Beadle's Pocket Library (no. 413) (1891 12 09)
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Sein canannnll Coprranted, 1991, 1, by BeaDia AND ADAMS. Entered as Second Class Matter at the New York, N. ¥., Post Office, December 9, 1891, 5 Published Weekly by Beadl nd Ad Prlee, No, 413, Be af¥ear. sp) Ro. 98 s Winssam St, NEw hee ams eke Vol. XXXL Revolver Billy | i Tews BY COL. PRENTIS SS INGRAHAM. SUDDENLY BILLY’S REVOLVERS BEGAN TO RATTLE, AND TWO BRAVES WENT REELING OVER THEIR PONTES,
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Revolver Billy. | | Revolver Billy, | IN TEXAS; The Lone Star State Rangers, BY COLONEL PRENTISS INGRAHAM, AUTHOR OF ‘‘ ADVENTURES OF BUFFALO BILL,” “WILD BILL,” ‘TEXAS JACK,” “DR, CARVER,” ETO. CHAPTER IL THE FUGITIVE. A BAND of horsemen were encamped about a spring that bubbled up in a generous stream from the ground, and was shaded by a score | or more of trees that broke the broad expanse of a Texns prairie. The firelights cast a red glare in a circle about them, and their faces were lighted up brilliantly as they were grouped here and there awaiting the cooking of their evening meal, that several of their number were look- ing after, and the savory odor of which was | sufficient to tempt a sick man to eat a hearty | | riding fapidly along, and his course was to- supper. The men were a wild-looking set, with dark faces, hardened by exposure and stamped with crime, Their dress and equipments showed them to be Mexicans, and, as they were encamped upon American soil, across the Rio Grande, it was sery evident that they could not be there for any good, Out upon the prairie, in opposite directions, stood two sentinels, upright and silent, and be- tween them and their camp were their horses, staked out to feed upon the juicy grass, and | | ing for succor there against those who came with their saddles and bridles lying near the stake-pins, ready for instant use, Lying upon his back upon a serape, gazing up at the stars, and puffing the smoke of a fra- grant cigarrito, was the leader of the party. He was a man who was not of tho same class as those about him, for his face was full of refinement, and so perfect in feature that he had an effeminate look which the life he led belied, ‘ He was dressed as a Mexican caballero, and his saddle and bridle, which lay near him, were of the finest workmanghip, and glittered with silver ornaments. Suddenly the silence of the camp was broken by a pistoel-shot far off upon the prairie. Tustantly the leader of the horsemen was upon his feet, while all stood in expectancy, as @ hail came from the sentinel; evuist £ ier, ee “*Ho, senor, there was a shot out upon the prairie,” ‘“‘We heard it, Moro; but bark!” and the leader bent his ears to listen, looking strangely handsome as he stood there in the full giare of the firelight. An instant all was silence and watchfulness, and then, upon the prairie, out of the darkness, flashed a weapon, Then again and again it sent forth its red stream of fire, until twelve sbots had been fired “That man is in close quarters and .the flashes show that he was standing at bay, ‘Ha! there is another, and another, and he is now flying along swiftly and comes in, this direction. “Stand ready, men, for we know not what we have to meet, “To your horses all!” The leader had spoken in Spanish, his voice ringing out sharp and stern, and the men sprung for their ponies, threw on their bridles and saddles, formed a line across the front of the timber, and in a minute were ready with arms in hand to greet a foe, That the one who had ratiled off the shots so rapidly had been in full flight when be emptied bis last revolver, was very evident, for the flashes came from some one who was ward the timber, so that those encamped thera would soon know just whe they had to fear, A few moments had they stood in watebfut expectancy when the rapid fall of hoofs waa heard, and the sound told their prac ticed ears that the rider was heading directly for the camp. There was heard the thud of other hoofs, further off, as though the one in advance had pursuers bot upon his track, Nearer aud nearer camo the horseman, and riding straight for the timber, as though hop swiftly upon his trail. Nearer and nearer he drew, until suddenly there came in sight the forms of a horse and rider, flying along like some dark phantom of the prairie. A minute more he was close upon the tim- ber, while in his rear were visible his pursuers, a mass of horsemen huddled close together, “Ho, Rangers, I am hot pressed by half a | hundred Comanches,” sung out a boyish voice as the fugitive drew near the timber, and then he cried: * Bo ready for them for I have led them in- to your ambush.” The next instant he dashed into the shadow of the timber, to suddenly find bis bridle-reins scized upon either side by strong hands that brought his horse back upon his haunches, ma nf
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s Rovelver Billy. 3 while he was grasped by the legs and nearly drawn from bis saddle. “You are my prisoner, senor,” said a stern voice in his ear. “Tn a hornets’ nest, by the Star of Texas,” cried the fugitive, and as quick as a flash two shots rung out and the men who held his bridle-rein dropped dead, But, with bitter curses others threw them- | selves forward and the brave rider was drag- ged from his saidle and his horse secured, ‘Do not harm him, but bind him securely, and then turn to face yonder crowd that is coming upon us,” sternly ordered the chief in Spanish; and his men quickly rallied into posi- tion once more, just as half a hundred Indians swept down upon them with hideous yells that made the prairies ring. CHAPTER II. THE BATTLE IN THE TIMBER, Tx® body of horsemen encamped in the tim- ber, and to which the fugitive had fled for shelter, to find himself in the lion’s den, did not number more than twenty men. But armed and mounted splendidly as they were, and looking like men who were accus- tomed to face death daily, they felt them- selves more than equal to any foes they might meet, even if double their numbers, Seeing the Comanches charging upon them, they hastily formed their line and stood dis- mounted, sheltered by trees, with their horses in the background and their chief where he could keep his eye upon them, Every man had his rifle ready, and only waited the order to fire, The camp fires had been hastily put out, and now all was darkness in the timber as well as upon the prairie. Straight toward the timber the Comanches were r iding at full speed, yelling as they came on, and certainly expecting to meet only a small force to oppose them, Back in the timber was the prisoner, bound between the two men he had shot, and one of whom was dead, the other dying. It was a ghastly way to secure a prisoner, but these men little cared for that, and were anxious to be ready to meet their foes that were almost upon them, As the Comandhes came on without hesita- lion, contrary to their usual style of recon- noitering, it looked asif they, too, were mistak- en in the character of those in the timber, or at least did not suspect their numbers. ‘‘Men, those red devils intend to make a bold charge, so let no man waste a shot, for if they break our line we have but flight left,” said the Jeader calmly, The men answered with a low word in re aponse, and as the Comanches—as their { | wareries now told their foes they were—had | come within easy range, the chief of the horse- men at bay gave the command: “Fire!” Eighteen rifles flashed almost as one weapon, #0 well-trained were the men who used them, and down went ponies and red riders in one | confused mass. Instantly the hideous yells ceased, the charge was brought to a sudden halt, and | every rider sought safety by throwing him self upon the other side of his horse, It was evidens that they wete surprised, and they gazed almost panic-stricken at the dozen men and ponies that the deadly fire bad brought down. But those in the timber remained grim end silefit over their triumph, and hastily reload- ing their weapons, again stood ready. “ Fire!” Once more their leader’s voice ,rung out, and again a number of red flashes ran down the line of timber, and the leaden hail was hurled upon the mass of warriors and horses, | who were just preparing for another charge, Again was dread kavoc done, and in dismay | the Comanches turned to fly, when loud burst theery of the men in the timber, But their ery of triumph was quickly silenced by one from the red-skins, as up to their foes dashed another band of horsemen, whose war- cries told but too well that they were more of the tribe, and as thovgh realizing the strength, or rather weakness of the whites, they came on with a rush, giving courage to those who were demoralized, and taking them along with them in the charge, The leader of those in the timber was a mar and his would be overpowered, and all slain, or worse still, kept for torture, To your horses all!” he shouted in trumpet tones as soon as another volley had ten fired. Quickly he sprung to the side of his horse, | threw himself into the saddle, and daried away, bis example followed by his men, though several went down beneath a shower of arrows that were sent into the timber after them. Through the motte they dasbed, out upon the prairie, and away like the very wind, their splendid horses giving them hope, for they knew that few Indian ponies could keep up with them, And in hot chase the red-ckins went, tearing through the timber like mad, and striking the prairie hot on the trail, to suddenly draw rein, wheel, and dart back as wild yells were heard, which all Indians on the Texas border knew but too well camo from the dreaded Texas Rangews. od to act promptly, and be saw at a glance that he.
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4 Galloping over the plain toward the scene of combat, the Lexas Rangers bad come between the flying Mexicans and the Indians, and instantly charged upon the latter, believing in the darkness that those who were the fugitives were a band of rancheros or cowboys. In hot haste the red-skins now in turn fled, and close on their heels charged the Rangers, dashing through the timber, where lay the poor Revolver Billy. | shirt, while the other’s skull had been crushed by the iron shoe of the horse that had trod upon him. “ Well, you are not pleasant company, that’s a fact. “But I guess you won’t be quarrelsome,” said the boy, as he looked upon those to whom prisoner, still bound, between the dying and | the dead, and who bad beheld the Mexicans sweep over him in their flight, their foes follow and then retreat, and then the Texans in their headlong rush, all threatening to trample him | | coyotes will come and eat me up with these under the hoofs of their flying steeds, CHAPTER IIt, BILLY MIRANDA, “Writ, Billy Miranda, this is the worst scrape you ever got yourself in, and your revolvers won’t help you now.” The speaker was the prisoner, bound between the two dead bandits, for the second one had now also passed to the ‘Great Beyond,” his spirit having been hastened from bis body by the iron hoof of a steed tbat struck hin squarely on the head, as the Texans on through the timber in pursuit of the ee Indians, The voice of the speaker was boyish, but there was no tremor in the tones, no quivering at the awful position be found himself in, Just then a fagot from the quickly-scat- tered camp fire of the bandits, flickered into a flame, and sent shadows. dancing about liko huge phantoms, The light also illumined the scene, and dis- played a ghastly sight, for side by side lay three human forms, One of these three was alive, and the face was that of a mere boy. Yes, a boy, but one whose every feature was cut in a way tbat showed resolution, nerve | and daring far beyond his years, He was a handsome lad, of perhaps fifteen, | though rather small in stature for bis age, and with dark-blue, laughing eyes, long, curling hair, and a wiry, athletic figure that denoted both strength and endurance, He was dressed in buckskin leggings and hunting-shitt, moccasins, and wore on his head a black slouch hat pinned up in front with a gold star, About bis waist was a belt, and in it were a pair of handsome, gold- -mounted revolvers, which his captors in their haste had neglected to take, he had been securely bound by raw-hide lar- iats, each of his feet being bound to one of the bandits, and his arms to theirs also ina way he found it impossible to free himself of, “Now let me see just what has happened, and then I can study up some way of getting out of this scrape, for if I stay here long the two Greasers. ‘Tt strikes moe I scouted just a little too near those Comanches, and when I ran upon that Injun sentinel, I thought it was all up with ne, “But didn’t I get teetotally fooled, when I | struck for this timber, expecting to find the boys here, and run into a hornet’s nest? “Well I should remark that I did; but Captain Sam* said he would camp here, and here was where I’d find him. “Tt was a little mistake, that was all, for I found here the pards of those two dead Greas- ers, and if they don’t belong, or did, to the Mexican bandits, they can set me down for a fool. “Blue blazes! but wasn’t I upset in my cal- culations? “But I got in a little work, and I’m an- chored to two of a kind, which is not pleasant, “Then the Comanches sailed in, got it hard, but with reinforcements sent the Greasers fly- ing, and my hair rose up like quilis, when I found I was to be left to Mister Lo once more, | “But I heard the yell of Captain Sam, and next, back go the reds, and helter-skelter rode the boys after them, not a soul noticing me, though I sung out lively. “Now I know Captain Sam won’t let up in his chase until he runs the red wolves to their den, and it’s not likely I'll have any one to help me out of this excepting Billy Miranda, 80 here goes to depend on him alone.’”® As he spoke the brave boy began to twist and turn, in a vain effort to free himself, But it was to no purpose, for he had been bound most securely, and soon came to the conclusion that he could not get rid of hig , bonds and bis ghastly companionship, Still the boy’s nature did not allow him to yield to despair, as his words indicated, for he said coolly, and in his off-hand, reckless way: **No go, Billy, for you can’t get away. With a grim look he glanced first at one of wish some coyote would come along and chew the dead bandits and then at the other, They wers both rough-looking Mexicans, and one of them had a builet wound in his breas*, the blood from which had stained his huntiu,- me loose from these Greasers, tor I don’t like this, that is certain, * Major Sam 8, Hall—Buckskin Sam-—at that time commanding a band of Rangers.—Tam Avrmon,
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~~ ** Ah! there goes the flame, and all is dark- ness now, so look out for ghosts, “Hal that coyote howls as though he was calling his pards to supper, and I guess he is; but Pll give him a scare if he comes nosing around me, And coming he is, and more of them too! “*T guess, Billy, it’s all up with you,” and the plucky boy arose on one elbow and gazed | with a feeling of horror upon three coyotes that just then came snarling toward him. CHAPTER IV. A LEAP FOR LIBERTY. It was certainly a most horrifying situation for a human being to be in, and the wonder is tbat Billy Miranda, as my young hero is known, could still keep his senses and not find reason leaving him, when he beheld the wolves approaching him and found himself unable to move hand or foot to defend himself, But the boy had a world of pluck and a heart that did not despair under any circum- stances, and he was not one to give up while life lasted, “ Get out, you snarling brutes!” he shouted, “and wait until I am dead. Begone, I say!” But the coyotes, cowardly beasts that they are, seemed to realize that the boy was wholly in their power, and gr wling savagely, they came nearer and nearer to him, A sudden movement of his body sent them yelping away, but seeing that he did not fol- low them, they came quickly back again, yelp- ing with anticipated delight at the feast be- fore them and their number augmented to a dozen or more, As they sat in a semicircle around the boy, howling, showing their teeth, and snapping at each other viciously, Billy called out again: “Get, you yelping pests, and have the de- cency to wait until I am as dead as these two Greasers to whom those devils bound me, be- fore you begin your feast.” But the coyotes, emboldened by increasing numbers, seb up a chorus how}, and seemed to have no idea of waiting for the plucky youth to die, for they began to narrow their circle, . evidently with the intention of rushing in upon their prey, “Oh, but this is a fearful death to die!” groaned the boy, and then he added, with something of his old recklessness of manner: “You may enjoy the feast, you howling brutes, but when the Rangers know that you ate me up, they’ll not leave one of you on the prairies. “Ah! theyll know me by my rags and weapons, for you can’t eat up Billy’s revolvers, Revolver Billy. 6 | He shouted the last words in almost a frenzy, for the coyotes were rushing to the attack, But suddenly there came a flash, just as the brutes were almost upon him, then several shots were rattled off in quick succession, and a horseman dashed upon the scene, while tae enraged and disappointed prairie scavengers scattered in every direction, “Ho, boy, that is you is it?” said a deep voice in good English, though with an accent. “Tt is what is left of me; but I thank you for saving me from those infernal hyenas,” said Billy, “Your fate may be even worse, boy, than dying by their fangs; but you are the young- scer I captured to-night, and then had to run off and leave,” and the horseman threw bim- self from his saddle and approached the boy, “Yes, I am the boy you captured, for I | recognize you now.” “ Ab! you know me then?” quickly said the horseman, “T know you to be the one who nabbed me early in the evening, and then ran off, leaving me tied to these two stiffs.” ' “Tt is not a pleasant position to leave a man in, let alone a boy, and I am glad I came back here, “You see, I dropped a belt of gold here to- night, when I ran off, and I ceme back to look for it, little dreaming E would find you here, “ But let me find the belt, and thon Vil talk to you.” “Oh, I don’t care to have you talk to me; but I wish you would let me go.” *T cannot think of it,” “* Why not?” *€In the first place, you are a youngster that I have often wished to capture, and in the next, I can use you.” “No, you can’t use me,” “Well, we will see about that; but now let me set you free, for some of your Ranger pards may come back at any moment,” “T am afraid not, and I only wish they would, for you’d get out of this in quick time, now wouldn’t you, Greaser?” “ Boy, curb your tongue, or it may get you into trouble, ‘Now tell me who you are?” and having disarmed the boy, the Mexican cut his bonds and set him free, though be kept him covered with a revolver. “Did you ever hear of Revolver Billy?’ “ Yes, often, and he is as good a scout and fighter as any man in the Ranger band.” “ You are saying a gvod deal, for there are ‘some good men among Major Sam’s Rangers,” | “Granted; but the boy is the equal of any though I only hope you'll try just to get a | oneof them.” little lead in you, * Begone! begone!” ‘‘ Thank you.” “ What for?’
