Beadle's Pocket Library (no. 385) (1891 05 27)
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Entered as Second Clasa Matter at the New York, N. Y., Post Office, May 27, 1891, No 885 82.50 Published Weekly by Beadle and Adams, Pric Vol, XXX ' ' ] . . e, a Year. No. 98 WinLIAM St, New Yorx. Five —s THE BOY TRAMPS. BY J. M. HOFFMAN. ° JACK WAS A SPLENDID PLAYER, AND NOW, ANIMATED BY THE THOUGHT THAT-HE MUST PLEASE THE GIPSIES, THE YOUNG MUSICIAN TRAMP SURPRISED EVEN ANDY BY HIS SEILL,
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7 ' 4 a CNS Ey ge net ee ® The Boy Tramps; The Roughs of Demon Hollow. BY J. M. HOFFMAN, CHAPTER L THE LITTLE’ MUSICIAN, Tank of a meadow with a path running through it diagonally, the meadow surrounded by a haw- thorn hedge. and the path winding in and out among beds of wild roses, stretches of clover and strips of velvet lawn. Think, then, of a rude stile at the end of the path, of a big oak tree bending over it, of a ragged urehin standing on it, of a pair of large brown eyes glancing from the tall grass a little way off, of a handful uttercups and daisies, of a blue sky and opaline afmosphere, such as are known only in Kentucky on a bright morning in June. Thin of all these, I say, then look at that large white house, with its many gables and verandas, standing at the other end of the path, and you have the picture just as it was on that bright June morning more than twenty years ago. “The home of some farmer swell,” said the urchin in rags, as he glanced deflantly at the large white house. “I wonder if there’s a dog about that would be likely to invite™ feller to leave if he should cross the meadow. I'm ‘fraid of dogs.” Such a piratical looking little rascal as was this boy! He might have been fifteen years of age, bub he looked younger. His eyes were blue, his hair was flaxen, his face was brown, and his garments, which included the hat which sat rakishly on his head, looked as though they had undergone a state of siege. His occupation—if such it may be called —was that of a roving musician, as evinced by the greasy violin which he held against his breast and over which his fingers moved occasionally. He gave his hat a turn that made it look even more rakish than before, touched the strings of his violin softly, and again turned his eyes on the large farm-house across the field. A moment he stood there in silence, inhaling the perfume of the meadow, then he said: “This is a lovely morning, just the kind I’ve read about in them big love yarns in the papers where the gal and the feller get hitched at the end. I think I never saw the sun shine quite so bright as it does now, nor heard the birds sing so lovely, nor looked at a prettier stretch of lawn; and, come to think of it, [believe I never was so hungry afore as Tam now. Somehow, a feller feels just as hungr on a bright day as on any other, or when the birds sing or the roses bloom. It’s all very queer. But Imust rustle about now. If [ thought there wasn’t a dog over by that house, I’d go to the door and lay bs and maybe they’d give me something eat, While he was speaking the brown eyes had come out of the grass, and presently a little girl, a head shorter than the boy, stood at the other end of the stile, looking sharply at him. “ You are the raggedest boy I ever saw,” she said, suddenly, even before the boy knew she was there. “And { may add, the hungriest,” qnickly replied the boy, turning his blue eyes on her. “ What sort of a daisy are you, anyhow?” “ Better leave before Black Tom sets the dogs on ag suggested the girl, with a significant look at e house. - ‘Tow many are there of ’em?’’ anxiously inquired the boy. “Five; and they are all good ones,” * And who’s Black Tom?” ‘ “Why, he’s Black Tom; that’s all.” . “and would he set all them big dogs on as hungry a boy as I am” asked the little musician. The Boy Tramps. “Are you & hungry boy?’ and the brown eyes opened wide, “Well, should say so, I haven't had enough tu eat lately to keep me out of mischief,” Pe girl ee “You won’t steal anything if I take you up to the ope will you?” she naked, looking re little doubt- “Not a thing.” “ Nor talk mean to anybody ?”” “No; I’m too hungry for that.” “Then I'll take you along with me and some cold victuals,” said the girl. ““ But must Nid for me.” “Pl do that quick enough,” and the boy began to play a lively air, more rollicking and gay than any the girl had ever heard before. She looked on wonderingly and said nothing until the music ceased, when her brown eyes sparkled and she laughed. “T call that jolly. A boy that can’t play the fiddle don’t amount to much in my opinion.” _ This was the first compliment the lad had received in a long while, and it elevated him in his own esti- mation wonderfully. In facet, he forgot all about the “ cold victuals,” and played tune after tune, every one of which was listened to with manifestations of great delight by the little girl. “You called me the raggedest boy in the world, a while ago,” presently he said, as he turned the strings of the violin to his breast; “‘ ‘twas awful mean in you!’ , “But you are ragged,” insisted the girl, “and the Lord only knows who you are and what your name is. All that you are good for is to play the fiddle.” “Who are you, anyhow, that talks so big?” said the boy sharply. “Me? why, | am one of the Templetons.” “ And the Templetons—” “ Are rich’people, and live in that big white house over there, with lots of servants handy, and an iron fence, and five savage dogs in the back-yard, and plenty of cold victuals for beggars.” * You are some, and that’s a fact!’ said the boy, ** Which of the ve you rst you touching the rim of his ragged hat. Templetons are you?” “I'm Gipsy.” “Gipsy Templeton. I don’t call that bad; in fact, I rather like it, for it. sounds like my sort 0’ people— people who live in the streets. How old are you, bite le rat?’ “Pm ten years old; and I’m no little rat, either, and don’t you call me that again or I'll have Black Tom set the dogs on you, for all you pay so well. Is there such a thing as a big nasty boy like you having a name? Inyoluntarily the Jad tried to conceal the numer- ous apertures in his garments; then, conscious of a terrible set 40 he replied: “My name is Jack—there’s nothing hilched to it; jes’ Jack. I’m all alone—me an’ my violin.” “ And haven't you any place to go when you're tired and hungry?” asked the girl, the brown eyes opening wide. “No, not here,” answered the boy. “When I’m in the city, there’s an old whisky barrel that I sleep in 0’ nights; it’s on the wharf near a pile 0’ lumber, and the ‘ sag ’ don’t know anything about it. I go there when I'm tired; I’m allers hungry.” The little musician was evidently a young charac- ter from the city; who knew very little about the ways of country life. In fact, this ‘was his first. experience—if such it may be called—outside of a ee city or town, he having been brought up to play the violin in the streets and earn money thereby. His whole life, so far back as he could remember, had been that of a street niusician. True, he would occasionally have visions of some- reg tes bere his present life, a sort of disclosure that he had not always been so miserable, a faint
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_ Were standing. The Boy Tramps. 3 rememprance of loving faces and kind voices, 60 un- like what he was accustomed to now; but these re- flections would be but womentary, and then the wretchedness of his Itfe as a strolling street musician would be the more apparent. “Yes, I’m pretty much all alone,” went on the boy, “‘and I haven't got many friends, that’s a fact. You see, I’ve run away from home.” “ What; the whisky barrel?” “No; I didn’t live there all the time. I had a boss, and a bad one he was. I couldn’t stand to be thrashed and kicked around so much, solleft. There were other boys with him, and three of us ran away.” “What was the man’s name?” asked Gipsy, al- ways a little curious. *‘Wernando Columbus,” replied Jack. fae I’ve heard of him before,” said the little irl. ST guces not,” said Jack. “Well, I have.” ** Where?” ~ “In my eet “Ohg well, that’s another Columbus; he’s the cha) that discovered America, I believe. Well, my Col- umbus ain’t norelation of his. My Columbus is the meanest man you ever knew; he’s thrashed me more times than I’ve got‘fingers and toes. Let me tell you how he looks. Fre is a little man, withan awfullong nose, and blind of one eye; and then he is very dark, black hair, and swarthy face. He’s a frightful look- ing man, 1 think.” 3 * And you lived with him until just a little while _ ago?’ said Gipsy. “ Yes; iY: oe and then me and two other fellers skipped ut. — who told you to come here?” questioned the r “He's dead too. Oh! I had awful luck. It wasn’t for the fiddler that I cared so much, but the boy with the harp; I couldn’t spare him, but he went off and got killed, all the same; fell into a beer vat, and was rowned, This happened the same day the other boy was killed, and somehow it made me feel kind o’ nervous for myself, and then everybody looked at meso. I was known, I was spotted, and that night when I went to the circus, the clown said, asa sort of a joke, you know, pointing at me: ‘It’s your turn next;’ and then there was a big laugh, and I sneaked out and took to the fields, and have been going ever since, and here I am.” There was & short silence, then Gipsy, seizing the boy by the arm, looked up in his face and said: You've had lots of trouble, and I wonder that you are alive. Come, let’s go to the house and I'll give you all the cold th you can eat, and then you can play for me and tell me some more big arns. Ithink, as Uncle Ned says, you can lie ‘as ‘ast as a horse can trot.’” The boy was about to make some tart reply, when there was a shout from some one across the field, and the next moment a number of horses, hotly pur- sued by a tall negro man, dashed into the field, and whirling and capering about, finally took a straight shoot for the stile on which our two young friends The African did not follow them, but bes my satisfied, pe reenS ie a ta ; ive an. ig fora ride,” spoke up the little mansicisn. as the hoses came swiftly on. “Tnever was on a horse’s back in my life. It must be a lot of fun. Are they tame?”’ “*Yes,”’ replied ger. **You may ride the spotted pony if you wish.to, {me hold your violin while you catch him. His name is Crimple.” Gipsy laughed softly to herself as the boy slyly approached the At cabot docile creature, for she knew that, with all his quiet ways, Crimple was the most vicious nag on the place. Nearly every negro on the plantation had tried to ride him, but he in- variably managed to shake them off, and go on his way with his heels in the air. “Climb right on,” said Gipsy, as Jack took the pony by the mane, This was more than Jack could do from the ground, so he led the horse to the stile, and after a little fone se sae ee succeeded in getting on him. “Tam here,” he said, looking at Gipsy and laugh- ing; but there was no certainty of his being any- where in about a minute, for a second later, away went the horse, mane flying, heels in the air, first one way, then another, a mad clattering of hoofs, and the next moment.the boy went off headforemost and was buried in the tall grass. Clapping her hands, Gipsy ran toward him. * Jack, Jack!” she shouted, bending over him. But Jack did not answer; he did not hear her; he lay on his back with his eyes closed. She caught hold of hisarm and tried to pull him to his feet, but he fell back and groaned. Then, frightened almost out of her senses, the little girl started back, screamed, and, turning, fled swiftly away. CHAPTER IL. JACK FINDS HIMSELF CORNERED. “Dare’s something wrong wid dem hosses, I knows,” remarked Black Tom, a tali negro, with a very whitehead. ‘I ’clude dey’s had too much fod- der lately an’ not ‘nuff work. I say, you, Aunt Jane, whar am yer?” “Yas, I hyr ye,” and a woolly head, partly covered by a red handkerchief, appeared at the window. ‘* What fo’ yo’ stan’ dare gapin’ like a big fool nig- ah? Don’t yo’ see dare’s trouble in dé meadow? *d jes’ like ter break ebbry bone in yer body.” The old darky walked away grumbling. Every- thing appeared all right in the field, and he did not see the use of walking half,a mile or so for nothing, Nevertheless he went thé full length of the path and was returning, still talking to himself, when he heard a groan which sounded only a few steps away. “De rim ob de shadow,” exclaimed the African, poetically and mysteriously. ‘“I’clude at once dat somebody hab been murdered.” Jack still lay on his back when the negro found him, and though no blood was visible on the leaves or grass, and no marks of any kind to show that he was injured, still he was unconscious. It required only three or four lusty shouts from Black Tom to bring acrowd of people to the spot, and among those who were attracted thus, was Mr, John Templeton, sole proprietor of the plantation, He was a fine looking man of about forty years of be strange man in some respects, but very easant withal. He was a widower, and Gipsy was = his only child. He owned a small plantation, with a few negroes, and not being of a very active temper- ament, took the world easy, living principally among his books. As for Gipsy, he bothered himrelf very little about her, only saw that all her wants were supplied, that she did not fall into dire trouble, and, most of all, that she did not intrude herself on him when he was busy. “The boy seems to be injured,” he said, bending over the prostrate form. ‘‘Who knows anything about him?” Black Tom came forward and began to tell his story, but as he did not appear to know any more about the case than his master, the latter stopped him with the remark:
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ap 4 The Boy Tramps. What a simple old fool you are, Tom. Ill war- rant you've been fast aslcepall the morning. Stand aside and give Aunt Jane a chance to tell what she knows about it.” s A stout old wench with a shiny face and a red tur- ban on her head, elbowed her way through the crowd, and began to speak. “Tknows all "bout it,’ she said, with a contemptu- ous look at her black companions. “I'’sede on’y brack pussun on de plantation what’s ob any earthly con- sequence. I sees de boy when all de res’ war’ sleep, an’ he war jes agwyne like de wind on de spotted ck hoss. I reckon he was tryin’ to run ‘way wid dat pony mighty bad.” me ah “That will do,” interrupted Mr. Templeton, who had heard enough to satisfy him that the boy was one of a gang of horse-thieves, who were just then prowling about the country. “Tried to get off with one of my best horses, did he? _By my soul, I think we've caught a precious bird. I haye half a mind to let him die where he is. It wouldn’t be exactly right, though, but, anyway, I'll make an example of him, and a good one too, when he recovers.” . An hour later, when Jack returned to conscious- ness, he found himself on a rude bed in a low room, le a@ tall man dressed in black, bending over im, “The whisky barrel has changed somewhat since I've been gone,” he muttered, looking around the room in a dazed sort of way; ‘‘and then again there's something queer about the place. I wonder what’s the matter, anyhow.” “Don’t ’sturb yerself, chile,’ said old Aunt Jane, who was at his side in an instant. ‘You'll know whar ye am arter ‘while, sure nuff. ‘Pears like dese hoss-thieves nebber tumble so as ter butt out dere brains. Now ef it had been a nico young man what fell from de hoss he’d ’a’ been killed, suh. But dis fellah ‘ll get well, an’ keep on stealin’, I reckon, jes’ though nuffin had happen’d, Don’t you tink dat’s *bout so, Massa John? She turned her black eyes on the master of the ouse, who still stood with arms folded looking at the little sufferer. “Tt isa good deal as you say, Aunt Jane,” he re- marked, slowly; “these horse-thieves and other miscreants seem to escape accident almost miracu- lously. This one is only slightly injured, bowever, It’s too bad—” “ Jes’ what I say, Massa John,” interrupted the old woman; ‘it’s too bad dey don't kill demselves on de spot.” : “T didn’t say that, Jane, you vicious wench!” ex- claimed John Templeton, angrily. ‘ Isay it’s too bad these people can’t be reformed. Now, this boy looks bright enough, but*no doubt he’s as full of wickedness as he can hold. I’ve been very easy with these miscreants, but if I don’t make an ex- ample of this one then I deserve to lose every horse on the place.” He said this, and turning. left the room. He had been gone about a minute when Aunt Jane began: “ft beats de ol’ dickens what dese young chaps willdo, Isay, boy!” “* Well, old woman?” ‘Don't you call me ole woman, ye good-fo’-nuflin rascal,” - “‘ Never strike a feller when he is down,” said the boy coolly; ‘that’s what I’ve allers been taught.” “You's a mis’able little rascal, dat’s what you am!" spluttered the negress. ‘Jes’ tole me yer nae, yo’ little sinner.” “Wind out what it is, if you can,’ said Jack, try- ing to sit upin bed, “I don’t feel very bright just now. What is the meaning of all this?” “Tt means dat you’s gwine ter jail for boss-steal- in’,” replied the old woman, “ Jes’ you wait.” “That's about all I can do now, old lady,” eau Jack, turning over in bed. “Oh, what a mble I had!” - Why didn’t ve stick on de hoss, den, an’ git away?" ; i T wasn't trying to get away. All I wanted wasa ride. ** An’ you got it.” / “Yes, and a cracked head too. Iwish I had never seen this place. Where is that confounded little girl that made such a fool of me?” The old negro woman started. **Yo' don’t mean Gipsy, do ye?” “Yes, Gipsy.’” “Well, yo don’t want to say any cuss-wo’ds ’bout Gipsy, fo’ she’s de angel ob de house, What yo’ know ‘bout de leetle gal?” ‘ ag ae only that she played me an awful bad rick ” “ Jes’ ’splain.” Ina few words Jack told the old negress how he had been induced to ride the spotted pony, and the eau result thereof. And he added, speaking of Gipsy: “T don’t think much of her, though she is awful pretty and nice like, but she played me such a bad trick, Why ain’t she around here somewhere, I'd like to know?” The door of the cabin opened at this moment, and Mr. Templeton came into the room. Jack did not know the man, of course, but suspected that he was the master of the place and Gipsy’s father. He spoke at once: “TI guess I've given you some trouble,* he said, “T am very sorry.” “You have reason to be, you young rascal. Are you much hurt?” “Pye got an awful head on me,” replied Jack: ‘it feels as big as two heads, just about. I'm all right every other way. I wasn’t going to steal your horse, sir—I truly wasn’t.” “} don’t know about that,” and Mr, Templeton looked somewhat unbelieving, Jack thought the better plan would be to explain matters at once, so he began to tell Mr, Templeton all that had happened—how he had encountered Gipsy at the stile, how he had played for her, and finally how, by her consent and encouragement, he had mounted the spotted pony and received the fall that took away his senses for the time being and placed him in the hands of those who now held him a prisoner. ‘ Just like my Ginsy,” said Mr. Templeton to him- self as Jack concluded; “she is forever getting her- self or somebody else into trouble. Perhaps I had best. be a little more strict with her, Iam really at a loss to know what to do with her.” Tt bothers me more to know what to do with me,” spoke up Jack, who the last remark. At this moment Black Tom came into the room, holding in his hand what seemed to be a battered and broken violin. peat “Dis tells de hul aie he said, swinging the broken instrument on high. ‘Dis am all dat am lef’ ob a one’t noble instrument ob harmony.” ; “A violin,” said Mr. Templeton. : **One ob de hosses hab stepped on it,’ remarked Aunt Jane. “Mashed all to splinters,” said the old white- haired negro. » There was a horrified look in Jack’s face as he saw the condition of his violin, and he stretched out his hands to grasp it. “ Give it to me!” he cried. Black Tom did so. i With staring eyes Jack surveyed the broken in- ‘ou are ad overheard strument, then le sunk down on the bed with a ‘oan. oar. Templeton’s heart was touched. He knew that this instrument was the boy’s only capital, that he earned his bread by its use. . “Never mind, Jack,” he said. ‘‘I'll replace it for ou.”* vee Will you?” and Jack started up, his eyes bright- ening. ** Yes; only tell me what has become of Gipsy. I oing
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! ne have a notion she has got herself into other trouble somewhere. Lreally can’t keep track of her. Where is she now, I wonder?” “T can’t tell you,”’ said Jack. There was little doubt at first that Gipsy would soon come around all right, but as the hours flew by and she came not, Mr, Templeton became uneasy, and at length thorough! ly alarmed, “We must find her,” he said; ‘‘she may have been injured by one of those vicious horses.” “Whar shall we look?” asked Black Tom, starting for the door. is “The meadow first, and then the woods,” replied Mr. Tenrpleton. As many as cient persons in all began the search, which lasted until long after mid-day, when all re- turned, reporting that no trace of the little girl could be found. Then all was excitement. From mouth to mouth it went that Gipsy was lost. Hurried preparations were made, horses were saddled, guns brought out, and, for a while, all was bustle and confusion. es able-bodied person in the place was ready to join in the search. “Ye ain’t a-goin’ to let this thieving young rascal jine in with us, are ye?” said the overseer of the yuestation, a villainous-looking man by the name of en. He had reference to Jack, at whom he turned his wicked eyes in more than one sinister scowl. Bill Allen was known to be one of the meanest meu in that part of the State. He was brutal in his nature, corrupt in principle, and utterly devoid of anything like humanity and gentlemanly instinets. Those who were under his authority hated him, and all such feared him as well. “Ye don’t know anythin’ about this lad,” he con- tinued, turning to Mr, Templeton; “and PH wager my hat ag’in’ a gooseberry that he’s a thief. Ef I had my way about it I'd give him fifty lashes at once. Depend upon it he’s a bad one.” The words of the overseer put some strange thoughts into the head of Mr. Templeton. Perhaps this boy was a thief; perhaps he was even now planning some scheme, in conjunction with other | rogues, to rob the house that very night. There was | no feline what might be in the mind of the boy. An@then perhaps he knew more about Gipsy’s ab- sence than he wished to tell. “T know something about these roving Italians,” he said, half to himself, and half aloud; ‘“‘and they area hard set, What if this boy is one of a large gang of these | ao and Gipsy has been stolen!”’ The thought made Mr. Templeton shudder. He epee to look upon Jack as a suspicious character, etter chuck him in the stone jug over thar until | we find the little one,” suggested the overseer. “‘ A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush,’ you know, and if this little rascal Be out of sight once, that’s the last we ’ud see of him. Just turn him over tome; I'll fix him. I say, boy.” Jack was looking rather pale; he had a large band- axe around his head, and he limped considerably. He had just stepped out the door of the cabin when Bill Allen accosted him: pte do you want?” he asked, not very pleas- antly. aS ft wagih to speak to you,” said Allen. “Well, drive along; I sha’n't object.” bis eh you, though? Wal, then, what Is yer name?’ “ Jack,” replied the boy, dryly. “Yes, I know; but who’s Jacki” “Why, Jack’s me.” “‘Confound you, I didn’t ask for that, Who are Lh] you, I say? “Sack, only Jack—that’s all of it.” he overseer grew livid with rage, and cursed and stormed terribly. Shaking his fist into the boy’s , he y : “Thave a notion to skin you alive with this whip. How dare you to talk so to me? Answer me—who 1 . , ' he Boy Tramps. 5 are you, an’ what are you doin’ here? What is your name “Tm Jack,” coolly said the boy; “I’m only a rov- in’ fiddler, but that’s no reason why you should talk to me like a dog.” This was more than the impulsive overseer could stand; he madea spring at Jack, and, seizing him by the shoulder, brought his heavy whip down on the poor boy’s face and head several times. Then, still whipping him, and swearing at every stroke of the whip, the burly brute dragged the poor boy to the “stone jug,” a low building used as a plantation jail, and thrust him in. “T reckon you'll stay thar awhile,” he growled, as he closed and locked the heavy door. “If I had my way about it, ’d cut you into mince-meat before sundown.” Jack felt that he was into cruel hands now, and also that he was a prisoner without any apparent hope of escape. “Tf I only had my fiddle with me,” he muttered, “T wouldn’t feel so bad about it; but asitis, I’m jus the most miserable boy in the world.” CHAPTER Id. JACK FINDS HIMSELF {N DIRE TROUBLE. Once alone in the jail, Jack felt that he was indeed a prisoner; to be free once more he would have given anything he possessed. There came over him such a homesick feeling, as he looked around the bare, dirty room, that he fairly groaned in his wretcHedness. “JT wish I had never left the city,’ he muttered half-inclined to give way to tears; then he brace himself up and continued, ‘I don’t care though, for I'm getting a mighty lot of experience.” He seated himself on the floor, and began to think; he thought of all that had happened, of the wild, roving life he was leading, and ot the future, which, indeed, looked gloomy enough, and the move he thought of these things the more disconsolate he became over his present position. Meanwhile, Mr. Templeton was urging a vigorous search for the little girl, Gipsy. All that afiernoon the able-bodied members of the /plantation were scouring the adjacent woods and fields in search of the missing girl. And all that night the search con- tinued; guns were fired, bells were rung, and even the dogs of the plantation joined in the search, ““ Gipsy, Gipsy, where are you?” This was the father’s pathetic ery all that night long. But the little girl.came not; neither did she hear the tumult that was being made in her behalf. For a full week longer the search for Gipsy was continued. Messages were sent in every direction, and every possible effort to find her was made. At the end of a week news came from a distant point on the river that the remains of a child had been found floating in the stream. Could it be Gipsy? The body was beyond recognition, it was so badly decomposed, but Mr. Templeton thought it might be the remains of his little girl, and the neighbors thought so.too, and so the search was discontinued, and the stricken father returned to his books. Not so Bill Allen, the overseer; he was not through with Jack, as the latter discovered through the ceaseless talk of Aunt Jane who visited at daily to bring him food and water. “Dey’li whip you tu def, jes’ as true as yo’ name am Jack,” was the constant remark of the old negress. One night Jack lay awake until near morning, thinking what to do. He knew that he was friendless, and almost hel less, and he believed that the wicked overseer, Bi Allen, had something dreadful in store for him, “T must get out of this,” he finally said, ‘even if © I have to knock somebody over to do it. 1 think I can dig a trench under the wall, if they’ll give me time enough to do it.” The thought was a good one, and if carried out, he ~ might escape.
