits through the entrance, and standing beside Black John, the latter, in a hard, etern voice, uttered: : “You have overdone the matter. Why did you kill that old fool? Surely you could have managed without that. And then the other girl—did I tell you to her off, too?” “ You're too hard, Captain John,” replied Limber Dick, in —— tone, but. with his eyes pearing angrily at thecensuring words. ‘ That old manh the strength of a devil, He knocked down two of the boys with a chair, and made at me, when I dropped him; and you would have done the same, aah you been in my place. As for the yellow-haired irl—surely you would not complain if a man helps fimselt while doing your work, as long as that is not neglected. Perhaps mean to retire from this life, as well as you do.’ ‘* Well, well—let it pass,”’ hastily muttered Black John, as he must_be called henceforth, who well knew that were the outlaw gang to once suspect that he meant to desert them before many more days, a terrible storm would be the consequence. “Tf that is the case I have no objection. Only you must deal with her honorably, Dick, since she is a connection of my wife, that is to be.’ “Til follow the example you set me, Captain John,” and Limber Dick laughed significantly. “See that youdo, But now to business, for l must be back to Barrett’s before daydawn. The fools think me fast asleep, after our run of postertny, from the Twin Mounds.. Iam running a risk coming here at all.” 4 “The boys won’t like your going back there, Cap- tain John,” slowly said Limber Dick. , “And why not?” “Out of pure cussedness, I guess, You must know that some of them are already discontented. They seem to think you are taking it too easy—that you make them do all.the dirty work,” and Dick stole a covert glance at Black John’s face. , “t Limber Dick,” the outlaw chief said quietly, but with deep meaning in his tone, “you're a smart man, and no doubt can find out the one who is try- ing to sow dissension in the band, Goto him and tell him that he is playing with fire ina powder magazine, that, sooner or later, will explode and send him higher’n a kite. There can be but one leader of this band, and J am that man. Just bint to him what willbe the consequence of his crossing my path. You understand mie, so I think you will have no difficulty in making him comprehend.” “Tl see what I can do, Captain John,” sullenly, “All Now listen, and see that my instruc- tions are carried out, You will leave three men here besides Little Billy, Ed. Ware, Nipper Dan and Dutch Bill, Tell then, from me that if anything
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Black John, the Road-Agent. i -———— —_—___--—— — happens to the ladies, they shall answer for it with their lives. You will take the rest of the bed and all the animals, and strike for the ravine by the Twin Mounds. There you will join the boys that } run off the horses of the Vigilantes yesterday. Fol- i low the old Pottawatomie frail until you strike the Vt Little Arkansas, then ride south to Crockford’s. pt Dispose of all the horses there; he will give you ' fresh mounts. Then come back as far as the grove by Lance Poullen’s where I will meet you. There'll be no danger of the Vigilantes catching up with f you, and the false trail will throw them completely } off the right scent.” i ‘* And you?” “Tam the only one of the band that can go among them unsuspected—and they think that I am one of their best friends. I will see that they do not smell out this hole, and throw them off the scent if they ress you too close. But go—there is no time to be ost, for a dozen or more of the settlers are out on the search now. if any of them sees you leave this, our game is up,” impatiently cried Black John. Though far from being satisfied, sus ting that t} he was allowing Black John to outwit him, Limber F Dick dared not refuse or delay obedience to the chief’s commands. And as the outlaw rode rapidly away, the lieutenant hastily gave his orders to «them. To those who were to be left in charge of the captives, Dick was particularly careful in giving his instructions, adding his threats to those of Black Jobln, in case they proved faithless. And then, plunging their horses into the water, the outlaws rode out of the Retreat, and far down the gravelly | bed of the creek, following the same precautions } they had in entering, emerging one at a time, then gradually coming together again upon the prairie. As the reader has seen, a part of Black John's lans miscarried, through the capture of Ike Good- : heart. Feeling ‘sure that the prisoner would con- Pay fess, or atleist betray him, if only to satisfy, agraudge repr of long standing, Black John fled for dear life. ie Fearing lest he should draw suspicion upon the mt Retreat, by pausing, there, he ¢ straight on to f : join his hand, who were laying down the false trail. { Day after Ajay rolled on, Grageing slowly. and Meat painfully to the captive maidens, and hope died out a in their hearts. It seemed as though they were de- serted by all earthly friends. /A liftle boy, or rather dwarfed man, brought them their rude meals regularly, but be were never stiffered to leave the ; alcove without at least one of the three men as Nw guard. And tliere was a@ brutal, licentious glow in 4b their beastly eyes whenever they were near the ‘ maidens, that both May and Eunice decided to remain ‘close prisoners rather than endure such trials, Still, more than once, they saw the outlaws conversing eagerly, eying them at the same time in a manner that chilled their very hearts. Then it was that they first bethought themselves of the weapons hanging upon the alcove walls, | ; CHAPTER VIII. i SPARCHING FOR THE LOST. 5 Trme rolled on and day succeeded day without ase bringin the bereaved parents any hope, and the Vigi Hees seemed as far off as ever from capturing x Black John. Still, they had one — consolation; : the eutlaw band no longer made the neighborhood a4 dangerous, no longer took their pick from out the rie herds of cattle and droves of horses. They seemed : to have left the country for good. fey! Black John’s ruse had been perfectly successful. A ee bee The Vigilantes struck his trail and followed it to the " bank of Little Arkansas. Here it was utterly lost. ¥or miles and miles the shores were searched, but without success. Then, baffled and disgusted, the Vigilantes returned home. eir crops urgently demanded their attention. ae To koso more time would be ruinous. And. so, FE though reluctantly, with a sigh for the sad fate that seemed inevitably the maidens’, the settlers” exceptions, Thomas Howard did not die, and rallied: slowly, almost imperceptibly. Doubtless his intense anx. iety retarded his recovery. would bemoan his sad fate, cursing himself. even his God, that he was forced to lie so helpless where determined action was needed. It was, indeed, hard, and there were those among the settlérs who gave it as their opinion that Howard would not live to see the mont: children were gained. The wife still lay upov what promised to be her death-bed. Since that dreadfull day, when she be- held her children torn peck ad from her side, and saw her father lying. at her» feet, quivering in the agonies of death, she had not spoken a word, She lay in an apathetic stupor, motionless, seemingly lifeless, only for the wild rolling of her eyes, that never ceased save when under the influence of an opiate. Truly this household was sorely stricken, There were two aetie who refused to give up the search; Curly Tostivan and Kent Morgan, and to these might be added Frank Kershaw, though his services amounted to very little. Still it was well reeant, and the two former wére gradually learning to like Frank, despite his talent’ for boasting and evident lack of courage. aks ee “Let ’em say what they will, Kent,” Curly would remark, quietly, “I ain't satisfied that them gals is quite out o’ reach yit. T'll tell ye why. You know we marked the critter’s hoofs that Black John rid away on, the day Ike Goodheart chose the pistol. We follered it, ontil iti struck the trail o” the rest o* the imps, nigh the Twin Mounds. We saw whar they had been confined, waitin’ fer him, most likely? But we didn’t find no sign o’ the gals havin’ been thar. Youknow how we follered them up, hot-foot, an’ they couldn't ’a’ had much the start of us. Is it likely that the gals, fresh from sc'ool, could have stood such a ride as that without:givin’ out? An’ ef they hed give out, we'd hev seen some signs to tell of it. Then look back a bit. You know how the varmints tried to break” the trail