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“Oh, P'm Revolver Billy.” ‘ You had “ Yes,” “T might have known it,” “But you didn’t.” No, but I do now, and I tell you, boy, I have captured a treasure in you.” “A healthy treasure I am; but where does the treasure come in?’ “Tl keep you as a hostage, for I know well what the Rangers think of their young pard, Revolver Billy,” “Better let me go.” “Never!” “That's a long time,” “You'll find it so beforeI am through with you, boy; but come, march before me to where my men are waiting, and then— Ha! here is my belt now, so I’m doubly in luck,” and the Mexican stooped to pick up the belt, against which his foot had struck, giving back a ring- ing sound, when with the leap of a panther Revolver Billy sprung upon him, his feet strik- ing him squarely on the head, and knocking him down half-stunned by the blow. CHAPTER V. THE BOY PRISONER, Tuuru is little doubt but that, boy though he was, Billy would haye gained the advan- tage over the Mexican, for he had the sur- prise and knock-down in his favor, and his blow temporarily stunned the man, so that he could offer no decided resistance to his wea- pons being taking from bis belt, But, just as Revolver Billy grasped the wea- pon he so loved, a heavy band was laid upon his shoulder and he was dragged backward with. terrific force, while a knife gleamed above him, “Hold! Moro, do not kill bim,” cried the Mexican chief, now springing forward and seizing the uplifted hand of the man who had so fortunately for him come to his relief, ' “No, be wants to keep me as a curiosity,” growled Billy, who, seeing that resistance was vain against such odds, calmly submitted to his fate, “The boy is a devil, senor,” said the hfext can whom his chief had cal) Moro. “T know it well, Moro, for he was upon me like a chaparral tiger the first chance he got,” ‘He is known as Revolver Billy,” con- tinued Moro, . “Yes, I have heard of bim,” “He is the Boy Ranger, senor, and the worst of the lot, if he is not a man.” “T can do a man’s work sometimes, Senor Moro,” put in Billy, who spoke Spanish per- fectly, and his accent was so pure that the elief turned quickly toward him and asked: Revebver Billy, | x r= “Boy, are you am American?” “Yes,” **You are not a Mexican then?” “No, and I would be sorry if I was,” * Owrambal” ejaculated Moro, while the chief said: ‘Well, we but lose time here, and you must go with me, for ten to one those wild friends of yours will be back here to look you up, and I have no desire to meet the Texas Rangers,” “There are more like you, senor; but you need not. hurry off on my account, as the boys do not know I’ve gotten into such bad com- pany, and besides, they are on the trail of the Comanches now, and they have a way of stick- ing to a track to find its other end, as you will some day find out, I'm thinking.” “Boy, youare too glib with your tongue,” angrily said the Mexican, “Well, you’ve got my hands and feet tied, | go my tongue is all I’ve got now to. wag.” “Tll stop its wagging with a gag soon.” * Don’t do it, for Pll be as dumb as an owl by day; but which way are you going?” “T thought you were going to keep quiet.” “Ab! I forgot; but it’s natural for me to wish to know where I’m going.” “You'll find that out soon,” “T hope so,” and Billy was led to the edge of the timber and placed upon the back of one of two horses that were there, and which Moro had been holding when he came to the aid of his chief, Springing into the saddle before the boy | Moro turned the head of his horse across the prairie, and his chief having mounted they set off at a rapid gallop, A ride of ten minutes brought them to an- other bunch of timber, and here the remainder of the band were waiting them. “T feared trouble for you, captain,” said one of the men coming forward, “No, we were delayed catching this boy Tartar.” ‘Ah, you found him then as we had left him, senor?” “Yes; but where is his horse?’ “We have him here, senor.” “Then lead him up and tie the boy upon him, for we must be off.” “We have lost precious time, senor, and stirred up those hornets, the Texan Rangers.” “T know that well, Lute, so shall not go on to-night, but will wait for a better opportun- ity, and our young prisoner here will be of vast sorvice to us.” , “ Ah, I understand, senor chief, and I think you are right, if he can be made to talk.” “He must talk, ay, he shall talk,” was the significant answer of the chief, Revolver Billy was then placed upon his own horse, for the bandits had brought his ae
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mustang with them in their flight, and all stood ready to move, “Which way, chief?’ asked Lute, who was the guide of the band, “Back across the Rio Grande,” was the re- ply. “That settles me, and Iam a goner,” mut- tered Revolver Billy asthe party set off at a rapid canter, the guide leading, and the chief following close behind with his boy prisoner by his side, and bound securely to his saddle, CHAPTER ‘VI. THE OLD RANGER’S STORY, To better acquaint my readers with the brave youth, who had thus fallen into the clutches of a band of Mexican robbers, who, he had every reason to believe, would be wholly merciless toward him, I will go back a few years and present to them a scene in which he was a participator when but seven years of age, and the memory of which he could never efface from his heart and brain, In fact, it was to this scene only that Billy looked back, it seeming to bave so impressed him as to wipe ouf all remembrance of the , few years of bis life which had gone before. When questioned as to his past, Billy bad | little to say, more than that his parents had been slain by Indians, and that he had been | found by some Texas Rangers a day or two after, and they had brought him up, To let the reader know just what had oc- curred, I will ask him to follow me into the camp of Sam Hall’s Rangers, some hours after their charge upon the Indians, and when they had halted to rest their tired horses, after a hot chase of the Comanches, Seeing that the red-skins had scattered in small bands of half a dozen each, Sam Hall had called a halt until daylight, remarking: “Then, boys, we will strike some of the trails left by the reds and follow them to sun- set.” Yes, cap’n; but don’t you think thar is a duty we owes toa pard, afore we raises red- | skin ha’r?’ asked an old Ranger, whose white | hair and beard had gained him the name of Grandpop, but who answered also to the ap- pellation of Dan Hunter. A prairie man for forty years, a man of in- domitable courage, and one who never went back upon a friend or let up upon a foe, Dan Hunter was respected by all who knew him as he was, He bad a small ranch, where he raised a few cattle and lived in loneliness, with only an In- dian boy for his companion and to look after his stock when the Ranger was off with his band, which was very nearly all the time, for | those were days of danger along the Rio Grande, erat Revolver Billy. qv He had been a member of the Ranger band for a number of years, fought hard for Texas, and hated a Mexican as he did a snake, When Sam Hall organized a band of Rangers in his region, Dan Hunter had at once joined him, and then it was that he had gained the name of Grandpop. There were many who wished to make him an officer; but this Grandpop would not hear to, but his advice was always sought, and he | held the esteom of all the Rangers, from Cap- | tain Sam down, | “What! did we lose any of our boys, Grand- | pop, when we made the charge?” asked Sam Hall quickly, as he sprung from his saddle upon reaching a good camping-place, “No, Sam, we didn’t lose any then; but has you forgot Billy?’ ‘No indeed, and we must surely look him up, for he was due in that very timber motte, | where we struck the reds just at sunset,” | “Yes, Sam, and we found there traces o’ |@ campfire, and nigh onto a hundred reds, with a lot o’ horsemen running like rabbits from ’em.” “Perhaps Billy was with these horsemen.” “T hopes not, Sam.” “Why, were they not rancheros?” ‘They might have been.” “ Then where was the danger of being with | them?” “They didn’t strike me as being Texans,” ““Hlal you believe they were Mexicans?” “Waal, they kinder had that look to my | old eyes, Sam, and there was too much jingle to ’em for our boys,” “By the Lone Star, but you are right, Grandpop. *T was foolish tu let the boy goon a scout, when I knew there were so many Indians | about; but then] knew his horse could out- | run any Indian pony, and Billy always turns up right,” “You did right, Cap’n Sam; only the boy struck suthin’ he dido’t bargain for, in my mind it do seem so.” “Grandpop, you.know more than you will | tell,” said Captain Sam, as his men familiarly called him, impressed by the manner of the old man, “No, I am willing to tell all, Sam.” *‘Then let us have it, Dan,” “Waal, I may be gittin’ old and narvous-like; but it did strike me, Sam, when we charged | through them woods, that I heerd Billy calling ' to me,” “ Indeed?” | “IT hopesit was Billy himself; but I fears it was his ghost,” Good God! do you mean the boy is dead?” ‘Waal, I don’t like thet piece o’ timber, Sam, for it was right thar thet I came os , a
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* across the scene thet I can’t wipe out o’ my mind,” “ What scene, Grandpop?” “You know that eight year ago I found that boy Billy on the perarer? ac Yes,” ‘Waal, it were in that timber that I comed upon the burnt wagins, the dead bodies of the ? folks that had composed the train, and a more | sickening sight I never seen. “T didn’t know any of ’em; but I heerd they was settlers thet was going back intoa kentry whar thar wasn’t so much killing and scalping, for they had settled too near ther Rio Grande fer the’r own good. “Thar was some two dozen of ’m, I guesses; but I digs graves for ’em all, druy off ther coyotes an’ howlin’ wolves, and planted ’em, “Then I struck off across the pararer on my way back to my ranch, when all of a suddint, | you knows, I comed upon a leetle boy a-hid- in’ in ther grass like a pa’tridge. **He had seen me coming and he jist hided, “Waal, l called to him ter show his head, and then out he come. ‘Yer knows ther boy, so I needn’t tell yer he were a beauty, Sam, for he were, * But I talks to him and found out that he | had been one of the train. ‘He looked white and scared, and couldn’t tell me much more than that his people had been killed, and an Indian warrior bad put him behird him on his horse, and was going off with him, when he slipped off over ther animile’s haunches and Jay still in ther grass, “One day passed, and a night followed, and next arternoon I found him, so you kin tell what the boy suffered in thet time. “You knows, Sam, thet I tuk him to my layout and riz him, teachin’ him all I could, and how one day he saved your life, when a cowboy was lying hid for you, and how you tuk bim inter your band, and thet I jined too, “ Yes, Grandpop, I know all this, and I am 80 attached to the boy, that I would risk life every day to save him.” “And right you are, Cap’n Sam, and so would any one o’ your thirty Rangers, “*But now comes the idee in my mind.” “Well, Dan?’ “Tt was in thet timber thet I found the massacreed train, and thar is whar they lies buried, but whether thet boy knows it or not, is more than I kin tell you. “But, Sam, to-night, when we charged through ther timber, I distinctly heerd Billy’s voice a-cryin’ out.” “Indeed, Grandpopf? *Vact I did.” , “What did he say?” “ He called outs Revolver Billy. ae Grandpop! Ho, boys, come to my rescoo! Rangers this way! Help me! help me!’ *T heerd them cries distinct, Sam, and now fears thet they comed from Billy’s ghost.” | “God grant the boy be not dead, Grand- pop,” said Sam Hall, impressively, and from the Rangers gathered around came a fervent: * Amen!” “Well, boys, we will get what rest we car, and be ready at dawn to look up Billy, and | woe be to those who have harmed bim,” said Captain Sam, and the tired Rangers at once turned in to snatch what rest they could dur. ing the few hours of darkness left to them. | CHAPTER VIL RANGERS TRAILING, Tx dawn was just breaking when the band of Rangers, giving up all idea of trailing the red-skins further, turned back to look up the lost boy, the pet of their band, Their first move was to return to the tim- | ber, where the charge had been made, and see if they could discover any trace there of the missing boy, If not, they would return to the spot where he had left them the morning before, and striking his trail, follow it wherever it might | lead. | A ride of a couple of hours brought them to | the timber, and a halt was at once called for breakfast, as the place would be thoroughly | searched The horses were staked out, and while several | men set to work to prepare breakfast, the rest of the party at once began to search the tim- ber! Captain Sam kept near Dan Hunter, feeling assured that the old Ranger would discover some trace of the boy, if any was to be found, “Waal, Sam, see here,” he said, as he walked over to the edge of the timber, where the bandits had been camped the night be- fore, at the time Billy had ridden into their midst. “There are the remains of a camp-fire, I seo, Grandpop,” said Captain Sam. “Yas, and ther fire was not built by In- juns.” “ No.” “ Fact, as you kin see, knowin’ signs on ther prararer as well as me,” “No, no, Grandpop, we all yield to you in prair's knowledge; but there was warm work here, it looks like.” Yas, it was hot, and checks was called in; but yonder is dead meat,” and old Dan pointed to a thicket some yards distant, where were visible objects that looked like human forms, Quickly they walked to the spot, passing awe
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Revolver Billy. 9 here and there a dead warrior and a couple of ponies, Then they came upon two bodies with lariats about them, as though they had been bound. Near them lay several dead wolves, and | there were tracks about that showed that some | exciting scene had occurred there. ‘Well, Dan, what do you make of all this?” asked Captain Sam. “You have your idee, Sam?” “ Yes,” “Name it.” “There were Mexicans encamped here,” “Yas, for them two stiffs is dead give- aways to what t’others was.” “They were attacked by the Comanches?” “Them hoof-tracks shows that, with dead ponies and warriors lying round.” ** And the Mexicans ran off?” * Fact.” “And those were Mexicans we took for Texans?’ “Yas, Sam.” “Well, that. is all I see just now from the signs about.” “T sees more.” “T do not doubt it, Grandpop, for you can see further into a mill-stone than any man in Texas,” “‘Thankee, Sam, for ther flatter you give me; but I kin see far as anybody.” “Well, Grandpop, what do you see now?” “There is Mexicans,” and old Dan pointed to the two dead bodies, “ Yes,” “They is some of Don Bocaro’s band.” “Ha! how do you know that they belong to that band?” “Don Bocaro’s men all have a gold cord lariat around their sombreros,” “True, and there are their hats with the cords,” Yes, Sam.” “Well, what can that gang of Greasers have been doing.here so far from the Rio Grande?’ “They meant mischief, Sam.” “No doubt of that, Grandpop; but what else do you see in the signs about?” “Waal, these Mexicans was killed afore our charge, and afore ther Injuns came on’em, too.” “How do you tell that, Danf’ “You see they was tied?’ “ldo? ‘Then thar is a bullet-wound in thet Greas- er’s head was made by a revolver.” “True.” “Comanches don’t hey revolvers,” “That is so, Grandpop.” “Then this Greaser,” and Dan touched the | by the bandita, body with his foot, “was marked by an from shod hoof,” “So I see, Grandpop,” “We charged right over ’em, and oneof our horses did it, and then it was that I heerd ther boy cry.” “You don’t mean to say that he was hurt?’ “‘T don’t know, Cap’n Sam, as to what was ther matter. : * But it do look to me as though he were captured by them Greasers, and they had him here when the Injuns fought ’em, and they took him off with ’em when they had to run, “Yer see them fellers is tied with lariats, and ther ropes shows that they has been out.” “ Yes, ” “Now, ef them fellers was dead no durned fool w'u’d tie ’em ter keep ’em from gittin’ away. ‘* But my idee is thet thar was another fel- ler tied to ’em, for so it do look to me, for here are places whar he hev struggled hard ter git away.” ‘Well, Dan, you do seem to be on the right trail, for all your surmise looks clear enough when you read it from the signs. “Now, you think this was the boy they had here?” “Waal, we'll see ef we kin git any signs ter tell us who it were, “Pards,” and old Dan called to several of the Rangers near, ‘Now, you jist hunt round fer any signs 'o Billy, fer you knows his tracks and ther hoof- marks o’ his horse well.” Thus urged the Rangers set to work, and it was but a very short while before tracks were discovered which all presumed to have been made by Billy’s horse, Then a separate trail of two horses was taken up, and as it led in the direction which the band of Mexicans had taken, old Dan said: “ Waal, pards, we has got on ther trail, and like as not we'll find Billy at t’other end; bus whether dead or alive thar are no telling. ** Now, let us surround ther grub, and then we'll be ready to continue our observations, and maybe thar won’t be music ef we finds them Greasors hey bagged ther boy or kilt him. Half an hour after, with old Dan and Cap- tain Sam Hall riding in the lead, the Texas Rangers were following the trail of the Mexi- can bandits, CHAPTER VII. THE STORY A TIN-CUP TOLD. Wrira such readers of prairie signs as men like old Dan and Captain Sam Hall, there was a plain story told of how Billy had been caught eee See eek Meet vice tear ere ee