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if I ly ba \ae te a 6 The Boy Tramps. = Tie begah work at once by tearing a board up from the floor. Then he cut the board into strips and flattened the ends as best he could, and commenced dis ging. He was a strong, active boy, and he made the dirt fly, and piled it up on either side in great piles, All day long he worked, and by evening the trench was under the wall and another hour’s labor would bring it to the surface on the other side. Aunt Jane brought bim his supper and kindly in- formed him that he would be publicly whipped the next day at noon. “1d rather be whipped now,” said Jack. “ Jes’ yo’ wait,” returned the old woman; “dere’ll be heaps ob fun when de whippin’ begins; an’ it’s gwyne ter come. So the boss, Massa Allen say, anyhow.” jomehow, Jack did not take the old wench’s words to heart so greatly as she thought he would, and she returned to the cabin crestfallen. One, two, three hours passed. Jack could not tell the time of night, but he thought it must be after midnight, for all noise had ceased about the plantation. He crawled into the trench and began to work, He scooped up the dirt and used his hands to throw it out. Once in a while he would stop and listen; some one might be near, he thought, and discover his plot to escape, Only a thin wall of earth was between him and liberty now. He worked vigorously, and finally felt the cool air against his face, and knew that a few strokes more would complete the work. A moment he waited and listened; he could hear nothing; everything was still; then he quietly crept out. Very much like a squirrel coming out of the ground, Jack popped out of the trench, head, body and feet. He thought no one saw him, but some one did; it was Black Tom, ; He had been to a religious meeting at a distant cabin, and was just passing the jail when he heard sounds as of some one digging in the earth. He stopped and listened, and his head began to sink down into his high collar, his hands went into the air, his eyes bulged out, as he saw a small form creep out from under the wall, and the next moment he knew nothing; for he was suddenly knocked head-over-heels to the ground. “T thought it was a post,” exclaimed Jack, scoot- in awhy flice mad, “ but I guess it was a nigger.” fe soon knew who and what it was, however, for Black Tom began to yell at the ve of his voice, and in a very short time the whole plantation was aroused, Once into the meadow Jack I:new which way to go to seach the woods. He had no time to contem- late his situation, but dashed along, and soon the Binck, jungle-like forest closed around him. i “They are after me, a big ‘lot o’ fellers,”’ he said, as a chorus of shouts came to him from the planta- tion buildings. Filled with a terrible dread, and yet thankful to be free, Jack plunged into the depths of the forest. He did not stop to listen or look around him, but hurried along as fast as his feet would carry him, oing deeper and deeper into the tangle of trees and rush and vines, until he thought he was surely be- yond discovery by his pursuers. : “They'll never find me here,’ he said, as he ceased runing and began to walk, but still ete from his long run; “but I'll make sure of it, and go deeper into the tangle.” ‘6 stopped short in his tracks, for at that moment there came te his ears a sharp cry like that of a child in distress. It was quite a distance away at first, but seemed to get nearer at every cry, and Jack thought surely it was the little girl Ps “If it is Gipsy,” he said, “how happy i be. I will take care of her and return her to her father at once. I know he would not harm me then.’ He started off in the direction of the ery, thinking he would soon have the little girl under his protec- tion, but before he had gone a great distance, he heard the cry again, this time only a few steps away, and so sharp and thrilling that he stopped i his tracks, a pa and almost speechless. It was surely not the cry of a child, he thought, but rather of a wild beast, which might tear him to scare the moment he encountered it; and yet again t might be a child, and that child Gipsy. Another sharp cry, from the tangle of trees and vines, satisfied Jack that some beast of prey was approaching him; and frightened at the thought, he turned and fled as fast as he could £0. And it was well that he did; for presently there sprung onto the branches of the tree near which he was standing a panther, than which there is no for- est inhabitant more to be dreaded, Jack did not know how near to death he had come, but to some extent he realized his danger, and it was more than an hour before he stopped running. Then the light began to break in the east, and he knew it was near morning; and forthe first time since he broke jail he felt hungry and tired. It grew light slowly, and as the sun came up, Jack began to feel the effects of hislong run. His limbs almost refused to support his body, and he experi- enced such a sense of fatigue that he could scarcely drag himself along. The situation was ee but pleasant. Still Jack did not lose heart. He hurried along, always hoping for the best. - Finally, about noon, he found himself in a low, marshy place, in which grew at least en acre of raspberry bushes bending with their luscious fruit, To Jack, hungry as he was, these rich, ripe berries looked wonderfully tempting; and as he devonred them, handful after handful, he thought he had never tasted anything half so good in all his life. After satisfying his hunger he continued his jour- ney, but dr and uncertainty were still wiih him, All the rest of that day he kept moving, until at length the shadows began to fall, and he could fairly feel the darkness coming down, Then came a new surprise, Through the dark foliage of the trees faintly glim- mered a light from what seemed to be a cabin, or other habitation, a little way off. It was surely this and nothing more, thought Jack, and he cautiously approached it. The cabin was a very rude affair, and stood on the vdge of a small clearing, which was inclosed by a rail-fenee yery much tumble-down, The cabin was of logs, and had a stone chimney vith the top partly demolished. Jack had some hesitancy in approaching the place, tnd the more so when he saw a large dog emerge “mn a wood-pile near the door. The dog began to growl and bark savagely, and then the door flew open and a man stepped out, and with his hand on the dog’s head, ejaculated: “What's the trouble, ero? I don’t see an to growl *bout, Hadn't yo’ better shet up an’ come inter the house?” The dog continued to bark and growl, and the man went on talking. ‘“Who’s prowlin’ ’round yer?” he said. “I'd like ter catch any one prowiin’ ’round my cabin, I would. I say, fellah.” Jack thought it about time to speak, though he would have given anything he had in the world to have been miles away from there at that moment, But co put on a brave face, and walked boldly for- ward. “Don’t be surprised,” he said, “it is only yours truly, that is all.’ “But who the dickens is ‘yours truly ’?” said _ the man. ‘I don’t know sich a fellah in this neck o' timber. Irecken you’ve gotsome other name than ‘yours truly ’.”” ’
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** Well, yes; my name fs Jaek.” “ Jist Sack?” “That's all; only Jack.” The man emptied his mouth of a large quantity of tobacco juice, and, thus relieved, continued: “T don’t know ye—never see’d yeafore, Whatye doin’ yer?” “ Traveling.” “Yer yer health?” “No, not exactly. I’m going somewhere.” “ Whar?” **T don’t know.” The man @yed the boy sharply, and the latter made use of the short silence to note the appearance of his new acquaintance. ; He was certainly not a very interesting-looking in- dividual; he was, in fact, quite the contrary. He was a lean, lank, cadaverous specimen of humanity, with gray eyes and yellow beard, big hands and feet, and a mean expression about his nose and mouth, Jack did not like the looks of him at all, but he kept his thoughts to himself, and broke the silence by sayings “T’ve lost my way, and I haven't the least idea where lam. Canyou tell me?” “Yas, I kin,” was the gruff reply, “ but we’ll talk "bout thet artera while. Jist_ now we’ll tend to other business. Hev ye been travelin’ long?” **One night and a day,” replied Jack. “Then ye must hev started somewhere near the Templeton plantation?” This was said interrogatively, and with a touch of sarcasm, Jack thought. At any rate, it sent the cold chills all over him. “Yas, I see,” said the man, noticing Jack's dis- comfiture. ‘* We'll talk it over in the house.” He opened the door of the cabin and they went in, CHAPTER IV. A SERIES OF THRILLING ADVENTURES. Jack did not know who the man was, whether he be friend or foe; but he trusted to luck, hoping everything would come out all right. There was nothing in the house to speak of in the sf of furniture, but Jack noticed several small children rolling about the floor and a weak-eyed wo- man in one corner of the room, all looking dejected and about half-starved, “Quite a family,” the boy ventured to remark, hoping the man would take it as a compliment. “Wal, yas,” was the reply. “ Have you lived here long?” “Wal, yas, quite long.” At this point he again emptied his capacious mouth of an accumulation of tobacco juice, and turned his small gray eyes on Jack sharply. “T think I've seen you before,” said the boy, de- termined to keep up a.show of good fog) “Treckon not,” returned the man, “ Born yer, allers lived yer.” He rose to snuff the candle, and Jack took this op- portunity of surveying him closely. Ee was indeed a mean-looking man, and, next to Bill Allen, the overseer, the meanest-looking man Jack had ever seen. ‘ “Wal,” he said, resuming his seat, ‘‘now I want ter bring things toa. p'int. It don’t look right that e should be prowlin’ ’round yer, an’I want ye ter 11 me what ye'’r’ doin’.” Ww. . “Pears like I've heerd of thet place afore. - War ye born thar?” “J don’t know.” replied Jack: “I sometimes think The Boy Tramps. : = I was, and then agafil Y think I wasn’t. Ican't re member.” “Don’t know whar ye *us born!” “That's what I said.” “Hain’t ye any father?” “T don’t know.” **Nor mother|)’* “T can’t remember of any. I tell you, all I know about myself is that I once lived in New York, where I played the fiddle for a living; then I runaway, and kept on running untilI got here. I’m not harming anybody, and I think you’d better let me go.” ith this he started for the door, but quick as a eat the man sprung on him, and, with a savage growl, thrust him back in his seat. “T wasn’t nigh done with ye,” he sneered, ‘‘an’ ef ye try to git away ag’in I may hurt ye. Ef Bill war oe ere, I’d turn ye over to him, an’ I reckon he’d ix ye, o did the man mean by “Bill?” Jack did not know, but his suspicions were aroused at once. “T’ve hearn of ye afore, I think,” said the man, “T b'lieve yo’ told me as how yo’ jes’ come from the plantation of the Templetons?” Jack felt like sinking through the floor. His si- lence betrayed his thoughts. e man continued: “T thought I spotted ye right, an’ now I know it, It ain’t often that Chris Allen makes a mistake,” Chris Allen! The name sounded famliar to Jack, and it was associated with a train of unpleasant thoughts. ““Yowre thinkin’ of Bill Allen,’ spoke up the man seeming to read the boy’s thoughts. “That's the name,” said Jack, aloud. “ Bill Allen! Do youknow him?” “Yas; relative of mine.” ** How near?” “Brother.” Jack was astonished. “He jist left here *bout an hour ago,” continued the man, “‘an’ he told me all "bout ye; said to look out fer ye, perhaps you’d come this way. Eili wasn’t far off when he said thet. He’sa good one.” He took a fresh chew of his favorite weed, and then resumed: “ Bill said as how the BA a or would give five hundred dollars for you, dead or alive, He said it would suit the old man best to capture ye alive, but as fer himself, Bill, he would rather capture rhe dead. So, ye see, I git five hundred dollars fer t job. Pretty good, ain’t it?” Jack made no reply; he was not feeling very hap- py at that moment. He knew that his chances of escape from this man were very small, and more than once he wished that he had allowed the pan- ther in the woods to devour him rather than to have fallen into the hands of a human panther like Chris Allen. = “Well, I suppose there is no help for it,” he mut- pide and then to Allen: ‘‘ When do youstart with me * To-morrer.’” “ And what are you going to do with me to-night?” *Let you stay whar ye are. I'll look arter ye.” And he took down trom the wall a long, double-- barrel shot-gun. “ How is this?” he asked with a broad grin. “‘Hev ye any sort o’ notion to git away?’ “T might try it,’’ said Jack. A “Then I'd shoot ye dead, It’s all the same to me, ‘ou knows dead or alive, I git five hundred dollars, kin take ye thar dead, perhaps, better than alive. But it don't make the s ightest difference to me which way. So be kerful.’ Jack did not hesitate to acknowledge to himself that he was in a bad box. It was plain also that Chris Allen was no great improvement on his brother, the overseer. F There were two rooms in the*cabin, and one of a oer the ee some half — ae er, and the weak-eyed woman, approp: | Jack and his ‘uncouth guard were ete alone. =
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You may tumble tnter thet bunk nearthe wall,” said the man, pointing toa low, tumble-down affair that was used asa bed. “I'll stay yer an’ see that e don't git away.” 3 4 Jack as very tired, and, although the bed did not look very inviting, he got into it, and was soon sleeping ee eer Not once during the night did he wake, and when, in the gray of the early dawn, he opened his eyes there was the man, gun in hand, jus as he had left r still kee’ ing his dee watch. “ Well,” said Jack, looking up. “ Jes’ so,” grunted Allen. “I reckon ye feel bet- ter now?” **TIn one way I do,” said Jack. “ Yas?” teen not =< Lor @ man laughed. “Ye hoofed it all the way over, I s'pose?” he said; “ve kin ride back in my chariot.” ‘Your what?” “ Chariot.” “You’re very kind, but I'd rather walk back, I believe. Can’t ye trust me to go back alone?” Chris Allen did not reply to this, but said to his wife, who was sleeping in the next room: “T say, ‘ou Naney, git up.” iY Directly ,” called the woman, “Rush together a little grub,” explained the father and husband, ‘‘an’ don't ye be all day ‘bout it either.” “Yas, old man,” came from the depths of the in- ner room. Having given his orders and received-a satisfac- tory rejoinder, Chris Allen opened the door of the cabin, aud he and Jack went out. Near the house was a stable, and inthe stable a horse, or rather the skeleton of one, for it looked more like a pile of bones to Jack than anything else. The boy could not help laughing. a Whats yer laffin’ at?" roared the proprietor of the skeleton, “ Such an elegant horse,” said Jack, still laughing. “ Are you preparing him for a show?” “Prepare, did you say? Not much. He is al- ready prepared. Idon’t’ want no better hoss than this one. Look at his legs.” “Yes, I see them.” “He can pas he’s stout.” He placed his gun within easy reach and began to throw on the harness. The latter consisted of ropes and chains, and was altogether a complicated piece of workmanship, And then the chariot! It vee 2 hc of odds and ends, fearfully and wonder: made, “Lord 5 Ae us!” exclaimed Jack, “What's ther matter now?” “Such a carriage!"’ j “It’s a good ’un. I say, young fellah, seein’ as how ‘ou’re my prisoner, an i'm ter git five hundred dol- ars fer yo Read or alive, ain’t ye slingin’ on a good ‘leal 0’ style?” : Jack said he thought not. At this moment the door of the cabin opened and breakfast was announced by the weak-eyed woman, who added: 5 gas An’ I don’t want yer to be all day ’bout comin’, either.” . Allen and Jack started. for the house at once. On the way Jack saw something which escaped the eyes of his not very watchful guard. : A white-haired youngster, of some five or six summers, was playing in some shavings and loose hay near one corner of the cabin, and he had made quite a pile of this fuel and had set it on fire. Jack’s first impulse was to call Allen’s attention to it, buta arom Scipeen decided him not to in- terfere with the child’s pleasure. The youngster went on with his ole and Jack, followed by the backwoodsman, went into the The Boy Tramps. fer juneaitast of corn-dodgers and bear-meat await- ed them. “They'll feed ye better up at the ‘Templetons,” remarked Chris Allen. “‘T don’t know about that,” said Jack. The youngster on the outside had got his play- thing well under way, and the same seemed +5 peers him very much, for he was very noisy with laughter, “I hear a@ roarin’!” suddenly exclaimed Allen ““What is it?” “Just the trees,” said Jack. “J don’t know about thet; I reckon thar's a fire somewhar’,”’ At this moment the white-haired youth bolted into the house and yelled: a Daddy, come out yer quick, I’ve got things jist a-roarin’ |’ There was a general rush from the cabin at once, and, seeing what was the matter, all began to howl and yell in chorus. Even Jack tuned his voice with the rest, and to all appearances was as anxious as any of them to put out the fire. One. whole side of the cabin was on fire, and the flames were sweeping over the roof, and would pro- bably soon envelop the entire building. Jack seemed, to be working vigorously to stay the progress of the fire, but really he was watching an cpporeny to slip away from Allen unobserved and get into the woods, Presently the opportunity occurred. Jack was a quarter of a mile away before his absence was dis- covered. He had not lost time in the flight, but made yt moment count, Ata rate of speed of which he had hardly thought himself capable, he sped through the woods. On, on he went from tree to tree, down into thick jungles of vines and bushes, over wooded hills and through tangles of briers and brush, never stopping, never halting, but always going on. Even the long-legged Allen, who soon gave chase, could not overtake him, and he returned to his eens, cabin, Swearing vengeance on all man- ind, It was late in the afternoon when Jack made his first halt. \ “I don’t know whether I’m safe or not,” he said; “T rather think I’m alone anyway.” He began to study what to do next, One thing, he was hungry. - Some boys are always hungry, and Jack was one a apes It was constitutional with him, he ought. It was all the same, at any rate; he was hungry, and the wherewithal to apppease his appetite was not Ye ahoas But it would not do to remain idle; he must travel many miles that day if he would secure himself from capture by those who were searching for him, So he went on hurriedly, At last, just as day was drawing to a close, he met a ae negro boy walking along a by-path in the woods. At first the boy was frightened; he began to ery, but Jack assured him he had no need of fear, an the little fellow dried his tears at once, “You see, I’m too hungry to pick up a row with aoe or anybody else, jist now,” he said, ‘ Where 0 you live?” The boy ran his eyes along the path. “All right,” said Jack; “if you'll lead the way, oe foller you. I want to have a talk with your OSS. The boy comprehended what was wanted of him, and started off, Jack following. Pretty soon an open space was reached in the woods, then came a fence, and then a low cabin, Tn the doorway stood a fat .old wench, black as a coal, and near at hand was an ancient looking darky eaeits eoked uh at daa ach, and the old oth looked up at Jack’s appro: the o! negro, leaning on his ax, said:
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af aX ee The Boy Tramps. : 9 “Lord bress my soul, but I’se de wus’ s’prised nig- gah in de worl’.”” Jack marched up to them boldly; he had the spirit of a “Ector Raman now; he was growing desperate, “Tf there’s anything to eat in eee cabin, trot it out,” he said; and he spoke fiercely, “Bress us!” exclaimed the wench, throwing up her hands, “Hab yecum to murder us? We ain’t done nuffin. Me an’ my old man am all alone yer, an’ we nebber do nuffin to nobody. Jes’ take all dar am in de house, but don’t murder us.” Jack did not stand on ceremony, but went into the house at once and helped himself, When he came out he had under his arm a, loaf of corn-bread and a large piece of meat. “*You won't miss this,” he said to the shivering Africans. ‘‘I need it more than you do.” “ Take it all—take de hull outfit—tote off decabin ef yo’ want ter, but space our dear lives!” wailed the old woman, as Jack stopped before her, with a chunk-of corn-bread in his mouth, The boy felt in his pocket for some money. He had saved up a few dollars, the part receipts of his various roving musical concerts of a few weeks back, and the same would no doubt come handy now. He gave the old couple a silver dime, wit the remark: “T'll pay you for what I’ve got. I wouldn’t steal oped or the world.”’ And then, looking at the fe ering gloom: “It’s growing late, and I must urry along,” And he plunged into the woods, CHAPTER V. JACK FINDS A COMPANION. Ir seemed as if the boy never grew weary. But he did. Half the time he felt like sinking to the ground and never making another effort to live. Serer yeandd moving on, and no word of complaint esca) im. He walked until midnight, then he crept into a hollow tree that lay prone across his pathway and slept until morning. It was a sound sleep and dreamless. Jack was very tired. In the morning he was ready fora fresh start, and on he went until finally he found himself in an open country, where there were a few scattered houses and fiel , with orchards, and here and there alarge meadow, like the onein which he had en- countered Gipsy ‘Templeton. Poor Gipsy Jack wondered what had become of her; and somehow he thought he should sometime see her ain, oe Tt wasn’t her body iter found in the stream,” he said; “ Gipsy is alive ay.” He did not know this to be so; he only guessed at it; but future developments will show that he was pretty good at guessing. He took a well-traveled road that bordered the wood and continued his lonesome walk. : Pretty soon there was a cluster of houses like a town or village, and a little further on a large build- = that Jack took for a prison. ut it wasn’t a prison: it was a school for boys, for there in the Bios were as many as ee. boys of various ages, trying to amuse themselves some way. Jack eyed them sharply, and passed on. Finally, a little further down the road, he came in sight of a group of boys, five in number, who were quarreling and fighting. One of the group, a of about the size of Jack, held a violin in his hand, while the other boys were trying forcibly to relieve him of it, there was a good deal of yelling and swearing, and the boy with the violin clung to his instrument tightly, wiflethe others hammered him about the head and face ina brutal manner. was more than Jack could quietly bear. He would fight for any bay with 9 violin, so with ail the impulsiveness of his daring nature, he sprung for- ward and mingled himself with the fight. He was a stout boy and able to give hard blows, and he dealt them out lively for a while, and the bat- tle was soon at an end. ‘Tl teach you a lesson, you cowards,” he yelled, shaking his fist at the retreating boys. “Id be ashamed, five of ye, to pitch on to one feller.” There were Hetil challenges for a renewal of the combat, but finally peace was restored,and Jack and his new-found friend were left “alone. ‘We'd like to have ’em tackle us again,” said the strange boy, defiantly. “They'd better not try it,” responded Jack. “We licked ’em, too, didn’t we?” said the stranger, with charming freedom, ‘Bet your life we did,” replied Jack. “They were too many for me alone,” went on the boy. *T ain’t much of a knocker.” *I thought, you struck well,” said Jack, “I waren ha’ interfered but for that fiddle.” “Yes, Is’pose you can play it?” * A little. I'll show you how much.” He ran the bow across the strings a time or two. and then handed the instrument to Jack. “T know you can make a go of it,” he said, “Try tt.” Jack needed very little persuasion; the moment his hand touched the bow he experienced a thrill from head to his feet. Though he had learned to play in the streets, Jack was no inferior musician, and now that he was in a humor for playing, he fairly made the fiddle dance. “You're a stunner,” said the strange boy. “T'm all of that,” answered Jack, accepting the compliment. _ i think I never sawa fiddle jump soin all my i the boy. ‘ Where did you learn to play “In the streets,” * ‘Who are you?” “I'm Jack.” “Nothing else?” “Nothing.” “Where is your fiddle?” ‘*Bu’sted.” There was a searching look in the eyes of the strange boy as he asked the next question. “Ain’t you the boy that’s been raising such a rack- et over at old Templeton’s?” This was an unexpected question. Jack’s eyes fell, his lips quivered, and his face turned pale. . ““Needn’t. be *fraid of me,” said the boy. “I'd rather die than turn ag’in’ ye. Ain’t you the boy?” “T can’t seo that ’ve done anything wrong,” re- plied Jack. *T don’t know what you call it then,” replied the ore at ane. say you seer ua) a gil Ce ang cut up other capers; and if they cai ‘ou—Ww hate to be in your shoes.” f ; “And they’re after me, are they?’’said Jack. “T should say they were.” “And you—” “Well, Til not betray ye. Why, I'm running away myself.” The boy’s black eyes looked sharp into Jack’s face as he said this, and then, as if satisfied that he was telling his secrets to a friend, he continued: “Til tell you who I am, and alli say is true. To begin with, ’ma mighty bad boy. I’m a wicked pk I know it, and so does everybody else. Ican’t help it. 1t’s been knocked into me. I don’t seem toget along very well with any one. Since I was born, everybody has picked atme, and thumped me around, until I’m just about as bad as it’s safe to be, an live. As for my name, well, my name is AN ethon I'll call you Andy,” said Jack, “for short. But Andy what?? : = “Andy Richards,”