in Little Timber. You know that I took and follered the dif'runt trails, an’ each one led into Big Stony. There T found whar they left it ag’in, an’ made fer the Mounds. Ef the varmints intended to jump the country, why did they take all this trouble and lose so much time? Why didn’t they strike out at fu’st, when they would be sure ofa start sech as they wouldn't need to hurry themselves? Til give you my idee. Only a part o' the gang left. T'other is still som‘er’ not fur off, lyin’ shady in their hidin’- place. An’ when we find that place, we'll find the gals. Thar—that’s my nosein’ o’ the matter. “Tt may be true—but I doubt it, Curly. I fear they are lost beyend recovery. This is not the sort of country where a number‘of people can easily find a covert to baffle such a search as ours has'been.”” “You heard what Ike Goodheart said afore he used the pistol—that thar was men belongin’ to the band that we all thought our good fri’nds. We don’t know who they be, an’ yit they may be hidin” these gals an’ them as is in charge of ’em, like 's" not in thar houses, under our very noses, But T think I've got. a clew. We'll folier it up, an’ see: whar it'll eend, anyhow. That's what we're ridin’ for, now.” eh, The friends were riding leisurely over the —— Morgan asked Curly to explain his words, which the latter did. In those days, many, indeed nearly all of the better class of settlers in Kausas, F slaves. One of these owners was Seth Cockton, an’ emigre from Kentucky. He owned a mulatto, named Yellow Ben. This Ben was in love with Abram’ Leigh’s girl, Wichita Nance, the colored belle of that section. 1 BFE In a recent visit, Yellow Ben, as’ th bene eta the abduction came up; assumed a kt .Say- ing that though the white people thought. negroes were fools, he was in possession of a secret’ once more fell into their regular routine, with a few” Hour after hour he out, unless some tidings of his —
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r 3 : ; j . J j Black John, the Road-Agent. Worth the best farm in the territory; that one word of his could hang a dozen white men, and to insure is silence, Cockton had promised to bhy Nance and ive-her to Yellow Ben for a wife. ~ his Wichita ance repeated to Dandy Pete,-one of Howard's Slaves, whom she also had upon astring, and rather preferred to Ben. Dandy Pete, in turn, told Curly of this speech, and, catching at a straw, after hav- ing searched unsuccessfully for so long, Tostivah resolved to follow up the clew, though he knew that it might be nothing more than the idle boast of one who desired to gain importance in the eyes of his Dulcinea, 4 Fortune seemed to favor the trail-hunters, for as they rode up to the settler’s building, they saw Yel- low Ben going down to the spring, a hundred yards from the house, beside a thickly-timbered ¢reek. Curly rode direct to the spot, and called Yellow nm. Unsuspecting, the mulatto obeyed. “Look here, Ben,” quoth Curly, thrusting for- ward a revolver until its black muzzle almost touch ed the mulatto’s face. ‘Did you ever see anything like this before?” “Don't, Mars’ Curly—it mought go off!” stammmer- ed the terrified slave. “ An’ so it will, ef you try to run, or tell me a lie. Let that speak once, an’ you're a gone nigger! ’D hev to sweep ye up ‘tha broom, sure!” chuckled the borderer. “Deed I won't lie—deed I'll say any thin’ you want me to, Mars’ Curly.” “No, that won't do. ‘I want you to tell the truth, an’ nothin’ else. Mind, I know a good deal o’ the matter a’ready, an’ "ll be sure to ketch you ef you try to lie. An’ then you're a dead nigger, as I said fore. “You'll frighten him so bad that he won't be able _ to speak, Tostivan,” interposed Kent, Morgan, seeing how the negro quailed and trembled before the cocked revolver, ; “YH do more than skeer him, onless he talks straight. Now, Ben, I know you, and you know me, Ireckon. You ought to know whether I’m ‘custom- ed to lie or not. I don’t want to hurt you very much, but T'll do if unless you make a clean breast of it, Now tell me: what is thissecret you have found out, that makes your master afeard 0’ you?” he added, sharp and quick. “Don’t know any—'deed I don’t, Mars’ Curly,” faltered Ben, turning a shade paler. “Easy thar, boy. Smell o’ this persuader—don't e hear the bullet a-beggin’ me to let it out at ye? n’t ye hear it sayin’ that you're tryin’ to lie to me? you don’t know nothin’, thes what is old Cockton goin’ to buy Wichita Nance an’ give her to yon fer a wifé, fer? He’s got more niggers now han he’s got honest work fer ’em to do.” “Wichita Nance done tole you what I tole her?” gritted the mulatto, his eyes glittering snakily. “Never you mind whether she did or not; that _ don’t matter. I ax you what's the reason? No fool- In’ nhow—speak right out, flat-footed.” it’s all a lie, den. I don't know nuffin’,” sullenly. “Hold my critter, Kent,” cried Curly, as he leap te pie the saddle and grasped the slave by the roat. Yellow Ben was no infant, and he struggled des- perately, crying aloud for help; but Curly, though not en poly recoverett from his fall upon the prairie, Was a giant in strength and skill. In twenty seconds he » held the mulatto helpless on the ground. 5 The old man’s coming, Curly,” warningly cried “Lethim, I'll put a spoke in his wheel ef he cuts Etene fay still, Ben—ef you move I'll flatten a ou gone at bull head o* yourn. I ain’t through ,. What’ does this outrage mean—what are you ing with my boy?” angrily demanded Cockton. advancing, ith conied revolver in his sy thar, old man!” coolly retorted Curly, 4 swiftly raising his weapon. ‘“ Don't go off at half- cock. Keep yer we’pon down or lll make a pepper- box o’ you, sure. Kent, you look to the nigger while I talk to the old man.” . : * What has he done?” asked Cockton more ealmly. ““What business can you have with him? Have you turned nigger-stealer!” “No, nor gal-stealer, nuther. But you ax my business, Mebbe you know that the settlers hev “lected me chief of the Vigilantes. I'm on that busi- ness now, an’ T wouldn’t ‘vise you to interfere or we mought hev a word to say to pat big and mighty as you might think yourself. The fact is jest this: Your boy, Yellow Ben, knows a setret that we want to find out, Ef he won't tell peaceably then we ee to whip him ontil he does tell. Now ye hev “You have no right to misuse my property. I will not stand it!” angrily cried Cockton. “ Hinder us ef you kin, old cock. Kent, you jist keep an eye on the cuss, an’ ef he shows mischief, down him, I begin to think we're gittin’ pretty close at the truth now.” Morgan quietly covered the settler with his revol- ver, a stern resolve written plainly on every line’ of his features, Seth Cockton read this aright, and saw Curly seize and bind Yellow Ben band and foot, without daring to lift a finger in his defense. Then, as he cut and coolly trimmed a number of slender hickory withes, Curly Tostivan questioned the cap- tive mulatto, “Now, my boy, jest open your ears, ¢f you please. Yon see these saplings: T_ reckon, but mebbe you don’t know jest what they’re “tended for. They're to freshen your mem'ry with, so that you kin an- swer the questions I ax you. As a fri’nd I ‘vise you to act sensible, an’ tell all you know. fer ef you don’t you'll think that all the cuttin’s-up you ever got in your life afore was on‘y buckwheat cakes an’ ‘lasses “longside the one I'll give ye.” “He knows nothing about—" “Shet up, you! Don’t interrupt the court ef you please Jest let him hoe bis own row. Ef you hev toomuch to say, the Vigilantys may hev a word to say to you,” pointedly said Curly; then. turning to the mulatto: “ You told Wicrita Nance that you know a secret wu’th the best farm in the kentry — that one word from you could hang half a dozen white men—that Cockton here was afeard of you, an’ was a-goin’ to buy her to give you fer a wife. Now, what did you mean by that, ek?” z 7 “Tell the truth, Yellow Ben; but if you dare to fic—** “*Old man, you dr; up. Kent, ef _he speaks ag’in *thout bein’ spoken to, down him. Now, boy?’ ; “Twas jest a-lyin’ to Nance,”* he muttered sullen- Y. , ‘Y You've lied to either her or me, anyway, so here oes |" * The lithe hickory rod whistled through the air, and descended with cutting force fairly across the mulatto’s buttocks. Swiftly succeeding each other, the strokes fell, and, writhing upon the ground in vain efforts to burst his bonds asunder, Yellow Ben roared like an enraged buffalo-bull. Twice did Curly pause in his work and repeat the question, but the slave refused to confess; or rather declared that-he had been merely boasting to the girl in order to en- hance his value in her @yes: “You're lyin’ yet, I know, fer Abram Leigh told me old Cockton hed bin tryin’ to buy Nance. But I reckon I kin stand it as long as you kin,’ and the lashes were continued. : During this scene Seth Cockton had chafed angri- ly, but the steady hand of Kent kept him covered with a revolver-muzzle, and he feared to mga but the crisis was near at hand. Yellow Ben coul no longer endure the stinging pain of the hickory and cried out: a4 Beh ial “No, he'sha" Pectock Ou, Mae hae tows o, he sha'n out, Kent!" e Suddenly leaping to one side, Cockton seized his