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Revolver Billy. while others went on that of the main body of bandits, and met in the timber where the out- laws, had encamped for the second time the night before, There the hoof-tracks of Revolver Billy’s horse were distinctly seen, and the Rangers They followed the trail of the two horses, | plainly visible where he had been led up to the pressed on rapidly, feeling assured now that the boy was a prisoner. They all knew well the stories told of Mex- ican bandits and their barbarity, and often had they pursued and fought them. Don Bocaro they knew to be a Mexican at the head of a band of followers, who had often raided upon Texan soil, and from whom little mercy was expected by those who fell into his clutches, The sworn foe of the Rangers, the comrades of Revolver Billy feared the worst for the poor hoy, for they were aware that his years would be little protection to him. They therefore pressed rapidly on the trail left by Don Bocaro and his men, though with little hope of coming upon them ere they could get across the Rio Grande, “Better strike for Donaldson’s Rangers, Cap’n Sam, and all push across the river, ef we finds the outlaws has crossed with the boy,” _ suggested old Dan, as they rode swiftly along following the trail without any difficulty. “Yes, Dan, it will be a good idea, for Don- aldson has some fifty men, and will willingly join us; and maybe we can get a few rancheros also, and that will give us nearly a hundred brave fellows,” “Yas; and then Don Bocaro will hev ter hunt cover, for ef we crosses the line we'll go for avenging some o’ his acts on this side.” “We will go to the river first, Dan, and then camp there until I send a scout after Don- aldson and his men. “ But how far do you think they are ahead of us now?” The old man glanced at the trail earnestly, and then ahead, his eyes resting upon a clump of timber some miles distant. *¢ Does yer see thet timber?” “Yes, Dan.” “ Waal, my idee be thet Don Bocaro halted thar for grub,” “Then he is fully four hours ahead of us,” ‘‘ Like as not, cap’n.” ° “ And we must halt there too, for we are pusbing the horses bard.” “Yas; it will do’em good to rest ’em,” and old Dan rode on in silence until he came to the timber which he had pointed out. There were the remnants of camp-fires there, the ashes being yet warm, which showed that ‘the outlaws had encamped there only a few hours before. The hoof-tracks of Billy’s horse were also fire, and then taken some distance off to be staked out. “The boy are with ’em,” said Dan, “You are sure?” ‘‘ Waal, there are ther tracks left by hie crittur.” “ Yes.” “‘ He were led up to this fire, while no other horse came near,” “There are certainly no other tracks near.” “Yas, cap’n, thar is whar a borse hev been led up too; but it were the same horse.” “J see: you mean that Billy was on his ‘horse, that they brought him here and dis- | mounted for a rest, led bis hcrse away to stake him out, and then brought him back for the hoy when ready to start?” “Cap'n Sam, you has read them signs beau- tiful, for thet am jist what I does mean.” “It is a great relief to know that Billy is not dead,” said Sam Hall. “Tt will be a greater relief when we has got him. ‘See, thar is whar they put-him, and they tied him around the body to this tree— Holy smoke! does yer see this?’ and old Dan sprung forward and picked upa tin cup which was half concealed by some grass, ‘I do, and it is Billy’s, for there are the revolvers he painted on it,” said Captain Sam, stretching forth his hand to grasp the tin cup, upon the front of which had been skillfully painted a pair of revolvers, with the words be- neath, also well executed: “Bruiy, THE Boy RancER.” But old Dan drew back, as Captain Sam at~ tempted to take the cup, and said: “ Hold on a bit, Cap’n Sam, for the boy musk hev left some other sign fer us.” “This cup tells the story, Dan.” ‘Yas, and it do tell more, for here are some: letterin’ scratched on ther bottom with aknife- point, or suthin’ sharp, an’ as it hes been a durned long time since I figgered out any writin’ I'll jist git you to,see what Billy hew writ us.” The old man turned the tin cup bottom up-: ward, as he spoke, the act revealing some writing evidently hastily done. Then aloud Captain Sam read, while the Rangers gathered around him: “RANGER Parps:— “Run into a Mexican camp, thinking it was you, “They are Don Bocaro and his band, and were going on a raid, but have put back to cross the ver, “ go with them, se that I cannot get away. “Don't follow across the river, for th give Nea the slip in some = soon as I can, “Yours in bad luck, “Ravotver Bry.” “The tin cup tells the story, boys,” cried
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ee eee about saying don’t cross the river, 80 we'll not send for Donaldson until we sees what is up, and then, if we can’t go over, I’ll jist skip off | and see what I kin do for ther youngster.” * You will run a fearful risk, Dan.” ‘Waal, cap’n, I hev run risks fer nigh onto fifty years now, and ef I do hand in my chips, it will be in doing a good turn fer Billy, and Vm old enough to die anyhow, while thar be them as wishes I hed turned my toes up years | ago. “But let us tackle grub now, and then push on to the river,” This advice was promptly followed, and the Hangers reached the river banks soon after ark, “Tl tell yer what I'll do, Cap’n Sam,” said old Dan when a halt was called. ‘* Well, Grandpop?” * You jist huot a camp ter nide in fer a short time, while Lcrosses over and sees which way they hev gone, an’ ef I kin do anything fer ther boy.” “But you run a fearful risk, Grandpop,” “No I don’t, Sam, fer I kin shout that lingo beautiful, and I has a Mexican friend what lives nigh here, or rather some leagues away, ' and I'll hunt his bacienda afore day-dawn.” “ Well, you know best, Dan.” “Yes, and Dll git off as soon asI sees whar you is ter strike a camp. “Tf I doesn’t come back in a week, you kin jist put me down as lyin’ with my toes tarned up anda bullet or knife-wound in me, for I doesn’t suppose ther coyotes will gnaw my tough old carkiss. “Now let us hunt a camp, and then, Sam boy, Tl be off, for thet tin cup told us thet Billy were in trouble, an’ I’m durned ef I don’t git him out o’ it, or goInter ther same myself,” and half an hour after, old Dan Hunter was boldly crossing a ford of the Rio Grande, fol- lowed by the good wishes of his Ranger com- races, . CHAPTER IX. A CAPTIVE’S SHOT. I wrt now return to Revolver Billy in his eaptivity, and on the march with his captors toward the land where he knew he would not behold a friendly face, He, however, kept up his courage, and his seeming recklessness of what might happen to him caused his captors to look upon him with considerable respect. Don Bocaro, the chief, particularly watched the boy, and soon made up his mind as to what he would do with him. What his intention was, the story will de- velop as it progresses, When the band came in sight of the Rio Revolver Billy. “Yas, cap’n, and maybe tho boy is right | Grande it was nearly sunset, and, anxious to cross the river before nightfall, Don Bocaro pushed on rapidly, Lute, the guide, leading, But suddenly the guide halted, and after a moment of peering steadily ahead of him, he | said: “Senor, there are some horsemen hiding behind yonder sand-hills,” “Indeed, Lutef” **-Yes, senor.” “Flow do you know?” | TY saw them,” ; ‘Well, who are they?” “That I do not know.” “But you fear they may be some of Don- aldson’s Rangers?” ‘“‘Tf Donaldson’s Rangers have found out that we crossed the river into Texas two days ago, then we may expect them to be waiting for us. ** But they may be Rangers, and they may be Mexican soldiers, while, which is more like- ly, they may be Indians.” , “I little dread the Indians, Lute, and do not care to come in contact with our sol- diers, while I certainly would not wish to meet those wild Texans, man for man, “ So what shall we do?” “Push for the ford and cross in a run, be they whom they may.” “You are right; and tho prisoner?” “Keep him next to you, for you don’t wish to lose the boy, senor.” “You are right, for he may be useful some day.” “Yes, senor; be can be made useful to you,” was the significant reply. Turning to hismen Don Bocaro told them that there was danger ahead, and for all to fol- low close together and charge for the ford, “‘What have we got to fight, senor chieff” asked Moro, who was a lieutenant in the band, “1 do not know and neither does Lute,” *T do.” : “ You?’ and all looked at Billy who had so complacently asserted his knowl- edze of who was before them, ‘6Yos.” ‘¢How do you know, boy?” asked Don Bo- caro, “From seeing them,” “When?” “Oh, long before that renegade Texan, who | is your guide, saw them,” was the cool reply. / *¢ And who are they?” « Comanches,” “You are sure of this?” s “Yes, I saw them ride across the plain, and | seeing us, they wheeled quickly and rode back to cover. ‘*J¢ was when their scouts were looking over the sand-hills at us that the renegade saw | them |!”
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La A a Rt i2 Revolver Billy. — “ Boy, don’t you call me a renegade again,” savagely said the guide, “T will, forthe name fits you, as you are a traitor Texan,” was the cool reply of Billy. “By the—” “Hold! Lute, I will have none of this, so let the boy alone,” called out Don Bocaro, and the guide allowed his knife to drop back in its scabbard, for he had stepped forward witk murderous intent toward the prisoner. Then turning to Billy, Don Bocaro said: “Why did you not tell me?’ “T am a prisoner, nol your guide.” “‘Yot your life might have been lost had we ridden upon an ambush.” ‘¢T have to take my chances of that.” “They are Indians, you say?” “They wear the costumes of red-skins; but many a white man does wicked deeds under a painted face,” “‘ Well, we will ride on and see what they will do,” said Don Bocaro, and the horsemen moved slowly on once more, their eyes fixed upon the distant sand-hill, behind which lurked a dangerous foe. As they drew nearer the river, the guide buddenly diverged from the trail, straight to- | ward the bank, as though to follow it up to the ford and thereby avoid passing by the sand-hills. Instantly it was evident that those behind the hills saw that they would thus be thwarted in having the Mexicans ride into an ambush, for out from their hiding-place suddenly dart- ed a large number of horsemen, *¢ Indians! and Comanches at that. “Ride hard for the river-bank, men, and once there we cannot be surrounded,” cried the chief, Straight for the river-bank the’ party rode, knowing that with the river upon one side the Indians could only attack from the front, and | by moving slowly along, fighting as they went, they could gain the ford and cross the river | where their foes would not follow them, Arriving at the bank, Don Bocaro placed his men in line, and then turning to Revolver Billy, | said: i “Boy, I don’t wish to have you under fire, | with no arms in your hands to defend your- self, so I am willing to set your arms free, if | you will make me a promise,” | “What promise do you wish me to make | you?” asked Billy, “That you will not attempt to escape from me.” ‘* Will you believe me if I promise youf? | “ Yes.” “Then I make the promise,” “ And I will set you free, ‘Here, rub your hands to get up circula- tion, and here are your own revolvers, which — “ report says you can use as well as any man om the border,” and Don Bocaro placed in Billy’s hands his own weapons. The boy grasped them as though they were old and dear friends, and then turned to glance at the coming red-skins, There was quite a number of them, and they . were dashing on swiftly with yells that were horrifying and deafenirg, while they were | preparing to shower arrows upon their enemies as soon as they came witbin range, ‘* Now you’ve got your weapons, boy, don’t shoot me in the back during the fight,” growled Lute the guide. “You judge me by yourself, man; but I | shall watch you close, and if I see any crooked work toward me, I'll pull trigger on you, if there’s a red within a yard of me,” and Billy glanced at his revolvers to see that they were all right, while the guide, with a Spanish oath, turned his attention to the danger confronting | them, ‘‘Now, men, ready with your rifles!” called out Don Bocaro, and the weapons were raised. Just then a shower of arrows came from the | charging red-skins, and a few of the barbs struck horses and men—wounding them how- . ever very slightly. Then came the ringing command: “ire!” The well-trained outlaws fired as almost one man, and their aim was deadly. But the red-skins, though staggered, came rushing on, with wilder yells, and firing | rapidly, “ Down rifles and draw revolvers!” shouted Don Bocaro, “Now I am at home,” shouted Billy, and the next minute the revolvers of the outlaws ' rattled savagely, while the air was filled with arrows. Shrieks infernal, the neighing of horses, rattle ‘ of firearms, trample of hoofs, with stern orders from the outlaw border and Indian chiefs, made the scene now one to remember. But such close, hot fighting could last but a few minutes, and all felt that one or the other side must give way soon, Which should it be? Tho Indians were in vastly superior num- bers, and they were maddened by their loss, which had been heavy. ‘ Then the outlaws fought with rifle and re- volver, and to surrender was instant death to them, Thus both sides battled with desperate fury. Suddenly Don Bocaro received a stunning blow from a tomahawk hurled at him, and he reeled in his saddle. Before he could recover himself, the Comanche chief dashed up to him, seized him by the hair, and was raising his knife to bury it to the hilt in the broad breast 1
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Revolver Billy. is of the outlaw, when his arm dropped, shat- tered, to his side, and the blade fell to the ground, At that instant Billy, all bound as he was to his saddle, spurred alongside the Comanche chief, and placing his revolver close to his head sent a bullet through his brain, while he shouted: “T want your topknot, Mr, Injun.” The fall of their chief completely demoral- ized the red-skins, and they turned and fled in dismay, leaving one-third of their warriors and ponies dead or dying upon the field, CHAPTER X. THE ESCAPE. “You saved my life, boy,” cried Don Bo- caro earnestly, as he turned toward Billy, and wiped the blood from his head, where the tomahawk had wounded him. “Don’t mention it,” answered Billy, in his off-hand way. ‘But I will mention it, and more, Pll tell you that Iam your friend now, and not your foe,” “*T doubt which 1s the most dangerous, to have you for a friend or foe.” “‘T am in earnest, boy.” “Oh, I didn’t do anything for you to mare a softy of yourself about, for I just saw your hair was in danger of being lifted, so shot the Injun’s arm and then sailed in for his life.” . * And you did that for me?” **Not much, I didit for myself, for if you had been killed we would have been wiped out. “Oh, no, don’é you flatter yourself, senor, for I would just as soon, and a little rather, that you should die as not.” The chief muttered something to himself, which Billy did not catch, and then turned to look after his men, several of whom bad been killed and nearly half of his band wounded, “This has been a hot fight for us, Senor Billy,” he said, with respect in his tone as he again turned to the boy. “Tt was hotter for the reds, and you can bet they are howling mad, and if you take my advice, you won’t let darkness catch you on this side of the river.” “You are right, boy, and I will move at once, for if we stay here, they'll charge us again, and we are in no condition to fight, “Come, men, we must be off at once,” and, as the men prepared to move, Don Bocaro turned again to the boy with: “Revolver Billy, I don’t wish to tie you up again, after what you did for me,” “ Better les me go and say no more about it.” “The Indians would see you go alone and surely kill you,” “That is my lookout, so don’t worry your head about me, but set me free, if you wish to return the favor I did you.” “I do wish to return it, and more; but I cannot let you go.” “That settles it then.” “T am more anxious now to have yeu with me than ever.” “ Oh ad ‘But I don’t wish to tie you.” “Don’t do it then.” “ Will you promise not to attempt to escape if I do not?’ “No, I will not, for I kept my promise for the fight, and that is over, so I’ll just light out now if I get the slightest chance,” “Then I will have to bind you once more,” “Tt will be the safest plan if you wish me to remain with you.” “I do wish it, but only wish that you would stay without being bound.” “Not I, for I don’t like the gang and the dirty work you do.” “Ym honest, and I belong to a square lot of Rangers, and we are down on thieves and cut- throats, so tie me up and be moving, or you may lose your hair yet, for it’s getting dark.” The chief gazed fixedly into the boy’s face, and then called to one of his men to tie Billy’s hands securely once more, This was done, and with their wounded strapped on their ponies, and having thrown their dead over the banks into the river, the outlaws moved on once more, The Indians from their retreat at the sand- hills, watched them closely, and as they moved off at once sought the fleld to look after their dead, which the Mexicans had left lying where they had fallen, their scalp-locks un- touched, excepting the red-skin chief’s, which one of the band had cut off and given to Billy. Several times the Comanches threatened to charge upon the retreating Mexicans, and once came toward them with such determina- tion that Don Bocaro hastily cut the bonds that secured Billy and returned to him his re- volvers, with the remark: “They are coming upon us this time and you will have a chance todo more good work for us,” Tl do it for myself,” answered Billy. But the Comanches, seeing the outlaws’ bold front, drew up their ponies when yet some is- tance off, and firing a shower of arrows upon the little band, retreated under the volley of rifle shots poured upon them, Once more then the ontlaws rode on, _ reached the ford, crossed over to the Mexican shore, and seeking a chaparral thicket halted for rest, Then a cry arose in thelr midst as their camp-fires illumined the darkness, for nowhere ‘visible was the boy captive,