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10 5 The Boy Tramps. * Allright. Goon with your story.” “Tknow faieee and you know me now,” said Andy, “that is, all but what you don’t. Did you pass a big building a little way back?” ® Yes, some sort of a school,” “xactly. There’s where I live, or rather, where I did live. I’ve run away now. I’m a bad ’un.” “Oh, hol’ “You needn’t laugh,” “It’s only a little queer,” said Jack, ‘fer I’m run- ning away too.”’ “Tt's a serious matter with me,” putin Andy, “If TI should be caught, they’d cut me into fine strips.” “So bad as that!” “Bet your life. It’s a Reform School I'm run- ning away from. You have heard of ’em?” “Haven't I, though!” said Jack, ‘Rest easy on that point. Ihave. By gracious, I believe you are @ bad ’un.” “Don’t make any mistake about that,” said the boy. “I’m the hardest kind of a cat-fish. It’s only the tough nuts that get into such places. It was not a matter of choice with me, I can tell you,” * No, IL s’pose not.” “You see, my folks are all dead long ago, all but a miserly old wes and he trumped up a big story and sent me there. There was some little property left me, but I'll never see any of it. I’m bad enough, I know, but it’s only on account of bad treatment. I tell you, I’ve had a rough time of it ever since I can remember. I’ve often thought Id like mighty well to get a little kind treatment, just to experience the sensation. But now all I ask is to be let alone,” “And you play the violin,” said Jack, “which is another crime.” “Yes, 80 people seem to think. I don’t play it very well, though, but I am learning fast, You must be an old hand at it.” The two boys walked along together, and Jack told Andy all about himself, even from the time when he was a little street rat playing from house ouse. “There ain't much of the Italian about you,” said Andy, glancing at Jack’s long, bright hair, and not- ing his blue eyes and fair complexion, ‘I’ve seen lots of Italians, and they’re all dark.” It was indeed a strange fact. There was nothin in Jack’s appearance that indicated Italian blood, But if he was not of that race, why did he not know it, and why was he brought up among them? Looking at Jack and Andy, there was a striking contrast. They were about the same age, size and weight, but there'the likeness ended. Jack was light, even to his eyes, and his disposi- tion was mercurial. : On the contrary, Andy was dark; eyes, hair, com- plexion, and he was rather of a despondent nature. “T think we are pretty well matched,” remarked Andy, ‘‘and as we are both ‘runaways,’ suppose we travel together. One thing certain, I’ll never go back. “Te we had another violin,” sighed Jack, “ora ’ an harp is what we want,” said Andy. ‘ What will one cost?” , Jack smiled feebly. He had very little money himself, and he had no reason to a hatin Andy had mt “Nobody’ll trust us,” he finally said. “Don’t want ’em to, What do youthinkof this?” He thrust his hand into a capacious side-pocket, and finally brought out a roll of bills. “How much for the harp?” he asked, “ Bighteen dollars,” Jack replied, He began to count the bills. “You don’t know me,” he said. ‘tI am a Roth- child.” “Lots of wealth,” said Jack, The roll of bills amounted in all to the insignificant sum of eight dollars. Andy looked forlorn, “Tve got two dollars,” said Jack, “and ten dob lars will buy a small harp, or @ second-hand one. Let’s travel.” They quickened their steps, and both were in very ies spirits, talking and laughing, as they walked along. And so the day passed, and that, night the boys slept under a hedge. n the morning they-went on, and breakfasted at a farm-house in sumptuous style, all for a little music. “They oftener set the dog on a feller,” remarked Jack, by way of explanation. The boys went on. Finally they reached a city of considerable size, and after long search found a harp, which they pur- chased for ten dollars, Jack had learned to play the harp years before, so he gave instructions to Andy to play the violin, and with a little practice the two were able to play fag ep well. Fearful lest they should be recognized by some one, the boys hurriedly left the city, and took a course that led into a section of the country not so thickly settled. The first week they traveled day and night, sleep- ing in the woods, and in deserted cabins, and under hedges, and ee up a little food at farm-houses on the way. Winally, when they were certain they had eluded pursuit, they rested a few days, Gipsy- like, in the woods that bordered _a smal settlement. Here they played a good deal, not for money al- together, but for practice. ‘Tt’s discipline we need,” said Jack, with the air of 7 Ber ek “Practice makes perfect, I’ve heard said.” It was a wild life they were leading, but Jack knew no other, and as for Andy, he liked it, for it just suited his restless, roving disposition. They went from town to town, sometimes stopping a day or a week, then off to other places, always playing for small sums of money, or for food and shelter. They had followed this life about six weeks, when one evening they came to a river, or large stream, that took a serpentine course among the hills. It was a dashing sort of a stream, and the ground that bordered it was like a strip of meadow dotted with large trees. The boys were surprised at seeing so large and swift a stream, and they were more surprised still when they heard the sweet strains of a violin, ac- onan by a harp, coming from the opposite shore. “A band of Gipsies,” exclaimed Jack, on the im- pulse of the moment, “Where are they?” asked Andy. “Look.” The light from the setting sun covered the trees and grass with a crimson glory, and in its bright- ness the camp of the strollers could be distinctly seen. A bright fire was burning, and around this were several ep while nearer the river were two boys with harp and violin, and_ still nearer the stream, a little (ke Only the outlines of the latter could be seen plainly, but that it was the figure of a little girl Jack and Andy knew well. The boys were both very much excited at once, “ Let us join them,” said Andy. “ How shall we cross the stream?” said Jack, This was a puzzler. It was deep and swift. In his excitement, Andy took off his hat and waved it at the Gipsies. “ Halloo!” he cried, At once the musie ceased, and a voice from the other side cried out, sharply: “Who are you?” With his harp in his hand, Jack mounted the rock that leaned out over the water. ‘i I'm Jack, the fiddler,” he shouted, in a loud voice,
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The Boy Tramps. 11 site shore. the boy, ‘‘ and Or, if you like, you may A derisive tee “Yes, I’m Jac! else to it. call me Jack Templeton!” Hardly had he uttered these words, when the little girl, whom they had seen standing near the came from the op) , the fiddler,” yell there’s nothin river, threw up her hands, and leaning forward, in & childish voice, quivering through fear, cried out: “Jack, Jack! Save me! Save me!” Her arms were outstretched, and she seemed as if ready to fly across the stream, Who was it? Jack's brain was in a whirl. It was Gipsy Templeton! CHAPTER VI. THE BOYS MEET WITH ADVENTURE. Jack thought it was Gipsy, still he did not know. It was like the little girl’s voice, very much like it, and then she called him Jack! “ Gipsy, Gipsy 1” he cried. Before the c' real, “ Was it the little lost Gipsy?’’ questioned Jack, “More than I can tell,”’ answered Andy. “There is only one thing that I know about it,” said Jack, ‘and that is—she is gone!” “So are all the rest, for that matter,’ returned Andy. “Now, what shall we do? Let us follow them?” “But the river?” suggested Jack. “There must be a bridge somewhere.” They started off down the stream. The first mile, no bridge; the second the same as the first; and then darkness settled over valley, wood and stream, and they could scarcely see to move. Peel no use, Jack; let’s go to roost,” suggested ndy. They found a hedge that seemed to offer rey good protection, and under this they passed the me t. “Jack,” said Andy, the next morning, “ think ay, Templeton is alive?” “Yes, I do,” was the reply. “But her folks don’t.” “No; they think she was drowned, I know better; she was stolen.” All that cof the boys were on the leok-out for the band of strollers they had seen the night before. But they had gone, nobody knew whither, and left no trace behind. For several days following the boys traveled south- ward, halting very seldom for any length of time, ~shen one night they came to quite a large negro set- tlement in an immense forest. The colored people were holding meeting, and they were having a ig. time. Some were shouting, others praying, some dancing, some singing, while not a ee Jack thought, were trying to stand on their eads. ; It was a laughable sight, and standing unobserved in the background, the boys enjoyed it hugely. One, old darky, who appeared to preside over the meeting, was fairly doubling himself up with the fervor of his exhortations. F The boys watched the proceedings a short time, and then Jack said, mischievously: “Let's get up behind the old chap and scare him.” * Agreed!” said Andy. The boys slipped up within a few paces of the cregomaney parson, and secreted themselves in a clump of elder-bushes, and there quietly watched proceedings, o you The darky oe became very much excited, and imparted his fervor to the audience; and the result was manifested in a perfect medley of sobs, groans, shouts and hysterical cries from a majority of those present. About this time, when the excitement was the highest, it occurred to Jack that he too would enter into the spirit of the meeting; so he gave his harp a few thrums, and pias taking the cue, made a noise on his violin most diabolical. The exhorter paused with his hands in the air, the audience became still at once, and the eyes of all stuck out like saucers. The silence was only momentary. The sable preacher, although frightened half out of his wits, still kept the stand, and in a voice deep and melo- dramatic cried: “T tole yo’ so, chil’ren, I tole yo’ so; an’ now yo’ heah fo’ yo’self” de mi hity prophet howlin’ in’de wilderness! Pray! all ob yo’ pray! fo’ he’s comin’ to jedge de worl’!” he boys gave another terrible blast on their in- struments, at which the assembled negroes, together with their patriarchal chief, took fright and scam- pered away in every direction, The men abandoned their coats and hats, the wo- men their bonnets and shawls, and Jack and Andy were left the exclusive possessors of the rough board platform and seats which accommodated the preach- er and his audience, “We scattered ’em,” said Andy, feeling very jolly over the matter. “And they may come back and scatter us,” re- marked Jack, gig “Perhaps we had better ieptaoe little, so as to kind of quiet their wrath if any of them should return.” The boys struck up a merry tune, and played it through without stopping. Then they began another rollicking piece, which had the effect of bringing two or three hha heads into view, and before they had half finished it the platform was weighted down with at least half the congregation of the negro preacher, and with the preacher himself. “Let's hab a hoe-down,”’ suggested the latter, who, all the while Jack and Andy were playing, had hard bbe to keep his feet from joining in with the music. “‘Jes’ what I’se thinkin’ ob,” returned a colored belle, smiling bountifully all over her face. The preacher could stand it no longer; so, seizin, the sable beauty around the waist, he whirled o: into a dance so wild and grotesque that the little musicians could not help laughing. This was the signal for others to join in the dance, and pretty soon the whole company were energetic- ally employed the same way. nd they kept it up as long as Jack and Andy would play for them, and it was after midnight when the fun ceased. An hour later the boys found themselves once more alone. The negroes had supplied them boun- tifully with the coarse food of their cabins, and all they could wish for now was a place to sleep. This they found shortly after leaving their African friends, in the shape of an empty building, where they lay down and slept soundly until morning. So the days passed. Jack was happy and gay, and Andy was the same, for they were liberally and kindly treated wherever they went, So the summer passed into = autumn, and the leaves eet to fall, and occasionally there were winds from the north, cold and bleak. “We haven’t laid up anything for a rainy day,” remarked Jack to his companion one afternoon. “I haven't a penny left.” ‘“‘ Neither have I,” replied Andy. “S’pose we should meet with a misfortune of some kind,” remarked Jack, ‘‘a big misfortune?” eee do pa yeemg-risrge aril fox ine - u’st one o’ the le strings, for instance, Andy laughed,
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TOMA CT Sc art = “ey eich | ign rae * The Boy Tramps. “That wouldn't be such a terrible calamity, would it?” he asked. “‘No, but it might interfere with our prospects of getting a beg this winter. You see, the weather is ghanging, and we can’t sleep out of doors much longer. “ Let’s trail southward, Jack,” suddenly spoke up dy. be We've been working that way all the time,” re- turned Jack. “Yes, I know; but we are ‘a good distance yet from where cold weather never comes. N ow, if we can find a place where people don’t need any ee Ra nothing to eat, and everybody is lazy, that’s the place for us. Do you know of such a country, Jack!” The latter was silent 2 moment. He was thinking. He had read of just such a country as Andy was asking for. * are you heard of Texas, Andy?’ at length he said. i ago, and he never came back; the inhabitants “* What had he done?” “Nothing; they wanted pistol practice, so they said, and as he was a stranger they jist put him up for a target and shot him full of holes. He never recovered. He was killed dead.” “Tt must be a free-and-easy country,” laughed ack. “Tt is, for a fact. Shall we go there? What do you say?” : “ Let’s drift that way, anyhow.” The boys journeyed on. They went from one district to another, meetin, with little adventures here and there, but with goo nature and a free use of harp and violin, they man- aged to keep out of serious trouble. Once they stayed all night in an empty barn that stood some little distance from a large white house. They had been given permission to stay there by the master of the premises, who also gave them some blankets upon which to sleep. “Tcall this mighty fine,” said Jack, as he got be- tween the blankets. “T do, too,” returned Andy, “and what's more, I'm going to sleep right away.” The boys were soon asleep, but for some reason or other, Jack was wakeful, and at about three o’clock in the morning was startled by voices that appeared to come from some place in the barn. He started up and listened intently. Then he awakened Andy. “Don’t say a word,” he whispered; “we are not alone, I hear yoicesin the barn. Listen.” It was even so, There were others in the barn besides themselves. _ The voices were rough and harsh, with many coarse expressions and much profanity. “Who are they,” whispered Andy. “ Where are they, rather?” returned Jack. The boys left. thelr couch and crept quietly along the floor until they could see the door-way, whence they thought the vcices came. ** There they are,” whispered Jack, ‘ Look.” The moon streamed in at the open door, and there, on a low bench, under the full light of the moon, were the strangers. oy d were rough-looking men, and Jack, more than Andy. closely noted their every feature. *Tll know both of these chaps if I ever seé them again,” whispered Jack to himself. ‘They are mighty hard customers, I think.” “What are they ti ig about, I wonder,” said Andy. e " Paon't know. Listen.” One of the men rose to his feet, and looking at his companion, said: ‘It's a clever trick and there is money enough in it to pay for all the danger. In other words, it’s a fat t oe What do you think of five thousand dol- e lars for job?” “Too small, too small; better say ten'thousand dollars. The old man is worth piles of money, you know, and he'll stand ten thousand like a book, What say your’ : “Tt suits me; but are you sure we are not f° ceived?” Bis “Sure, mighty sure. I’vetalked with the girl, atid» she is as sharp as a whip. She told me all about herself. Oh, she’s a good one.” ** And her name you say—” “Ts Gipsy Templeton!” As this name was pronounced Jack and Andy both started. What_could have aroused their sus- picions more than this? Who were these men, and what had Gipsy Templeton to do with them?” . ‘I got my eyes on the Ifttle rat pererley for the first time,” said the man with the scowling face, “and I knew her at once, ‘Dead! Her dad was an old fool to think so, She was stolen by a roving band of Gipsies.” “And you saw her yesterday?” questioned the otherman. _ “T certainiy did.” “Did you ask her many questions?” “ Yes, a good many. had to watch out, though and talk with her on the sly, for the Gipsies guard her very closely. I hadn’t got half through talking with her when I was told to leave, and as the com- mand was backed with a long knife I slid out at once, and left the girl erying after me.” There was a break in the conversation df a second or two, then one of the men said: “The scheme is to steal her away from the Gip- sies and hold her for ransom. It won't take long to bring matters to afocus. We'll first notify the old man that the girl is in our possession, and then ask for areward, and name the amount.” “But what if he don’t give it?” * But he will, though; he'll do that or lose his girl. There is no doubt that he will come to time. It don’t matter if we have to keep her a year.” “A capital scheme. But how about the Gipsies?” “Oh, we'll wade into them. If they will give her up without trouble, so much the better; if not, we'll leave a little cold lead with them and gallop off with the gal. Iam not particular one way or the other.” Very little more was said b: be eye po villains in thé hearing of Jack and yt Be © latter were dumfounded, and scarcely knew what to say or do. Five minutes later the bold, would-be kidnappers stepped out into the moonlight, mounted their horses and rode away. il CHAPTER VIL fe LIFE AMONG THE GIPSIES, Nerrier of the boys knew what to do, whether to follow the rascals at once, or remain in the barn until morning and then try to find the Gipsy camp, whither they knew the men were going. “TI think we had better stay here; I am awful tired,” said Andy, ‘‘I don’t really know that, we can do anything for the little girl, anyhow. She'd be about as well off, I suppose, with these men as with the Gipsies; only if we could steal her our- selves—’ The thought caused the boy to hesitate." concluded the remark. pu “You are right,” he said; “we might steal her ourselves, and then if we could return her to her folks, what a big thing it would be for us.” “And for the pil, too,” put in Andy, “Ves, certain tea “Let's not wait a moment,” They seized their instruments and started off as fast as they could go. It was not probable that the boys should know the whereabouts of the Gipey, camp. It was all guess-work with them with single exception 7 f
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ws oes co d ys ) d k ion The Boy Tramps. 13 that they knew it lay to the south of them, for that is the direction the plotters took. They went on rapidly, and said but little to one another; they went from field to field, over hill-tops and stretches of tangled woods, all the while think- ingot the little homeless waif Gipsy. t length just as the sun was coming up, they “me to a wooded ravine, and halting a moment on s edge, were surprised to see two horsemen ride out of the bushes a little way off and move at a slow” pace down the ravine. The boys recognized them at once. “The two villains,” exclaimed Andy, pointing at them with his violin. “Bush,” said Jack. us.” The men turned a bend in the bushes and were at once lost to view. Half an hour pemcw, then, just as Jack and Andy were about to leave the ravine for more elevated i bees they heard a loud yell a few yards away, ollowed by a sharp pistol report, and immediately after there came out of the bushes at their left the two horsemen, one of them holding in his arms a little girl, none other than Gipsy Templeton, Boldly Jack threw himself in the way of the horse- **We must not let them see men, ee “a he yelled, raising his harp as a sort of shield, With a furious et the man riding in advance urged his horse along. His aim was to ride over Jack and trample him into the ground, if necessary, and this he almost succeeded in doing. 'The boy was knocked down by the onset of the plunging horse, and before he could regain his feet, the two — were many rods away, and riding like the win Andy thought Jack was killed. Aimost ready to ory, he rushed to him, but before = oe speak Jack looked up, dazed and bewil- ered, : “Are you hurt, Jack?” asked Andy, “No, I guess not. I thought I was a goner at first, though. It was a close shave.” ‘The ground was tramped all around him, but the hoof of the maddened horses had missed him, ehoueh the harp at his side was crushed to pieces. “Oh, I’m so glad!” cried andy “Glad o’ what?” growled Jack; “that my harp is bu’sted?” “No; that you didn’t get killed.” “Oh, I'm all right,” assured Jack; “but look at this music-box.”” There was not much left of it, fora fact, and the loss was indeed a serious one to the i ‘9 latter were pretty certain now that the Gipsy Caiap was not faraway. They knew this from the fact that the men had not been gone long when they returned with the little girl, and also from the fact that they could hear even then a wrangling and shouting that seemed to come from around the bend in the bushes less than a hundred yards away. 5 i chroma fa realy peal" 4 over there,” said Andy; 8 in the Gipsy camp. Suppos' Sia et psy Pp. ippose we go and inter- The boys started at once, though not without some nulbgivinga as to how the black-eyed rovers would Sn they utente : ey undertake to harm me in any way, I -oll run,” remarked Andy, who had a goo ides of feng omen ie A + And leave me to take care of myself, I suppose,” said Jack; ‘that would be a bri mt idea.” Me sy “But I have a notion that you'll run, too,” replied Andy. , And there you are right, We'll stick together in that, sure.” They entered the Gipey baig? ve’ were greeted with a battery of dark eyes and by ‘nany scowls and harsh words spoken in undertone. The Gipsy band numbered in all eight persons, quietly, and , The leader, or chief, was an old man of weird ap- pearance, with form much bent, keen black eyes, @ tangled mass of gray black huir, and a knot!y look, like a tree that had been stunted in its growth. The others of the band were an old wonian of fifty, wrinkled and brown, two girls of twelve and sixteen, a swarthy-looking boy of eighteen, and three men of uncertain age. ‘““Who are these boys?’ demanded the old Gipsy king, casting suspicious glances at the young friends. f This was spoken in Italian, a language that Jack understood perfectly. : “Whence come they?” he continved, as the boys eontinued to approach, : i he keen-eyed old hag gave them a sharp, defiant look, “Look out for them!” she warned. ‘Nobody knows who they ave—young thieves, Isuspect. I'l Get some hot water ready and we'll scald them. ho’ll_ care what becomes of them? They’re no- fa boys, and nobody'll claim them after they're ead. The boys were well aware of this latter fact. They knew that they were relying upon themselves en- tirely, that they had nobody to look to in case of emergency—that, in fact, they were, as the old Gipsy witch had said, nobody's boys. : ee Whence came they?’ again asked the Gipsy cing. “*From the woods,” was the reply of one of the men. » “They are spies,” growled the hag. ‘“ Why not take their lives at once?” The Gipsy leader motioned a short, thick set man, low-browed and villainous, to come forward. “You see those boys,” he said. oe Yes,” “Tiave you a stout rope?” “Hum. I think so.” “Then you know what to do with it. But wait, I will speak to them.” Jack stepped forward unsolicited. “A strange way you have of treating your friends,” he said, in the Italian tongue. The man looked surprised. Jack’s aa face and sunny hair made him won- der and think, “You are not an Italian?” he asked. “Tam indeed,” replied Jack. “Where are you from?” **New York.” The leader pave & swift glance at Andy, + Brothers? ) “ What then?” ‘Friends and road-mates,” The old man’s black eyes fairly pierced the boy through and through. “Where are you going?” he demanded, “Nowhere,” Where have you been?” ** Nowhere,” “What have you been doing?” “Nothing.” Another searching glance, and the Gipsy king turned to one of the male members of the band, who had come forward with a violin in his hand, and~ said, pointing to Jack: ‘He calls himself.an Italian,” ~ “Tt is a lie; he is not of our blood,” exclaimed the Gipsy. “‘ Look at bis eyes and hair.” ack’s blue eyes flashed. “I don’t know what I am,” he retorted, in the Italian tongue. ‘‘I was brought up as an Italian, 4 | and have always liv -d with that people, so far back as I can remember. But, one thing I do know: f ean play the violin with the best o: you. Just let show you.” An instrument was given him immediately. Jack was a splendid player, and now, animated br rN