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a —— 24 Black John, the Road-Agent. revolver and fired at Morgan. The ren man, taken partly by on iar sprung forward, then fell heavily to the nd. With a shrill sereech, Curly leaped forward and closed with the would-be murderer. As they fell to the ground, the pistol exploded, but with- out doing any damage, Morgan sprung to his feet, and rushed forward to where the antagonists had rolled, but Curly cried out: “Keep off, Kent—I kin manidge the varmint!”’ Nor was this apy idle boast. Tostivan speedily. ined thea upper hand, and soon choked the settler nto acquiescence. : “Gi’ me the trail-rope, Kent,"-he panted, still kneeling upon the settler, “We'll put the imp out + ©’ the way o'doin’ more mischief. But you ain't hurt?” he added, quickly. “A scratch on the neck; nothing more. I saw him in time to dodge, But it’s strange no one cons from the house. They must have heard the uss."’ ry _, *Reckon they're all out herdin’ or at work. on the farm. He ain't got no white women, Thar—he'll do now," and Tostivan rose from the body of his foe, who was bound and gagged, beyond the possi- bility of escape, unaided. : “Don’t wh P me any mo’, Mars’ Curly, an’ Vl tell leaded Yellow Ben. “Go ahead, then; but be quick, an’ no lyin’, or—” The mulatto then stated that he had long known his master was connected with the horse-thieves and outlaws—indeed, he had left Kentucky because sus- picion was aroused, justly, that he was one of a regularly-organized gang. Two days before this one, Yellow Ben saw a man, whom he recognized as one Dutch Bill, in close conversation with Cockton, seated in the house. By close creeping, Yellow Ben man to get beneath the window, where he could hear their words. Dutch Bill was asking for some whisky, saying that it would be more than three days before Black John returned, and it was dry work watching the girls. Cockton asked where they were. Dutch Bill replied—in the bank. This was all that Yellow Ben heard, as they started for the out-door cellar for the liquor, and he feared being discovered. 5 “It’s a-plenty, too. I think I know right whar to put my hands on ‘em; it’s the only place nigh here that they could hide in a bank,” cried Curly, exul- tantly, Kg But Pd won't let him loose?” dolefully uttered oem, “Marse ‘d kill dis nigger, suah, fo’ tellin’ on im. “T want you to keep wateh over him, boy, ontil : then it's like the ighacts ‘ll come fer him. Ef you've told the truth, you’re a made nigger from this minnit, but, ef you've bin lyin’, so help me Jeru- salem bulbugs, Vl skin you alive, an’ salt you down fer corn beef.” Yellow Ben earnestly protested that he had told nothing but the truth, and the two Vigilantes be- lieved him. Cockton was stowed away in an old “dng-out;” o hole in the bank roofed over, and Ben put upon watch. Then thé two trail-hunters rode away in the gath- ering darkness, —— CHAPTER Ix, LITTLE BILLY, May and Eunice saw with sickening hearts the black peril that threatened them, ipeg,d closer and closer every day, every hour. At first they had pay Sry hay ed its magnitude, but the day came that opened their eyes. : True they had noticed that the outlaws left in uard of them constantly eyed them with strangely intent looks, but at length the burning, brutal ex- ression could no Dy my be di , and one day itch Bill threw off the thin disguise. He had been drinking freely, The other two out- ~ laws were asleep, half-stupefied with the fiery corn- juice. Dutch Bill, a gaunt, bony-framed man, bold and reckless at all times, but doubly so when in his cups, staggered into the alcove where the maideng were crouching upon their couch of prairi i terrified by the words and bints that had reach ; their ears from the men drinking in the main cham- ber. . * With his feet widely separated, to gain a steadier { base, Dutch Bill leered at the girls, hic- coughing. as | he attempted to speak. He spoke in his native tongue, and this so disguised by liquor, that neither | of them could make out his words; but there could ; be no mistaking his meaning. a How the matter would have ended it ig difficult to say, had there not come interference at this mo- ment. A dark figure bounded past the uneasily swaying form of the drunken brute, and stood be- tween him and the women, It was Little Billy. By this name alone the maidens knew him; it was ; what the outlaws called him, what he called himself, and very likely this was the only name he had ever =| ossessed. For Little Billy was a stray. No one new from whence he had sprung. He never knew 4 anything of his parents, and half-believed that he had never been pas of human; far down in his wild untutored heart was a fantastic belief—Little Billy believed that his father was some lordl; buffalo-bull, his mother, one of the wild, raceful, | soft-eyed does that he could never bring. himself to ' draw bead upon, Often, crouching behind the sun- reflecting waters of the Big Stony, Little Billy would amuse himself 7 tracing the points of resemblance | between himself and these animals, He had the. { great shaggy head, thick short neck and humped { shoulders of the buffalo-bull; the large lustro | beautiful eyes, the slender, yet symmeneteah® - } sinewed. limbs of the wild deer. Perhaps it was these points that first gave Little Billy the fantastic idea, but it was hightened by the contempt and } ridicule that all men heaped upon him. No one had : a kind or pleasant word or look for him. He was H cursed, kicked and buffeted at every turn, From childhood he had lived among outlaws and crimi- nals, And yet. thongh nearly stifled beneaththe weight of sin and crime, Little Billy still possessed a — heart capable of fidelity and love, though unsus- | ected by himself, until aroused to the truth by the Rind speech of May and Eunice. Though at first. the maidens had shuddered at the sight of the dwarf, he did not pppeer so terrible to them as the others of their guards, and smothering their feelings, they had spoken to him kindly, and thanked him for the little services. he rendered them. And now this brought forth fruit. 4 “Back thar, Dutch Bill!” cried Little Billy, the ms black muzzle of a cocked revolver staring the drunk- — ardin the face. ‘You come one step furder, an’ i Tl sp'ile ae fer whisky-drinkin’. You know me— r so go back, while you kin,” fue d © outlaw spluttered forth a volley of curses and ; threats, but the dwarf did not quail. As the man's hand fumbled at. his belt, Little Billy quickly added: “Draw a we'pon, Dutch Bill, an’ you won t live to fire it. You're actin’ the fool, now, an’ when you ave you forgot what Limber Dick told you the cap’n sald? Ef he the drunken ou he turned and staggered back to the outer on ber.. Little Billy quietly crouched down beside the b fen turning their t ua , and owa would require, any oothills, they coul the south, where, among the ~\