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SS See terest Sere Amer a ie : CHAPTER XI. made up his mind, if the outlaws started back THE BOY FUGITIVE, “Writ, he untied me and didn’t ask me for | a promise this time,” chuckled Billy, as he was a second time set free and again grasped his trusty revolvers. That he might not attract attention, as it was now getting quite dark, Billy quickly put his revolvers out of sight, and wrapping the end of his lariat about one wrist, put his bands behind him to make believe that he was bound, * Billy Miranda, you’ve got your guns, your horse, and your arms are free, so if you do not escape within half an hour you are a bigger fool than I take you for, and I'll lose the good opinion I have always had of you,” muttered Billy to himself as the party descended into the river. With the noise of the splashing waters, the yelling of the men to their horses, and the driving of the few loose horses they had with them, the outlaws made a great disturbance in crossing the river, and Billy was not slow to take advantage of this by trying to slip off. Allowing his horse to drink, while others were passing him, he waited until others went by, and who, in the gloom, mistook him for some of their outlaw comrades. Then he slowly followed on after them, as soon as he saw the last outlaw disappearing ahead, “ Well, ’m between two fires now, for the Injuns are on yonder bank behind and the out- laws ahead, “This river is too full of quicksands and death for me to attempt to go either up or down stream, or we might try that on. “ But I guess I’ll follow on after the gang, and once they strike the highlands and don’t miss me, it will take a lively outlaw to catch Revolver Billy, and I shouldn’t wonder if some- body got hurt if they crowd me,” Thus talking to himself, and more frequently addressing his conversation to Billy Miranda than using the personal pronoun, he rode on his way slowly after the Mexicans. It must be confessed that he grew a little nervous as the band left the river-bed and ascended to the higher lands beyond, for he knew that a few more minutes would decide whether he was free or not. p the trail to the ford went the outlaws, making considerable noise, and close behind them followed Billy. j He well knew that if they missed him and turned back that he must be taken, for he had no other alternative, as the Indians surely oc- cupied the other shore, and would capture or kill him did he retrace bis steps. He could not yet turn to the right or left from the trail to the ford, on account of tho pature of Luv Jand on either side, and he coolly e Bs | | so that he could in search of him, to ride on and meet them, as though he had no idea of escaping. At last the table-lands were reached, and watching closely, Billy saw the last shadowy form of the outlaw bard disappear from sight, “Now, as soon as I can swallow my beart, which I’ve had in my mouth the past ten minutes, Pll bunt another ford to take me back to Texas,” said Billy, and gathering his reins well in hand, and placing his revolvers quickly grasp them, he rode on, turning sharply to the right, which course would lead him up the river. The horse he rode was a fine one, and an animal which he had himself caught out of a herd of wild ponies, It was very evident that the animal was not naturally wild, but had escaped from some ranch, or train, and herding with mustangs, had become almost akin to them, He was a dark bay, clean-limbed, long- bodied, and the fastest horse in the Ranger corps, as Billy had cause to discover on many occasions, After a ride of half a mile Billy drew rein, | and seemed to be listening most attentively. “ They are still moving, for I hear them; but they’ll not go far before they camp, and how they will howl when they find Revolver Billy has not invaded Mexico. “Oh!.if I had the boys near, wouldn’t we amaze the Don and his men? ‘Why it would be cruel to surprise ’em as we could, “Well, I rather like that handsome Don, and it would not have been such hard work for me tosave his life, even had I not been looking out for number one in doing so, “He is cruel, they say along the border; but I like his face, and it does seem as though I’d seen it somewhere before; but it bothers me not to know where. “T hope I won’t see it again though, or at least until I have Captain Sam and the boys | with me, ‘Now won't they wonder when I don’t turn up? ‘And won’t Grandpop cuss and start off at ones to look me upf “Well, I’ve got to find the_boys now, for 1 don’t feel so healthy when I’m alone,” and Billy rode on once more, to again come toa sudden halt before he had gone far, “Ah! they’ve missed Revolver Billy, and they are just chewing cuss-words by the mouth- ful. “J wonder what the Don thinks? “Well, Lknow what Billy Miranda thinks, and that is that he had better travel a little faster and not camp until he has put many miles between him and the Don. | “Come, Red Ranger, you’ve got to travel
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Revolver Billy. ; 16 if you want to eat graces on Texas prairies | again,” and he urged his tired horse into a gallop, and sped rapidly up the river-bank, anxious to place as far a distance between himself and his fces, as was possible before dawn, when he was well aware that they could strike his trail, and that they would do so, he did not doubt, from what he knew of Don Bocaro, Lacie CHAPTER X'I. CAUGHT IN THE COM, It was assuredly a surprise, and a painful one, to Don Bocaro, when he discovered that his boy captive had escaped. He was at first unwilling to believe that he could have done so, thinking it was impossible for him to so cleverly get out from the midst gaa band without attracting attention to his act, Then he remembered that he had himself set : + ge free and placed his revolvers in big and, * Santissima! I did not ask a promise of him that time, I remember, and the cunning boy was quick to take advantage of it. “T forgot to do so, and in the march here, I did not think it necessary to keep an eye on him, as I did not think of his being free, “Here, men, who saw that young Texan last?” “T passed him in the river, senor,’’ said one, “Yes, he was letting his horse drink, senor, when I saw him last,” cried another. ** But his arms were tied behind him, senor,” remarked a third, “No, they were not, for I set them free, and it was his cunning that made him hold them behind him to pretend to still be bound, ‘Back to the ford, some of you, and watch it closely. ‘Here, Lute, you see if you can strike the boy’s trail—no, no, I forgot that you bate bim so, and might be only too glad to put a bullet in him. “You remain in camp, while I go and see if Ican find out where he turned ef, up or down-stream, for with his horse dripping wet, I can find it with my lantern and perhaps fol- low it some distance to night, so that by dawn we can push rapidly on in chase,” and Don Bocaro set off for the river, at the head of those men whom he had told to act as a guard at the ford, With the aid of a dark-lantern, which he always carried with him, the outlaw chief soon discovered the trail, left by Billy’s horse when ho had turned him up the river-bank, ** Ah! he goes up, and not down the stream! “One of you men go on to the ford and guard it, and the other two come with me,” said the chief, “TY better go back to camp, senor, and get a comrade to aid me,” said the man selected as sentinel at the ford, not liking the idea of being left alone there, ‘As you please, Pinto, and mind you, take the boy alive, if he doubles on us and comes that way.” ‘*Buppose we cannot, senor chieff” “You must, for if he is killed you shall an- swer for it.” “Then he may escape?’ ‘Let him do so, rather than kill him,” stern- ly said Don Bocaro, and he rode on, followed by the three men, while the fourth returned to the camp in the chaparral and got two com- rades, instead of one, to go with him to the ford, he telling them that the chief had so ordered, Taking up a position on the side of the trail, where a bank hid them from view, and yot commanded the approach to the river, they sat down to wait for what would turn up, Worn out, they soon dropped to sleep, and one of them only awoke when the sound of plashing water fell on his ears, “Holy Padres! comrades, the boy has passed us while we were asleep, and is crossing the river. ° “Tbe chief will stretch our necks,” cried the man in alarm, His words at once brought his companions to a full realization of their situation, and one said: “Let us give chase.” “Tt would be useless,” responded another, “We'll stay here and swear he did not pass us,” said Pinto, “Comrade, that horse is crossing toward this shore, not going from it,” suddenly re- marked one of the men, as his quick ear de- tected that the sound of splashing water grew louder and not fainter. All three listened attentively, and were con- vinved that such was the case. * We'll take him prisoner, whoever he is,” said one, “Yes, get your lariat ready, Pinto, for you can throw a rope better than any man in the band.” Pinto at once took his lariat from around the horn of his saddle, and curling it for use, stood where he could throw it readily upon any one passing along the trail, Then the three waited anxiously, and watched closely by the light of the stars to see who it was they had to face, The splashing of water soon after ceased, and the sound of hoof-falls on the solid ground | was heard, There appeared in view of the watchers the forms of a horse and rider. Nearer and nearer the horseman came, and AMY
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he was watching his course closely and riding alowly. Nearer and nearer he drew to the ambushed men, until he reached the point opposite to them and passed on. But just ther the dark coil shot forth from the strong hand of Pinto, and settled quickly over the shoulders of the horseman, With a snort of fright the horse bounded forward, and the lariat tightening dragged the rider from his saddle and he fell heavily to the ground, while his captors rushed from their ambush and threw themselves upon him, CHAPTER XIII. WHAT BILLY SAW AT THE FORD, In his scouts with the Texan Rangers, Re- volver Billy had learned the banks of the Rio Grande, and its fords, pretty thoroughly, and in fact, had been for weeks off with old Dan Hunter hunting and trapping, until he came to | know the country better than some of the pro- fessed guides. ; ! Thus knowing the ford where he had crossed with the outlaws, and made his escape, he was | | you, Red Ranger? aware tbat there was another crossing some leagues above. Toward this ford he made his way, deter- mined to push on back into Texas and then camp, feeling that should the outlaws follow him they would not dare cross upon Texan soil unless they were in strong force. But before Billy had gone very far he dis- cerned that his horse, Red Ranger, was pretty well fagged out, The horse had had a long and hard ride of it two days before, and then the two nights’ work | that had followed bad used bim up. He saw that Red Ranger was not burt in any way, only tired, and felt that even a short rest would greatly refresh him, But dare he stop to give him that rest? Billy was himself used up, and did so wish to be able to lie down and rest; yet he dared not do so, At last, seeing that Red Ranger must have rest, the boy argued: “Well, if I stop now, I may go to sleep and Don Bocaro and his gang overtake me and pounce upon me. “Then, if I go tothe Texas shore, showing Ranger as I must, to do so, should I come upon any red-skins, as I certainly will, why I can’t run away, and like as not I'll loso my scalp. “Now I'd a little rather trust the Don than the Injuns, so P'll call a halt, as Captain Sam ‘says, in the first goed place. “Ah! I have it, for I remember a little thicket where Grandpop and I camped two days once, and there is good water, plenty of grass, and it is but half a mile from the ford. Revolver Billy. “Come, Ranger, stir your hoofs, for rest is ahead,” As though thoroughly understanding his young rider, the horse picked up his rate of speed very perceptibly, and in a short while Billy turned off of the trail into a ravine that led to the spot he had selected as a camping- place, He soon reached it, reconnoitered carefully, and convinced that no one was there before him, he staked Ranger out, after giving him a drink at the spring, and then sat down to eat a piece of jerked meat and a cracker. He soon found that he was too sleepy to eat, and, seeing that his horse, after a few mouth- fuls of grass, had laid down to rest, he said; “You are right, Ranger, and I know a boy that will do likewise.” Rolling his blanket about him, and with his saddle for a pillow, while his revolvers wero close at hand, ready for his grasp if needed, Revolver Billy sunk at once into a deep sleep, He did not wake up for hours; and when he did so, found that the sun was rising. ‘Well, Billy, good-morning! And how are You both wake up alive, Iam glad to see, and you, my good horse, seem to have rested well, and been eating your breakfast for some time. ‘No Don yet, and I hope he’ll not come; but I must not tarry here,” and the boy quick- ly built a fire, threw a piece of jerked meat on to broil, put some coffee in his tin cup, and soon had a good breakfast for one with his keen appetite, After the meal he saddled and bridled Ranger, and was about to ride out of the ravine leading to the thicket where he had passed the night, when he heard the clatter of hoofs, Quickly he drew his revolver and waited. “ He is coming this way; but as he is only one, I am not as scared as I may look,” mut- tered the boy. Patiently he waited, and soon a horse and rider dashed into sight, “ Prairie snakes! but it’s a woman!” he cried «3 a black horse swept by with a woman in the saddle, “Now she és graceful, and rides like a—a— well, she rides weil, and no mistake, “She's pretty, too, I judge from her looks at this distance; but as there isn’t a hacienda within five miles, what is she doing here, and | alone? “ By hooky! but she’s going my way, so if I want pleasant company, I’d better be start- ing, though I won’t show myself yet awhile.” So saying, Billy waited until the fair horse- weman had disappeared, around a bend in the
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trail, and then he rode slowly on in the direc- tion she had taken, Arriving at tho ford, he saw her crossing to- | ward the other shore, and when she had disap- peared from view once more, he again followed on her trail, Red Ranger seemed almost himself again, and needed no encouragement to move on, while Billy, pleased with his escape, and re- freshed by his rest, was in good humor with himself and the world in general. CHAPTER XIV. THE RESOUR Ween he felt that he would not be seen by the woman in his front, Billy crossed the river, and then pushed on more rapidly. He readily followed the trail of her horse, and felt that he was gaining upon her, when suddenly he heard the crack of a revolver, and then several shots in quick succession, followed by a series of wild yells, “Tnjuns!” he cried quickly, and then said: “Come, Ranger, there is work ahead for us, for I'm thinking the lady is in trouble,” Ranger responded to his master’s call, and bounded forward like the wind. Out of the chaparral thicket he shot like an arrow to come upon a strange and thrilling scene, Tbere, in an open space lay a dead horse, and standing by bim, her riding-habit hanging in graceful folds about her, was the woman whose trail Billy bad been following. In one hand she held arevolver, and that she not only knew how to use it, but had dono s¢ with deadly effect, was evidenced by the form of an Indian lying near her, while his wounded pony was struggling in the throes of death not far away from where his dusky rider lay, But, this was not all, for charging dowm upon the brave woman, firing their arrows as they came, were four wurriors in all the paint and feathers of braves on the war-path, What the ending would have been was very evident, had not Billy appeared upon the scene, He was not the one to count odds against himself, and especially if he saw a comrade in need of his aid, But now, when he saw a woman alone op- posed by savages who felt for Ler no mercy, and beheld her bravely af bay defending hes- self, he would not have held baek had there been a dogen to fight, His reputation asa shot bad gained for him the name of Revolver Billy, and be deserved the name he had won, The revolvers he carried had beem presented tohim by the Rangers, and he was proud of them, while they were most superior weapons, Paes) ar Revolver Billy. a7 whict had saved his life on numerous occasions, and now he would make them save the brave woman at bay. Who she was, where from, or where going, | Billy did not care; enough that she needed his aid, and thus needing it, she should have it. With his reins between his teeth, a revolver in each hand, and his horse fairly flying over the prairie be dashed to the rescue, The Indians saw him before the woman did and gave a yell of defiance, for they {cls that it was one against four. But, suddenly Billy’s revolvers teagan to rattle, and to their music two braves went reeling from their ponies—the dcath-wail on their lips, Then the two remaining warriors turned in hot haste to fly, while the woman beheld who it was that had come to her rescue, Like the wind Billy swept ou in pursuit, and his revolvers were fired rapidly at the flying red-skins, and he saw that he had wounded one, for the savage let fall his bow and clung to the mane of his pony. Having seen them well started in flight, Billy wheeled sharply to the right, put his re- volvers io their holsters, and then, with his lariat curling around his head, he started to- ward the mustang of one of the slain war- riors, The animal was a fine one, and, as though willing to give up life in an Indian camp, made little resistance to being caught, With his pony leading by the lariat, Billy rode up to the woman, as she still stood by her slain horse, and, raising bis sombrero, he said: “T have brought you a horse, senora.” The face that was turned upon him then fairly took his breath away with its beauty. It was the face of a Mexican woman—one who was beyond her teens and yet hardly looked it, Her features were perfect, her eyes large, lustrous, shaded by long lashes, and yet with- in their dark depths there was a look of sad- ness that seemed to fairly haunt them, Her form was full of symmetry, and her movements the perfection of grace, That she wasa Mexican aristocrat, no one seeing her could doubt; and her face fairly won Billy’s heart at sight, Ina voice strangely rich and soft, she an- swered: “You have done far more, young senor, than bring me a horse in place of my poor Hidalgo, for you have saved me from death.” “Abl you might have stood the red-skins off, senora, for they were weakening under your revolver,” said Billy, im bis off-hand way. She shook ber head ead smiled, while she answered; 7 )