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The Boy Tramps the thought that he must please the Gipsies, the oe musician tramp surprised even Andy by his skill. The Gipsies were delighted; they clapped their hands and gave forth several hearty cheers. “Tf I only had a harp,” now declared Jack, ‘* both of us would try it.” harp was brought out at once. Andy took the violin, and Jack the harp, and the boys played one of their liveliest airs. This worked a wonderful change in their favor. The Gipsies no longer looked upon them as spies, but on the contrary were outspoken in their delight at having secured so valuable an acquisition to their band. They thought, of course, Jack and Andy would be glad to join them, and they were not mis- taken; nothing could have suited the boys better. They agreed to become members of the order at once, Jack thought at first some ceremony or oath would be necessary before Andy and himself would be allowed to travel with the Gipsy band, but such was not the case. It was evident, however, that full membership was not given them at once; they could see that a strict watch was kept over them, a fact that was anything but agreeable. There was nothing remarkable about the personal appearance of the Gipsies, or about their mode of living, except in the case of the Gipsy king, who was a queer old mau, and wore a weird appearance, and that of the old woman, who was also very queer, and was so wrinkled and brown that she looked hardly human. The old man answered to the name of King Victor, while his mate went under the sav- age cognomen of Mad Ellen. The company were well supplied with all the plain necessaries of life, and all they possessed in the way of goods, such as blankets, Sea utensils, ete., were conveyed from Lae to place in a large cov- ered wagon, drawn by two sorry-looking horses, while another horse, used exclusively for the saddle, was Coa! hg be found at the rear of the wagon, This was the outfit of the Gipsies when Jack and Andy joined them. Possibly the boys might dis- cover other things before long. “What do you think of 'em anyhow?” asked Jack, when he and Andy found themselves alone. “They are a queer set,” replied Andy, “but I think we shall have lots of fun traveling this way. I like the old man,” “You do!” “Yes, he’s such anodd old coon, I suppose what- ever he says is law. _Is that not the way of it?” “I don’t know. Perhaps the old woman is the boss. At any rate she does the fortune-telling busi- ness, and that’s more important than anything else. But isn’t she an old witch in appearance?” fully expressed him- F 2 Ellen! And the old feller calls himself King Victor!" The boys chatted on for some while, when, pres- ently, Jack reminded his companion of the abdue- tion of Gipsy Templeton from the camp of the strollers, and added: “T don’t know that we can do anything for the little girl, although I should like to, mighty well. It wouldn't be safe for us to go back to the Templeton lantation; they would not believe us if we should ell them all about Gipsy; they might put us in jail, for alll know, And as for those men, we could do nothing with them, In fact, about all we are able to do at present is to take caré of ourselves.”” The boys did not wish to be seen talking in whis- pers and alone, so they mingled with the Gipsies, who were by this time preparing the morning meal. “Pump he old man about Gipsy,” suggested Andy; ‘and I'll see whot sort of an impression I can make on the old woman.” Jack took the hint, and approaching the Gipsy king, began to ask questions about Gipsy, all of which were answ in a sullen and suspicious manner. He learned that the men who had stolen her from the Gipsiecs had been hanging around the camp for some days, that they had taken advantage of the careless watch of her constant attendant, one of the Gipsy girls, and carried her off by main force; that a pistol-shot had been sent after them by the old king himself, and, finally, that the little girl had given them a good deal of trouble: and they were glad to be rid of her. While Jack was holding converse with the Gipsy king, Andy was trying to make himself agreeable to Mad Ellen. He did not succeed very well in this. His inability to speak any other language than Eng- lish, was a serious drawback to friendly intercourse with the old hag. It was not long after this that breakfast was an- nounced, and a queer meal it was. A white blanket was spread on the ground, and over this were seat- tered promiscuous heaps of hard biscuit, corn bread and meat, with tin plates in abundance, and three or four wooden bowls and gourds. Jack and Andy were invited to partake of the food. which they did with great relish. Following this, they played a little on harp and violin for the amuse- ment of the Gipsies, and then, the sun being well up in the sky, preparations were made at once to leave the Lage and journey southward, a direction in which the company were moving when the boys came upon them, ““Do you know where we are going?” asked Andy, as the train moved off. “Not apy Ae replied Jack; “but I'll ask the Gipsy king. He will tell me.” 6 put the question to the old man. “To the land of flowers,” was the reply; “where the birds sing and the roses bloom the year round. aoeee we can live in the open air and be happy always.’ : The prospect was a delightful one, and the boys lived for the time being in a fever of expectation. CHAPTER VIII. THE BOYS MEET WITH NUMEROUS SURPRISES, “Tt isn’t so pleasant as I thought it would be,” said Jack, after he and Andy had been with the Gipsies several weeks. Too much stealin’?’” suggested Andy, “Yes: and then I’m suspicious all the while that they'll get us into trouble. It’s a hard life. Do you know eerie "bout g’ography, Andy?’ Wall, thet _" to fi t just wh ell, then, try to figure out just where we are. I'd like to know what State we are in, at least.” “The state of misery, anyway,” declared Andy, laughing. “Tagree with you there, Andy, but there is an- other kind of State. Are we in Kentucky or Texas?” “Kentucky,” replied Andy. “I think we are not far from the Mississippi River. We'll have to cross that stream after a while, if we go to Texas.” At the next town, Jack apie for himself ie which gave the alfferen cities, towns, rivers an ne which they would be likely to encounter on ir way. Y ldoné intend to be a fool on these subjects,’ he said. ‘“I’dliketo know what Ilearned to read for if it wasn’t to post myself on all such matters. Now m know just where we are going and how to get ere. As a usual oe the party kept clear of large places, and made it a point to halt on the outskirts of small ean where the superstitiously inclined would come and have their fortunes told, and pay handsomely for the same. Jack and Andy were much interested in these pro- eeedings; bof had very little confidence in the ability of Ellen to foretell the future for any one, and more than once they were obliged to turn aside to keep from laughing outright at the credulity of some of her patrons. {t's a shame to swindle people in that way,” re- marked Jack to Andy, one day after they had wit ~
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val H The Boy Tramps. nhessed one of the old hag’s css gaia impos tions. “ Why, she don’t know any more about tell- ing fortunes than I do.” * But she thinks she does,” said Andy, “and so do her customers; and as for swindling anybody, as long as those who employ her think they get their money’s worth, where is the difference!” “But right is right,” continued Jack, “and it isn’t right to cheat people out of their mongy, that’s cer- tain. But, Andy, don’t you think it about time we had reached that big river you told me absut the other ett “'The Mississippi?” “Yes, Even as they spoke a broad sheet of water came into view, and Sepp it was apparent to all that the Father of Waters, the rapid-flowing Mississippi, bi, before them, . t was a new experience to our one. friends; they had never seen this noted river before, and ag they watched it on its way to the ocean, they could not help wondering at its wonderful strength and ower. E The Gipsy king seemed to be perfectly familiar with the river in all its windings; he knew every foot of ground over which they were traveling, and he was never in doubt which way to go or how to overcome the usual obstacles of travel. “Do we cross the river here?” asked Andy of the old man. “A little further down,” was the reply. ‘There used to be a ferry there years ABO} perhaps it is there now, or perhaps itis gone. It doesn’t matter: we shall manage to cross somehow.” rn ripe was not mistaken. The puffing of the ferry-boat was heard paeany, and it was not long before the wagon, and all else comprising the Gipsy party, were rapidly being conveyed across the river. ““We are in Missouri now,” said Jack, as he ef- fected a landing. *‘I am keeping watch of the route pretty sharp; or if we should want to come back sometime—” “I’m mighty certain we wouldn’t come back this way, a aay ha Andy. “How then?” ff “By water. It’s a much shorter way than over these rocks and hills, Jack, do you know that I’ve got an idea?’ “ About what, Andy?” bilet, I suspicion pdt ycabany B This old man is not leading us around this way a de He has some reason for avoiding the traveled highways, and I wouldn’t wonder if he had committed a crime somewhere and is running away from justice. It looks that way, anyhow. Do you know which way he intends to go from here?” “Yes, had along talk with the old chap, and as I speak Italian, he talks very freely to me. He traced out the route we areto take on this map. I conclude we are to go right through the State of Arkansas and reach Texas by the Indian Territory, It’s a long esa The Gipsies wasted very little time on their travels now; they seemed to be in t haste to reach the mountains of Arkansas, where, as the Gipsy king explained, they would find a much more hospitable people than in the cold, dreary North. The next three weeks were therefore spent in con- stant travel, and when a halt fora few days was finally made it bale Pa the State of Arkansas, not far from the Missouri line and within a hundred miles of the Indian ‘Territory. It was a country of rocks and hills, with here and there a field of corn,or of cotton, and every fifty miles or so, a village of some kind, consisting of a few stores and page It was near one of these small towns that the Gipsy band halted for a few days, in hopes to pick up a few dollars by fortune-telling and in other ways. Of course Jack and Andy were not expected “0 idle; by playing the harp and violin they would be able to contrivuce wiv.e than a few dollars ” 16 tothe general fund. The latter was.in the keeping of King Victor, who kept a strict account of every penny that came and went. It did not take the people of the little town long to discover who and what their visitors were. They came in by twos and threes, and sometimes a dozen at a time, some out of curiosity and others to have the past and future of their lives revealed. The Gipsies made money here, and would have stayed longer had they not been frightened away by the singular behavior of a native youth, who came thundering into camp one night and demanded the services of the fortune-teller then and there. He was a rough specimen of the mountains, and to Jack and Andy, who looked upon him curiously, he seemed to be all spurs and hat. The former he shook savagely, and pushing the rim of the latter back from his face, demanded immediate attention. “‘Tt’s too late,” said old King Victor. ‘You should have come sooner.” ** Late, is it?” yelled the youth. ‘ What doI care how late it is? Don’t fool "bout it, but trot out the old gal that does the business.”’ “Not to-night,” said King Victor. “What's that ye say?” roared the stranger, “I don’t want to ax ye no mo’. Jes’ trot her out.” The rent aoe expostulated with the rustic, but i no avai e’d have his fortune told or have ood, “T don’t care if she’s a thousand yearsold!”’ he said. ‘‘She must do ther business for me to-night, Do you see this?” ‘@ whipped out an ugly-looking revolver and shook it at the Gipsy king. i reckon so. Look down Shoot?” he ‘Spe the muzzle of this popper and count the bullets, I mean business, I do, so trot out the old ’oman.” The countryman evidently meant what he said. He was in dead earnest. Mad Ellen reluctantly came forward. “Ye want ag fortune told, do ye?” she growled. “Bet yo’ life I do,” re lied the youth. ‘I didn’t kim ten miles fo’ nothin’.” “Who are ye?” angrily asked the witch. . “No, you don’t, old’oman. I don’t tell you any- thing. You may be smart, an’ all that, but when re git ahead o’ the Badger family you'll be doin’ a eap sight more than I think ye kin. Joe Eevee ain’t nobody’s fool, neither is his gal Miranda, who lives ith her brother, over on the Ridge. Oh, no! ye can’t git Seng out o’ me, Here, ef ye want aze on my paw, here it is fer ye.” e held out a heavy black hand, which the Gipsy looked at very closely, muttering to herself mys- teriously the while. inally, she spoke aloud: “Your age, young man,” she said, making a poy good guess at it, “is not far from twenty- ree— “ Hit it to the center!” interrupted the man, “I am just that age, three years older than Miranda. What else do ye know about me?” “You live about ten miles from here on a place called the Ridge,” went on the old woman, and there my hal your sweetheart, Miranda. Am I not i , “Yes, yes. Goon,” “ She lives with her brother; her parents are dead, and she is a very lovely young lady.” “Ye can’t speak that too loud, old’oman,” cried the irrepressible Badger. ‘ Miranda isa right smart gal, and when it comes to rail-splittin’, she’s thar’ every time. But Dam ’fraid it’s all up with me Oy 9 “That’s what ’'m axing you. You see, the gal can’t have two fellers at once; it won’t do.” The Gipsy witch went on. “ Miranda, is only twenty hg old, and although 80 young, she is remarkably bright. She thinks a good deal of you, sir; but there is another young man who is trying to capture her heart. a mean ras- cal, a Scoundrel of the worst kind, a villian!—” “Yes, blast meef that ain’t so.” thundered the now
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rocks and trees and The Boy Tramps. ———————————— thoroughly excited lover. ‘I’m going to lay fer him ‘some of these days, an’ then word will go out that a certain feller has passed in his checks mighty suddint, and nobodyll know who plugged him, He’s a mean scoundrel, and all he wants of Miranda is the forty acres of land that her old dad left her when he died. I see it all now, and it makes me mad.” The Gipsy witch had no difficulty in telling this man’s fortune, for he gaye her every chance in the world to guess the points most desired. The fellow remained in camp at least an hour, and left only when thoroughly satisfied that all the lead- ing facts, of both past and present, concerning his own life, and that of his girl, Miranda, had been brought to light. ** You have done mé a big service, old ’oman,” he said, as he rose to go. “‘ Here is a twenty dollar gold piece; take it; it is yours.” He pressed it into her hand, mounted his horse and rode away. The Gipsies, including Jack and Andy, quickly surrounded the old woman to look at the precious coin, “Gold, gold, fold,” she said, with the light of the fire shiring on the precious metal. King Victor took it in his hand and looked at it with scrowling eyes; then, with an oath, he cast it aside, and said: “Good for nothing. You have been cheated, old woman; cheated. The coin is bad.” The old hag fairly raved; she cursed the day she was born; she grew lived with rage as she spoke of the man who had cheated her thus, and declared that she would sometime have revenge, Finally she was quieted, but it was not until the night was half gone that she was induced to seek re- pose. The an oe ng oT rere aS camp a men, Officers of the law, searching for one Joe Badger. ‘He killed a man a few nights ago,” explained one of the officers, ‘and we are after him. Heisa dangerous fellow. He isaccused of dealing in coun- terfeit money, and then he kills people once ina while for amusement like. Anyway, it looks that way.’ ieyvae not long before it became known among the people that a noted desperado had been seen in the Bins camp, and for fear that this might result in trouble to the rovers the Gipsy king decided ta leave the place at once, That noon the Gipsies started on their way south- ward, Jack and Andy now thought of leaving the band and maketheir way back to Kentucky. But they did not like to do this for several rea- _ sons. “They might trump up some charge against me and put me in jail,” said Jack, “And as for me,” remarked Andy, “they might do the same with me, or even worse. Guess we had better stay where we are.” “But. it seems too bad about Gipsy,” said Jack. “Yes, but it is out of our power to do anything for her, we could do would be to tell her father of what we saw and heard, and he may know as much as that already. The rovers may have returned her by, this time, You know that was the scheme.” S : me Then, I say, let’s stick to the Gipsies a while longer. > The boys could do no better than this, so they said no more about leaving, and time wore on. They were now in the mountainous portion of Northern Arkansas, much of which was then, and is to this day, sparsely settled, and inhabited by an ig- norant and superstitious class of Beople: not unlike, in fog ty ae the Gipsies themselves. “Tf this is not a wild country I’d like to know where one could be found,” said Andy, after the second day’s sonny was at anend, ‘ Nothfag but * And a few lazy people,”’ put in Jack, “Perhaps we shall find something else after @ while,” remarked Andy. And they did. CHAPTER IX, ADVENTURES IN WONDERLAND, “Tris is a queer country, I must say,” declared Jack, one morning, as the rovers came to a halt on the banks of a swift-running stream. ‘ We have not seen a single house for more than an hour, and peo- ple are scarce as hen’s teeth, Fshould say. At least, we haven't come across anybody lately.” “Here comes a man now,” said Andy. The stranger was mounted on a small, scurvy- looking horse, which in that country is called a bronco, and horse and rider looked very much alike, both having about the color of the yellow earth. The man was a queer specimen, but, withal, a genuine native in every respect. “Good-evening,” he said, as he rode up. “ Good-evening,” returned Andy, who was usually the sp pend for the party. “Whar ye bound?” said the man, “Texas,” replied Andy. “A right smart distance from yer, that is,” said the stranger. ‘‘Whar do ye come from—Missouri?” “No; Kentucky.” pte at tell me. Do ye know Jim Young over ar ane but I know Bill Jones,” returned Andy, ryly. i Y don't know him,” said the man, ‘“ What. ye got to trade?” “ Nothing.” ** Anything to sell?” “TJ guess not.” “Nothing ter give away, I reckon?” “ No.” “Tike ter swap hosses?”’ “T think not.’ He turned to leave, but before going surveyed the Gipsies sharply, and said: ‘I’m lookin’ arter a stray critter, and maybe you ean tell me whar it is. By the way,I sinell meat a-fryin’, and I'd jist like ter know Whar that mieut kimfrom, P’rhaps it’s a slice o’ my critter.” He jumped from his horse and soon had the lid of the spider in his hand. “Tt ain’t my critter, that’s a fact,” he exclaimed, in a half-disappointed way. “I thought it might be, but it ain’t; it’s the j’ints of a wild turkey that’s ‘a-fryin’. My critter is a yearlin’ calf.” Without any additional remarks he mounted his horse and rode away. y “Talk about Yankee ath a ae said Jack, after the man was gone; “if this fellow is a specim~ of the rest of the inhabitants, they are the mio curious people in the world. I, for one, would like to get out of the country.” ‘his was the feeling of the boys at first, but they ‘ot over it soon, and seemed to enjoy, rather than Bishike, the wilderness of revks an which lay around them. They were both used to rough fare, could sleep on the ground as well as in a bed, en- joyeti coarse food, and could stand any amount of walking and labor of the road. Some days the ae would remain in camp, in order that their horses might have rest and abundant food, and such occasions were in- variably made use of by Jack and bee search- ing the woods for nuts and berries, climbing *rees for wild grapes and plums, and ate oe e val- leys and uplands in quest of game. Of the latter, there was so great an abundance that the boys kept the camp well supplied with meat of various kinds, and, besides, had many oe ee, with the larger game, such as deer, bears, wolves, pan- ther and wild-cat. Andy killed one of the Jatter one morning before breakfast, and the same day Jack had a desperate struggle with a bear, and would pave lost his life had not a large dog named Nera
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The Boy Tramps. 17 %member of the Gipsy camp, come to his rescue. The bear was of the black species, of medium size, and very hungry, else he would not have attacke Jack as he did. Usually these animals sneak away at the first sf Pie of a dog or man, but this one behaved quite to the contrary; he made for Jack the moment the boy came in view, but Nero met him on the way, and gave battle at once. Jack knew that the dog was no match for the bear, so, unmindful of danger, he rushed forward, and thrusting the muzzle of his gun almost in the mouth of the black monster, pulled the trigger. The gun did not go off: only the cap exploded, and to Jack's horror, the bear turned and made a rush athim. The brave dog caught the monster by the hind leg and held him back, whileethe boy rained blow after blow with his clubbed gun on the head of the brute, which so stunned and bewildered him that Jack was able to finish him with a knife, It was the hardest work of the boy’s life, and when he reached camp that night he was com- pletely exhausted. The dog, Nero, was also badly used up. He had lost one of his ears and a portion of his tail, and one eye had been put in mournin by a stroke of the bear’s paw. In fact, it required several days for the two heroes to recover from the combat, There were other adventures of a similar nature during the two weeks’ time consumed in crossing the mountains of northern Arkansas, and when they reached the river of that name, it seemed as if they had passed through innumerable hardships and perils, and had barely escaped with their lives. “Which way do we go now?” was the query of the boys, as the river was reached. Andy thought they would cross the river, and con- tinue their southern course, while Jack, who had studied the map considerably, of late, said it was only a short distance to the Tndian territory, and argued that it would be more in keeping with good judgment and reason to go that way, At any rate, one thing was certain, the worst of the journey was over, a fact which gave both Jack and Andy a great deal of satisfaction. The Gipsy band remained some days canes on the river bank. There was a small village about a mile from the place, and thither the boys directed their steps occasionally, playing for the rude villag- ers and gathering thereby small sums of money, which they regularly turned over to the Gipsy king, who praised them for their industry and bade them gather in as much more as possible. And the old witch, Mad Ellen, was not idle, either; she had a string of visitors every day, credulous kind of people, persons of all ages, men, women and children, all anxious to have their fortunes told. In this ver several days passed. At length busi- ness got dull, and the Gipsies talked of leaving. “ We'll leave this wretched country with the rising of another sun,” said the Gipsy king, who, however good his fortune in a place, always made it a point | to curse the country he was in and for a lot of barbarians. The night previous to the start Jack took his vio- lin and wandered off down the river. He was feeling restless that night, and wanted to be alone that he might think over the past and con- template oa the future. About a mile from camp he halted, and taking a position on a rock that overlooked the river, began to ny his violin, played softly at first, a quiet strain, then damn the people faster and faster, one tune after another, until the | air was full of the wild melody. After awhile he put aside his violin, and placing his face in his hands, began tothink, He thought of all that had happened since he ran away from the city, and his mind went eut in vague wonderings what would come next. Jack felt alone that night, and even his violin failed to keep him company. It was such a ghostly night, too; the the shadows of the trees bore the appeafance of moving figures on the ground, and the sweep of the river hard by, all went to increase the feeling of Jonesomeness which seemed to have taken hold of Jack so strongly. “J wish the stars wouldn’t shine so bright,” he muttered aloud, at length; “and as for the moon— somehow I allers feel sort o’ graveyard-like when I’m alone under the moonshine. I’ve been told that the moon is the face of the good Lord lookin’ at us through the sky, and that the stars are his fingers poking through and a-pointin’ at us. Maybe it’s so, and maybe it isn’t. I don’t know.” He ceased talking, and with his violin it his breast looked in silent wonder at the bi expanse of blue, so beautiful and so mysterious, “Tt just seems as though I don’t amount to any- thing,” he finally said. ‘It’s about ag that big reacher in New York told me one day when I was blacking his boots, If you want to know how little the world would miss you if you should die, he sai: run @ cambric needle in the ice of a mill-pond ani then withdraw it. Can you find the hole. Not much you can’t. And that’s about the amount of space one feller occupies in the world. As for myself, I’m worse off than that—I’m nobody, I’m nothing, not even a grain of sand.” He stopped talking suddenly, for over the water not a hundred yards away, just gliding from the shadows that lined the opposite shore, was a small boat containing three men. Jack caught the sound of voices, and as he watched the boat he saw that it would effect a land- ing not far from where he was sitting, and he there- fore felt that the best thing he could do was to get out of the way at soon as possible. “If Iknow myself,” he said, “I'l get ont of this atonce. It won't do to be found here. How dol know who these men are or what they want? I’m getting mighty suspicious of strangers.” A few a up the bank was a large tree, the trunk slightly bent, the leaves very thick, and the branches on one side growing low to the ground. Under this tree Jack halted a moment and turned his eyes on the approaching boat, then, grasping a stout limb that hung near his head, he swung him- self, squirrel-fashion, into the tree. oy uess nobody can see me here,” he said, com- letely hidden among the leaves. “I wouldn't have hem fellers clap eyes on me for the world.” He did not know why he felt that way, only that the men were strangers, and coming in such a way, and at night, he felt that he had reason w be dis- trustful. Swiftly the boat came on. Jack’s eyes were on it every moment. Pretty soon he could see the occu- pants very distinctly, Two of them were white men, while the third was a negro. The latter was very black and quite aged in appearance, the thick wool that crowned his head being sharply flecked with gray. The white men were rough-looking fel- lows, dark of feature, cunning, low-browed and vil- lainous, and both were well armed, * The boy in the tree took note of all these things, and his fear and curiosity were both aroused as ha saw that the negro was a prisoner; his hands were tied behind him and his feet were bound with heavy cords. He was, in fact, completely in the power of his captors, who evidently intended him some in- jury. As the boat touched the shore the negro began to whine piteously; he begged to be set at liberty and implored his brutal captors to spare his life. “Stop yer beggin’ and go to prayin’,” growled one ofthe men. “I’m about tired of your nonsense. If Thad my way about it, instead of hanging you in a civilized sort of way, I'd shoot you on the spot. It’s a heap sight more to hang a man than it is to shoot him. Come, now, what have you got to say for yourself?” ‘I didn’t do nuffin,” snuffled the negro. “Ise moon ghone so very bright, | 0n’y @ poor old man, an’ I don’t want to die fo’s