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Biack John, the Road-Agent. “25 start in business upon their own hook, All this they had spoken of without paying any heed to tye maneence of Little Billy, He was beneath their notice. When Dutch Bill returned to his comrades, after his discomfiture, they once more began drinking and playing cards. ‘The stakes were novel. They were playing for the captive maidens, Wit drunken vity they played on, cheating and cheated, disputing about the score of the game, un- til, more than once, weapons were drawn and blows struck, only to end in a general reconciliation and hand-clasp over another drink. Little b ay listened and watched closely. He felt that a crisis was drawing near. And, remember- ing only the kind words of the captives, he prepared to meet it as best he might. From the weapons hanging upon the wall, he selected two small revol- vers, that were in tolerable order. These he cire- fully loaded and capped. Then he placed them in the hands of May and Eunice. “Mebbe you won’t need to use ’em, but it’s best to be on the safe side, Them varmints ont yondér mean mischief, They shain’t hurt ye while I kin keep ’em back, but [’m on’y a little cuss anyhow, an’ they mought rub me out. Then, if you didn’t hey these, you’d be goners, sure. Ef they do try to tetch ye, don’t be afraid to.shoot. Try an’ kill "em. Mebbe you'll miss, an’ they'll be mad enough to kill ou, but don’t let that skeer you. I reckon you’d he better off dead than in their hands when they’s drunk You understand me?” ““Yes—and thank he for thinking of us. We will do as you say. They shall not lay hands on us alive,” quietly, but firmly, replied May Howard, her courage rising as the black peril stood out more ~ clear! ‘ore them. “But you—they will kill you for this.” “Let’em. Folks must die some time. I ain't skeered at the thought o’ death, I'm only Little Billy, anyhow, What's the def’rence? Nobody wouldn’t miss me. But thar—I reckon we'd best shutup. Mebbe the varmints out yondér ll forgit all about us if they don’t hear us talkin’, for they're sp'ilin’ cormjuice mighty fast.” “Little Billy, come nearer. I wish to speak with you,” softly whispered May. ; With a strange tingling in every fiber of his mis- pes po form, the dwarf obeyec, He knew right well what the maiden meant to say, for more than once she had pleaded with him in a like manner, though he had ever refused to grant her prayer. He said he could not betray his chief—could not be false to the trust reposed in him by Black John, even for their sakes, But never before had he felt just as he did now. The events of the past few ours had changed him, He saw that a terrible danger threatened the as aig a danger that his sing e arm could scarcely hope to avert longer. “Little Billy, ie say that you are our friend. Prove it now. elp us to escape from this place and these fearful, men. Help us to return home, and nothing you can ask of us will be refused. You will find a welcome home there and warm hearts to love you for the sake of your truth tous. You live insin here. Surely ae owe these bee nothing. Surely you can not love or respect them, Then listen to our prayer, and aid us now that we ne your pel so ly. You say that you_loveus, and would die to keep us from harm. Then why do ‘ou assist these men in Reareng us captives? You ow what they have threatened—you know what they are now doing—playing cards decide which possess Eunice andi. There are three strong, desperate villains. You ean not hope to resist them, successfully. They will kill you first, and ' then—what will become of us?” ae cry any more. I'll do what [ kin, ough it mayn’t be much, No—don't thank me. ‘Wait until I do the work. But you must keep ready. Jon’t sleep. Keep your we’pons ready for use, if my plan fails. Ef you see them git the better o’ me, you know what todo. Shoot them ef you kin— if not, then shoot your own selves, Better that then what'll come with them a-hold o' ye.” At that moment Nipper Jim called Little Billy. The dwarf pecmnpey obeyed. He had formed a hasty plan, rude and frail, but he hoped to be able to carry it out, as the outlaws were pretty welt blinded with drink. He lifted the stone jug to his lips, and seemingly drank hee Then he said: “Boys, the corn-juice is gittin’ met sca’ce. Let’s play seven-up to see who goes to old Cockton’s for a fresh lot. What say?” As he had anticipated, an eager assent followed. The outlaws, who had fully determined to breal® loose from all authority and possess the maidens, still hesitated about acting while Little Billy stood their protector. They feared his fatal accuracy with his revolver. In this respect the dwarf had no equal in the band, while he had never been able to muster the subtle intricacies of the “ devil’s prayer- book.’” Knowing that they could easily beat him in that, they quickly assented. It would take fully two hours to return with the whisky from Cockton’s. During that absence, the captives would be wholly at their mercy. In their secret glee, they readily consented to the condition im d by the dwarf, though had their brains been clear, they must have read the truth— that Little Billy was only fighting for time. He pro- posed that each man should play a rubber, the loser of the first to play with the next, and so on until the matter was decided. By this means he felt that the needed time would be gained, as the sun was already low down in the west. Before beginning the last game, Little Billy made some excuse and glided in to where the captives were awaiting the result in sickening suspense. He hastily sketched the plan he had formed, and told them what they must do. Itwasa desperate course, but the only one that remained them, Its only hope of success lay in the semi-drunkenness of the three outlaws. Returning to his game, Little Billy played slow- ly and cautiously. The first one was against him. In a well-simulated fit of anger, he flung down the cards, upsetting the rude lamp that alone lighted up the chamber, All was darkness the most intense, “ “Stay still, boys!’ eried the dwarf, in a loud voice. “Tl git a light. You're too drunk—you'd Ling the whole house up. Stay thar, until I git ek!” yi “ Hellow! who's that? Ifelt somebody brush past me jest then!” suspiciously cried Nee Jim, “It’s only me, you looney,” retorted tle Billy, in a voice that trembled in spite of himself. ‘* Look out thar—you'll upset me with the lamp, if you don't take keer,” The outlaw subsided, and then the faint flicker of a match revealed the dwarf’s features, Only for @ moment, however, then it expired, So did the next three or four, Dutch Bill drunkenly cursing Billy's clumsiness. But at length the lamp was ignited, and,the cards resumed. Playing with unusual skill, the dwarf won the second game. After a tight con- test, Nipper Jim scored the third and last rubber, aided by his skill at ee “You're to go, lad,”’ he cried, piney. “All right. Gi’ me the jug. You fellers come to — me through the water,” quietly replied Little i Ae ‘e plunged through the pool, going up the creek, as that was the nearest route to Cockton's. The jug was flung him, and then he struck across the rairie, the outlaws watching him, A few moments ater he was lost to view amidst the tall s, And the outlaws chuckled gleefully as they felt that the only obstacle to their scheme was now removed from their path. -: “ But we must wait a bit, fu'st,” said Nipper Jim, the most prudent one of the trio. “It’s like they make a fuss, an’ Little Billy’s got powerful sharp —
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£6 ‘ Black John, the Road-Agent. ears. He’d make us trouble ef he heard it—he'’s eavy on the shoot.” The dwarf had sunk down in the prairie-giass, abandoning the jug, and gliding swiftly around to strike the creek below the basin, He knew that there was no time to lose,for with the discovery would come instant pursuit. The moon shone brightly, not a cloud obscuring the sky. Little Billy noted this with a curse. A cloudy night would have insured an escape, but now— His musings ceased, as a faint rustle sounded in the grass beside him, In a low tone, he uttered the names of the twe maidens. With glad cries, they rose before him. They had taken advantage of Little Billy’s up- setting the light, and had glided from Lhe alcove, through the outer chamber, Gaining the basin, they did not hesitate, but boldly plunged into the water, buoyed up by their clothes, until the swift current swept them into shallow water, Then they had awaited the coming of the dwarf, hidden in the grass, Feeling sure that their flight must soon be dis- covered, Little Billy bade the maidens follow him, and he &étruck off ‘over the prairie, crouching low down in the grass. The course he pursued was one that led them almost directly eigen from Barrett's, though the girls did not notice this at first. He knew that the outlaws would believe that the fugi- tives had made at once for their friends, and would naturally direct their search in that belief. By making a wide circuit, Billy hoped to elude them. Scarcely had he explained to the girls, than the alarm came to his ears. The escape had been dis- covered, Little Billy led them rapidly over the prairie. He _ knew that the discovery.would serve to sober the outlaws, 4nd when not under the influence of liquor, they were bold, cunning men, well skilled in the craft and lore of the prairies. Let them once strike the trail, and they would follow it to the end. For over an hour they had pressed onthus. Then Little Billy paused, with a curse. At only a little dis- tance before them, he could faintly distinguish sev- eral dim