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is “No; my last shot is here, and I had re- served it for myself, intending to take my own life. “You arrived just in time, young senor, and I pray the Holy Mother to bless you for this day’s work, and may Heaven desert me if I forget you!” “You speak too kindly of my little put-in, senora; but let me throw your saddle upon this pony and then help you to mount, for there are doubtless more Injuns round here, and I have often noticed thatif you killa red, a dozen are around to come to tho fune- ral.” The lady again smiled, and, as Billy was saddling the mustang, which was a very fair animal, she asked: ‘* How is it I find you here, and alone?” “Tam on my way back to the camp, se- nora, having been captured by a band of Mexicans; but I am also surprised to find you so wholly unprotected in this wild country.” “Ob, I have always believed myself pro- | tected until to-day, with my fleet horse and revolver; but these Indians dashed upon me when I little expected danger, and an arrow brought down my poor horse,” “Do you live near bere, senora?”’ “Not very far away; and I shall have to ask your escort to my home, where you will be welcome.” “Thank you, senora; but [live a long way from here, and my friends will he anxious about me,” ‘ Well, they will be that more glad to see you by your delay; so come with me, for you look tired out, and your horse also needs rest.” “You live upon Mexican soil, senora?” “Yes, and you?” “Am a Texan.” “That is no reason why we should be foes, though your people and mine seem to constant- | ly war with each other, “Well, let us not talk of that, but say you will come with me.” “T had rather not, senora.” “Do not say that, for | am really unnerved by the scene I passed through, and need your services as an escort greatly.” “Under those circumstances, senora, I will go,” answered Billy, who was at heart very glad to get a chance for a rest in a comfortable hacienda, and aiding the lady to mount, he then sprung upon Ranger, and the two rode back toward the Rio Grande, the boy keeping a bright lookout for danger ahead. CHAPTER XV. PINTO’S PRISONER. _ Wrru his dark-lantern, Don Bocaro was en- abled not only to strike the trail of Revolver Billy, but to follow it slowly, and he pressed Ne =e pay Ee pe ae ee ee Revolver Billy. on for some distance upon ft, until tired homan nature and horse-flesh both demanded rest. | Then he halted and went into camp for the couple of hours yet left until dawn. Still weary, both horses and riders began their journey again at daybreak, and it was some hours after when they came to the scene of Billy’s encampment. ‘The boy is taking his comfort, that is cer- tain; but he is just that kind of a youth,” said the Don, as he saw evidences of the camp fire and breakfast. After pushing on a short while longer, they came to the ford, and seeing that Revolver Billy had crossed, the Don gave up the chase, and, with a sigh of disappointment turned his | horse away from the river. | Feeling the need of rest, and having given his lieutenant orders what to do, should he not return, the Don and his men sought a grove of timber, and after a slight breakfast, turned in for a rest of a few hours, It was after noon when the Don was awak. ened by the sound of voices, and springing to his feet he descried his own men winding slow- ly along the trail on their way to their strong- hold, still some leagues distant among the hills. Hailing them he called a halt for the noon- | day meal, and, as the men filed into the timber, he discovered that Pinto had a prisoner. Advancing quickly toward him, he beheld a man of imposing presence, large stature, and with long white hair and beard. The prisoner was dressed in buckskin, but wore top boots and a sombrero, He was well mounted, and his arms, a rifle, knife and pair of revolvers, bad been taken from him by Pinto. “Well, Pinto, who have you there?” asked the Don ashe advanced toward the Mexicans and their prisoner. “He is a Texan Ranger, seuor, whom we caught at the ford last night while lying in wait for the boy,” answered Pinto. **Abl and you captured him without trou. ble?” “With my lariat, senor, I caught him and pulled him out of his saddle, ‘He is a quick one, and very strong for his years; but we had him before he could do much damage, except kill Pedro.” “Ah, yes; but if he had killed you it would have been different, I suppose you think, as far as the damage was concerned?’ said Don Eocaro with a sneer. | Pinto remained silent at this rebuke, while the chief went on to say: | “That boy killed two of my men over in Texas, this man has slain another, and the Indians slew several more, besides wounding half a dozen, : “Why, if this keeps up, Pll lose half of my hand in a day or so,” ” ‘
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Revolver Billy. ee \ “Yt is bad, senor chief,” said Lute, coming forward. At his voice the prisoner started, and turn- ing quickly upon him, said savagely: “ What, you still alive, Lute Rollings? “*T was in hopes you bad been hanged years ago.” The renegade Texan’s face turned pale as he heard the voice and seemed to recognize the speaker; but he answered sullenly: “Yes, I’m still alive, Dan Hunter, and it's more than you'll be able to say to-morrow, I’m thinking.” “All right, Lute Rollings; but if I do die I won’t be hanged for the crimes I have com- mitted, as you were sentenced to be.” “Sbut up, you white-haired old rascal,” cried the guide, and turning to the Don he asked: ‘*Don Bocaro, do you know this man?” Before the Don could reply Dan Hunter asked: ** Are you Don Bocaro?” “T am 30 called.” “The chief of the Mexican bandits?” “Yes,” “You don’t look the devil men call him,” “Thank you; but who are you?” “My name is Dan Hunter, and I am a ran chero.” “He belongs to the Rangers two, senor,” put in Lute. “Ob, yes, Tam one of Sam Hall’s Rangers, senor, and I am not ashamed of it.” “You are one of that band, you say?” “ I am,” “Do you know a boy in that command?” “There are several youngsters with Cap’n Sam.” ‘‘T mean a boy by the name of Revolver Billy?” “You bet I knows him.” “When did you see him last?” “Three days ago.” “ Where?” “Over in Texas,” ‘* Where is he now?” “Don’t tell me he is dead, senor, for I love that boy, and I risked my life to come over the river and try to save bim.” “What is he to you?” “ My son,” “ Ah! then I may as well tell you that he escaped last night, and is now back in Texas.” “Bully for Billy!” shouted the old man. “Escaped, did you say?” “Yes.” “He wasn’t hurtedf”’ “No,” “< And is now back in Texas?’ “Yes.” “Then you can jist slay me with the jaw: | bone of a jackass, as Samson did the Philis- “. -— ---——_ fully tickled to Yarn ther boy % safe,” atid the old Ranger showed it in his face that he was most delighted at the news he beard, After some further conversation with bis prisoner, Don Bocaro invited him to share his dinner with him, and then the ocmmand of outlaws were ordered on the march to their stronghold, where they arrived just as the sug touched the horizon in the west, CHAPTER XVI. REVOLVER BILLY SURPRISED. As Billy rode along with the woman he had saved from death, he found her a most charm- ing companion, though her sad eyes cut him to the heart whenever he met their gaxe fas- tened full upon him. Now and then he surprised her looking at him in a strange way, and seeing that he noticed it she said softly: “You remind me of one who was very dear to me, and I cannot help but look at you, young senor,” “Oh, I’m a free show, senora, so look at me all you like, if you want to, and I'm sure your pretty face makes me eye you as close as a cat would a mouse, “But is your home far from here?” “Do you see yonder clump of trees?’ and the woman pointed to a distant hill, “Yes, sonora,” ** My hacienda is there—now look, and you will see its white walls glimmer in the sun- light.” “Yes, I see them, but they do say that Mexican robbers have their haunts in yonder hills,” “ Yes, I have heard so,” “J don’t suppose they trouble you, senoraf” a“ No.” Well, you are in luck; but they make it pretty lively for Texans, I can tell you.” “Have you ever been in Mexico before?” asked the woman, “ Now I have, senora, and a fine country it would be if its people would take to work in- stead of stealing and killing folks, for a Mexi- can cannot rob a man unless he cuts his throat.” ““You have a bad idea of our people.” “Well, I don’t think so much of them, senora, and I have no reason to like them, as they raid my land often, I can tell you.” “Well, some day I hope this border warfare will be at an end on both sides of the Rio Grande, “But see, I ana almost home.” They were now ascending a steep trail, lead- ing up the hill to a hacienda that was situated upon the summit of a forest-clad mound, There were strong walls about the hacienda, and it, too, was strongly built, and Billy saw times, whenever you get ready, for I’m play- | port-holes for rifles in both walls and house” af i
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| A strongly-made gate barred their progress, but this was thrown open at the call of the lady by a dark-faced, villainous-looking Mexi- can, who eyed Billy with a look that seemed hungry to kill him. Crossing a plaza, the senora leaped from her horse at a door leading into the mansion, and threw her bridle-rein to a peon servant, while she said; | “Take the scnor’s steed also, Ventura, and wee that he has every care,” Then turning to Billy she led him into the house, and, calling to a servant, bad him show him to a room that certainly was most tempt- | ing in its air of luxury. | , Will the senor have anything?’ asked the | | peon servant politely. , “Tbe senor will not, for the Senor Billy has more now than he ever expected to get or de- | serves,” ; ‘*The senor need but call, should he need wine or refreshments,” | “The Senor Billy is a teetotally, having | never tasted wino; but as for refreshments the | senor will indulge,” | Bhe servant soon disappeared and soon re- turned with a salver laden with good things. | “The Senor Billy is ‘way up in luck, and if | he stays here long, eating such good things, he’ll just be fat enough to kill,” muttered Billy, and then turning to the servant he asked; “ What is your master’s name?” “Don Marko, senor.” “* And the lady?” “The Senora Lonita, senor.” “‘They are rich?” “Yes, senor.” “ Don’t the bandits trouble them?” “No, senor.” “Then I’m in luck, and I'll now take a siesta, after whivh the senora asked me to join her at supper.” “T will be here to lead the senor to the sup- per-room.” “You are right, for I'll get lost in the can- | yons of this hacienda, if I attempt to follow the trail alone, “Now ina tepes or a one-room cabin, I’m | at home; but here I’m off and need a guide.” As soon as the peon had departed, Billy laid down to rest, and was soon fast asl2ep. It was nearly dark when he was awakened by the peon, who offered his services to aid him in dressing, and told him that the senora | would wait for him in the supper-room, “Tm able to dress myself, peon, and I hope to be for some years yet,” answered Billy, and | having “spruced up” as he called making his toilet, he followed the peon to the supper-room, The lamps were already lighted, and the | senora was looking like a queen, and greeted him most kindly, Revolver Billy. Billy looked at car in utter admiration, and then tried to recall where he had seen her be- fore, but could not do so, As they sat at the table, a quick step was heard along the corridor leading to the supper- room, and the next moment in stepped a man booted, spurred, and looking like one who had ridden hard and seen hard service, *Don Bocaro, the Bandit!” Such were the words that broke from Billy’s lips at sight of the man who had appeared so suddenly before him, while the Mexican cried in joyous tones: ‘My boy captive, as I live!” CHAPTER XVII THE BANDIT’S THREAT. “Wert, my plucky boy, how is it I find you in my home and a guest at my table?” | eried Don Bocaro, advancing and confronting the Boy Ranger. ‘Ts this your home?” asked Billy coolly, pee Ef Ise ‘‘Hooky! but you Mexican robbers live in high-toned style in this land of Greasers,” said Billy. ““You do not answer my question, as to how you became a guest in my home?” “Permit me to explain, Marko,” and the senora advanced toward Don Bocaro, who greeted her most kindly and said: “T am interested in knowing, Lonita.” * You know this youth then?” “ Yes.” “When, and how did you meet him?” “We became acquainted at the muzzle of a revolver, some nights ago, Lonita, and he was my prisoner until last night, when he cleverly made his escape!” “Ab! it was fortunate for me that he did escape, for, as I was taking my usual morning ride, I dashed upon a party of Indians who shot my horse and would have slain me had not this youth heard the firing and come upon the scene and rescued me.” “Ha! I owe him your life as well as my own, Lonita,” ‘You say he has saved your life, Don Bo- caro, and yet was your prisoner?” asked the woman, with considerable surprise in tone and manner, “Yes, Lonita, such was the case.” “ Was it not a strange way to treat one to whom you owed your life?’ “*Perbaps so; but he is a Texan Ranger.” *¢ He is but a boy.” “True, yet can do as much deadly work in a short time as any man I ever mot.” “Yes, my own experience tells me that; but, senor, are you a Ranger?’ and the woman turned to Billy, ee a ee
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Revolver Billy. 81 “T am, sonora, 8 member of Captain Sam Hall’s Rangers.” “ And you are a Texan?” Yes, senora,” “Why did you come to Mexico?” “The Don brought me as a prisoner, and then I returned as your escort, senora,” “True, and you must be permitted to go free at your will.” “To bring his Ranger comrades upon us some night, Lonita?’ “ But he will not do that,” urged the woman, | but Billy said quickly, in his blunt way: “Don’t fool yourself, senora, for if that man is Don Bocaro, the Bandit, he is just the individual the boys from over the Rio Grande would like to get hold of,” “Ah! they seek revenge?” * That is it.” * But has not my brother cause to seek re- venge against Texans?’ and the woman spoke almost fiercely, “Ts Don Bocaro your brother, senora?’ “Yes, he is my twin brother.” “That is what puzzled me when I saw you, to tell where I had seen you before, senora; wut, if he is your brother, he is a very wicked man,” ** No, he is not wicked, but just, for he seeks revenge against them who bave wronged him, have bitterly wronged me and mine,” and the woman spoke in a voice that quivered as she vainly strove to hide the emotion that seemed almost to overpower her, “And Texans have thus harmed you, senora?” “ Yes.” “They were a wicked lot.” “They were Rangers.” ‘No, senora.” “Tsay yes.” “Senora, Texan Rangers protect women, never harm them.” “Boy, you do not know them if you say this, for I tell you that I bave been bitterly wronged by ‘Texan Rangers, and it was to avenge my wrongs that my brother bas made war against them, “You call him a robber, a bandit, and say he is merciless, “But you know him as little as you know your own Rangers if you say that, for he strikes only at men, he avenges me and mine, and he destroys only those who were guilty. ‘See, this is his home, and mine, and it seems a happy one; but, young senor, the shadow of sadness rests upon it, the shadow of an awful crime, and your Rangers are the guilty ones, _ “ But come, let us not talk of this, for you saved wy life, and my brother’s, and you are @ guest, and upon you shall not be visited the sins of those who were guilty because you bear their hated name, “Come, be our guest for the night, and with the morrow depart for your home,” Revolver Billy was deeply impressed with the manner and words of the beautiful wo- man, He could not believe however that her charges against the Rangers were true, How they had wronged her she had not said; but, from what he bad known of the dif- ferent Ranger bands, they were very different from what her accusations made them, He could not also understand how it was that Don Bocaro, a man branded upon Texas | soil as a bandit, could live in Mexico as a seemingly honest haciendere, That he was no ordinary man he had al- ready discovered, and his surroundings, and the beautiful woman who called herself his sister, showed him to have been born to wealth and refinement, His revenge against the Texans, from bis sister’s words, he could now understand, and, in striving to recall any act of robbery, or thy killing of the helpless, he failed to do so, al- though he had long beard of Don Bocaro as a merciless robber, Under the circumstances, the boy’s pride would not allow him to accept hospitality be- neath a roof where his comrades were accused of foul crimes, and where he felt that he could not be welcome, although he had saved the lives of those who stood before him, so he said quickly: “Well, senora, some day I hope you will find out that Texan Rangers are not as bad as you paint them, “But I will not anger you by defending them, but bid you farewell, and return to those whom you so condemn and hate,” ‘One minute, senor,” said the Don stepping forward, ‘* Well, Don Bocarof” “ Are you aware that you are my prisoner?” “No, for I escaped from you,” “And have again placed yourself in the lion’s den,” “T came here as the protector of that lady, your sister.” “Tt matters not, young senor, you are my prisoner.” * You hear, senora, what your brother says, and yet you accuse Texans of crime,” cried ~ Billy bitterly, “Yes, and I am surprised to hear my bro ther say that he holds as prisoner, one to whom he owes his life, as I do mine.” ‘*T admit my indebtedness, Senor Billy; but still I must keep you here, for I have work for you to do.” “For me, Don Bocarof”