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, “a slow pages The Boy Tramps. rk fo’ yo’ all de res’ ob my life ‘0’ ‘il on’y let me lib.”’ “What's the use of fooling with the old thief?’ demanded the other man. ‘“ Let’s hang the black wretch to the nearest tree.” s As it peupened, the “‘ nearest tree’ was the one tn which Jack was concealed. “They're going to hang the nigger right before my eyes,” said the boy. “I wish 1 could help him get away. It’s awful. I wonder what he has done, should think from what they say he is an old thief. Perhaps he has only captured a chicken or two from some plantation; but that is enough to hang a nigger down here. What if the brutes should see me, Very likely they’d hang me, too.” It took the combined strength of the two men to drag tho pergees negro to the tree; but they got him there at length, and then, while one of them held him against the tree, the other took a stout rope and bound him securely to the trunk of the tree, taking care that his feet and bands should be well secured. Meanwhile, the poor wretch howled and groaned piteously and continually begged for mercy. Jack watched the proceedings very oe: Evi- dently the men did not contemplate murder out- _right, but they were going to murder the negro by they would leave him there in that wilderness tied toa tree, without any hope of help from any quarter, and with the certainty of being devoured by wild animals, or, if not that, of slowly starving to death. It was more horrible than imme- diate death. Jack shuddered as he thought of it, Could it be possible these men would be guilty of such monstrous cruelty. The negro was almost overcome with terror. He could no longer cry aloud; he could only moan and beg in whispers. With a parting curse, and a wish that the poor wretch might never cease to suffer, the white brutes took their departure. Then, for a few seconds, all was still. while yet. T’ll jes wo or ni J CHAPTER X. AMONG THE SHADOWS. Jaox was still in the tree, and during all the noise below he had es perfectly quiet; but now that the men were gone, he thought it would be safe to make a change of position. So without more delay he swung himself down from the tree, by the aid of one of the trailing branches, and a moment later stood facing the as- tonished negro, who little thought any human being was so near. “ Sakes alive!” he ejaculated; ‘‘who de worl’ am hyr now? Seems like ebbrybody am tryin’ fo’ to murder me to-night. Go ‘way, boy, an’ lemme *Jone!”’ “But I'm your friend,” said Jack. See. “Whar did yo’ come from?” ** Up the tree.”” The African groaned. “Go 'way—go *way!” he cried. “I knows what ou am; I’se see’d such as you afore; you’s aghost. on’t put yer cold hand on me, but jes’ cl’ar out an’ lemme alone!” The negro was badly frightened, and it took Jack some little time to convince him that he—Jack—was not a ghost but a human being, and one who meant him no harm. “Tl cut the rope, if you’ve got a knife,” said the hoy, eager to free the now almost-paralyzed African, “Me villains tied you pretty tight.” Unfortunately, the negro was not the possessor of a knife, so Jack was obliged to use his hands and teeth, and work diligently with both before he could make any impression on the tightly-drawn knots, He succeeded at length, however, and the cords fell from the negro’s feet and hands, and he was once more a free man. Then Jack and he hurriedly left the spot, and be- “Tam here to ¥ took themselves to the depths of the forest, where they knew they would be safe from capture should the murderous villains who had attempted the life of the African return. Once they halted in the full light of the moon, and Jack gave the negro a searching look. There was something about the man that seemed familiar. What it was, Jack did not know. He looked again and again; he recalled the faces he had seen in the past; he looked with wondering eyes; then, all of a sudden, there appeared before his vision an old African whom Jack remembered as **one of the Templetons ”—Black Tom, by name. "Is it possible?” cried the boy, seizing the negro by the shoulder. ‘I thought I had seen you before, and now I know who you are. Black 'Tom, or I’m a sinner}”’ _ The negro surveyed the lad with rolling eyes. “Golly mighty!” at length he cried; “I reckon I knows yo’, boy. By de bones ob de great prophet Isaiah! I’se de mos’ ’stonished nigger in de worl’! I’se mighty sartin I knows yo’. Ain't yo’ de fellah what’s name is Jack?” ““That’s the ticket," replied the boy. ‘‘I am Jack, the fiddler, and don’t you forget it.” *“ Jack, de fiddler,’ repeated the African. “Yes, that’s it.” “ An’ didn’t you, boy, steal Gipsy from her poor ole father—ain’t you de bad boy what did it?” “ Not much, old man, not much I didn’t steal her; and if you go to talking that way, I'll wish I had left ou tied to the tree. I’m only Jack, the fiddler, and never stole anything in my life.” The negro began to realize the situation. **Sakes alive! how queer,” he finally said. “*I’se *stonished to see you. Dis am a strange Providence, Massa Jack, Whar’ hab yo’ been all dis long while?’ “Tt’s a long story. I can’t tell you all,” replied the boy. “I have a few ie ions to ask you, and I don’t want anything but the truth.” * Dat’s what ye shall git. Goon.” “Do you know anything of the Templetons? Where are they, and is Gipsy alive or dead?’ Black Tom’s head hung low on his breast. He did not speak for several seconds, then he said: “De Templetons hab all gibben up de ghest; dey am no more.” - b What! you don’t tell me they are -dead—not eady **T didn’t say dat, but I tells ye, Massa Jack, like de children ob Israel, dey hab gone dis way, an’ dat way, an’ all ober, and so whar’ am dey?” ““And Gipsy?” said Jack, “Oh, de poo’ little gal, I’d gib de worl’ to hab her ses aes I reckon Gipsy am dead.” ol “But I calculate she am. De robbers stole her away, an’ den murdered her,” “ What robbers?” said Jack. ee yourself.” “Why, de robbers dat stole Gipsy. One day Massa Templeton got a letter, and it read something like dis: ‘Gib us heaps ob money, an’ we'll return tor little gal; fail to do dis, an we’ll murder her.’ hat do yo’ s’pose de old boss did?” ‘He began to investigate, I suppose,” said Jack, “Dat’s it; inwestigate. But he couldn’t get Gipsy kack; de robbers got frightened, and run away, an’ so the old boss got sick at heart, an’ said he was gwine fo’ to go to California, whar he thought de robbers had spirited away de gal. Oh, it made awful work, De plantation wassold, an’ all de niggers hed to seatter, an’ dere was howlin’ an’ gnashin’ ob teeth fo’ weeks an’ weeks,”” “Then he started across the plains,” said Jack; “he left at onee?” “Yes; anodder ob dem terrible letters started him at once, It was from de robbers, an’ dey war dere, jes’ as Massa Templeton thought. He didn’t wait long after dat; he jes’ sold off eb’ry t’ing, an’ den joined a — ob fellahs, an’ was gone.” ‘* Heart-broken, I suppose,” said Jack. ‘ woe than that now,” replied the negro, “he 5 , / ee te eae
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The Boy Tramps. ” **Dat’s what I say, Massa Jack; dead! It don’t take much ob a man to die; any common niggah can do dat, but de old boss was killed,” ““Not murdered?” “Yes, murdered.” “* Who did it?” “Tnjuns.” “T begin to understand you; know what you mean. and it is awful. In ee a4 with others, he started across the plains, and the party was murdered by Indians. Isn’t that the way of it?” “Dat am it perxactly. We got de news bout a month after he was gone. May de good Lord keep de little gal Gipsy from harm; she hab nobody to look to now but him.” Jack was silent. He was thinking what a cruel fate was Gipsy’s, and wondering if he would ever see her again. “This is a strange world, old man,” he said, at length. “Ididn’: expect ever to see you again, and as for the Templetons, you have told me news very strange and queer. It may be that I shall be able to find Gips one of these days. Who can tell?” Black ‘Tom shook his head, “De Lor’ only knows,” he said, ‘de Lor’ only knows,” Still shone the moon silently down; still the stars glistened; still the river went sweeping by on its way to the sea, and for several minutes neither the boy or the man spoke a word, Finally Jack said: “Tt is after midnight. Let us go to the Gipsy camp.” It ae not a very long walk, and the two friends were soon there, Andy being the first to see them. “Where in the world have you been, Jack?” he said, petulantly. ‘I thought maybe somebody had run away with you. Who is this with you?” “A friend,” replied Jack. : “His color is pretty substantial,” said Andy. “ What sort of a friend is he?’ * An old friend.” “A nigger friend?” “Yes: I'll tell you all about him.” In a very few words, Jack told what had happened, all about the hanging of the negro, or the threats to that effect, how his brutal captors had tied him to a tree, and there left him, as they supposed, to perish of hunger, or to become the prey of wild beasts; and then, all about the negro’s connection with the ‘Templetons, and, finally, how the party of travelers to the Pacific Coast, of whom John Templeton was one, had met death at the hands of the Indians, only a few weeks before. “Wasn't it awful?” remarked Andy. ‘“ And then to think of the little girl Gipsy not knowing anything about it. I wonder what has become of her. Per- haps this old man can put us on the trail.” “ He has already,” said Jack. ‘‘ Gipsy is supposed to be in California,” Turning to the negro, Andy said: “You had a narrow escape, my black friend. What had you been doing?” “Nuffin,” was the short reply. * Are you sure of that?” “Jes’ *bout as sure as Iam ob anythin’. Dey ‘cused me ob stealin’, but I nebber stole nufiin, I’se a free niggah, an’ dare’s whar de trouble is. Don’t youreckon some ob ’em will cotch me yer?” “No, I think not,” said Andy. ‘You must keep dark, and then they won’t catch you,” “He's pretty dark already, I should say,” re- marked Jack, dryly. * Just so.” While they were talking Mad Ellen put in an ap- “e Who is this black wretch?” she asked, “A friend of mine,” replied Jack, “Hum! a nigger. Betterrun your knife into him.” More trouble for Black Tom. He began to look frightened, Tete uit right,” gaid Jack to the trembling Afri- P we! can; “the old gal isa little cross to-night, but she fs perfectly harmiless.”” ; “T don’t know bout dat,” said Tom. “ButIdo. Isay, auntie?” “Well, say it then.” “You don’t seem to like the black race; but I tell you this nigger isa tip-top fellow.” “Hum! IH warrant he’s a thief.” “Tt's jest a big mistake you t’ink I’se a t’ief,” put in Black Tom. “tI nebber stole anyt’ing from no- body, nebber. I’se ahigh-toned, Christian nigger, I is, an’ I don’t care who knows it.” ; > “Of course you don’t care who knows it,” said Jack, “but what I wish to do is to convince this old lady that such is the case.” The old hag did not appear to hear the remarks of the youth; she grumbled a little as she stood by the fire, then scattering a few dry pieces of bark on the smoldering coals, wrapped a blanket around her and sought her tent. “If we are going to get any sleep to-night,” said Andy, after she was gone, “we had better pitch ix soon, It’smighty near morning now.” There were blankets enough for all, and Andy and the negro, making use of one apiece, lay down by the fire and were soon soundly asleep. Y “T guess I’ll stay up an’ look at the stars awhile,” remarked Jack, who was not very sleepy. He seated himself on a log near at hand, and with his head and shoulders covered by a blanket, Indian fashion, looked up at the sky, and gave full freedom to his thoughts. He could see the yellow moon hanging like a ball in the heavens, the stars shining through the drift- ing clouds, the ocean of blue, so full of mystery, the tall trees waving above and around him, and as the moments flew by, there came trooping up from the past hundreds of familiar faces, some young, some old; houses, flelds and meadows and velvet lawns swept by, there was a rude stile and a winding path, and there {os right before him, with her little lithe figure and aughing eyes, Was Gipsy Templeton! Jack was dreaming. CHAPTER XI. A DANGEROUS JOURNEY. Tae camp was astir by daybreak, and Jack and Andy were aroused by the rough voice of old King Victor, who, bending over them, said: “it’s time we were off; are you going to sleep for- ever? Rouse up.” Once on his feet, Jack looked around for the darky, but that sable personage was nowhere to be seen, “ Have you seen anything of the black rascal?” he asked of Andy. “T have not,” was the reply. “T wonder if he hasn’t skipped out,” said Jack. “It’s quite likely he has,” replied Andy: “and it may be well for us to see if our pocket-books are safe. I didn’t like the looks of the old chap.” Black Tom was surely gone, but contrary to the expectation of even Jack himself, nothing of value was missing from the eee “He thought he had fallen in with a bad crowd, I | baer said Andy, ‘and so took this op Piney 4 to epart for other pastures. Pity you hadn't left him to his fate last night.” “J don't think so, Andy,” said Jack. “Why don't you?” “Because by saving his life I have learned all pati the Templetons. I know better now what to °. reeeinl “and if you think the gal’s worth i Worth searching for, Andy?” Yes.” ‘ Paey peuplotont I ‘t mean anything, Jack, I know she is worth two of us, and if we ean find her, we'll do it if it takes us ten years to doit in. I’m awfully ‘shamed 5 ‘ > “Well, I'm with you, Jack; you know that,” said searching
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Wea ae ae > Ppa aa ls | we — ty Ste _ B, ag 4 ao The Boy Tramps. about that niger, Ata where @ man by the name of Racket, who took the whole crowd over, including the wagon and horses, for two dollars, and took his pay in trade; that is, the old cor told his fortune. i company then hurried on in a southwesterly direction, traveling rapidly, halting only at night, moving this way for several weeks without inter- ruption, We are pretty well south, I should say,” re- marked Andy, one day, as he noticed how warm it was, and how summer-like all things appeared, “We are in the State of Texas,” responded Jack, confidently. ‘Don’t you see that white stuff grow- iny yonder?” » Yes; what is it?” * Cotton,” It was a novel sight to the boys, and they looked over the field with curious eyes, “T tell you, Jack, I like this kind of a State,” said Andy, with enthusiasm. ‘‘I like to see big ficlds of cotton, and I’d like to work in’em along with the nig, ers, Wouldn’t it be fun?” “Perhaps it would, and perhaps it wouldn't,” re- turned Jack. “I think you’d rather fiddle for a living, after you’d worked in a cotton-fleld a while, I would anyway.” The halts made by the Gipsy band while passing through the northern portion of the State were in- frequent and short, but once in more populous dis- tricts the strollers pitched their tents and remained as long ina peed as there was ety chance of gain. All that winter Jack and Andy led this roving life with the Gipsies. It was a wild sort of existence, full of eg adventures and burdened with aopes and fears and many disappointments; there were _ trials and hardships too numerous to mention, and _ rebuffs that would send a chill to the stoutest heart, 0 the weeks and months passed, and when the long summer days had come, and the breath of sunny Mexico, laden with the perfume of palm-trees and wild roses and orange groves, touched the cheeks of the strollers, they found themselves on the Rio Grande, not far from the beautiful city of San An- tonio, nestling among the hills. It seemed to the boys that they had reached a paradise, such as they had read about in song and story. “This ig a beautiful country,” said Andy. “I could live here always.” “T could too,” returned Jack, “ but for one thing.” ** What is that?” **T want to find Gipsy.” Andy sighed. He began to think Jack was going crazy. “You will not find her here,” he said; “if she is alive she is in another country—California. I think IT should like to go there, Jack. What do you say?” Jack grasped at the idea at once, but he failed to ant a great distance down the river from though, and I'd like to kick him “aa one end of the State'to the other; he deserves 1ey were camped, they were ferried over by Asif she knew her presence was desired, Mad Ellen stepped up at this moment, and the Gipsy king requested her to mark out the future course of the party, and do it at once. “Study the signs well, old woman,” he said “study them well. If the voices of the night and o: the dead who speak to you through the stars and by the wind tell us to go, then shall we go. Let the de- lay be short. We await your answer.” Te waved her off, and retired himself to the se- clusion of bis tent, The following morning the decision of the old h was announced; it was that the band should stare at once for California and make the trip in as short a time as possible, ; “Tt is a long, long distance,” said the old woman ‘and there are many dangers .on the way. It will be necessary to prepare well for the journey.” The Gipsy king and his men had a way of getting hold of eebereys such as horses, cattle, and things to eat, that was beyond the understanding of Jack and Andy. In less than a week after it was decided to go to California, the old man had secured a good outfit, consisting of two large covered wagons, six head of horses, three dogs, guns and pistols without number, plenty of blankets and an abundance of provisions, “T think he must take things that don’t belong to him,” remarked Andy, as he and Jack looked over the outfit. “I would call it stealing.” “So would I,” said Jack, ‘‘ But these fellows are of the kind that think the world owes ’em a living. I for one don’t look at it in that way.” “What if the old seamp should be caught in some of his tricks?” suggested Andy, with some uneasi- ness, \ “J would rather not be in company with the crowd when that time comes,” said Jack. “Gipsy is only another name for thief, so far as this crowd is con- cerned, They are a mighty hard set, I tell you.” “Do you think any of ‘em would murder?” “Tf the gain was great enough, they would. The old man is a treacherous old dog depend upon it.” The boys were now well satisfied that King Victor was an old rascal and the rest of the crowd of the same stripe. Still if was now too late to part com- Pany with them, and then, besides, they were very desirous to visit California, and they saw no other way of geting thats than by going with the Gipsies. “Whateyer happens, Andy,” said Jack, ‘‘ we must stick together. It is not nécessary for us to steal and rob because they do. Once in California, we will shift for ourselves.” Preparations for the journey having been fully made, the Gipsy band moved off, taking a course due west from the ancient city of San Antonio, where they had secured the last of their outfit. For the first hundred miles the trail was excellent, then it seemed to widen out; there were streams to cross, and hills to climb, and windin, gullies to fol- low. The whole country was a desolate wilderness, inhabited only by Indians and a few desperate white see how it could be carried into execution. “It’s a long distance, and a wild country,” he ob- served, ei heeeely = “And plenty of Injuns on the way,” “T don’t know much about Injuns, but are great hair-dressers,”” “ And sealp-lifters,” retorted Jack, * Yes, I have heard go.” While they were talking, the Gipsy king put inan Bee rance, and Jack asked him what he thought of alifornia, and what chance there was to get there. « “It’s the place for us, ‘replied the old man, shak- ing his tangled locks. “It is sxid there is gold in Cali- _ fornia in abundance, and that is what we are after. hat do I care for danger, time, or distance, so that I fet money and riches? Let the old witch, Mad Ellen, tell us what to do. She will read the future for us by the stars in the sky, and the an- swer will come in the wind, which she alone can in- terpret.” ut in Andy, His said they men. Still the California trail was tolerably well at and the travelers managed to keep it pretty wi () The second day out the first adventure of the journey occurred, It was along toward evening that he Gipsy party came to a halt at the command of a rough voice proceeding from a low tent situated on what maiot termed a cross-roads, “Halt! strangers,” cried the voice, ‘an’ don’t be long about it either. I'd like to have a little talk with ye,” The speaker was a fair specimen of the Texas frontiersman. He was tall and slim, his hair was yellow and Jong, face, and a slobber of tobacco-juice oyer his sun- burnt whiskers; his garments were of the coarsest kind, his hat was white, the crown full of holes and the rim turned up in front. He waslikewise a small | arsenal Of knives and pistols, and the long-barreled there was a cadaverous look in his
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a 2 The Boy Tramps. gun that he held in his hand looked wicked and omi- no us. 4 ape Gipsies looked at this human monster in si- ion ‘Or, There he stood, with his long body bent forward, his gray eyes making keen observations, his rifle still raised, and a look of general viciousness about him that is hard to explain. “Wal, who are you fellows, anyhow?” at length growled the stranger. “It’s my business to ax ewe and yours to answer. Jes’ trot out your plans.” ‘We are only travelers,” said Jack. Me oey travelers!” repeated the man, with a sneer, * And do you carry yer own whisky?” Hes think so,” replied the lad. “Then you refuse to patronize me, do ye?” said the stranger, sharply. 7 Patronize you! “What do you mean?” i Why, patronize me, buy your liquor of me, drink at my bar.” “What have you to drink?” asked the Gipsy king. i man pointed to a canvas arrangement near by, under which was a small table, two or three bet stools and a whisky barrel. har’s the kul outfit,” he said, with a show of enthusiasm, ‘A barrel of whisky, and a deck of kerds, an’ thar’s millions init, Istarted this scheme fifteen years ago, and now Iam a rich man. It’s a lively business. You see, this is a cross-roads, or rather here is whar’ the west an’ the south trails come together. Everybody that passes either way stops and sees me, and sometimes thar’s pases yer from morn till night, an’ whisky jes’ a-flowing. obody comes yer unless they drinks, and it’s all cash, And then, once in a while, say every_ other week, I manage to kill a stranger or two with lots of dust, an’ I throws thar bodies in the bushes fer the crows to eat, Fer instance, ef you fellers hadn't ‘a’ halted when I guv the word, I'd ’a’ massacred the hull crowd of ye, an’ then went through yer pock- ets.’ This was a queer way of collecting toll, the Gip- sies thought, but as the man evidently meant what he said they drank his poor whisky and paid him for the same at liberal rates, . “Tallers aim to give every one his money’s worth,” said the merchant of the border, “ an'I hope none of ye'will go away feelin’ grieved, Tam an honest man—” “You are a robber!” put in the Gipsy chief, now thoroughly aroused. ‘ What right have you to levy a tax on innocent travelers?” “Don't Town this land?” asked the stranger, with a@ sneer, “T don't know. Do you?” - “Yes, IreckonIdo. Ibought it of the State in the regular way, an’ I’m trying to cultivate it.” The Gipsy king did not think further argument would do any good, and it might provoke trouble; so “he ordered a forward movement of the party, and was glad enough to escape with his life. ““We have passed one danger,” said Jack, ‘ but we may look for others right along from now on, What if we should meet a hostile band of savages, what could we do?” King Victor shrugged his shoulders; he was well aware that Lew é were now in the Indian country, and that it would be all but impossible to keep clear of the many prowling bands that were constantly scouring the plains. The first few weeks of the journey, and no Indians were encountered, but toward the close of a hard day’s journey there was seen a short distance in ad- vance a train of four wagons. The discovery occasioned not a little excitement among the Gipsies, who, not knowing whether the > See were a te or red, friends or foes, were 1oth to approach them. However, ashout from the moving wagons in ad- vance satisfied the Gipsies that their presence was | own, 80 they boldly pushed forward “T hope the strangers are not Indians,” said Jack, is was feeling somewhat nervous over the pros- pect.’ “A bad white man is more to be feared than a bad Indian,” remarked the Gipsy king, suggestively. The strangers were moving very slowly, Gipsy train would soon overtake them. CHAPTER XIL A BLOODY EXPERIENCE, “Tyny’RE a queer looking set, them fellers, and } wonder who they are?” said one of the travelers be longing to the four wagons. **Pikes from Missouri,” laughed another of the men, ‘Did you ever see a full-blooded Pike?” “ee 0. ” “Well, they always travel about like this gang a-coming—only with more dogs to the outfit. There isn’t much glory in traveling that way, as I see it.” There were ten men belonging to the train and three women and four children, and all were out looking at the Gipsy band coming slowly toward them. Kither Intentionally or otherwise, Jack and Andy had managed to get several yards in advance of the party, and the first that was said by the strangers was spoken to them, . One of the company, a rather good-looking man, was the spokesman. hs ra lot of prairie rats you are,” he said, by ° ‘ way introduction. ‘Where are you going?” “No California,” replied Jack, stoutly. “You'll never get there, my lad,” avowed the Darter ae ® ” nd why not, pray?’ “The wind w: sl you away, or the grassho; ill eat E Zi of pers will eat you—” “Or the wolves will take ye,” put in a tall man with long yellow hair, “Tam not afraid,” said Jack. “ But where are you going?” “ California.” “Then we are traveling the same way. Why not — go together?” “Well,” said the man, “I don’t mind it, if the crowd suits. The bigger the company the better for us, through this wilderness. It’s the most peril- ous journey I ever undertook. If we are not all scalped ani ps Rat dry inside of a week then I’m no prophet. But here comes the boss himself.” King Victor, with his shagey head and keen gray eyes, was a little in advance of the rest of the party and just then, as he came hobbling along, li seemed wonderfully old and care-worn, and, witha, very weird and strange. . “An uncouth looking chap,” said one of the men. ““Who is he?” : “King of the Gipsies,” replied Andy. * And that’s the sort of crowd youare! I thought you were only travelers.” * And so we are—Gipsy travelers and fortune-tell- ers.”” The men laughed. ¥ Then the Gipsy king putin a word, and the conver- sation becam* sharp and general, and there was much wit and laughter expended. Finally the Gipsies were assured of the protection of the emigrants if they saw fit to accompany them, and with this the entire company, now on the friendliest terms, pushed on deeper into the un- broken wilds, : It_ was » tedious journey, full of dangers and ee raquiring great watchfulness on the part of © mer, So far very few Indians had been seen, and yot re- foo were current that the country was full of Leb. 7 But at lenge there came a change in this rigs in ‘Ine day, while the Cate cua f was at dinner, there came into camp several Indians, and that night @ horse was missing. This was the first installment of trouble, . E 2