hantom-like forms, He believed the out- laws had intercepted them. In the faint hope of their not noticing him, he crouched down in the grass, before the two maidens, his revolver cocked and ready for use, In painful suspense, they awaited the result. A faint rustling in the stiff prairie grass came to Little Billy’s ears, He raised his revolver. Then a dark face rose into view, and seemed to be peering upon them. e The pistol cracked. A shrill screech of death- agony followed, as the face disappeared, ‘Pandemonium seemed turned loose upon earth. Wild, horrible yells filled the air. Dusky forms sprung forward, Little Billy aroso, with a revolver in either hand, With every report a foeman fell, dead or dying. . CHAPTER X. SETTING A MAN-TRAP, Iv was the same hour that Curly Tostivan and Kent Morgan rode over the prairie from Seth Cock- ton’s, with the knowledge they had extracted from the tortured Yellow Ben. Given an idea by the words of the mulatto, Curly was eager to test it, and now he was headed direct for the prairie * basin ’—the retreat of the road-agents. He had noticed this spot more than once, and had scanned it curiously from either side, though he had never explored it. It had not seemed worth while getting a wet skin, and he knew that the basin could not be entered without swimming. It may appear ote be that this place had not been thoroughly searched since the abduction of May and Eunice, but the road-agents’ trail had been followed miles beyond the Fink, nor had they doubled upon their tracks. There was nothing to suspicion toward the sink. Not he heard. the words of Yellow Ben did the thought oe- cur to him. Hiding in tha bank! The nearly per- — pa sides of the basin—might they notcon- ~ ain some hole or cave, its entrance concealed by the masses of trailing vines and bushes? And as he could remember no other spot half so likely, Curl was riding thither. : The comrades were yet considerably more than a mile distant from their point of destination, when a peculiar sound caused them to draw rein abruptly, — Soaring over the prairie, borne to their ears by the favoring breeze, came the faint sound of human yolees. Some person or persons were yelling or shouting angrily. “Tt comes from mighty nigh the sink, Kent,” mut- tered Curly, his ear bent in listening, ‘ Somethin’s up.” : “ Perhaps our friends have discovered the hiding- plaee, and are attacking it—come, let’s hurry ad eagerly cried Morgan. “Rasy, Kent. You may be right, but "tain’t like- ly. Ef you air, we'll be in plenty time; ef not, then t ‘won't do to run the resk 0’ sp‘ilin’ our chance be- eee fore wo begin. Cool an’ easy’s the word now,” said i Cony, as he sprung to the ground. “ What’s that for? Going to camp out here forto- I night?” testily asked Morgan. t i 'Sea’cely. Git down an’ hitch your critter, } Thar’s plenty feedin’ to keep em quiet until we're | ready for ’em.”” SP “What under the sun are you up to, Curly? Is | this your famous plan?” fumed Morgan. i “Part of it. ou're too durned curious, Kent, Don’t you know me well enough to follow my lead ; blind fer a while? *Light an’ tie; I'll tell you what { I mean." Kent Morgan obeyed, and while unwinding tho long trail-ropes, and. thrusting the picket-ping lighty into the earth, Tostivan condescended to ex- i plain. “It’s one of two things; either the gals is hidden } in this basin or sink, or else they ain’t. Ef re} air, then they’re close watched, in ¢o'se. Is it likely, then, that we could ride right up to iv, *thout bein seen? Sca'eely. Ef they ain’t thar, then we're no wuss off than afore, ’cept a lettle creepin’ that'll be good exercise. Mov do you see it?” Jt “Yes—and you were right,” acknowledged Kent. “Then follér me in all that Ido. Don’t talk— } save your breath ontel it’s needed more,”>said Curly, as he glided away through the stiff, rustling K grass, : In this manner, crouching low down until their heads alone appeared above the level coat of green, the two friends glided cautiously on, not knowing where the outlaw loukouts might be posted. Curly was one of those rare men who never threw away @ chance in whatever he undertook. Though by no means feeling certain that his surmise was right, he acted as though he knew that the outlaws wero actually at the basin and upon their guard. 7} They had nearly gained the spot, when a second alarm came to their ears, this time coming from a | greater distance than before, and from adifferent direction. A faint report, a series of shrill yells; then more firing, rapid and confused. With puzzled 2 looks the two friends eyed each other. There was something going on beyond their comprehen- =| sion. 3 ‘Shall we make for the muss?’ asked Kent. M4 “No. Yonder’s the sink. Finish one thing fu’st, me that’s my motto. We'll soon find out now what thar was in the nigger’s words. Keep down ahind me. A few moments later Curly crouched downby the = ereek, at the pont where it entered the basin. He listened intently, All was still. The basinseemed = = deserted, Only for the double alarm, he might — * i have abandoned the project at that point, but he = felt now that this spot contained the solution of the mystery that had so long baffled them, and he posed to enter. : >
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enn mene Biack John, the Road-Agent. 27 — “You'll stay here, Kent, an’ listen. Ef you hear any rumpus, make fer the hosses, an’ don’t stop on- tel you rout up the Vigilantes. Then lead ’em here, hot-foot.” “ And desert you? Not much!” “The gals is worth more’n I am,” quietly, “Ef any 0’ the varmints is here, then it's ten to one they've got the gals with em. We're the oy ones that suspect this hidin’-place; then whar'd thar chaince be if we both got rubbed out? No, lad, you must promise me this.” “You're right, Curly; I will do what you say. But if you come to harm, there’ll be a big price for some otie to pay.” “The bigger the better, lad, jest so you charge the right ones,”’ grimly replied Curly, as he entered the water, holding his revolvers above his head. Silently as a muskrat, the scout swam on through the black pool, for the moonlight did not reach here, intercepted by the banks. Beneath an overhangin, bush he paused and listened intently. Not a sound, save those of Nature’s voices, came to his ear. The basin seemed uninhabited save by himself. The next moment Curly uttered a low, involuntary ery. As he cautiously raised his head, a dim, twink- ling point of light met his eye. And then Curly knew that he had discovered the secret retreat of the Road-Agents, } Naturally excited, he yet proceeded with cautious coolness. The first motion he made hid the light from his eyes, but he knew what that meant. A bunch of leaves had intervened. Silently he crept from the water, and then ad- vanced toward the spot where he had seen the dim light. The next moment he caught sight of it again. A small lamp sat upon the ground, its uncertain light cast over a scattered deck of cards, several rude articles of war and a blanket or two. But nothing could be seen or heard of any living being. Yet the lamp, the cards, all bore evidence that such had very recently been within the den, and _ the robabilities were that they were still near. Per- ps they had ceught some sound, warning them of an enemy's approach, and were lying in ambush, The Bought. was natural. Tired of waiting so uselessly, Curly measured his distance, and ejected a stream of tobacco-spit so dextrously that the light, with a sudden splutter, went out. Curly knew that if the den was indeed tenanted, this occurrence would be almost certain to cause some stir or confusion among them. But all remained still, Not a sound came to his ears, As he peered into the darkness, he became aware that another. lamp was burning within the den; though hidden from him, he could distinguish a faint, hazy sheen crossing the gloom like a ray of moonlight, “Pll risk it, anyhow,” he muttered, beneath his breath, then, with the bared blade of a stout knife tight clutched between his teeth, he crept forward upon hands and knees, entering the den. in their discovery of the captives’ flight, the drunken outlaws had thrust the leafy screen hastily aside, omitting to replace it. uy for this fact, Curly might never have discovered the entrance; certainly not so easily. Half-expecting to see the glare of a pistol-shot, or feel the keen thrust of the deadly knife with every movement, Curly still advan toward the faint Then he saw that it pre from a smaller =p! into ipe pork swam rapidly to where the young man crouched, “ What is it— what’s