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— ——. “ Yes.” “What is it?’ “You are poor?” “ Yes.” “ Well, I am rich, very rich.” You ought to be, after all men say you have robbed Texans of,” bluntly said Billy, The Don’s dark face flushed at this, and then paled, while he said with hasty tone: “Did I rob them of their gold and their lives, I could not do worse than they did to me and mine. “ But enough of the past, for it is to the fu- ture I turn, and I wish you to aid me.” “ How?” “J will make you rich if you will do as I ask you.” “Tye got no desire to be rich; but what do you ask?” “Do you know a ranchero by the name of Alden?” “Clement Alden?” “ Yes.” “T know him,” “ He lives on his ranch, I believe?” ‘“'Yes, and he has a fino ranch too, but he is like you, it does not seem to make him hap- py.” “ And no wonder; but, boy, if you will guido me and my men to that man’s ranch, and aid mo to capture him, or if -you will ar- range to get him into my power. I’ll make you rich in gold.” “TJ don’t sell human lifo for gold, Don Bo- caro,” hotly said Billy, angry at tho thought of being suspected to be one who would betray a friend. “What is he to you?” “TI know him, and ho always speaks a kind word to me whon I see him.” “ And you refuse to do as I ask?” “Most certainly.” You are in my power, remember,” * Al) right, Don.” +} will force you to do so,” “T rather think not,” “Do you, boy, put your will against me, a man?” “ve tried Jead and steel with mon, Don Bocaro, and I still live.” ‘¢'You shall die, unless you do as I command you.” “Td rather die, than have the Rangers say \ did a mean act against one of my own peo- le. a7 I don’t know what your quarrel with Mr. Clement Alden is, but you can’t use me to help you kill him, Don Bocaro.” “You shall aid me,” _ “I won't, and that is flat-footed.” “Boy, I like you, and I do not wish to take barsb measures with you,” “Y was on my way to find Alden’s ranch, when you run into our camp. “J was under the guidance of a man I do not wholly trust, and I saw in you, young as you are, one who could serve me well, “You are a mere boy now, with few attach- ments, poor and houseless; buat if you do as I ask you I will be as a father to you, and my | sister will adopt you as her son, for already you have won a strong hold upon our affec- | tions, ‘Clement Alden has wronged us deeply, and I seek revenge tipon him, so be my guide to his ranch, and you shall become one of our | household.” “No, sir, ’m not the boy for your dirty | work, and did I aid you, there is one dear old | man whe calls me his son, who would cast me | out from his heart forever, while the boys would set me down as worse than a Greaser.” “Ts the old man you speak of a Ranger?” “ He is.” “With white hair and beard?” “Yes,” “His name is Hunter?” ‘Yes, but we call him Grandpop; but do you know him?” “ Yes.” “ Where did you meet him?” “In my camp this morning.” “What! did he come there?’ asked Billy quickly. “ He was brought there as a prisoner.” Billy tried to speak, but could not, and his face grew deadly pale, while Don Bocaro, with @ quiet smile went on: ‘Yes, it seems that he was on your trail, intending to rescue you, and in crossing the | Rio Grande, he was lariated by my men.” Oh, Lordy! poor Grandpop,” gasped Billy, while Don Bocaro said sternly: “Now, Senor Billy, you love this old man, and I tell you frankly he shall die, if you do not do as I ask.” “No! no! no!” groaned Billy, Lis heart al- most bursting at this terrible threat. CHAPTER XVIII. BILLY MAKES UP HIS MIND. It was a bitter shock to poor Billy, to find that the old Ranger was a prisoner in the hands of Don Bocaro. ! | And to think that he was there in trying to rescue him was a fearful thought. After the terrible threat of the chief, Billy controlled his emotion as soon as he could, and said: “Do you mean this, senor?” “TI certainly do.’”” “You would force me todo an act of dis- honor to save the life of that dear old man?” | “3 would force you to place in my power a eet —s fp et eb ae oo PENT Vice
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—— "mes ee ee ee Ws 5S PIAACG Mae, We oF dere Revolver Billy. 23 | man whom I have sworn to kill, and who is | deserving of the worst death I could bring | upon him.” “Why not go to his home, and demand him to meet you like a man?” “And have him turn me over to your Ranger comrades, who would hang me to the nearest tree?” Billy saw the truth of this remark, so remained quict, for he well understood that | Captain Sam and his men would make very short work of Don Bocaro, the Bandit. “Well, I cannot help you, senor,” he said, sadly. “You will either help me, or your old father must die.” ‘Where is he?” Tn a cell in one wing of this hacienda,” *“ Can I see him?” “ No,” ** Well, do your worst, Don Bocaro, for I am not one to beg mercy of a man who has a heart of stone.” “T will give you forty-eight hours to con- sider,” **T don’t need it; but I’ll take the time,” and Billy added the latter, as it flashed upon him that forty-eight hours were a long time in which to plot an escape, ‘You shall have the time.” “ And what will you do with mef’ “Put you in a cell, too.” “Correct; 1 am ready.” “Then follow me,” and Don Bocaro led the way from the room, while Billy did not even glance at the beautiful woman who stood like a statue gazing after him, The Bocaro hacienda was a strong structure; in fact, it would have made a very passable fort, and from the olden times, added to, strengthened, and made almost a fortification, it was really nothing more than a fort. A part of the structure, the right wing, was reserved for the family, and herein those who dwelt thero were made most comfortable, Then the center structure was the quarter where the men dwelt, and the end wing was made into a prison, store-houses, and quarters for the servants. Around the strong abode was an adobe wall, with a scaffold running along inside, just the hight for a man to stand and look over, A small piece of artillery here and there, double gates, and with acres surrounding of | rich grass, and water in plenty for horses and cattle, rendered the place a fortification, in fact. How many men the Don had, no one seemed to know, though there were those who said, counting cowboys, servants, and his mounted escort, that he could show a hundred fighters to defend his place, | And how the Don reconciled his acts to his | Government no one could distinctly under- stand; but, as his depredations were not made | on Mexican soil, it did not concern those in authority, and among officials he seemed to be looked upon as a personage of considerable im- portance, Of course rumors were current of his deeds on the Texas border; but the officers of the law received no complaints, and consequently took no notice of talk. To the ordinary observer the bacienda seemed the home of a wealthy Mexican, who, living in an age of danger, and out of the pale of official protection, was forced tu protect himself as best he could, To the wing reserved as the prison, Don Bocaro took Revolver Billy. Taking a key from his belt, he unlocked a strong, iron-barred door, and said simply: “J am sorry to put you in here, but I must do 80. “TI bope that in the time I give you, you will decide to do as I ask,” Billy made no immediate reply, glanced into the room, which had a window in the roof, and the open door, as the only means of ven- tilation and light, and stepped within, There was a bommock swinging across the room, a chair, a table and nothing more, * Oh, this is not bad; I have seen worse,” said Billy in a cheery way, as though not caring for an apology for his quarters, “Yhope the quarters will not have to be lessened down to the size a, man needs when dead,” most significantly remarked the Don, “T am ready to tuke any accommodations which I cannot avoid,” replied Billy, and then the door was closed upon him and the key turned in the lock, As the Don departed with the lantern, Billy threw bimself into the hammock, and began to think, 5 He felt that the Don was a dangerous man if aroused to act, He knew that the old Ranger was in durance vile, and on his account, If he could make terms with the Don, it would save his life and that of the old Ranger, To make those terms he must betray a Tex- an, one whom he had ever liked, and against whom be had not heard one unkind word, until breathed from the lips of Don Bocaro, How the Texan Ranchero, Clement Alden, | had harmed the Don and his family, Billy could not know, But that he had done so was very evident, else why the desire of the bandit chief, yes, and his sister too, for revenge, and a fearful re venge at that? By giving Clement Alden into the power of the Don, he could save his life, and that of old Dan Hunter, But, to do a0 he must betray a Texan, and -
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Se PS a us oe Er SSS #4 Hevoiver Billy. at the sam. time put a load on his conscience which could not be shaken off. Billy waa a boy, but he had @ man’s head upon his young shoulders. Hy thought deeply, and all these things he reviewed slowly as he lay in his hammock, Life was dear to h‘m in spite of his reckless- ness, aud Old Dan’s life was just as dear. But he at last decided what he should do, Having made up his mind to his course, he quietly dropped off to sleep, as though no weight was upon his heart, no dread flashing through his brain. : CHAPTER XIX, SEARCHING INFORMATION UNDER DIFFICULTIES, BiLuy awoke in the morning at a late hour, for he was really worn out, and soon after a peon servant came to his cell with a most tempting breakfast. ‘““T came before, senor, but told the Don that | you were sleeping, and he would not let me disturb you.” man unlocked the door and came in, be sat dzwn to the tablewith a relish for his breakfast. It was well served and most tempting, and the hungry boy ate with a relish in spite of his being behind iron bars, After a while he said: “ Peon, are there any other prisoners here?” “T do not know, senor.” “You surely know if there is a white- haired Texan here?” “No, senor,” “Can you find out?” “No, senor.” “Why not?” “Don Bocaro does not tell his peons,” ‘* Have you no eyes?” “No, senor, if the Don says no.” “ Ab! can you seo that?’ and Billy placed a gold-piece in his hand, “No, senor,” ** You feel it?” “No, senor.” “You shall have double.” But the peon laid the gold upon the table and said simply: “No, senor.” “T've got more,” “T’m glad, senor.” “You shall have ten of these pieces of gold f you will find out if Don Bocaro has a gray- haired Texan a prisoner here,” “No, senor.” “Name your price.” ‘sT have no price, senor.” « Are all the Don’s men like you” ‘¢-Yes, senor.” “They are treasures,” “Yea, senor,” “ Where is the Don?” “Tn the hacienda, senor,” « And the senora?”’ “The Senora Lonita is in the hacienda, also, senor.” “T could have guessed that much,” ‘Yes, senor.” “Peon, you are a fool.” “Yes, senor.” “A most arrant fool, to work here as a slave, when you can get gold and go wit me,” : “Yes, senor,” “Do you still wish to remain a fool?’ “Yes, senor.” “Then I like wise associates, so get out.” “Yes, senor,” and the peon took up the waiter and departed. The morning dragged slowly along to Billy, and then came bis dinner, this time brought by another peon. Instantly Billy gazed into his face, and then | said: “‘ Heis very kind,” said Billy and then, asthe | ** Who sent me this dinner?” “‘The Don ordered it, senor,” “The Don is a kind master?” “ Ho is, senor,” “*'You are a slave?” “T am, senor.” “ How would you like to be a free man?” “T prefer to be Don Bocaro’s slave, senor.” “ That settles that, and you are another fool in his service,” “ Yes, senor.” , ve Are there many prisoners in the hacien- a “T do not know, senor.” “Have you seen a white-haired Texan here?” “No, senor.” ‘Have you heard of such a man being here?” “No, senor.” ‘Could you find out for mef” “ What, senor?” “Tf there was a Texan Ranger here?” “You are « Texan Ranger, senor.” “ Ah, you know that much, do youf” “Yes, senor.” “Now tell me if there is another.” “T do not know, senor.” Can you find out?” The peon shook his head. *<Do you know what that is?” and Billy put some pieces of gold into the peon’s hand, ‘Yes, senor.” “ Well, it shall be yours, if you find out for me if there is a Texan here who is called Old Dan Hunter.” “T cannot find out, senor.” “Then, good.afternoon, and don’t stay here, for I wish to eat my dinner in peace,”
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The peon disappeared, and Revolver Billy | quietly ate his dinner. Then a peon came for the dishes. / It was a different man from those who had come before. Instantly Billy began on him with: | “Well, peon, are you not tired of living the life of a slave?” ‘No, senor.” “Oh, you like it, do you!” “Yes, senor.” “Don Bocaro is a good master, then!” “ Ae is very kind, senor.” “Now I want you to do something for me,” | “Yes, senor.” “Go to the cell where an old Ranger is kept, and tell him to ask Don Bocaro to let | him have a talk with me.” “T cannot, senor.” “Do you not know his cell?” “No, senor.” *“Do you not know the Texan?” “* No, senor.” “T will give you a handful of gold to do this for me.” ‘No, senor,” “T want you to carry a message to the Don for me,” ** No, senor.” “Then to the Senora Lonita.” “T cannot, senor,” “Can you get out?” “Yes, senor.” “Then travel,” and Billy sprung to his feet, and out skipped the peon with the, dinner dishes, ‘‘ That beats all. **T wonder if I were here a month if the Don would send a different peon every day at meal- time? “Well, I will around.” seo what supper brings Revolve: Billy. And supper brought another peon. “Well, my man, you are welcome, for I am hungry.” “Yes, senor.” “* How is the Don?” “T do not know, senor.” “ And the senorita?” “TI do not know, senor.” “ What do you know?” **T do not know, senor,” “Will you take a message to the Don for me?” **No, senor.” “ Will you, for this handful of gold, take a message to the white-haired Texan who isa prisoner here?” “No, senor.” “Well, take those dishes and get out.” The peon obeyed, and Billy was again alone, after a day of searching for information under difficulties, CHAPTER XX. A WOMAN’S WORK, Briuy was in trouble, He had fafled fn his inquiries and attempted negotiations with the peons, What was left to him he did not know, other than to await the elapse of the forty-eight hours and see what would then turn up, His iron door he knew it would be impossi- ble to force open. To knock the peon over and go out, would be but to run into the hands of others who | were doubtless on guard. But this he had made up his mind to do; / if be could not tempt the last peon who brought him his supper the next night, ho would make a bold stroke for liberty ceme what might. Again he sought his hammock and became lost in deep thought, Presently the grating of the iron door was darkened by a human form. “ Well, who are you?” asked Billy. “T am your friend,” was the low response. ~ “riends are scarce in these quarters,” “Still I am your friend.” “Prove it, pard,” answered Billy, in « whisper, for so the visitor had spoken, ‘Before long I will return and prove it,” **Good!” and Billy was once more alone. An hour passed, and then to the anxiously watching and waiting boy, another form ap peared, “ Back again?” he asked, coolly, “ Yes,” Then there was a key placed in the lock, and the door swung open. In stepped a form with a cloak wrapped about it, “Who are you?” asked Billy. “Tonita,” was the low reply. “The Senora Lonita?’ “ Yes.” “ Why have you come here?” “To set you free,” “Bravo! ’'m willing to go; but XY thought you were my foe,” “The foe of Texans I am; but not you enemy.” “You are very kind, senora; but where is the Don?’ “Gone to see the alcade in the next vil lage.” : “ And you are setting me free without his knowledge?’ “ Yes.” You will get into trouble.” “ No,” “ Are you sure, senoraf” “ Yes.” “ But how am I to go?” “T have a disguise for you to put on.” “ Well, I'll do as you say.”
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- and Billy and Old Dan, in their garb of priests, “Then put this on and follow me.” “But my friend?” “ Whom?” The Texan Ranger.” “T can do nothing for him,” ‘¢ He is a prisoner here?” “ce Yes, » “He must go with me,” “ No, ” “Yes, senora,” “ Tt is impossible.” “Then I will not go.” You must.” “T will not.” ““You will lose your life,” * nd so will Old Dan,” “ He is near his grave now.” “T don’t care for that, for if he does not go with me I stay bere.” ‘‘T cannot release him.” ‘Then leave me here, senora.” “ Are you determined?” ‘Yes, sonora, for, much as I thank you for your kindness, I will not leave without Grand- pop.” The woman seemed troubled, and then said: “T will release him another time.” “Then I will wait.” She saw that the boy was determined, and said: ‘* Wait until I return, T will do what I can.” “Oh thank you, senora,” She departed from the cell, and the moments seemed hours to the waiting boy. _At last she entered, and she was not alone. A man in the garb of a padre was with her, ‘Here, put this costume on,” she said. Billy eyed her companion, He was not going to be deceived, so he said quietly: “ Padre Dan, is that you?” “Tt are,” was the calm reply. “We are in luck.” - “You bet.” “Silence!” said the Senora Lonita peremp- torily, and then she led the way, as soon as Billy had donned his garb, which was also that of a priest, She led them directly to her own quarters, and then said: “You must pass the guard at the gate; but I sent two peons out to come in with padres’ garb, so you will not be questioned, “Your horses are in the corral, and a peon awaits outside to conduct you there, but you must ride these burros out. ‘Here is food for you, and your weapons, “ Adios |” The senora quickly turned and disappeared, Revolver Billy. Ps lost no time fu mounting the donkeys awalting them. They found the guard at the gate, Old Dan giving them his blessing, and once outside they ; found the peon, who took their donkeys and | led them to where their horses were to be | found, They were soon saddled and bridled, and | the two Rangers mounting in haste were soon on their way toward the nearest ford of the | Rio Grande, | “Waal, Billy, this are a sensation,” said Old Dan, as they felt that they were free, ; “Tt is for a fact, Grandpop.” “J must git this parson’s outfit off my old bones, or I'll go to preachin’ sure,” and Old | Dan threw off bis padre’s garb. “Better leave it on, Grandpop, until we cross the river, as it may serve us a good turn.” “Sheep’s wool never did no wolf any sar- | vice, boy Billy. | “Wedon’t look becomin’ in it, and I says, | take it off, and then we kin git ther swing at our weepin’s.” | “All right, Grandpop,” and Billy cast aside | his priestly attire. | ‘*Now to hear about your adventures, Grandpop,” he said. The old Ranger soon told his story, and | then heard the boy’s narrative in return, | Having now crossed the Rio Grande, they hunted up the camp of Captain Sam and his | Rangers, and after a consultation together, it was decided to make no move for the present | against Don Bocaro, and the band of Texans started upon their return homeward, CHAPTER XXI. THE RETURN TO MEXICO. Nor far from the regular rendezvous of the Texan Rangers under Sam Hall was a vast | Fanch, the owner of which was said to bea | very wealthy man, | His cattle roamed over thousands of acres, his povies were numbered by many hundreds, and he employed almost a battalion of cow- boys and servants on his estates. The hacienda was a grand mansion in its | way, especially for that far border, and it was furnished with absolute luxury. Of the ranchero little was known other than that he had come to Texas some years before aud established himself there, while he seemed to have unlimited means. He was popular with the Rangers, was liked by other rancheros, and those under him spoke of him most kindly. . This man was seated under the shade of some trees before his hacienda one pleasant afternoon, idly puffing at a cigar, and watch- ing the smoke curl above his head.