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22 The Boy Tramps. ~~ The next day quite a company of savages, desper- ate-looking rascals, painted and plumed, put in an nce at did they want? Not much at first, for they were very quiet and or- derly, but this lasted only a short time when they n to show their true colors. One of the rascals, watching his opportunity, ap- propriated a fine hat belonging to one of the com- pany, and, not content with this, stole a pipe out of he pocket of the same traveler. This started the rest. Ifone of their number cor.d make a successful - raid on the whites, the othcrs could do the same, wei thereupon all started out to pilfer indiscrimin- wtely. Finally, one swarthy brute made a raid on the pri- vate apartment of the boys, and was about to get away with their musical instruments, both harp and violin, when, quick as a flash, Andy picked up a heavy stone and hurled it at the red-skin, striking him full on the head, and he went over like a ship in a storm. Then he howled and kicked, and two or three enter imps made arush atthe boy asif they would ear him limb from limb. “Jack! Jack!” cried Andy, who thought of no one else in time of danger. Jack was promptly on hand, and _ the second mis- sile that was thrown flew from his fingers and struck the foremost savage full in the stomach, and he, too, went over howling. Then there was a good deal of noise made by both whites and reds, and some sharp, savage talk fol- Icwed, and finally, with menacing gestures and yells fierce and loud, the red-skins mounted their ponies and peered away over the hills, “They'll be back after awhile, depend upon it,” said the leader of the emigrants; ‘‘and the best thing we can do now is to prepare for them.” This was evident to all, except, perhaps, the Gipsy king, who laughed at the idea that the Indians meant them any harm, “*You are an'old fool,” said the leader of the emi- ae wrathily, speaking to King Victor, ‘‘These dians are Apaches, a tribe that has always been at war with the whites, It will be mighty good luck if we are not aH murdered in cold blood.” After a short consultation it was decided to move rapidly forward, and, if driven into a fight by the In- dians, make breastworks of their wagons and die ‘hting like heroes. ow that they knew their danger, the greatest care was taken on the way; the weapons of the men were always ready for service, and at night the camp was strongly guarded. This state of affairs continued several days, and no Indians were seen, although signs of them were nu- merous, So the days passed, and at length, after so danger- ous a journey, our friends began to feel compara- tively safe, although, in reality, they were now in the most hazardous position they had yet ween in, for they were in the very heart of the Apache coun- try. “Then Jack and Andy felt gay and light-hearted, and the Gipsies got over their melancholy, and the emigrants were more talkative and free than ever. One afternoon the boys, who had learned some- thing of the use of the rifle, started out in search of game. a When they left the train they did not expect to be ‘one long, but observing on the crest of a distant lla herd of antelope, they gave chase, and soon were miles away from camp and friends. But the boys, eager to bring down the game, heed- ed not the distance nor the Feige prea shades of pight, but hurried along with their guns in their nds ready for instant service. Pretty soon Jack, who was the more thoughtful of the two, halted and said: “T think we have gono far enough. It’s no use tryin’ to get a shot at these mountain-deer; they are — too fleet-footed and sharp of ear. Let’s return to the train.” { “ Agreed,’* said Andy, and they turned and slowly retraced their steps, It was then that Jack noticed that it was rapidly growing dark, and he mentioned the fact to his companion and the two quickened their steps to a smart run. But darkness falls wonderfully fast in that western country, and it was not long before the rocks and distant hills, the somber mounds of earth scattered here and there, the stunted trees along the ravines, were lost in gloom, and the boys were in darkness. The nights were moonless; only the stars shone; and the prairie was a trackless sea of waving grass, “ We are lost,” spoke up And the night, at least. way as another. Jack?” “Yes, badly; I don’t know one direction from an- other, Iam ’fraid even now we are going the wrong way.” ; rihen let’s halt,” said Andy. “It is folly to go on fir in this aimless way.” at last; “lost for We are just as likely to go one Are you not turned around, But what was the use of halting? To halt would a be to acknowledge that they were lost. So they continued to wander on, finally reaching Bi what is calledin that country a canyon, Its borderé were of stunted trees and rocks, with an abundance ir gf thick bushes and rocks running through the cen- a er. Here the boys concluded to pass the rest of the t night, if they could find a rocky ledge where they t would be out of the wind and also out of sight of P any one who might pass that way. 1 Such a place was very easily found; and our young friends, overcome by fatigue, after they had once ‘ lain down to rest were soon soundly asleep. ; _ Neither of them knew anything until three o’clock ree in the morning, when Jack awoke with a start. He did not know why, but he felt that something was wrong. ““Andy—Andy!”’ he whispered, shaking that wor- thy by the arm. “What is it, old duffer?” replied the boy, still dreaming. ‘You can’t get blood out of a turnip; these folks haven’t poet a “What are you talking about?’ questioned Jack rather Spe dae “Thereis something to pay—tI don’t know what. Get up: Andy was soon wide awake “What's the go?’ he askea. “Listen!” said Jack. They listened intently, and there came over the Doria a queer mingling of sounds like the noise of le. Then a chorus of fierce yells, far distam jet dis. tinct, broke on the air, then followed shrieks and groans, the hit a of rifles, hoarse shouts of com- mand, tramping and snorting of maddened steeds, in all a confusion of sounds terrible and wild. The boys knew the meaning of it allat once. A fight was in progress, the train was attacked by In- ians, “What shall we do?” asked ane in a flurry of excitement. ‘“‘Can we do anything to help our friends?” “Come on!” said Jack, shortly; and they left the zoe and started in the direction of the field of strife, But presently the yelling ceased, there were no sounds of battle, no cries of fear, no shrieks of ago- ny, the prairie was as silent as the grave. What did it mean? The boys hurried on, their young hearts in a wild flutter. On they went, stumbling from rock to rock, then reaching the broad prairie they thought the train could not be far away. But they traveled all the rest of the night without finding it, and were still search- ing when the sun came up the next morning. They
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ae: oY => The Boy Tramps. were then on the open prairie, with an ocean of sand all around them, % “This is an awful desert,’ whispered Jack, “and the Me we get into it the worse it is,” “Nothing but sand,” returned Andy; “nothing but sand. 1{ think now we are certainly lost.” Still on they wnt, and all that long forenoon not a bird, or crawling thing, was seen, and not a sound broke the awful silence; the prairie was as still as a waveless sea, and over the boundless wilderness of sand, white and glistening in the sun, tramped the boys, who now felt that they were terribly alone. “We'll never find the train, never,’ said Andy; but as he spoke Jack pointed upward, and there sailing in the air was a hawk, and then another, and still another, all circling around the same point. _ “Keep your eye on them,” said Jack; “they will guide us, if anything will, 1am sure. See! they are even now preparing to touch the ground.” The boys were not mistaken. Where the vultures found a landing there was the battle-field, and there the boys found the mangled bodies of men, women and children scattered here and there over the plain. It wasasad and painful sight, this gory battle- field, and once on the spot where bad raged the fiercest fight, our young friends’ halted and gazed around them in silent terror. “* And all this happened, and we not a mile away,” said Andy, “We must have traveled back and forth this morn- ing,” returned Jack; “tor perhaps just circled around. This isa terrible sight, and had we been here, we too, would have been killed.” a of the wagons were torn to pieces and over- turned, boxes and barrels were scattered, around, and all movable articles that seemed of any value to the victorious party were carried away. The attack on the train had very likely been so sudden and unexpected that the travelers could offer only a feeble resistence, and those who did make a stang@ were soon overpowered. Some of the bodies were beyond recognition, the limbs were torn off, inl mangled in a horrible manner, and scalps taken. Oue thing the boys noticed, and wondered at it; there was not a Gipsy body among the slain! What did it mean? - Jack looked at Andy, but said nothing; Andy looked at Jack, and was silent. uld any one solve the terrible mystery? CHAPTER XII. DARKNESS AND DAYLIGHT. Tue boys did not stay long on that gory battle- fleld; they were fearful lest they, too, might be murdered, and so hurried away as fast as they could go. But first they filled a capacious leathern pouch with provisions, and secured their instruments, harp and violin, which, strange to say, were found with- out a cord or string broken, Westward they took their way, and all the rest of that day, and for several days following, the: traveled without seeing any one, or meeting wi = signs of civilization. ‘inally their provisions gave out, and then came a search for water, followed by a dreadful thirst, and the horrible thought that death might come to them in that form. ¢ Faint from hunger, and almost dead from thirst, one night the boys stretched themselves on the round, and with the moon and stars watching over hem, were soon soundly asleep. . ‘And they were still sleeping when the sun came up, and were only awakened when a rough voice, followed by a coarse laugh, sounded in their ears, “What ‘sort of a nest is this?’ exclaimed the A and Jack and Andy both sprung to their feet once, T say, look yer, fellers,” continued the speaker; “there is something rich. Did yeeversee sich a nest afore?” About a dozen men gathered around our young friends, and all were curious to know who they were and where they came from, and no less curious were Jack and Andy in regard to the strangers who had thus surprised them. The latter claimed to be gold prospectors, while two at least of the company belonged to that class of frontiersmen known as Indian scouts. To these hardy sons of the prairie Jack and Andy told their story, how they had started to cross the plains in company with the Gipsies,the mcetine with the emigrants, the Indians, the bloody battie for life, and other Interesting particulars of the terrible journey. ; “A Pioodthirst set, these Indians,” exclaimed Andy, thinking of the horrible massacre. “How do you know they were Indians?” spoke up a tall hunter, with a grizzly brown beard. “ Ah) there is the point,” said another old ranger. “Did ye see ’em?” “No,” replied Jack. “Then ye don’t know whether Injuns or white men didthe business.” The boys were silent. Jack was thinking of the Gipsy king, and wonder- ing if he were not the treacherous one, It seemed that way at least. “Never heard of Vasquez, the robber chief, did ye?” questioned the hunter who had spoken first. “ Never heard of him,” said Andy. “Wal, he’s what’s called aslasher. It is said he does this sort 0’ business; looks arter the emigrant trains which come over. Wouldn’t wonder a bit if + was Vasquez what did the work for your friends,” This was seconded by others, and the latest known exploits of the robber chief were discussed at some net by the men, who seemed to know all about im. Yor several hours the boys remained in the com- Maes of these men, and then, having been given a resh supply of food, and with directions how to reach the nearest settlement, they thanked their benefactors and journeyed on. Nothing occurred worthy of mention the rest of that day, but the day following, just at its close, they were startled by the sounds of music, which seemed to come from out a tangle of trees and vines and rocks, near the wayside. It was the musie of a guitar, and sounded won- derfully sweet and perfect to the boys, who stood stone still and listened for several seconds, Jack spoke first. “ Another mystery,” he said. / “Who is it? Whatisit? Where is it?” said Andy, with wondering eyes. “T can’t tell ye,” said Jack. “It's a guitar, I guess, and it sounds awful sweet.” “Tet’s answer it,” suggested Andy. “Do you catch the air?” ‘No. Andy _put his violin to his breast and began to play. Soon Jack accompanied him on his harp. The air played by the boys was soft and sweet, even more melodious than the strains that fell from the fingers of the unseen musician, Pretty soon the boys ceased playing, and listened. But they cou'ld hear nothing—nothing but the soughing of the wind through the mountain gorges and the rustling of the tangled vines hard by. “Whoever the player is he has heard us,” whis- pered Andy, his sharp eyes looking from one side to the other. ‘I wish the old wretch—” “You speak like a mutton-head,” observed Jack, coolly. “* How do you know it’s an old wretch?” “T jes’ guessed at it,” was the reply. “Tt may be a young person,” suggested Jack, “1 kind o’ think it’s a fairy.” ‘A little gal, maybe,” said Andy. “A prairie spirit,” returned Jack,
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See eee Pay hoe eae EA Ge Cran Tae “Gipsy, maybe,” safd And: Jack carted” y What an idea this was. But he could not shake it off. Despite of all that he could do his mind went back to the green fields of Kentucky, and, again he saw Gigsy Templeton, the black-haired Gipsy, standing in the meadow, keeping time with her little hands to the music of that rickety old violin that he used to play, and laughing with delight as he executed some fantastic movement with the bow. All this passed the vision of the boy in an instant, and when next he spoke it was as if he were dreaming, “It isn’t Gipsy,” he said, “I know it isn’t,” and then he added, after a short pause, “it makes ri think of her awfully, this music, Let’s hurry along. He had hardly said this when the bushes parted, and the next moment a tall man, area as a monk, with a black robe and a flowing beard, ap- peared to view. “Who are you?” demanded Andy, stepping back. “Ah! Americanos,” said the man, smiling and [| bowing; and then, in tolerable English, “I am glad to see you, Haye you traveled far, i Beam th gs pointed in the direction they had come, and said: “ Hundreds of miles, old man, hundreds of miles.” The monk held up his hands in astonishment, “Saints preserve us!” he said, ‘‘ What perils you must have passed!” * Passed!” repeated Andy; “that is just where you are mistaken; we didn’t pass ‘em; we just rushed right into ’em.” “Brave boys,” said the friar. ‘How ve happy I am to entertain you. The pathway of life is fraught with many dangers.” Jack thought this had gone far enough, so he in- emeect the monk with these words, sharply spoken: “Your blarney may be good enough, but I can’t see it. IT don't know you, and therefore you'll excuse me if I don’t believe quite all you say. For allI know, you may be an infernal scoundrel.” “* Horrors!” The old gray-beard held up his hands in sanctimo- nious surprise. “T don’t say that ye are an old scoundrel,” went on Jack, “I only sort o’ suspicion ye. Judging by you're looks, you’re a preacher.” “A monk,” replied the old man. “T live in soli- 4sda_and spend my time in thought and meditation. It is seldom that I see ahuman being. I live isolated from the world,” ~ “By jingo, but you are a good one,” spoke up Andy. ‘Go on.” “My sons,” continued the friar, ‘I mean you no harm. My abode is in yonder valley. Come with me and accept my Siar Aa The home of the old monk was such as no other erson would care to have, It was simply an inden- ation in a rocky hill, though the room in which he lived was large and dry. There were few articles of furniture; a chair, a table, a few books and papers, several cooking utensils and a small writing-desk covered with a green spread. The friar brought out some food of his own cook- ing and gave it to the boys. hen he picked ee his guitar and played them.a tune. It was the only tune he could Play, the boys thought; at least it was tbe same one he had played a while before, and he declined to try another. Then Jack and Andy Payer a tune, nob a slow- couch piece, but a loud, rollicking air that fairly made the rocks ring. The old friar held up his hands in holy horror. “Such musie!"’ he exclaimed. - “Dance, Andy, dance!” cried Jack, now ready for any sort of fun, ndy started a double-shuffle, skip-around Irish jig, and only ceased his maneuvers when the monk shouted in a fierce voice; The Boy Tramps. *Impious lad! Icommand you to desist. Would you drive me crazy?” * ““Whew,” panted Andy, seating himself on the oor. “Didn’t know it would hurt your feelings,” said Jack, apologetically, “You are forgiven,” replied the monk, The boys did not think it best to remain longer, but just as they were about to leave, the friar sud- denly barred the way with his heavy form, and tearing off his beard and long white hair, grinned fiendishly and said: “Jes stay where you are a while; I want to talk to ye. . Jack was more astonished and frightened than he had ever been before in his life, for there, standin, before himy without guise or concealment, was Bi Allen, the overseer, whom Jack would always have occasion to remember as a brutal wretch. “You know me then?” sneered the bully, as he saw the boy cower. “T think I do,” said Jack, coolly. “ An’ ye didn’t expect to see me here, I reckon?” “Well, no; I can’t say that I did.” ss Then you're surprised.” es “ And trightened?” “ Don% bully me; Iam not a fool.” “Where did you come from?” “Texas.” “ By the south trail?” “ Y es. ” * And who is this with you?” “ Andy--my partner.” “ Hum.” “What are Jack, hotly. are ye?” Bill Allen gave the boy a savage look. “ Better keep a civil tongue in your head,” he snarled. ‘I know you mighty well—you are a bad boy. What did you do with Gipsy?” at did not reply. “There is a reward of a few hundred dollars up for you back in Kentucky,” went on Allen. “T can’t help that,” said Jack. “ Wal,” continued Allen, in a communicative way, “the hul business went to pieces; the old man is dead, Gipsy is dead—” “No, not Gipsy?” cried Jack, excitedly. ‘ How do you know? “Dead! of course sheis. Her body was found in the creek a week or so after she was missing. And old Templeton is dead, too; tried to cross the plains; Injuns killed him, I came by steamer about three months ago and settled here, as a Spanish friar,” * And do you drive a good business?” asked Jack, with a show of sarcasm in his voice. PA gee you say?’ observed Allen quickly. “Wal, no; business in this line ain’t brisk. I've killed two or three persons lately, to be sure, but the gains were small. I think I'll kill two boys about the next trick I do.” Frolicsome Mr, Allen! “T tried to make an honest, living.”’ went on the wretch, “but somehow I couldn’t doit. Finally I struck on this scheme, and it suits me first-rate. The last victim was a miner who was out yer prospect- ing for gold. I killed him dead!” ‘ At this moment there sounded on the air a chorus of hoarse shouts, and looking out, the inmates of the house saw a dozen gleaming gue and as many rough, long-haired men, coming toward them, ou ‘humming’’ about?” demanded “You ain’t slurring out about Andy, CHAPTER XIV. 4 GLOOMY PROSPECT. — boys did not know what to think of this new nger. Whom were these heavy-bearded, rough-looking men seeking? bs * —— =
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The Boy Tramps. 26 “Who ther old boy are ye?” cried Bill Allen, tremnbling through fear. “Seize your game, boys!” yelled the leader of the crowd, himself grasping Allen by the shoulder. “By what authority?’ demanded Allen, in a tone of injured innocence. “By the authority invested in me by the law- givers of Demon Hollow,” replied the man, in a rough voice, Allen trembled, He had heard of Demon Hollow, and knew it to be asmall minipg camp whose members, fearless and | a would not hesitate to take the law in their own | hands at any moment. “Save me!’ cried the miserable man, still trem- bling. “ Then you acknowledge your guilt?” sneered one of the miners. “What am I guilty of?’ demanded Allen, “Of murder, you wretch!” cried the miner. “It was you who killed poor Ben Hathaway; we know it, every one of us, and don’t you dare deny it, Seize the villain, boys, and these two lads, seize them too!” ? Rough. hands seized the cringing wretch and ae voices yelled into his ears curses loud and long. ‘the. boys were also roughly handled by the en- raged miners, and notwithstanding they protested their innocence of any crime, their words went for nothing; they were frightened into silence. “ A nest of thieves,” declared one of the miners. “Ay, not nes thieves,” returned a comrade, “ but murderers, anging is too good for them.” The house was searched by two of the men, anda blanket was found which caused considerable of an outery from the miners. “This was Ben Hathaway’s,” declared one of the men, holding the blanket up to view. “There is his pame on one corner, See?" It was even so. The name “ Ben Hathaway” was plainly marked on one corner of the blanket. “That's the man you murdered!” cried the leader of the miners, his voice low with suppressed emotion, i Allen could not speak he was so overcome by ‘ear. “We had nothing to do with it, Andy or I,” spoke up at anxious to get out of the scrape as soon as ossible. pa Then what are ye doing here?” demanded one of the miners. “We are strangers,” replied Jack, “Where are you from?’ ““Texas.”" The men hooted and laughed, they appeared to think this a most excellent joke, “Tf yer from Texas then we know yer bad '‘uns,” said a heavy bearded man with a long knife in his belt. ‘I’m from Texas meself.” The miners laughed again. “Yas,” went on the fellow with the heavy beard; re rig Hs what claims to kim from Texas, put it down ag*in’ him thet he’s a bad man, Lam myself. Better look out for these boys if they come from 'exas. “Don’t alarm yourself,” said the leader of the ary -< ss wager to Legh c &0., They are no oubt just as as the man himself.” “Yas, I believe it,” observed the man from Texas. “Tf they hadn’t ‘a’ told whar they kim from, thar’d ’a’ been some show of innocence. Ye see, I know these Texas fellers, an’ young or old, they are a heap sight on the kill and slay, Iam myself.” We are not guilty,” protested Andy, The miners only laughed. Jack tried to make an explanation, but the rough gold-diggers hooted him into silence. “Tt’s all up with us,” lamented Andy. “This rascal Allen kes company (oo well to speak a good word for us. Oh, we are done for.” After a thorough examination of the house, the miners started in the direction of their rude camp distant some thirty miles away. _ By this time ft was quite dark, but the moon would soon be shining, and then it would be light enough to travel, : The miners were mounted. Allen, Jack and Andy were obliged to walk, the former with his hands tied behind him in heavy knots. It was an awful experience for our young friends: they felt that Heaven had forsaken them. They walked on in silence, Unlike the boys, Allen talked a good deal. Once in command of his voice, he stormed and ray ed, protesting his innocence, chided the miners for in: terfering with him in his quiet, peaceful life among the hills, and declared himself a martyr to hate and revenge. ‘ “ Better keep such talk to yerself,”’ said one of the miners; ‘we know you, an whether you're inno- cent or not we are going to hang ye.” ® This was not very consoling to Mr, Allen, but he had to take it. “T wonder if they expect us to hoof it all night,” remarked Andy, as he saw no signs of a halt. But he had hardly spoken, when the black-bearded leader of the party suggested that it was about time to “turn in.” “Ttll be time enough when we git to Wash Ru- dolph’s ranch, I think,” spoke up one of the miners. “Tt’s only just another turn of the road.” They went on, Rudolph’s ranch was reached in a short time, and the old man himself was at the door. “Got yer game, then, did ye?” he cried, as the miners rode up. “Oh, ho; there are three of them— three rascals.” 3 : “Yes, and a bad lot’ they are, too,” replied the leader of the party. ‘ What accommodations can you give us for the rest of the night?” Wash Rudolph looked about him a moment in silence, then he spoke: “Rope enough to hang theso fellers, and feed enough for yerselves,” he said. ‘*That’s about all I kin do fer yer.” The bare floor answered the purpose of a bed that night, and all hands slept as best they conld. The miners had taken good care to guard the prisoners during the night, and when morning came they were there as they had left them—the boys with their hands bound behind them, and Bill Allen handcuffed and chained. Then, after a light breakfast, the journey toward Demon Hollow was resumed, and by noon that day the journey was at an end. Demon Hollow, although a camp of nearly two hundred people, possessed neither a jail or a court- house, so the prisoners were placed in a small log house in the center of the village, there to re until brought out for trial. About fifty houses in all comprised the settlement of Demon Hollow, and these were of the rudest kind. The village ranged along a narrow defile, on one side of which was a lofty mountain, and on the other side astretch of rocky land dotted with stunted trees and tangled bushes, growing in patches, as far as the eye could reach. Very few of the houses were with floors, and the furniture they contained was of the roughest kind. As for ornamentations, there was but one picture in the place; a rough oil painting of a red-shir.ed son of ~ the mountains in the act of scalping an Indian. This was called ‘The Miner’s Delight.” In short, Demon Hollow was a representative mining town. It was rough in appearance, and its citizens were rough, and many of them hardly civilized. There was only one woman in the place— @ woman and alittle girl. The latter was a sprightly little been, with brown eyes and black hair and a strangely beautiful face. : “ Tsay, Bluebell,” said one of the miners, the day the prisoners were brought in, “‘ what ye been doin’ fer the past twoday? I’ve been away you know.” “Have you?” said the little girl “Oh, yes, I know you have, Well, I’ve been digging gold,” “Diggin’ gold) Did ye find any?’