up?” whispered Curly. Morgan did not speak, but replied with a gesture. Following it, Tostivan made out the shapes of three men, rapidly advancing down the valley, following the creek bed. Beyond all doubt, they were return- ing to the Retreat. *The gals are gone, but not many hours. These varmints, it’s likely, knows whar they. be, an’ we must find out, Til’pick off the fu’st, i "tend to the hinder one. The middle one we must take pris'ner,” hurriedly muttered Curly. “ But maybe they're honest men—friends.”” “Don’t be afool! Hist! now,’ continued Tosti- van. The men were talking earnestly as they approach- ed, and spoke quite loudly in order to drown the splashin in the shallow water. Asif to settle the doubts of Kent Morgan, these words came to the listeners’ ears, Nipper Jim speaking: “That job’s played, then, an’ the sooner we leave this, the better. to him ’bout the gals.” The reply to this, if any was made, was drowned by the simultaneous report of two revolvers, and the bodies of Nipper Jim and Dutch Bill floundered in the water, dyeing it red with their life-blood, Ed. Ware stood alone, seemingly petrified with surprise and horror, Then Curly sprung from his covert, and clutched the outlaw by the throat, flinging him, unresisting, to the shore, In a moment, ere he had recovered from his stupor, he was bound and gagged. * Ketch holt an’ help kerry him up into the taller grass, lad,” hastily uttered Curly, with a quick, searching glance around. “'Thar’s no tellin’ how many more o’ the varmints thafmay be nigh, an’ we must pump this feller afore he has a chaince to | git away. Morgan readily lent a hand, and the next minute the scouts and their captive had disappeared amidst the rank grass. No trace was left visible of the re- cent tragedy, save in the two forms that floated slowly round and round in the eddy, gradually yield- ing to the influence of the current that was bear them out into the prairie, far away from the scene of their death. Unloved they had lived, unmourned they died. ‘or some minutes Curly and Morgan crouched beside the trembling outlaw, their weapons drawn and ready for use. But no further alarm came, All was still and quiet over the prairie: a silence that gradually began to be oppressive to the two scouts, bold and resolute as they were. “Now, my man,” at length observed Tostivan, speaking distinctly in the prisoner’s ear, “you jest listen a bit tome. I don’t s'pose you know who we air. This man here is a Gover’ment detective, sent out to Varn the rights o’ this Black John business, I'm Curly, a sort of a guide to him, an’ now the cap’n of the Barrett’s Vigilantys. So you-kin likely tell jest how much fooling we'll stand from you. It'll take a heap to make us overlook what you have did; the fu’st thing for you_to do isto answer our questions. Now tell me, whar is them gals you helped steal away from Barrett's?” As he spoke, Cunty wereton the gag from the dis- tatiged jaws. Ed, Ware gasped for breath, then ut- tered: “If I tell all, will you let me go free, and not deliver me up to them Vigilantys? They'd murder me!” “-Tain’t your turn to ax questions. We don’t make tarms with no seech car’on. Don’t rile me. You mought get hurt,” Se pare muttered Curly, as his knifepoint pricked the outlaw’s throat. “They escaped—Little Billy helped 'em give us the slip, not more’n an hour ago. We heard pistol- shootin’ an’ yellin’, as we war out huntin’ fer them, an’ thought the Vigilantys had run ’em down shootin’ Little Billy by mistake,” sullenly replied are. “Jest afore we opened on ye, over thar, we heard lack John ‘d think we was lyin’,
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28 Black John, the Road-Agent. i Ss ee el ——— yon say somethin’ about Black John’s comin’ back. hen ‘ll he be here? No lyin’, now.” “We "lowed he’d be here some time to-morrow. But it’s all guess-work ‘th him.” “How many o’ you is around this shebang?”’ “ Ain't any, now, since Little Billy runn’d off, an’ ou killed Dutch Bill an’ Nipper Jim an’ nabbed me. The boss only left us four with the gals,” “Morgan, you hear this. I b'lieve the cuss {s tell- in’ the truth. Ef so, the boys must know it all afore day comes. We can lay a trap here fer Black John, an’ bag the hull outfit easy. Besides, the gals must be looked up. I don’t like the rumpus we heard over thar, It may be that the varmints is back ahead o’ thar time, or mebbe a skulkin’ band o’ red- skins has picked ’em pp. Anyway, they must be found. Go you an’ fetch up the critters. Ill fix this varmint ay fer totin’, You must take him to Barrett’s. It’s like we'll need him fer a witness. He's jest coward enough to blow on his comrades to save his or’nery life.” Kent lost no time in obeying the advice, or rather orders, and ten minutes later he was riding rapidly away over the prairie toward Barrett’s, leading the horse upon which the craven Ware was securely bound, After watching him for a moment, Curly Tostivan glided over the hill toward the point whence had proceeded the wild night-alarm, feeling sure that he would gain some clew to the fate of the fugitive maidens. Guided by the instinct that long experience gives the true plainsman, Curly soon stood upon the spot where we last saw Little Billy and his charges. With asickening sensation Tostivan bent low over the blood-stained and trampled grass. He saw thata tragedy had been enacted here, and he feared the worst. Then he stumbled over a body buried in the grass. Asigh of relief parted his lips as he noted the large shaggy head and harsh features. He had feared lest his eyes should light upon a fairer face. Only that one body did he find; the mangled corse of the dwarf, Little Billy. Yet he could see where others had fallen, by the matted and gory grass, that still retained the impress of the bodies. For an hour or more he quartered the prairie, but the sign was hard to reac by the uncertain moon- light, and he was but little the wiser when he re- traced his steps to the basin. And there he waited and watched until Morgan’s return, with a number of Vigilantes. Others had been sent for. Before daydawn the entire settlement would be afoot. And before sunrise the trap was set, and the searchers at work, CHAPTER XI. VULTURE AND COYOTE. Yus, Little Billy was dead, had died fighting des- pee in the vain hopé of saving the two maidens ‘from falling into the clutches of the prairie coyotes, the Kickapoos. Undaunted by the score of enemies who sprung up around him as his revolver spoke the death-knell of the foremost brave, Little Billy faced them with nesinch ig courage, his pistols rapidly detonating, carrying death with every bullet. The a rass around him was crushed flat by the ‘alling forms. Uttering their blood-curdling death- shrieks, the savages fell, quivering, writhing, pluck- ing and tearing at the stiff grass that was now dampened and dyed crimson with their hearts’ blood. And the dwarf stood there, bold, defiant, as yet unharmed. But then an irresistible rush was made, and after a brief, confused struggle, Little Billy went down be- fore the weight of numbers. Then the writhing mass arose. .But Little Billy lay motionless. e@ was His body bled from a hundred wounds. It eared to take this; that would too plainly proclaim the authors of the tragedy, and they were ‘at peace.” ry May and Eunice had been eye-witnesses of this tragedy, spell-bound with horror, unable to take ad- vantage of the terrible confusion to flee, as they might have done. _ Now, as the savages drew back from the quiver- ing, mangled corpse, that had once been Little Billy, one brave, bleeding from a bullet-wound through his face, discovered them as they crouched down in the prairie-grass. Uttering a shrill sereech of malignant rage, he leaped forward, winding one hand in the flowing tresses, uplifting a blood-drip- ping knife, its point threatening May’s bosom. With a faint ery she sunk back, her eyes closing in expectation of immediate death. The grasp tightened upon her hair. and she was pastialty lifted to her feet; but the blow did not descend. A stalwart savage leaped forward, alighting be- side the wounded brave, and with a single powerful blow of his clinched fist. sent him reeling away, to fall at full length on the ground. Then this savage stood over the two pale-faced maidens, with drawn knife and hatchet, waving back the savage braves that pressed around, their weapons ready, their faces distorted, their eyes glowing with the thirst for blood. “Back!” this man thundered in the tongue of the Kickapoo. ‘These squaws belong to Bad-Wolf. ‘The knife that touches