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. é L fe was a man of fine presence, tall, broad- shouldered, athletic, and dressed in a sult of light flannel. His face was shaded by a sombrero, but it showed resolution, while his features were well | cut, and his eyes intensely expressive. Presently he beheld two horsemen approach- ing the hacienda, and merely muttered: “Rangers.” As they approached, they turned their horses loose and advanced toward him, The ranchero arose to greet them with court- ly grace. They were old Dan Hunter and Revolver Billy. “‘Senor Alden, I have come to see you upon an important matter,” said Billy. ‘Be seated, gentlemen, and whatever your errand you are welcome, as Rangers ever are.” ‘You may have heard, sir, of my capture by Don Bocaro and his men?” said Billy. “Yes, my cowboy chief was telling of it, and I congratulate you upon your escape.” “Thank you, sir; but may I askif you know Don Bocaro?” “J knew a Don Bocaro, Billy, years ago; but it cannot be that he bas turned out to be an outlaw.” “Describe kim, please, Mr, Alden.” The ranchero was silent an instant, while a look of deep sadness spread over his face. After a while he said: ‘‘He was a Moxican, above the average in size, with a face almost womanly in its beauty, and yet was every inch a man,” “T think the one you knew, sir, aad my cap- tor, are one and the same.” “T sincerely hope not.” “Had he any cause to hate you, Mr. Alden, may I ask?’ “No; but on the contrary, I felt that he had wronged me,” “This is strange, sir; but I will tell to you just what I know, and Grandpop here alone has heard it from me,.as I deemed it best to speak to you upou the subject.” “ And I told Billy, he had better do so, for if you were the man the Don made you out, you didn’t look it, and your face was a lie,” bluntly said Old Dan. “TI beg of you, gentlemen, to'speak out to me, that I may know of what I am accused,” said Mr, Alden. ' In a few words, distinctly, and telling all as it happened, Billy told the story of his capture, his escape, his rescue of the Senora Lonita, and then his recapture, or rather imprisonment | at the hacienda, Clement Alden turned to the hue of death as he listened, and several times essayed to speak, yet seemed unable to find words. At last he sprung to his feet and paced Revolver Billy. sv excitedly to and fro, the Rangers watching him the while with deep interest. At last he became perfectly calm and said: “ Billy, this is a most mysterious and remark- able story that you tell, and I have @ plan to propose to you,” “Well, sirf” “You are getting old, Grandpop!” “T hain’t young, sir.” “You need a home and comforts in your old age, and a nice ranch, with cattle you can look at? “1 has a leetle suthin’ o’ ther kind,” “‘But you wish more, and some one to leave it to when you die, “Now, there is Billy, and he can live with you and be your heir,” “ Yes, sir.” ‘“‘T have a fine ranch, with horses, cattle and all, some fifty miles from here, which I will give to you and to Billy, and it shall be pay for some work I wish you to do for me,” “All right, sir.” “Now all I ask is that both of you go with me to Mexico,” “To Mexico?” it Yes,” ** But you will be killed, sir,” said Billy, “T will take all chances, and you must guide me direct to the Bocaro hacienda,” “But, sir—” “Now no excuses, Billy, if I am willing to take the risks. “Tast night I had some trouble here with a stranger, and as he is a Mexican, I wish to carry him with us, so just say when you will start.” * After all that I have told you, you wish to go?’ “Yes, Billy.” “They'll skin yer, pard.” “Til risk it, Dan,” “Then I likes yer narve.” “ And will go? “Tl do it,” “And you, Billy? : “T am at your service, Mr, Alden,” “Then return to your camp, get leave of absence from Captain Hall, and come here to- morrow night prepared to go.” In surprise the two Rangers departed, dis- cussing the remarkably strange freak of the ranchero as they rode along, and, getting leave they returned on time to the bacienda, Mr. Alden was ready for the start, and he had with bim a man who wore a mask, and was ironed heavily. “We are ready, Billy,” said the ranchero, “ Any one else, sir?” “No, lead on!” Then the four men rode away from the hacienda, and two days after crossed the Rio Grande into Mexico,
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Sue Aes CHAPTER XXIL BILLY BRINGS ABOUT A STRANGE SCENE, THE guard at the Bocaro hacienda, was somewhat startled one evening, just at sunset, to behold Revolver Billy the Boy Ranger ride up to the portal and ask for the Don, “He is in bis quarters, senor.” “T wish to see him.” Billy was admitted, and soon after he was face to face with Don Bocaro, “Well, senor, are you back here, after all that has passed?” he said sternly, “Yes, this is me.” “From the night of your escape I have not spoken to my sister, after her act.” ‘You are wrong, and she is wise, for I am back again.” “ And for what reason?” “Po bring you your foe.” “Hal Clement Alden?” cried the Don ex citedly. “Yes, senor.” “ Where is he?” “T have him in safety.” “ And you have brought him here to me” “Yes, Old Dan Hunter, the Rauger, and myself.” ‘“‘ Bring him here at once.” “No, for I wish terms.” *‘Name your price, boy.” “*T do not ask gold, senor.” “ What then?” “T wish you to pledge yourself to hear what Mr. Alden has to say.” “ Well.” “Let me bring him here to this room, and have your sister here also. “Let him tell his story and then you can act.” “ This is fair.” “Do you promise?” “ Yes.” \ “Then I will go and get him. “But there will be one other besides Mr, Alden, Old Dan and myself.” “Who is that otlier?’ “ Wait and see,” “ Boy, you do not mean to trifle with me?” “ Am Ia fool to trust myself in your power without cause?” “T trust you, so go and fetch the prisoner.” Billy departed from the hacienda and was | gone nearly an hour, Revolver Billy. The Senora Lonita bowed to Billy as he en- tered, and then her eyes fell upon the ranch- ero, The Don eyed each one of the party quickly and then said: ‘Senor Alden, we meet again,” “Yes, after many years,” was the reply. “You have something to say, the Boy | Ranger tells mef” “Yes; I beg you to patiently hear my story.” “We will listen.” “You remember that years ago, almost a score now, I met you in the City of Mexico, Don Bocaro?” ‘‘Yos, and I have bitterly cursed the day that I owed you my life,” savagely responded | the Don, Then he returned, and he was accompanied ! by Old Dan, Mr, Alden and the masked man in | irons, Into the room they went, and there sat Don Bocaro and the Senora Lonita. Both were very pale and seemed to control their emotion only by the greatest effort, | while Ranchero Alden was colorless, stern and | calm, ‘ You treated me with kindness, took me to your bome, and there I met your twin sister, then sixteen, “T loved her, and she professed love for me, “We were secretly engaged, for your father refused to allow her to marry an American, and he desired to wed her toa rich young Cuban, “One night I received a letter from her, telling me she was to marry my rival, and to give her up. “T found that she was really married, and Idid give her up and left Mexico, “Long after I learned that she was separat- ed from her husband, and that he bad turned | out to be a wretch of the worst kind. “T settled in Texas, and I did not hear of the Senora Lonita again until this brave boy visited me, after his escape from here, and told me that you were a bandit chief, lived in your stronghold hacienda, and your sister dwelt with you, “More, he told me that you had turned against all Texans because I was one. “That I had, in revenge for losing your sister, with a band of Rangers crossed the Rio Grande, raided your home, killed your parents, carried the Senora Lonita’s child away to put it to death, and, after burning your home, slaying your servants, and driving off your cattle, I had returned to Texas, “You and your sister were away that night, and thus escaped, and you both vowed eternal vengeance against all Texans. “Then I was told that you rebuilt your home, made it the stronghold it is, and organ- izing a band of men, began to wage war against Texans, “T had often heard of Don Bocaro, the Ban- dit, but little dreamed that you were that man,” “And now you come here to face me after your crimes!” said Don Bocaro, in a voice quivering with passion.
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Revolver Billy. ««T came here, senor, to tell you that I have | never seen Mexico since | left it when the Se- | pors Lonita married another —” ‘Ha! do you dare—” “TY dare tell you that the man who did you this foul wrong was the hucvand of your sister. “He it was who did the deed, and laid it at my door, and since then he bas been known as the Texas Tiger, a leader of a band of cut- throats, and he well deserves the name, ‘He came to my ranch to rob me, but was betrayed by one of his men, and he is now in my power. “See, do you recognize him?” | Ranchero Alden tore the mask from the face | of his prisoner, and both Don Bocaro and | Lonita uttered a cry of horror, while the Don | asked: ‘Map, is this true?” «¢-Yes,” was the response of the man, whose eyes glittered maliciously, “Oh! but I will have a fearful revenge on you.” | “Wo, for the Senor Alden has pledged me, for telling the truth, that be will give moe up to the Mexican military to be shot,” was the cool response, ‘hen Lonita looked up into the face of the Texas ranchero and said softly: ‘Forgive me!” “Yes, everything I forgive, and more, Lo- nita, I have traced your child for you. “See, there he stands in that noble boy!” A wild cry from the mother and her arms were around the neck of Revolver Billy, who had already heard the story of his life, and aided Mr. Alden in tracing out his parentage. CHAPTER XXIIL CONCLUSION, A rew words will conclude my story of Re- volver Billy, who is now a wealthy ranchero in Texas, dwelling not far from the Alden ranch, where Mr, Alden and his beautiful wife, once the Senora Lonita, live in happi- ness together, after their many years of sor- row, The Texan Tiger, Miranda, was tried by the Mexicans and shot, dying the hardened wretch he was, Don Bocaro still lives upon his hacienda, but is no longer called a bandit, and the Rangers are now his friends. _ As for Old Dan Hunter, he died peacefully in bed, at Billy’s ranch, and “not with his boots on,” as he expected to die, and his “toes turn up” beneath a handsome monument which Billy erected to his memory, and upom it is engraven: Sackep TO THE REMEMBRANCE or DAN HUNTER, A Tewan Ranger and a True Man, EREcrep BY HIS Boy Parp REVOLVER BILLY,
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_ 188 The Ventriloquiss Detective. 168 Deadwood Dick’s Ward; or, The Black Hills Jezebel. By Edward L. Wheeler. 169 The Boy Champion. By Edward Willett. 170 Bob Rockett’s Fight for Life; or, Shadowed in New York. By Charles Morris, 171 Frank Morton, the Boy Hercules. By Oll Coomes. 172 The Yankee Ranger; or, Dusky Darrell. By Edwin Emerson, 173 Dick Dingle, Scout. or, The Frontier Angel. By Edward 8. Ellis, 174 Dandy Rock's Scheme; or, The Golden Hand. 2 G. W. Browne. 175 The Arab Detective; or, Snoozer, the Boy Sharp. By Edward U. Wheeler. 176 Will Wildfire’s Pluck; or, The Hidden Hand, By Charles Morris. 177 The ar. C»mmander; or, The Maid of Perth. By Col. Pren iss Ingraham. 178 The Maniac Hunter; or, The Mysteries of Night Island, By Burton Saxe. 179 peat ema or, The Mystic Marksman. By . E. Badger, Jr. 180 The Boy Gold Hunter; or, Navajo Nick’s Scout, By T. C. Harbaugh. 181 The Scapegrace Son. By Charles Morris, 182 The Dark-Skinned Scout; or, The Freebooters of the Mississippi. By Lieut. Col, Hazeltine, 183 Jabez Dart, Detective; or, The Hermit Trapper. By Oll Coomes. 184 Featherweight, the Boy Spy. By Ed. Willett. 185 Bison Bill, the Overland Prince, By Col. Pren tiss Ingraham. 186 Dainty Lance and His Pard. By Joseph E, Badger, Jr. 187 The Trapped Tiger King; or, Dar® Paul's Plot. By Charles Morris. A Romance of Rogues. By Edward lL. Wheeler. -189 Old Rocky’s Boys; or, Bonito, the Young Mus- tang-Breaker. By Maj. Sam 8. Hall, 190 Sim Simpkins, Scout; or, The Faithful Mountain Mastiff. By James L. Bowen. 191 Dandy Rock's Rival; or, The Mysterious Wolf Rider. By Geo. Waldo Browne. | 192 Hickory Harry; or, Roaring Ralph; the Ventrilo- uist. By Harry St. George. 193 Detective Josh Grim; or, The Young Gladiator’s Game. By Edward L. Wheeler, 194 Prospect Pete, the Boy Miner. By Oll Coomes, 195 The Tenderfoot Trailer: or, Plucky Phil, of the Mountain. By T.C. Harbaugh, 196 The Dandy Detective; or, The Abducted Boy Mystery. By Charles Morris. 197 Roy, the Young Cattle King; or, The Texan Sport Unmasked. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham. 198° my Dan’s Mask; or, The Rival Leagues of the Mines. By Frank Dumont. 199 Dictionary Nat, Detective; or, Bill Bravo, the Bear Tamer. By T. C. Harbaugh. 200 The Twin Horsemen; or, The Brothers of the Plumed Lance. By Capt. Frederick Whittaker. 201 Dandy Darke’s Pards; or, The Hawks of High Pine. By Wm. R. Eyster. 202 Tom, the Texan Tiger; or, Old Luke’s Luck. By Oll Coomes. 263 Sam, the Office Boy; or, The Tables Turned. By Charles Morris. 204 The Young Cowboy; or, The Girl Trailer’s Tri- umph, By Col, Prentiss Ingraham. 205 The Frontier Detective; or, Sierra Sam’s Scheme. By E.L Wheeler. 206 White Lightning; or, the Boy Ally. By T. ©. Harbaugh. 207 Kentuck Talbot's Band; or, The Red Lasso. By Captain Mark Wilton. 208 Trapper Tom’s Castle Mystery; Dick's Disguise, By Ol] Coomes. 209 The Messenger-Boy Detective; or, The Tables Turned. By Charles Morriss 210 The Hunchback of the Mines; or, Reckless Ralph, the -Agent, By Jos, E, Badger, Jr, or, Dashing BEADLE’S POCKET LIBRARY. 211 Little Giant and His Band; or Despard, the Duelist. By P. 8S. Warne. 212 The Jimtown Sport; or, Gypsy Jack in Colorado, By E. L. Wheeler. 213 The Pirate’s Prize; or, The Mysterious Yankee Schooner. By C. Dunning Clark, 214 Dandy Dave, of Shasta; or, The ’Frisco Flash 0° Lightning. By T. C. Harbaugh. 215 Daring Dan the Ranger; or, the Denver Detec- tive. By Oll Coomes. : 216 The Cowboy Captain; or, Ranger Ralph’s Ruin, By Colonel Prentiss Ingraham. 217 Sald Head of the Rockies; or, The Ang’l of the Range. By Major Sam §. Hall. 218 The Miner Sport: or, Sugar-Coated Sam’s Claim, By Edward L, Wheeler. 119 Buck, the Detective; or, Paul, the Boy Pard, By Albert W. Aiken, 220 Cr:ck-Shot Frank; or, Bill Bounce, the Moun- tain Bravo, By Charles Morris. 