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a FET aN ee b Th _ time. a “ yes—found lots of it. ‘You needn't Jaugh. Here = oe of it done up in the corner of this ‘handker- chief.” - ° “Wal, that’s a good girl; git all the gold ye kin, fer it’s something that’s mighty handy to have in the family. But, Bluebell, where is mother Tempest?” ‘Out looking for me, I acHROE SS laughed the girl, throwing her thick black hair back from her shoulders. At this moment a thin, small form pushed be- a the man and the little girl, and a shrill voice “ Where the world have ye been, Bluebell? I’ve looked for ye high and low. Now go home and stay there. There is no keeping track of the girl nohow. Tm all out o’ sorts with ye. It’s nothing but tramp, tramp, pap, from morning till night, an’ me jes’ ov hard pin’ tp keep track of ye. I'll tie ye up, that’s what I'll do, ye bad girl.” ““What an old rattler you are, Mother Tempest?” observed the miner, as the old lady ceased talking a moment, ‘ You are a tempest, that’s a fact.” “T think her name snits her better than mine does me,” laughed the little girl. “She is called Tempest because she is like a tempest. Iam called Bluebell because—well, [don't know why. My other name is more suited to me—” “Hush, gal! don’t speak it!’ cried the old woman. “Tt ain’t right! You are Bluebell now because— well, because you are nobody else. Come, let’s go to the house.” Only a few of the miners knew the true history of this little girl. They knew that she had come amon them witha strange man, who called her Bluebe and who seemed to think a good deal of her, though he acknowledged she was not his child, This was his story, told in his own rough way: “Tamaman of contrasts; that’s why I call this pire gal Bluebell, with her ‘brown eyes and black air, . “Tt was about a month ago thet I first see’d her. Thar was a lot o’ us goin’ from San Irancisco south- ward, all chucked into a stage coach, “Wal, it was then that I see’d this little gal. Blue- bell I call her now, but that wasn’t what she called herself, But never mind about that. She was claimed by two rough-looking fellows, but neither of them had any right to her, in my opinion. “Wal, the sixth day out, while going through a mountain pass, we were surprised by a band of rob- bers, an’ then thar was the awfullest fight you ever heard tell of, and a flowing of blood and howling that was delightful. “Do you s’pose ef one escaped? I reckon not— that is, only the little girl and myself, She were saved from death —I, because I had been a robber myself once; and the little one—well, she was pret- ty and harmless, and they didn’t like to kill her. “So the coach was plundered, the dead passen- gers were relieved of their valuables, and Bluebell and I were hurried off to the hills. “JT didn’t reckon on any mercy from the robbers, and didn’t know what they’d do with Bluebell; but after we had been prisoners afew days the chief of the band says to me, says he: ‘Joe Williams, you ought to die the death of a dog!’ and then, to my g) astonishment, he added: ‘but I won’t kill you this You may go—you and the gal.’ “Tt wasn’t right, I know it wasn’t, to get off so éasy, but thar I was, and thar was Bluebell, an’ when the leetie gal said she’d go with me anywhere, I jes’ gathered her up in my arms and started off on arun. ** An’ now you know who we are, Bluebell and I.” Joe Williams told this story to a few of the citi- zens of Demon Hollow the day that he reached that town, and the next day he went to work in the gulches along with the rest of the men, but the next week, while ,xospecting for gold some distance from town, he fell from a mountain ledge and was dashed to pieces on the rocks below, The Boy Tramps. CHAPTER XV. A MURDER TRIAL IN THE MOUNTAINS, Waar shall be done with the prisoners? This question was asked a dozen times a day by the rough miners, until, finally, an old gold-seeker, ene word was law in the Village, answered it by saying: % It's well to give every man a fair shake forglory; let’s take the fellers out and give ’em a fair tri and if ee are found guilty, hang ‘em speedily ann respectfully.” nis suggestion was received with general satis- faction by the miners who at once began to gather around the temporary jail, hooting and_shouting and demanding that the laws of Demon Hollow be enferced without further delay. So the prisoners were brought forth for trial, Allen still in chains, but with a savage, determined face, and Jack and Andy looking pale and dejected. “It's all up with us,’’ said Allen to the boys in Safelite tones. “‘I’m sorry now that we killed nim, i ‘* Killed who?” demanded Jack, Why, Ben Hathaway, the miner.” “We killed him!” repeated Andy. ‘ Why, man, you are out of your head. Jack and I didn't have anything to do with it.” Allen laughed demoniacally. 5 “That sounds very nice,” he sneered, “but it won't work. If I am guilty, so are you; at least that’s my evidence. I don’t intend to shufile off alone. I swear that you fellers helped kill Ben Hathaway.” * Tt’s a black-hearted lie,” cried Andy, *Tt’s the truth,” said Allen, The boys were horrified. Allen intended to im- plicate them in the murder at all events. The wretch laughed savagely. ‘We'll die together like brave men,” he said, ‘ but first let em prove that we are guilty.” Not having such a place as a court-house, it was> the custom of fhe miners to hold court in the open air, near a large tree, where the criminal executions of the town were generally conducted. “When we string you fellers up, it'll jes’ make twelve fer this year,” complacently remarked a long-haired miner, turning to the prisoners. “Don’t count yer chickens afore they’re hatched, snarled Allen. “Tllthank you to trot forward th best lawyer in the village, an’ I'll git him to swea me out of it.” The miner laughed. “You don’t seem to grasp the regulations of De mon Hollow.. Why, a law sharp couldn’t live yer twenty-four hours. We're a pious community, we At this juncture, «tall miner, with a white slouch hat, the rim turned up in frceet, and a pipe in his cae came forward and called the meeting to order, The hum of voices ceased at once, and a hundred bearded faces were turned on the self-appointed chairman, who still stood with his short. black pipe in ne mouth, waiting for some one else to advance an idea. “T move that the prisoners be strung up ‘ithout hesitation or pe A suggested a short, thick-set man, whose blooc thirsty disposition was manifest in the array of knives and pistols in his belt. “No, no, no!” cried several voices. ; “Give ’em a fair shake, Isay,” yelled a man with along rope in his hand, ‘but be sure and hang ’em, nei pt want to lug this rope way out yer fer nothing.” The j was composed of twelve hard-fisted miners, who were selected for their wisdom and learning, as wellas for the utter contempt they felt for the technicalities of common law. The prisoners were given conspicuous positions in front of the jury, and the proceedings began. It was not a trial that was being held, but rather an
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oe The Boy Tramps. ES 27 expression of opinion, and the latter all resulted ioe, same; namely, a determination to hang the prisoners, The red-shirted miner who had opened the inves- tigation as chairman, was the first speaker, Re- moving the pipe from his mouth, he said: “Who is thar in this crowd who didn’t know Ben - Hathaway? And is ther’ a chap yer that didn’t know Ben to be a bully boy? Don’t tell me that Ben was 2 common feller, he wasn’t,—not by a darned sight; he wasarattler. But he is dead, very dead— poor Ben Hathaway!” He quietly fell back in the crowd, and the miner with the rope in his hand stepped forward. “Tt ain’t fer Ben Hathaway alone that we grieve,” he began, ‘but he owed all of us something, an’ we hate to lose it. The boots that he wore when he shoved in his checks were mine, an’ the coat that he had on belonged to our worthy chairman. But he was a rattler, an’ a mighty good feller. He was reat on the borrow, an’ mighty poor on the lend. Bit he is dead; he is with the angels; he has set- tled his fust bill—the on’y one he ever payed. Poor Ben Hathaway!” He gave his eyes a brush with his coat-sleevo, and, ae his predecessor, quietly stepped back in the crowd. Then a little old chap, wrinkled and brown, with grizzly hair and beard and small, twinkling eyes, s! ge forward and said: “In the matter of Ben Hathaway, let me say a word, I’ve know’d him longer than any of ye. When he killed the sheriff of Bexar county, Texas, I was thar; when he put daylight through an Iowa preacher, I was thar. Many a time I’ve see’d him slash and kill, and he was always reliable—always. But he had his faults. He swore less than any man in the settlement, and would preach weligion for all that was out. But I liked him for all that—we all liked him, and now he is dead. Poor Ben Hatha- way! An approving murmur went through the crowd, and then all eyes were turned on the prisoners, with ~ a general feeling that they should be strung up at once, ‘The trial then opened in earnest, and was conduct- ed on the one principle of conviction, Nothing that the boys could say had any influence with the miners, and they, with Allen, were con- demned to die. A yell of satisfaction went up from the crowd as this verdict was brought in; and the prisoners were at once conducted to the fatal tree near by, and three dangling ropes were soon ready to receive e) yer. “We give bar jist thirty minutes to say yer prayers,” spoke the foreman of the jury, as the tree was reached, Bill Allen looked dazed. “T don’t know how to pray,” he'said. “Give mea » ehaw of tobacker.” Jack and Andy were disconsolate. “We may as well give up,” said Andy. ““We are done for, I guess,” returned Jack; and then brightening up, he said to one of the miners “Bring me a violin; 1 want to play my last tune. i feel like a playing now.” A violin was brought him, by an accommodating minor, and he began to play. The strains were soft and sweet, and, withal, plaintive in the extreme. Jack had never played so well before in all his life. The miners were deeply touched; they stood around in mute surprise, some with their heads bent forward, others with their faces turned aside, and all wondering. ; The music even went so far as to penetrate the distant cabin where Mother Tempest and Bluebell lived. and the little girl, catching the far-away strains, looked out the door and said: “There's a gallant crowd up by the gallows tree, What does it mean?” ‘ “Another hanging bee, I reckon,” was the short reply. E What! and I not there!” cried the queer little girl, starting up. “Tt ain’t no place for you, Blue’ woman, “Tt’s a mean trick, I think,” muttered the little gil, not heeding what was said by her companion, “What's mean, Bluebell?” “Why to shuffle them fellers off without letting me know it. I'll go up there this minute.” She started off ona run straight for the tree, her black hair flying in the wind, and not once did she stop until she had reached her destination, 4 Then she saw the three prisoners standing close | together while preparations for their execution an were going on, and pushing through the crowd, she “4 heard one of the miners say in a loud voice, ‘'Time’s | up,” and her little heart began to beat wildly. et ack still held the violin to his breast, but the mo- - af ment he saw the little girl, with her bright brown = eyes and flying hair, he started back and fairly e sereamed: ! mesy Gipsy! save me! save me!” 4 The little girl pushed through the crowd; her eye As wild, and her face was flushed with excite- j ment, ‘ i “Gipsy! Gipsy!” repeated Jack. ae She was within a dozen feet of him now, and when q he called her the second time, and held out his hands ia to her, she gave one wildscream, and the next mo-* ov she was folded in his arms, sobbing wild and a oud, = Then one ofthe miners sprung forward and tried d to release her , but she fought him back with her little ‘i clinched fist, and cried: 2 “Stand back; oO shall not harm him. It is “4 ” spoke the old Jack. Stand back, I say. I know Jack has done nothing wrong. He is my friend.” There was not a miner among them all that did oe love the little girl, and her word was law with 7 7em., But what did she mean by interfering with the proceedings? : 2 The miners asked themselves this question, and a finally the foreman of the jury, who had the execu: tion in charge, demanded: “Shall the rangin’ 70 on?” ** Ask Bluebell,” replied the men. “ Jack shall not die,” declared the little girl. “Who is this ea hk call Jack?” asked one of the miners. ‘* Whar did you ever see him afore?” 4 “Tn Kentucky,” replied the little girl. ‘I know ee him well. I was not Bluebell then, I was Gipse 5 Templeton.” : “What do ye say, boys, shall we hang this revag chap, or not?” asked the foreman of the jury. = ‘* Let him go,”’ was the general response, ~ 7 The foreman of the Ty cut the cords with which ua Jack's feet were bound, then Gipsy said: — ~ “Come on, Jack.” . “But Andy?’ demanded the boy. ae A murmur went through the crowd. ; “Andy goes with me, or I go with Andy,” said Jack, Sesgmte “Then who'll be left to swing?” asked a long- ~ haired miner, stepping forward. = The executioner pointed to Allen, then turning, freed Andy with his knife, and the two boys, guide by Gipsy, walked slowly down the hill “This thing is like the measles,” growled Bill ai Allen; “but somehow it don’t seem to take me. IT. Bay, Gipsy, eun’t ye put in a word fer yer old end? But Gipsy was out of hearing now, and Bill Allen - was in the clutches of the rude law of Demon Hollow. a os while the boys could hardly realize that they were tree, It seemed to Jack that he was dreaming; that this was not Gipsy Templeton, but some one. élse. ae “But I am the same Gispy,” said the little girl, Ee, “and I think you are the same Jack. It has been |
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6 The Boy Tramps. three years since you played for me on the stile near the old plantation. Do you remember?” Jack had not forgotten the circumstance, for that was the turning point of his career, “Where have you been all this time, Gipsy?” asked Jack, “It’s a long story,” replied the little girl; “ but you shall know all after awhile.” By this time they had reached the cabin of Mother caret and the latter was at the door to receive em. A few words from Gipsy Bepreee the old woman of all that had happened down by the “gallows tree,” “and now,” said the little girl, ‘you must call me ‘ Gipsy,’ not ‘ Bluebell.” A distant shout at this moment, as of a hundred voices in chorus, startled the three into silence. “They have put an end to his life,” finally spoke up Gipsy. “Bill Allen?” said Jack, “ Yes—Bill Allen.” CHAPTER XVL THE YOUNG GOLD-DIGGERS, Tu two boys soon learned to respect their rough miner friends, and the latter took great pains to ex- plain to them the mysteries of the mines. “Thar’s nothin’ like knowin’ how to begin a thing,’ remarked one of the men, as the boys began their first search for gold. ‘‘Did ye ever dig po- taters?” , o No.” “Wal, ye can’t dig gold the same way. Some yay thinks they kin, though, but they git fooled, What’s necessary is a sharp eye an’ good judgment, Now, ef ye want to git rich, don’t stop to consider, but pitch right in.” The boys were very willin~ to do something for tlemselves, so they went regularly to work, and it was not long before they were very proficient miners, So the weeks passed, and our young friends toiled daily in the mines the same as the rest, and Blue- bell, now Gipsy, made them frequent visits, trip- ping from one gulch to another, and more than one wearied miner was cheered to new exertion by her light song and joyous mirth, he little girl had told the boys all about herself; how she was stolen by the Gipsy hand, of which King Victor was leader; how two or three weeks later she was again stolen, this time by two rough men | who held her for many months in hopes of receiving a large reward for her return; how she had been brought to California and ae for many months on a rude plantation, far away from city or town; and, finally, how her captors had been killed by robbers, and then how she had been taken care of by Joe “Williams and finally brought to Demon Hollow, where she had lived ever since in comparative hap- piness, “They are all so very kind to me,” she said, sp~sk- ing of her miner friends; ‘‘and as for Mother 'len- pest, she is the kindest woman in the world. She was here whenI came, and we have lived together ever since.” Some days after, when Jack told her that her father was dead, and the manner of his death, she could hardly realize it, and for many days her poung, heart was overflowing with grief. Although t had been three years since she last saw him, and she was very young then, she had a vivid remem- brance of the old plantation, of her father, and of all the circumstances attending her disappearance from home, “T thought I might some time find my way back there,” she said one day to Jack; “but I have no wish to go now. All the friends I have in the world are here, and here I shall stay.” About six months following the advent of our boy friends into the mines, an excitement was raised concerning a new gold field, to the west of Demon Hollow about eighty miles, It was claimed that the roductive, turning new mines were wonderfull: ollars a day to the out more than a hundred man, No sooner was the news received than a company of about twenty-five of the inhabitants of Demon Ho'low started for the New Eldorado. Among those who took the fever and went were Gipsy, Jack, Andy, Mother Tempest and an old miner known as Mournful Mose. Thelatter was a queer old man, who had lived in the mines many years, and by hard work had accu- mulated considerable of a fortune, He was a great friend of Gipsy, and rumor had it that his friend- ship extended to Mother Tempest, whom he ha¢é pore to make his wife some time in the near uture, Be this as it may, he thought a great deal of Gipsy, and the little girl made him her confidant in all things, The new gold fields, whither our friends were bound, were situated in a wild portion of the moun- tains, and the wholecountry intervening was a deso- late waste of sand and rocks; and, besides, was in- habited by the merciless Apaches, a tribe of In- pan are bloodthirsty and cruel than any. other in the est. * “Tf we are able to keep clear of the Apaches,” re- marked Mournful Mose, the first day out, “I reckon thar’ll be no other trouble. I never did like the Apaches.” “They are a bad lot,” spoke up another miner. ‘I've had a leetle to do with ’em mysel!. and I can’t say that I admire their style. ANTI ask is for the rascals to keep out of our way.” The first few days of the journey were made with- out accident or trouble of any kind, The party were well supplied with provisions, and, besides, were well armed and had ammunition in abundance, The sixth day out, however, something happened that created considerable uneasiness among our friends. During the night a horse was stolen from the camp, At least, a horse was missing in the morning, and the general supposition was that it at been stolen, ‘Then the question arose—who stole it? “Tnjuns,” declared one of the mingrs, hae there any certainty of this? es. Moccasin tracks in the sand! The tracks were examined closely by Mournful Mose, who gave as his opinion that the camp had been visited in the night by Indians, how many he could not say. “ Are they likely to come again?” asked Jack. Be No surer thing in the world,” returned Mournful ose. He was right. The next day four mounted Indians appeared to view a short distance from the train, and for an hour or two kept in sight; they were well mounted ate armed, and were without doubt hostile to the whites. 4 “JT wish I could speak to them,” said Mournful Mose; “I might find out their intentions, ’drather they’d give us a call now than after dark.” The old miner got his wish in a very short time. After circling around the camp of the whites a few times that evening, the four savages rode boldly up to within speaking distance, and one of them call out: ** Halloo!”” Mournful Mose answered him. “What do you want?” he said. “Where come from?” asked the savage. “Demon Hollow,” replied the miner. ‘‘What ye goin’ to do about it?” “Nothing,” said the red-skin, and then added quickly: “What doing here?” “Nothing,” growled Mournful Mose; “jist travel- ing.” Thera was a glitter of fiendish cunning in the eyes of the savage as he asked the next question,
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“Which way now—east, west, north, south?” Z “Tl tell ye some other time,” replied the miner. “Where do you live, you red scamps?” The nee gore of the savages pointed to the dis- tant hills, and said, speaking in his native tongue: “You are only afew; we aremany. Take ahand- ful of sand and count the grains, then you will know the strength of the tribe of Rolling Thunder. His warriors are the bravest of the brave; they are true ‘as steel; they are like wolves on the scent of blood.” A murmur of satisfaction went through the savage crowd as this last was spoken, and then, without another word, the red intruders turned and galloped away. me They are sure to come back,” said Andy; ‘‘so the bes thing we can do is to leave this p at once.’ “Where shall we go?” asked Jack. A pwlonged yell, sounding more than a mile away, was heard at this moment. “ Can it be that the red-skins are returning?” said Andy. < s Yes—and this time a hundred strong,” replied Mournful Mose. ‘Quick! we have no time to lose. Do you see that ledge of rocks? Hurry the horses forward. The rocks! the rocks!” With all possible speed our friends made for the rocky ledge, the wagon was hurried forward, the horses were relieved of harness and trappings; the men rolled huge bowlders under the wagon, and around it, rocks were piled one upon another, and thus a tolerably secure retreat was made. ‘What next? In less than half an hour the whole prairie seemed alive with whooping a savages. They were a loodthirsty ooking crowd, all well mounted and armed, and with their faces streaked with paint and their bodies hideously decorated with . painted images of reptiles and wild beasts. The leader of the savage crowd, seeing how the whites were situated, halted his warriors, and a gen- eral consultation was had for a few minutes. Then he rode forward a short distance, and, halting, with a grand flourish of head and arms, began: ‘Rolling Thunder, the mighty chief of the Apa- ches, would speak to the white dog miner who hides himself in the rocks, Let him come out.” This was spoken in the Indian tongue, and at once Mournful Mose replied in the same language. “Who are you and what are you doing here?” he asked, showing his burly form above the rocks. “T am Rolling Thunder,” replied the chief; “I am a ep warrior; I have killed many men; Iam pow- erful and brave, What business have you here? You are thieves.” Sa Several of the miners understood this, and they clutched their rifles with nervous hands, and a shout went up from the rocks that made the chief wheel his horse and dash away like mad. Then the red-skins began to howl and whoop like | so many demons, and every moment they- seemed on the point of making a furious rush at the whites, but the chief restrained them, and again they howled and shouted; they were like madmen, fiercer than wild beasts on the scent of blood. “An infuriated mob!” exclaimed one of the miners. ‘There is no mercy in their hearts, depend upon it!” The savages numbered eighty warriors, and each had a gleaming tomahawk in his band, and in every swarthy face there was stamped an inhuman desire for blood. ‘Can they take us?” was the question asked by several of the men. “Not alive,” answered Mournful Mose. Several times the red rascals made a show of charging the rocky fortress of the whites, but these feints amounted to noting more than a little waste of powder and ball by bo.h whites and reds. 3 Finally the savages dismounted and sent their horses away in charge of several warriors. What did this mean? The Boy Tramps. 29 The miners were prepared for any emergency. Tet the red-skins do their worst. The savage rascals were determined not to allow the whites to escape, at all events, for they placed & strong guard at every point where the enemy would be likely to strike should they desire or attempt to leave the rocks. “They are trying to surround us so that we never ean get out,” said Andy. “See; every i guarded, Maybe they expect to starve us into sub- mission.” “Very likely,” returned Mournful Mose. This was the evident intention of the red-skins now. “J"}] venture that all of ’em are not Indians,” re. marked Jack to the old miner an hour later. ‘“ What makes you think so, Jack?” “ Can't tell why I think so, but then I do. I have an idea that some other fellers are mixed up in the row.” * Jist what I think,’ returned the miner. He was about to say more when a sudden sus- picious movement on the part of the red-skins at- tracted his attention. “ What is it?’ said Jack. “I reckon we are wrong about them t starve us out,” replied the miner. ‘See, even now preparing to charge us.” Mourntat ose was right. With a fierce yell, like so many wild beasts on the scent of blood, the savages rushed forward, firing their rifles as they ran, swinging their tomahawks, howling, {iline. shrieking, making in all a thrilling, maddening ey are scene. Yor the first few minutes it seemed hardly possible for the whites to hold their own. In spite of re- ted volleys from the rocks, the savage crowd of dusky devils Hee on. They gained the rocks at last; then followed a hand-to-hand fight of a nature terrible in the extreme. The whites used their rifles with deadly effect, and ees second one more of the savages shrieked and e “ Give them no quarter,” cried Mournful Mose. A mad yell from the leader of the savages fol- lowed this command, and shriek and shout, tha clash of arms mingling with a din of discordant sounds, and the battle was at its Right. The whites fought with desperation, but the red-skins were too many for them, and every moment it seemed that the battle must close in their favor. But unexpected help was near. A chorus of shouts sounded on the air, and the next moment a squad of mounted men thundered up, and without waiting to ask questions, began a furious attack on the Indians. ‘The latter were thrown into con- fusion at once and were soon put to flight. We heard the fun from a distance,” said the leader of the mounted rangers—for such they proved to be—‘‘ and concluded to take a hand in it ourselves. It seems to have been a bloody piece of business.” The ranger party was composed of about twent; men, five of whom were English tourists, on their way to San Francisco. “I trust_you are all safe,” remarked one of the latter, a tall man in spectacles; and then, lowering his voice, he continued, “ the battle has not been ey in your favor} some of, your party are Four of the aniners had been killed outright, and two were slightly wounded: the rest had escaped without injury. It was not deemed safe to remain long in that faly of the country, so the dead were quickly uried and as rapidly as possible tho whole party hurried away in the direction of Demon H¢llow. The miners had paid ear for their trip, and Jack and Andy both declared themselves satisfied to re- turn to the gold fields.of Demon Hollow, where, if gold was not as plentiful as in some other places, the digging of it was not attended with so much ing to.