them must first pass through the heart of your chief.” For a moment it seemed as though this command would not be heeded. The uplifted weapons quiv- ered and glanced in the pale, silvery rays of the moon, The savages cast a rapid glance around over the ghastly, motionless forms of their dead comrades, that, in their distorted features and limbs, seemed ca! aloud for ven ce, From. these, back to the tall, commanding form of Shika- _ chetish, as he stood over the crouching, trembling, half-fainting women, his ed flashing back their defiance, his weapons uplif in readiness for the collision that seemed impending. But then the braves seemed to remember their al- legiance, and as their weapons slowly sank, they drew back, cowed by the undaunted courage of Shika-chetisb. For the time at least the pale-faced maidens were safe. Yet the chief kept close beside them, his eye watchful, his hand ready. Even betterthan they he realized their peril. He knew that the vengeance of the Kickapoos was only partiall —— Four of their comrades had taken up the long trail lead-’ ing tothe happy sae and there was. only the spirit of one pale-face to light them along the way. Why Bad-Wolf had resolved ater Pp - tecting the women he could scarcely have told him-* self. In the dim moonlight he had not recognized them; nor was.it probable that he would do s0, since. he had not met with either of them for over two ears—not since they first left Barrett’s for board- ing-school at Leavenworth, and these two years had wrought a { change in them. Fearing the result should the settlers discover that the Sere ated had committed this deed, Shilka- chetish gave directions for his braves to gather u their dead and obliterate all traces that could 5 The body of away from pe 29 several of their number com- ing after the n they coukl. Had Little Billy been less hasty in his action, this eral valuable \ taking their trail, the latter had followed it far, when they noticed several forms advan long kk face rose before Litty Billy in f
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' blood-stains from view. them!” gasped May _poo’s feet, her hands cl witha a. dread of the future. av Black John, the Road-Agent. 29 outlaws, who had discovered them. Thus assaulted, the Kickapoos thought only of revenge. Otherwise they would have allowed the fugitives to pass them by in ce, as they were averse to gaining the ill- will of the settlers more than they had already by their slightly enigmatical behavior upon the Twin Mounds, a week previously. As they journeyed along, Sbika-chetish grew more and more uneasy. He could not help but notice the bitter, revengeful ce of the braves, more es- cially those bea’ ng their dead comrade, directed ward the pale-faces. He heard too the deep mut- terings, the balf-audible threats, not alone against the captives, but toward any who should so far for- get their creed as to shield those whose hands were red with Kickapoo blood. He heard this and did not dare rebuke the discontents. Though as brave and daring a man as eyer lived, where bodily dan- ger alone was concerned, Shika-chetish had one eat fear. The main body of the Kicka had en making overtures to the band under his chief- tainship, to unite once more with them. Should they do so, Bad-Wolf would be but a sub-chief, while now he was a king. While this matter was unsettled, he must bow more or less to the will of his braves, lest they should decide against him and return to their former tribal allegiance. He felt almost certain that his braves would demand that Pro tint ely for the captives they were not obliged to go) ther on foot, Somethree miles from the sp f their capture, a second portion of the band was joined. ese had charge of the horses, that would only have been an incumbrance to the savages while trailing their foes by moonlight. May and Eunice were mounted upon horseback, with a warrior riding close upon either hand, as though to guard against any attempt at escape. Fetching up the rear were several braves in charge of the dead. Each corpse was securely bound upon its animal, in an u nig t position, with its blanket flung over its head, hiding the staring features and e captives cast only one glance backward; the strange and unearthly sight of the dead men riding so st along in their rear filled them with horror and a wild longing to rush for- ward at headlong speed—anything to escape that ghastly escort, The sun had already risen*when the party rode into the temporary village of the Kicapoos. And here again the maidens were compelled to undergo a trying ordeal. As the dead braves were noticed, a wail of grief and woe went up from the squaws and pappooses, quickly succeeded by a deadly yell of vengeance as the pale-faces caught their atten- tion. And then a desperate rush was made for the cuptives, With difficulty the braves forced back the infuriated hae, who seemed to pay no attention to the eg be lows, even woun‘is, their lords and masters dealt them, intent only upon sacrificing the white squaws to the manes of their dead braves. Panting, trembling, half-fainting, May and Eu- nice found themselves at length in the skin tent of Shika-chetish, who still their shield. But his brow darkened and grew more troubled as he lis- tened to the tumult in the village without, the yell- ing, wailing and screeching of the squaws; he knew that at any moment the voices of his braves might ie a the chorus, when even his life would be in a . “Save us—for the love of God! save us from Howard, sinking at the Kicka- her voice trembling “You hear dat? You hear what brave, squaw, pappoose all ba Shika-chetish only one man— you must die!” Sullenly returned the chief, scowl- | We are goin; ing derply; as he heard a loud shout come from tho lips of his warriors. Then he sprung to the lodge-door and peered eagerly forth. He had understood the meaning of the shout. A body of horsemen was rapidly bearing down upon the village. For one moment he was in doubt; then his face lightened and a shrill whistle broke from his lips. Still obedient, his warriors flocked to a common center, their weapons in order. Yet they did not seem to by age danger, though i horsemen continued to approach at a steady gallop, From the foremost came a single cry; it was the yell of Black John, the Road-Agent. Shika-chetish promptly replied, and then the vagabond chief and the notorious outlaw met and clasped hands like tried and warm friends. Yet neither trusted the other further than he was absolutely obliged to. “Well, chief,’ said Black Jobn, glancing keenly around, speaking in the Kickapoo tongue, for Shika- chetish was not very expert in the use of the English language, its intricacies proving too much for his gut ural tongue; ‘‘ how have matters gone since I’ve een away?” “Bad! was the impressive reply, ‘very bad! The pale-faces are growing stronger and more inso- lent. They think these prairies are all their own. The Kickapoos have not room to breathe in peace. far away, toaland where the game is more plenty and not so wild.” “Tsee you have been in trouble,” added Black John, keenly eying the stark bodies still lying out in the open air, surrounded by wailing squaws. “What does this‘mean? I thought you were at ace. What does this mean?” Bad-Wolf hesitated for a moment. He was tempt- ed to tell a lie; to declare that this was the result of a battle with some of the roving Indian bands. And porns had he known the entire truth, he would ave done so. For he did not suspect that the Road-Agent was in any manner connected with the pale-faced captives within his tent. But be conclud- ed to tell the truth, and did so, briefly. ‘‘Where was this? Who were they?” eagerly de- manded Black John, strongly agitated. ‘* Who was with the white squaws?” “A little boy-man, with a head like a buffalo-bull. A devil to fight—as you can see. His one arm laid these braves low, before we could kill him.” “Little Billy!” hoarsely cried Black John,as he turned and made a gesture to his men, “Chief, you are vying. to deceive me—to throw dust in my eyes! ‘These squaws are mine—you stole them away from my men at the hole in the prairie!” Shika-chetish stared at the outlaw in mute amaze- ment, as though he did not comprehend Black John’s words, But then an angry glitter came into his eyes, and he yl “You say that I have a forked tongue. That is a lie. I do not fear to speak the truth to either friend orenemy, And since you speak of deceit, where are the horses you promised me for netping you at the Two Brothers? I made my part of the bargain good; did you? No! rode off in the night, gee my horses; and now you come here and say that I lie!” ‘Captain, I see the girls peeking at us from yon- rhe e,” whispered Limber Dick, at Black John's elbow. “Wait—keep the boys ready. We may have to fight these devils,” muttered the outlaw; then turning once more to the chief: ‘was wrong, Bad- Wolf, and I ask your pardon. I was mad, and didn’t know what I said. But this boy-man was one of those I left in charge of my captives at the den. ar must have bribed him to help them escape. If thatis so, and you killed him, I thank you for it. He was a traitor; it saves me the trouble of egy 3 him. But these white ws—let me see hem, they are the ones I think, they must go with me. If not, they are yours.” A sullen muttering ran around the line of Kicka-