221 Merle the Middy; or, A Waif ofthe Waves. By Colonel Prentiss Ingraham. 222 Rosebud Ben’s Boys; or, The Young Prairio Rangers. By Oll Coomes. 228 Gold Conrad’s Watch-Dogs; or, The Two Pards of Vulture Bar. By T. C. Harbaugh. 224 — Fergus, the New York Boy. By G. L. ken, 225 Dick Drew, the Miner's Son; or, ApOlly Bill, the Road-Agent. By Edward L. Wheeler. 226 Dakota Dick in Chicago; or, Jack, the Old Tar. By Charles Morris. 227 Merle, the Boy Cruiser; or, Brandt the Buc- eaneer. By Colonel Prentiss Ingraham. 228 The Preacher Detective; or The Boy Ventrilo- uist. By Otl Coomes. 229 Old Hickory’s Grit. By John J. Marshall. 230 The Three Boy Sports; or, The Sword Hunters. By Captain Frederick Whittaker, 231 Sierra Sam, the Detective. By Edward L. Wheeler. 282 Merle Monte’s Treasure; or, Buccaneer Brandt’s Threat By Col. Prentiss Ingraham. 283 Rocky Rover Kit; or, Davy Crockett’s Crooked Trail. ay Ensign C, D. Warren, 234 Baldy, tho Miner Chief. By Capt. J. F. C. Adams. 235 Jack Stump’s Cruise; or, The Montpelier’s Muti- neers. By Roger Starbuck. 236 Sierra Sam's Double; or, The Three Female De- tectives. By Ed. L. Wheeler. 237 Newsboy Ned, D: tective; or Two Philadelphia Gamins. By Charles Morris. 288 Merle Monte’s Sea-Scraper; or, Little Belt’s Droll Disguise. By Col, Prentiss Ingraham. 239 Ben's Big Boom: or, The Boss Miner’s League. By Capt. Mark Wilton. 240 Sharp Shot Mike; or, Colambia Jim onthe War- Path. By Oll Coomes. 241 Sierra Sam’s Sentence; or, Little Luck at Rough Ranch. By Edward L, Wheeter. 242 The Denver Detectiye; or, Dainty Dot at Gold Gulch, By T. C. Harbaugh. 243 Dutch Jan’s Dilemma; or, The Mysterious Mountain Monster, By Maj. L. W. Carson. 244 Merle Monte’s Disguise; or, The Capture of Brandt, the Buccaneer. By Col. P. Ingraham. 245 Baldy’s Boy Partner; or, Young Brainerd’s Steam Man. By Edward §. Ellis. 246 Detective Keen’s Apprentice; or, James Jumper the New York Gamin. By Charies Morris, 247 The Girl Sport; or, Jumbo Joe’s Disguise. By Edward L. Wheeler. 248 Giant George’s Pard; or, Arizona Jack, the Tenderfoot. By Buckskin'Sam. . 249 Ranch Rob’s Wild Ride; or, Old Winch The Rifle King. By T. C. Harbaugh, 250 Merle Monte’s Pardon; or, Thé Pirate Chief's Doom. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham. 251 The Deaf Detective; or, Weasel, the Boy Tramp, By Edward* Willett,
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BEADLE’S POCKET LIBRARY. Rea tS a sel a lal Te te ee aes ee ee i ¥ 252 Denver Doll’s Device; or, The Detective Queen, | 29% Arizona Giant George; or, The Boyees of Sardine. n By Edward L. Wheeler, Box City. By Buckskin Sam, , y 253 The Boy Tenderfoot; or, Roaring Ben Bundy of | 208 Daisy Doll's Dash; or, The Ten Colorado Pards, * is Colorado. By Capt. Mark Wilton. By T. 0. Harbaugh. ; ie 254 Black Hills Ben; or, Dutch Jan on the War- | 299 The Balloon Detectives; or, Jack Slasher’s Young | Path. By Maj. Lewis W. Carson. Pard, By Ha ‘nton, ie 255 Jolly Jim, Detective; or, The Young Protege’s | 300 Deadwood Dick's Mission. By E. L. Wheeler. : Victory. By Charles Morris, | 801 Dandy Duke, the Cowboy, By Major E. L. St. : 256 Merle Monte’s Last Cruise; or, The Sea Robber | Vrain. at Bay. By Col, Prentiss Ingraham. 802 Big Benson’s Bet. By T, C. Harbaugh. %57 The Boy Chief of Rocky Pass; or, The Young | 303 Tbe Hotel Boy Detective; or, The Grand Central > California Pards, By Maj. E. L, St. Vrain, Robbery. By Charles Mc 258 Denver Doll as Detective. By E. L. Wheeler, 304 Bald Head’s Pard; or, Creeping Cat’s Cunning, 4 259 Little Foxeye, the Colorado Spy. By Ol] Coomes, By Bue 1 Sam, P 260 Skit, the Cabin Boy. Ry Edward Willett. 805 Dusky Dick's Duel; or, The Demon’s Trail. By 261 Blade, the § nort; or, the Giant of Clear Grit Harry Hazard. Camp. By T. C. Harbaugh. 306 Spotter Fritz; or, The Store-Detective’s Decoy, : 262 Billy, the Boy Rover. By Cot. P. Ingraham, By KE. L, Wheeler. cA 263 Buster Bob’s Buoy; or, Lige, the Light-House | 307 Nick, the Boy Sport; or, Three Plucky Pards, m: Keeper. By Capt. J. F. ©, Adams. | By Major B. L. St. Vrain. 264 Denver Doll’s Par ner; or, Big Buckskin the | 308 Double-Fisted Mat: or, The Mystic Catitoruia i Sport. By E. L. Wheeler. | Giant. By Jos. E. Badger, J+, 7 265 Billy, the Baggage Boy: or, The Young Railroad | 809 Old Graybeard’s Boy: or, The Girl’s Ruse, By 4 Detective. by Charles Morris. OC. Dunning Clark, " 266 Guy’s Boy Chum; or, The Forest Waif’s Mask. | 310 Kit, the Girl ¢ Japtain; or, The Mad Sailor's 4 By Capt. Comstock, xy. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham. i 267 Giant Geo ge’s Revenge; or, The Boys of *‘ Slip- | 811 Frio Wrea in Texas. By Buckskin Sam. a up Mine.”” By Buckskin Sam. | 812 The Detective Road-Agent; or, The Miners ot : 268 The Deadshot Dandy; or, The Rio . Grande Sassatr. 3s City, By Edward L. Wheeler. ‘ Marauders. By Col. Prentiss Ingrabam, 314 Honest Jack's Protege; or, The Dwarf’s Scheme, : 269 The Quartzville Boss; or, Daring David Darke By Philip 8. W brlece By Edward Willett. . 414 Clip the Bo} heriff; or, The T'wo Crooks of 270 Denver Doll’s Mine; or, Little Bill’s Big Loss, Montana, By Kaw ard Willett, By E, L, Wheeler. : | 815 Tom, the Arizona Sport: or, Howling Hank trom 271 Ebony Jim’s Terror; or, Ranger Rainboit’s Ruse, Hard Luck. By Major B. &, St. Vrain. By Oll Coomes. u16 The Street Arab ag ont or, Dick Dorgan’s 272 Kit, the Girl Detective. By T. O. Harbaugh. Double Dealing. By Charles Mort 273 'The Girl Rider; or, Nimble Ned’s Surprise. By | 317 Buckskin Ben of Texas; or, Single Eye’s Plucky Jos. &. Badger, Jr. | Pards, By Buckskin Sam. 274 Dead Shot Dandy’s Double; or, Benito, the Boy | 31 Colorado Char ie's Detective Dash; or, The Pard, By Col. Prentiss Ingraham, F | Cattle Kines. By Edward Lb, Wheeler. | . 275 Fred, the Ocean Waif; or, The Old Sailor's | 319 Prisy Fre = in idaho; or, Old Skinflint the . | 2 Protege. By Charles Morris. 5 Shadow tr By Roger Starbuck, Be M 276 Deadwood Dick Trapped. By Ed L. Wheeler, | Cool Sam’s Girl Pard; es Captain Dick and THis 7 : 277 The I iot Boy Avenger; or, Captain Wild-Cat’s | T:xans. By T. CG. Harbe igh, : Big Game. By Albert W. Aiken, | 821 B the » Kid from ¥ »; or, Silver Mask’s | ‘ 278 Arizona Alf, the Miner; or, Little Snap Shot’s By J. ©. Cowdr ‘ 5 Luck. By T. 0. Harbaugh. 2 | 322 yer, Dete otive; or, Abe Blizzard on Deek, ; : 279 Colorado Jack, the Tiger; or, The Ghost of the | tes Morris. “a Trailer. By Frederick Dewey. | ‘or Ike in Montana; or, Hez Helper, the 280 Dead Shot Dandy’s Last Deal, or, Keno Kit’s | Pard. By Roger Starbuek, p New Role. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham. | 32 » Denver Sport; or, The Bonanza Minor 281 Ned, the Boy Pilot; or, The Pirate’ Lieutenant's | Kine. ae Biward L. Wheeler, Doom. By Jack Farragut. | $25 Dusky D re “ell the Camp Detective; er, The 282 Buck Hawk, Detective; or, the Messenger Boy’s Dane -Dash. By Rdwin Bmerson oM Fortune. By Edward L. Wheeler. | 826 Roy, Soy Oruisi r: or, The Water Wolt a 288 Roving Sport Kir; or, The Ghost of Chuckaluck Wreckers. By Colonel Prentiss Ingraham. Camp, By Edward Willett. : | 327 Ned, the Roving Miner; or, Arkansaw Jack's 284 The Showman's Best Card; or, The Mad Animaj Match. By Harry Hazard. ~ Tamer, By Capt. Fred. Whittaker, | $828 Rocky Ben's Band; or, Big Pete’s Big Haul. By 285 Old Rocky’s Pard; or, Little Ben’s Chase. By W. J. Hamilton, is Buckskin Sam. 5 329 Dave, the Coloradé Wrestler. By Maj. EB. L, St. Dick, the Dakota Sport. By Charles Morris | Vrain. = Ned, the Boy 8 '; or, The Sea Sorceress’ | 939 The Denver Sport’s Racket; or, Kit’s Big Boom. 2 Cruise. By. ragut * C } By Edward L. Wher ler. { ~ 288 Deadwood Dick’s Disguise; or, Wild Walt, the | 331 The Coast Detective; or, The Smuggler Shadow- . Sport. By Edward L. Whe. ler, | er. By Roger Starbuck. «4 289 Colurado Nick, the Lassoist; or, Old Si's Protege. | 392 Dakota Dan in Canyon City; or, Colorado Kate's By Major H. B. Stoddard. ; ps Check. By Philp S. Warne, f 290 Rube, the Tenderfoot: cr, the Boys of Torpedo — 393 Rootblack Ben, the Detective; or, Pooler Jim Guich, By Major FE. L. St, Vram. |. aud His Pard. By Authony Py Morris. 291 Peacock Pete, the Leadville Sport; or, Hawk, the 334 Frisco Tom on Deck; or, The Golden Gate Smug- Boss Miner. By Albert W. Aiken, . glers. By George Henry Morse | 202 Joe Morey, the Night-Hawk; or, the Black Rider, | 3.5 Ben Bandy, the Boss’ Pard; or, The Plucky aa By Jos, E. Badger, Jr. = | Parson By J. Stanley Henderson, Y 298 Dwarf Jake, the Detective; or, Kit Kenyon's | 396 Wred, the Sport, in Brimstone Par Camp: or. ul Man-Hunt. By Edward Willett, “ | ‘She Boston Wrestler’s Confederate, By Kd. L, as { 204 Dumb Dick's Pard; or, Eliza Jane, the Gold | ; ; Miner. By Ed. L, Wheeler, | 837 Daisy Dave the polorads Galoot; or, The Boss | 295 White Wing, the Ferret Flyer. By Chas. Morris, of Dead Line City. By T. C. Harbaugh, ro 838 ‘The Gold Bar Detective; or, Iron Ike, the Solid f Man, By Major E. L. St. Vrain, _ 206 Govinda, the Tiger-Tamer; or, The American Horseman Abroad, ‘By Captain F', Whittaker,
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BEADLE’S POCKET LIBRARY. 839 Rardo, the Boy Gypsy; or, Reckless Rolf’s Re- volt, By Wm. G, Patten. 0 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 Snap-Shot Sam; or, Ned Norris's Nettle. Bucksin Sam. $43 Mike, the Bowery Detective; or, Peleg Prancer of Vermont. By Edward L. Wheeler. 244 The Drummer Sport. By Edward Willett. 845 Jaques, the Hardpan Detective; or, Captain Frisco the Road-Agent. By J. C. Cowdrick, 846 Joe, the Chicago Arab; or, A Boy of the Times. ~ By Charles Morris. B47 Miaay Herbert’s Prize; or, The Girl Captain’s Revenge. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham. 848 Sharp-Shooter Frank. By Buckskin Sam. 849 Buck the Miner; or, Alf, the Colorado Guide. By Maj. BE. L. St. Vrain. 850 Ned, the Slab City Sport. By Ed. L. Wheeler. 3851 Rocky Mountain Joe. By Col. T. H. Monstery. 352 New York Tim; or, The Boss of the Boulevard. By Charles Morris. 853 The Girl Pilot; or, Roger Starbuck. 854 Joe, the Boy Stage-Driver. By Maj. St. Vrain. 855 Texas Frank’s Crony; or, The Girl Mustang Rider, By Buekssin Sam, 856 Idaho Ned, Detective; or, The Miners of Tarpot City. By Edward L. Wheeler, 857 Guy, the Boy Miner; or, Rocky Mountain Bill. By Colonel Prentiss Ingraham. 858 Jersey Joe, the Old Tar; or, the Wrecker’s Protege. By Mrs. Orin James. 859 Dandy Dick’s Dash; or, The By Oll Comes. 360 Jim’s Big Bonanza; or, Jake Dodd and His Gang. . y W. J. Hamilton. 361 Oregon Phil, the Sport; or, The Marshal of Two Bits. By Philip S. Warne. 862 Kit, the Bootblack Detective; or, From Phila- delphia to the Rockies. By Edward L. Wheeler. 863 The Ocean Racer; or, Trusty Tom, the Tar. By T. C. Harbaugh. 864 Fritz’s.Old Score; or, Sib Cone’s Right Bower, By Ned Buntline. 865 Orack Shot Harry; or, The Masked Rider. By Colonel Prentiss Ingraham. 366 Gold Dust Rock, the Whirlwind of the Mines. By G. Waldo Browne. 867 Fred’s Bold Game; or, The Cave Treasure, By Paul Bibbs. 868 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, 870 Denver Kit’s Double. By Major H. B. Stoddard. 871 Blue Blazes Dick; or, Danger Doll of Dynamite. By T. OC. Harbaugh. 872 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. 874 Jim, the Sport’s Big Boom; or, The Bonanza King’s Rival. By Edward L. Wheeler. 875 Bowery Bob, Detective. By Jo Pierce. 376 Buckskin Dick’s, Clean Sweep; or, Jonathan Jenks’ Still. Hunt, By Col. Arthur F. Holt. 377 The Deadwood Sports. By Lieut. S. G. Lansing, 878 Bronco Billy, the Saddle Prince. By Colonel Prentiss Ingraham. 879 Dick, the Stowaway; or, A Yankee Boy's Strange Cruise. By Charles Morris. 880 Young Dick Talbot; or, A Boy’s Rough and Tumble Fight from New York to California. By Albert W. Aiken. 381 Dandy Bill’s Doom; or, Deerhunter, the Boy Scout, By OllCooms, By 3en, the Reef-Runner. By 30y Cattle - King. 7 SA sh heirs Zeist 882 Wide-Awake George, the Boy Pioneer. By Ed. Willet. 883 Wild Bill, the Pistol Prince. By Col. Ingraham. Brimstone Bill’s Booty; or, Mariposa Marsh at Dead Man’s Guich_ By Joseph B. Badger, Jr. The Boy Tramps; or, The Roughs of De Hollow: By J. M. Hoffman. ; sarang The Montana Kid; or, Little Dan Rock’s Mis- sion. By Morris Redwing. The Boy Detectives. By ‘I. C. Harbaugh. The Pony Express Rider; or, Buffalo Bill’s Frontier Feats. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham. New York Bill, the Dodger. By Edward Willett. The Ticket-of-Leave’s Trick; or, Spring Steel King of the Bush. By Joseph BE. Bacon. Tn : Charley Skylark, the Sport, By Major Henr B, Stoddard. : pial mai) 2 Texas Jack, the Mustang King. Prentiss Ingraham. Peter, the Dandy Greenhorn, By Noah Nuff. Tom Temple’s Big Strike, By Barry Ringgold. Harry, the Country Boy, in New York. By Charles Morris. : . : 896 Detective Paul’s Right Bower. By C. D. Clark. 897 Tip Tressell, the Flatboat Boy. By Ed. Willett. 898 Captain Jack in Rocky Roost. By Col. Ingraham. 899 Harry Somers, the Magician. By S, ‘W. Pierce. 400 Black Horse Bill, the Bandit Wrecker. By Roger Starbuck. 401 Tim, the Mule Boy of the Mines. By Chas, Morris, 402 Flatboat Fred on the Mississippi. By BE. Willett. 403 Jake, the Colorado Cireus Boy. By Bryant Bainbridge. : 404 Texas Charlie’s Wild Ride. By Col. P. Ingraham. 405 Wide-Awake Ned; or, The Boy Wizard, By Barry Ringgold. 406 Giant Pete and His Pards, By T. C. Harbaugh, 407 Old Ruff’s Protege; or, Little Rifle’s Secret. By Captain Bruin Adams. 408 Stowaway Dick Abroad; or, The Desert Rover, By Charles Morris. 409 Doctor Carver, the Champion Shot. Ingraham, 410 Captain Fly-By-Night, the Colorado King-Pin, By Jos. E Badger, Jr. 411 New York Jack’s Mettle; or, Old Traps and His Chums. By Barry Ringgold. 412 Sam Spence, the Broadhorn Boy. Willett. 413 Revolver Billy in Texas; or, The Lone Star State Rangers. By Col. P. Ingraham. 414 Dasher Dick’s Dead Lock; or, Plucky. Joe, the Boy Avenger. By J. M, Hoffman. 415 Pony, the Cowboy Chief, By H. B, Stoddard. 416 Panther Dick’s Death-Leap. By A. F. Holt. 417 Fighting Fred of Frisco, . By T. C. Harbaugh. Ready January 6th, 418 Buckskin Sam’s Wild Ride. By Col. P Ingraham, Ready January 13th. A-New Issue Every Wednesday. Beapie’s Pocket Liepary is for sale by all News- dealers, five cents per copy, or sent by mail on re- ceipt of six eents each. = BraDLE AND ADAMs,,Publishers, 98 William Street, New York, By Colonel 893 894 895 By Col. P. By Edward