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ea] p74 Ome aie — ee mas Fe Sy a I Me aly ogee a ORES Sg eS ee A one plies nk oe ME RD ee ce a 30 The Boy Tramps. danger. As for Mother Tempest and Gipsy, they, too, were anxious to get home. The only one who grieved at leaving was Mournful Mose, and the rea- son of this was that four of his old friends had been left behind—buried in the sand. The journey to Demon Hollow was made quickly. There was no stopping to rest, no waiting for stragglers, no hesitating as to the way; it wasa tireless, rapid march, which came to an end at mid- night of the second day, when Demon Hollow was reached, CHAPTER XVII, THE LOST IS FOUND, Amone the English tourists spoken of in the pre- ceding chapter was a young \lad about the age of Jack, a relative of the leader of the party, an elder- ly gentleman, known as Doctor Wayne, The name of this boy was Gilbert Masters, a ut youth, whose prominence in this particular arises from the fact that between him and Jack there was a striking resemblance. This resemblance had not been no- ticed at first, but now that all thought of danger from Indians was over, and the tourists and miners had become better acquainted with each other, this was observed by all. Even Se es spoke of it, and asked Jack if this shy Englis No) seemed to think seriously of the matter— nobody in the village; it was a matter of jest and talk. Only one person looked upon the circum- stance in the light of fact, and that person was pale Wayne. C Jack aside one day, he said: ; “T have watched you closely, boy, and now I want to know your history. I have a feeling that I should know you better, Who are you?” “T am Jack, only Jack,” was the quick reply. “I haven’t any history.” “No past—no history?” “Nothing,” said Jack. ‘ AIlI know is that I was brought up in the streets—brought up to play the fiddle. There's jes’ the slightest notion in my head of once having crossed a big water, but this must have been when I wns very young. I tell you, sir, I don’t know who I am.” Dr. Wayne did not reply; but that evening, in the resence of Jack and Andy, Mother Tempest, Gipsy, ournful Mose, Gilbert Masters and several others, he told the following story: e “Wourteen or fifteen years ago there lived in Eng- land a family by the namo of Masters, consisting of rather, mother, two sons, and a daughter, The latter died in infancy, and the father, who was an officer inthe army, was killed in battle. A short time following this last event, the mother, with the two children, went to Italy, where, shortly after her arrival, the mother was called upon to endure a new trial, one that seemed almost unendurable, I must tell you here that her sons were twins, and as near- Wy alice in face and form as two persons could be. eir ages were about threeyears, Their names were Gilbert and Arthur Masters, The trial was this: the little boy Arthur disappeared suddenly one day, and no effort on the part of his mother and her friends could find him. The belief was, among those who knew the country, and its people, that the boy had been stolen; but all else concerning him was wrapped in mystery and doubt, As for the mother, her grief was terrible; she did not live long after this; she died of a broken heart. You may like to know how I became acquainted with these strange ciroumstances, I will tell you, was my only sister, and I wag with her at her ithe won disappeared, After the death dye time of the mother I assumed the responsibility of rear ing the little boy Gilbert, and it is he who is with me now. As for Arthur, so far my search for him has been in vain. I have wandered from one city to an- other, always with eyes intent on the street, hoping to see some one that would answer the description of the lost boy.” : “‘And where do you think he is now?” spoke up Jack, with manifest interest. t “ My idea is this,”’ replied Dr. Wayne, closely scru- tinizing the lad: “ Arthur was not killed by rob- bers, or drowned, as some thought, or lost in Italy; he fell into the clutches of Italian speculators, who took him to America, where, in some great city, he has wandered the streets for years begging, or, per- haps, playing the violin, at the instance of a cruel master, such as there are in cities, who live off of the earnings of minstrel boys who are treated worse than slaves. This I think was the fate of the little a? Arthur.” There was a moment of silence, following which Jack spoke, “Tt seems like a dream,” he said, “just like a dream. I think I see myself once more in the streets of New York, Ae galiet to and fro, playing the violin, and it is awful plain ta me now who Lam, If you please, sir, am I not the iost boy, Arthur?” ‘The proof is on your arm,” was the quick reply. “Ts there a mark on your arm of indelible ink after the form of an anchor? If so, you are the boy.” Jack bared his arm at once, and there near the elbow was a mark like an anchor that had been worked into the flesh with a needle, * Bare your arm also, Gilbert,” said the doctor. The boy did so, and a similar mark was found on his arm. “ The lost is found,” spoke up Doctor Wayne, ex- citedly. “Jack, you and Gilbert are brothers; you are thelost boy Arthur, I thought so from the very first, and now I know it; the mark on the arm proves it beyond a doubt. It was done by an old sailor one day without the knowledze of the mother, and time has not effaced it, Happy am I to have found the lost boy. How strange the fate that has thrown us together!” When it became known about the eamp what had happened to Jack, the interest manifested was great; congratulations were extended to him on all sides, and there was a universal feeling of joy at his good fortune. The English party were also very happy, and the good Doctor Wayne put aside his usual dignity and joined in the general rejoicing. As for Jack, he scareely knew what to do with himself. That night he Slept very little; his thoughts were busy with the tead past and undeveloped future of his existence, The next day, while still in this mental condition, he met Mournful Mose wandering alone on the out- skirts of the village. The old miner was talking to himself and acting in a strange way. “You see things ain’t jist as they orter be,” he said, as the boy asked him the cause of his strange Yielancholy. ‘Seems as how one trouhle follers ‘other as close as kin be; jist now it’s Gipsy I'm thinkin’ of, an’, somehow, I don’t oe things as I orter. You see, the leetle gal is) kind o’ bluc-like since she knows you're going away, an’ I’m jist thinkin’ about sending her away, too. Do you know whar thar is a good school, Jack?” “San Francisco, I suppose,” said the boy. “Well, thar’s whar I’m going to send her; and, Jack, I'm going to give her wealth enough to last her all her days. I kin doit, fer ’ve been saltin’ it down for years.” “And where are you going,” asked Jack, “‘if Gi ipsy goes to Frisco?” I'll go somewhar else. It’s a new route I’m poms to take, and you need not ask me any particu- ars, “He's had trouble with Mother Tempest.” said Jack to himself, as he moved away. ‘‘I think I know whatit is, He is not keeping his promise with a waa8 ae |
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a ee ‘The Boy Tramps. 31 her; he promised to marry her, and now he is trying to get out of it. They have had a big quarrel, I sup- ose, which has made the old man reckless. I don’t tranie him, though, for not wanting to marry her. Poor old man.” Jack returned to his cabin, and Mournful Mose continued his fambling walk. Down at the foot of the gulch Gipsy met him, and there was a look in his eyes that she had never seen before. ** Gipsy,’ he said, bending over her. “ Well?! “T’ve got something to tell you, girl, something that'll make you stare. I’me going away, Gipsy, goin, oa leaye you, going for good.” NO “It’s a fact. Things are too hot for me here; I’ve got to skip.” Gipsy asked the reason why, although she knew without asking, and Mournfu Mose did not eare to inform her. “T'll leave at once,” he said, ‘leave for gocd. If- it wasn’t fer leaving you, Gipsy, I wouldn’t carea ont.? nN. no, you shall not go,” cried the little girl, all her child-nature aroused. if He put his great strong arm around her, and with his whiskered face close to her own, whispered to her: “Tt ain’t as if I’s 'feard to go, Gipsy, ferI ain’t a darn bit, And then I'll fix everything fer you solid, I want you to go to school up in "Frisco, and I'll send you thar at once. I'll make arrangements fer you to- night, fer to-morrow I'll be gone. I want you to go with Jack and pees and they’ll see that ye it safely to school. othe ast rays of the setting sun bathed the valley with a crimson glory, and looking at the deepening shadows on the mountain side, Mournful Mose whispered: “TPs gettin’ late, ea better go in out of the damp. Every now and then a gust of wind comes up roi the valley that makes me shiver, Better go in, I say, Gipsy, out of the damp.” He stooped and kissed her, and the next moment disappeared among the shadows. Then she called to him, but received no reply; and then, with her young heart almost ready to break, she stood and watched the moon come out, and listened to every sound that fell, An hour passed, and then she heard footsteps approaching, and the next moment Mourn- ful Mose stood before her. art “@lad ye haven't gone, Gipsy,” he said, “fer I wanted to see ye. Do you see this little box, Gipsy? Well, thar is a trifle of money in it and some papers of value; an’, then, thar is a letter init to an old friend o’ mine in ’Frisco, a childless old feller; give the letter to him and he'll see that you're fixed solid for the future. Don’t hang around here long, Gipsy. fer I want to know et y2 ae oe hands arter t . Bea good girl. ood-by. arnatore Gipsy ead think what to say or do, before ghe cord even look through her tears, he was gone, Then she hurried back to the house, and iu ene pres ence of Mother Tempest and Jack who happened to be there, opened the bo"; There wasn’t much to'see—only a small wallet of silver aud some papers. Of «the latter, one was a check on a bank in San Francisco for five thousand dollars. Then there yas a letter addressed to Rev. Henry Brigham, riviny; the number and street of his residence, and setting forth the history of Gipsy in full, ending with a desire that the reverend gentle- man should become a father to the little waif and bring her up in the way she should go. There was a good deal more in the letter, but this was the sub- stance, “But Mournful Mose?” said Jack; ‘ what does be mean by this?” “Re is going away,” said Gipsy; “he told me so ~ to-night,” “1 don’t believe it!” spoke up Mother Tempest; “T don’t believe it. Go to bed, Gipsy. I am tired of your clatter.” An hour later Gipsy was asleep and dreaming. She dreamed of the new life that was opening to her; and thenthe scene shifted, and she sow the strange old man, he who had been to her father and friend, standing on the edge of the dark cuasm, the sand shivering under his feet, his wild, hageard face turned toward the sky; but when she reached out her arms to save him she awoke with her heart flut- tering wildly and her pillow bathed in tears. “Have you seen Mournful Mose this morning?" she asked Mother Tempest as the latter came into the room. ° “No!” she replied, shortly; ‘and I don’t want to see him. Thavehad enough of Mournful Mcse.” Gipsy did not know where he had gone: but early that morning, when the miners went to their work, they found him at the head of the gulch, lying on his face in the sand. : He had i Ug a pistol to his head, and deliber- ately left the world. And now there is little left to tell. In company with their English friends, Jack, Andy, and Gipsy went to San Francisco. ‘The legacy of poor old Mournful Mose proved tobe of a substantial char- acter; the money was found in the bank, and Rev. Henry Brigham was no myth. He accepted with great delight the charge which had been consizneG to him by his wayward brother, known to the reader as Mournful Mose, Gipsy was given a good home, and the money left her by her miner friend was ex- paided on her education. As for Jack and Andy, hey were inseparable. Both were placed in school at San Irancisco, at the expense of Doctor Wayne, and afew months following, both accompanied this entleman to Englund, where Jack, at the age of wenty-one, came into possession of a large fortune left him by his parents. And Gipsy Templeton—well, she changed her name shortly after Jack reached his majority, and the old love between the two grows brighter and brighter as the years go by.
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SSSSsSsssgosgogooggsogsesoesgsosgggggsgs) } -peaptes POCKET i oaaeeeete i AT EAD a TL LIBRARY. 7 TSoSSSSSSSSESSSOSS: per aae, 9 SSSoSessoeqggsssossgg Bred, _— 332 Dakota Dan in Canyon City; or, Colorado Kate's Check. By Philip S$. Warne. 833 Bootblack Ben, the Detective; or, Pooler Jim and His Pard. By Anthony P. Morris. 834 Frisco Tom on Deck; or, The Golden Gate Smug- glers.. By George Henry Morse, 335 Ben Bandy, the Boss Pard; or, The Plucky Parson. By J. Stanley Henderson. 836 Tred, the Sport, in Brimstone Bar Camp: or... The Boston Wrestler’s Confederate. By Ed. L, Wheeler. 837 Daisy Dave the Colorado Galoot; or, The Boss of Dead Line City, By T, C. Harbaugh. 888 The God Bar Detective; or, Tron Ike, the Solid Man. By Major E. L. St. Vrain. 339 Rardo, the Boy Gypsy; or, Reckless Rolf’s Re- volt, By Wm. G. Patten, 340 Billy Bubble’s Big Score; or, Tim, the Tramp. By Charles Morris, 841 Colorado Steve’s Dash; or, Old Buncomb’s Sure Shot. By Philip 8, Warne, 842 te Reh Sam; or, Ned Norris’s Nettle. Bucksin Sam. 843 Mike, the Bowery Detective; or, Peleg Prancer _ of Vermont. By Edward L. Wheeler. 844 The Drummer Sport; or, Captain Dasher’s Droll Dilemma. By Edward Willetr. 845 Jaques, the Hardpan Detective; or, Captain Frisco the Road- ,gent, By J. C, Cowdrick. 846 Joo, the Chicago Arab; or, A Boy of the Times. By Charles Morris. 847 Middy Herbert’s Prize; or, The Girl Captain’s Revenge. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham. 848 Sharp -Shooter Franky or, Tae Young Texan Pards. By Buckskin Sam. 849 Buck the Miner; or, Alf, the Colorado Guide. By Maj. 1B. L. St. Vrain. 850 Ned the Slab: City Sport; or, The Detective’s Big Scoop, By BE. L. Wheeler. 851 Rocky Mountain Joe; or, Deacon Simplicity on the War-path, By Col. T. H. Monstery. 352 New York Tim; or, Te Boss of the Boulevard, By Charles Morris. 853 The Girl Pilot; or, Ben, the Reef-Runner. Roger Starbuck. 854 Joe, the Boy Stage-Driver; Cunning. By By or, Nick Hicken’s By Maj BE. L St. Vrain. 855 Texas Frank’s Crony; or, The Girl Mustang Rider. By Bucks in Sam, 856 Idiho Ned, Detective: or, The Miners of Tarpot City. By Edward L. Wheeler. 857 Guy, the Boy Miner; or, Roeky Mountain Bill. By Colonel Prentiss Ingraham. 358 Jevrey Joe, the Old Tar; or, the Wrecker’s Protege. By Mrs. Orin James, 359 Dandy Dick’s Dash; or, The Boy Cattle - King. By Ol! Comes. . 860 Jim’s Big Bonanza; or, Jake Dodd and His Gang. iy W. J. Hamilton. 361 Oregon Phil, the Sport; or, The Marshal of Two Bits, By Philip 8, Warne, 362 Kit, the Bootblack Detective; or, From Phila- delphia to the Rockies. By Edward L, Wheeler. 863 The Ocean Racer; or, Trusty Tom, the Tar. T. C. Harbaugh, 361 Fritz’s Old Seore; or, Sib Cone’s Right Bower, By Ned Buntline. 865 Crack Shot Harry; or, The Masked Rider, Colonel Prentiss Ingraham. 366 Gold Dust Rock, the Whirlwind of the Mines. By G. Waldo Browne. 367 Fred’s Bold Game; or, The Cave Treasure. Paul Bibbs. 368 Jim, the Sport in Wake-up; or, Foghorn Fan to the Front. By Edward L. Wheeler. 369 Captain Blake’s Jonah; or, Harry, the Cabin Boy. By Roger Starbuck, 370 Denver Kit’s Double; or, The Giant Miner of the Guich, by Major H., B. Stoddard. 371 Blue Blazes Dick; or, Danger Doll of Dynamite. ly T. ©. Harbaugh, 372 The Sea Cat's Prize; or, The Flag of the Red Hands. By Colonel! Prentiss Ingraham, $73 Larry O’Lynn's Dash; or, Kyle, the Renegade. By Joseph F, Henderson. 374 Jim, the Sport's Big Boom; or, The Bonanza King’s Rival. By Edward L. Wheeler. 375 Bowery Bob, Detec'ive; or, Bianca, the Tam- bourine-Girl. By Jo Pieree. 376 Buekskin Dick's Olean Sweep; or, Jonathan Jenks’ Still Hunt, By Col, Arthur F. Holt. 377 The Deadwood Sports. By Lieut. 8. G. Lansing, 373 Bronco Billy. the Saddle Prince. By Colonel Prentiss Ingraham. 879 Dick, the Stowaway; or, A Yankee Boy's Strange Cruise. By Charles Morris. 380 Young Dick Talbot; or, A Boy’s Rough and Tumble Right from New York to California. By Albert W. Aiken, 881 Dandy Bill’s Doom; or, Deerhunter, the Boy Scout. By Oll Cooms. 382 Wide-Awake Ceorge, the Boy Pioneer. Willet. 383 Wild Bill, the Pistol Prince. By Colorel Prentiss Ingraham. 881 Brimstone Bill’s Booty: or, Mariposa Marsh at Dead Man’s Gulch By Joseph EF, Badger, Jr. 885 The Boy Tramps; or, The Roughs «f Demon Hollow, By J. M. Hoffman. Ready May 27. 386 The Montana Kid; or, Little Dan Rock’s Mis- sion. By Morris Redwing. Ready June 3. 387 The Boy Detectives; or, Broker Blondin’s Big Reward. By T. C, Harbaugh. Ready June 10. A New Issue Bvery Wednesday. Brapin’s Pocxer Lreeary isfor sale by all News- dealers, five cents per copy, or sent by mail on re- eeipt of six cents each. BraviE anp ApAMs, Publishers, 98 William Street, New York, By By | By By Ed. ~