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30 Black John, the Road-Agent. poos. They were scowling deeply, and preparing their weapons, as though burning for a collision. Black John made a rapid gesture. Like magic each of the Road-Agents held a revolver, cocked and ready in either hand. Between_the two parties stood Shika-chetish, irresolute. He knew his an- tagonists, and felt that victory, if gained_at all, must be accompanied by frightful loss. Waving back his braves, he said: “Tt may be as you say. I know nothing of that. T only know that you promised meso many horses fora piece of work. did it; now where are the horses?” ‘Here—and they are yours, if you will give up the white squaws. If not, then you must fight for them,” was the bold reply. The Kickapoos glanced at each other, and seemed impressed. It was not every day that they gained such a prize; and besides, there might be danger in sacrificing the squaws. ‘The settlers were already suspicious. ; , Bad-Wolf read this decision, and like a good gen- eral, gave in. Striding to the lodge, he dragged forth the trembling captives, saying: “TLook—are these your squaws?" “Yes!” cried Black John and Limber Dick, in a breath, “Then they are yours—when you give me the horses,” was the business-like reply. “Come with us to the den, and you can have them then. It is a long ways to walk,” hesitated Black John. We are going faraway. Give us the horses it, Gap,” muttered Limber Dick, “The animals would only leave a trail that might elegy. us. We can easily raise fresh ones from the set- tlers,”’ “Save us! for the love of God! do not give us up tothat villain!’ gasped May, shrinking back in ter- ror. “Horses worth heap more than squaws,” coolly returned the chief. Shrinking with terror, they strove to flee, but with one bound, the Road-Agents secured them. Half-fainting, they sunk helpless into the strong arms. omg the Vulture and the Coyote laughed diaboli- cally, CHAPTER XII. THE TRAP SPRUNG. Aut was still in the ‘ basin,” though hearts were beating and eyes flashing with eager anticipation as the Vigilantes crouched down amidst the under- growth, their rifles cocked and ready for use the moment Curly Tostivan should give the signal. Half an hour before the lookouts posted upon the ridge brought word that a number of footmen were approaching the retreat. Curly at once stole out to reconnoiter, and made out, that they were the band of Black John, and that they had May Howard and Eunice Lee with them as captives. Without bother- ing his mind trying to account for their being dis- “mounted, Curly ‘hastened back to the man-trap. He was now standing beside Ed. Ware, a revolver ready to remind the outlaw of the duty expected of him. To save his life, Ware had agreed to decoy the road-agents into the trap. - He knew the agreed- upon signals, without which being answered, Black John would not venture within. The signals were made and answered. Black John nay: advanced. Between him and Limber Dick walked May and Eunice, jaded and worn by the long march that had lasted from morn until nearly sunset. ; ? As the Road-Agents drew nearer, Curly Tostivan made Kent Morgan a signal, The young man, fol- lowed by a half-dozen sturdy men—and among them the redoubtable Frank Kershaw—dropped into the creek, emerging from the basin on the opposite side from that where the outlaws approached. This object was to gain the rear of the Road- Agents, and thus be enabled to cut off the retreat of such among them as survived the first springing of the trap. This bright afternoon was to see the ut- ter destruction of Black John’s notorious band of depredators. “Hello! there-—Dutch Bill!” cried out Black John, pausing at alittle distance as though for the first time suspecting something wrong. “Answer him—an’ mind how ye do it!’’ mut- ee Curly, as his pistol was pressed against Ware's side, ‘ “ Hello, Cap—-what’s up?” “Ts allsafe? Where’s the rest of the boys? did you manage to lose these girls?” ¥ “ts a long story, but we kin clear our skirts. sae big news, too; better come on in,” returned vare. Black John seemed satisfied and advanced, “Leave them two to Leigh an’ me,” muttered Curly, in a tone barely audible to the Vigilantes around him. “ When I fire, you plug t’other; ready, Abram?” A nod pa! and then Curly glanced along the dark tube of death, its silver drop bearing full upon the narrow strip of white forehead left bare by the slouched hat worn by Black John. A pressure of tho finger—and the death-knell was sounded. Without a groan Black John reeled, tossing his arms aloft, then fell heavily forward, a blue, dis- colored spet between the eyes marking where tho bullet had entered the brain. ‘ And amid*the death-hail that hurtled go thickly around him, Limber Dick stood unscathed, one hand clutching Eunice Lee. Giant Abram hal drawn a bead upon his heart, but the settler’s rifle missed fire. And then—with the shrieks and agonized groans of his fellow-comrades, with the wild, exultant yells of the Vigilantes, both in the basin and those under Kent Morgan who now leaped up from the tall grass in the rear of the Road-Agents; with all this around him, Limber Dick did not lose his presence of mind. Gait as thought he flung one arm around Eunice, drawing her close to his breast, while his right hand clutched a long knife, the keen point resting upon her bosom. 1" ** Hold!” he cried, his clear voice ringing like a clarion note, a sneer of derisive contempt worn in the moment of dread peril playing around his lips. “The first move you make will be the death of this girl. True, you.can shoot me, but you can’t kill me so instantly but that I will have time to drive this knife home to her heart,”’ “Don’t shoot, boys!’’ cricd Curly anxiously “What do you want, anyhow? Don’t be adurned fool, man!” F 4 “Thank you—I think I am acting very sensibly, indeed, What doI want? My life, of course. I’m not yearning for death—nor do I suppose'this lady is. Still, if you kill me, hig kill her also, Pledge mo your honor that you will give me one hour's start, and I will free her. Then you may cotch me—if you can,” coolly added Limber Dick. : “Let me talk with the boys fu’st,” said Cur- How ly. “« All right—but no treachery, for—"” That was the last word Limber Dick ever spoke. A slender form puaay, arose behind him, and clutching his knife-hand, wrenched the arm far back from the maiden’s breast. At the same instant there was a smothered revort—a tiny puff of smoke and be asnarling cry, Limber Dick fell dead to the ground, “Furra! Bully for Kershaw!” yelled Curly, lea: ing forward in ecstasy. ose It was indeed Frank Kershaw who had performed this bold and adroit deed. He had crept throagh the grass and gained the rear of Limber Dick, unob- served, nerved to sete aes doubtless, by the im- minent peril of Eunice, whose beauty and wit had made a deep impression on I'rank’s heart. ‘
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Black John, the Road-Agent, There is little more to be added save what the reader’s imagination car. readily supply. The safe return of their children turned the scale in favor of Thomas Howard and his wife. Both were well and hearty at the double wedding that oc- eurred on Christmas Eve of the same year. Maurice Clyde, the detective, the same who has been known as Kent Morgan in these pages—wedded May, the black-eyed. And Eunice, of the golden loeks, took Frank Kershaw for better or worse, finding him much better than might be expected from the part he has played in these pages, but that one act of boldness by which he rescued his future wife, great- ly altered Frank, and he is no longer the gasconad- ving braggart of doubtful courage. ~~ ‘The ‘ Outlaw’s Retreat,’ or prairie sink, still ex- ists. 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