Beadle's Pocket Library (no. 75) (1885 06 17)
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D q RA TRO EAI, SAGAN 7 es Vol VI #2.50 Published Weekly by Beadle and Adams, Price, No 75 ' ' 1 ' a Year. No. 98 Wi11am St., New Yorx. Five Cents, ISLAND JIM; OR, THE PET OF THE FAMILY. A Strange Story of a Haunted Boy and a Phantom Father, BY BRACEBRIDGE HEMYNG—“ Jack Harkaway.” CARL PROCURED A ROPE, AND WITH SOME DIFFICULTY DICK WAS BROUGHT TO THE SUINFACE,
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Island Jim, Island J im; OR, THE PET OF THE FAMILY. A Strange Story of a Haunted Boy and a Phantom Father, BY BRACEBRIDGE HEMYNG, AUTHOR or “TACK HARKAWAY,” ETC,, ETC. CHAPTER I. THE RICH TRAMP. ‘Tr is utterly impossible that I can allow this thing to continue.” “ My dear sir—” **T have been complaining for over a year.” “My good friend—” ** Ah! pshaw! no redress.” “T assure you, sir, I will do all that lies in my power.” “Tt must be stopped !” Tho speakers glared at oneanother. The first one like an aggressive tiger, the second like a stag at bay. uty 8 were near neighbors, living on Jersey City Heights; one was Mr. Silas Mandragon, who, being childless and a great student, only liked children when he was in the humor to talk and play with them. The other was Mr. Dimity, a rich merchant, who had two children, a boy and a girl. Mr. and Mrs. Dimity made an idol of Dick, their eldest son, who, at the age of sixteen, was the idlest and most impudently mischievous boy in Jersey City. This is saying a great deal! Mr. Mandragon was an object of Dick Dim- ity’s special dislike. All his choicest tricks were played at Mr. Mandragon’s expense, and over and over again that gentleman had com- plained to Mr. Dimity. The latter had always promised to “‘ see into it” and “talk to tho boy.” This, however, did not improve matters by any means, nstead of growing better, Dick, if possible, became worse; age did not bring reformation, and, as for shame, it did not seem to be a word to bo found in Dick’s vocabulary. Something of an outrageous nature had evi- dently recently occurred, or Mr. Mandragon would not have sought Mr. Dimity, with pallid cheek and fiery eye. There was a brief pause. Como, now,” exclaimed Mr. Dimity, “let us talk reasonably.” “Tam talking reasonably, sir ” answered Mr. Mandragon. ‘“ What has ho done?” “What hasn’t he done?” “Namo the specific act of which you have doubtless come +7 complain, and if any compen- sation of a pecuniary nature can—” ‘Nonsense, sir!” interrupted Mr. Mandragon, growing choleric again; ‘‘no money payment can idemnify me for the annoyance, the perse- cution, I may say, of that confounded boy.” Mr. Dimity reddened in his turn now. Dick was the pet of the family, and he did not like to hear him spoken of in that disrespectful manner. ‘* Remember, sir, ho is my son,” he warned. ‘Tam sorry for you, sir,” retorted Mr. Man- dragon. “Do you wish to insult me, sir? If so, be- ware!” Mr. Dimity raised his hand with a threatenin, gesture, at which Mr. Mandragon—who, like al people of a blustering nature, was easily cowed —retreated a step or two in alarm. “T stand upon my rights,” he cried. ‘‘Then tell me what he has done, and I will endeavor to give you satisfaction. “Sir, we have a favorite cat, or rather we had,” began Mr. Mandragon. “You speak in the past tense.” “‘And well I may. My blood boils when I think of my wrongs. That cat was my wife's pet, sir. Mrs. Mandragon doted on it. She thought as much of it as you do of your conf—” “Wush, sir, hush; my forbearance has a limit.” “Well, let it pass. Just now wo found that eat hanging by the neck to our clothes-linoe, dead, sir, dead. While I was cutting the poor thing down I was fired at through a ga ow- er and nearly had my left eye put out. Look at it, sir; look at it!” . Mr. Mandragon indicated the injured optic with his finger. - It was considerably bruised and fast closing up, as if he had just come out of the attentive hands of a prize-fighter. ‘Well, sir, I heard a shout of laughter, and looking up,” resumed Mr. Mandragon, ‘‘1 saw that imp of wickedness, that—” “Gently, gently.” “T saw your boy, Dick, with bis fingers ex- tended from his nose, and I heard him mew like a cat in token of derision. There, now.” “So that is tho bill of indictment?” “Tt is, and a true bill, too, as Heaven hears me. I demand simple justice. It must stopped!” Mr. Mandragon rested his case here and taupe to take breath, leaving his neighbor, Mr. imity, to digest the facts as well as he could. “ Ahom!” hosaid. “Itisa very grave charge. and apparently inexcusable. I will see into ti and talk to the boy.” Mr. Mandragon stamped his foot upon the floor and was about to make an excited reply. when a boy with a smiling countenance entered the room. It was Dick Dimity. i He was thin, and rather undersized for his age, with dark hair, and very large, expressive black eyes. His nose was long and prominent, and altogether such a remarkable nose that it was a common saying among his friends that _he could be known anywhere by his nose, His manner was free and easy, such as became a boy accustomed to have his own way and so spoilt as he was. ° “ How dare you, sir?” cried Mr. Mandragon, shaking his fist at him,
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Island Jim. 3 “Leave him to me,” said Mr, Dimity, “Tis my place to talk to and correct him. Dick, what have you been doing?” ; “Hanging a cat and blowing putty at this old fraud!” replied Dick, indicating Mr. Man- agon, ‘At this Mr. Mandragon executed a pas seul on the carpet and%showed symptoms of incipient insanity. “Be calm, my friend! be calm, I entreat ou! I will talk to this misguided youth,” said r. Dimity. “Talking’s no uso; try a thick stick!” cried Mr. Mangragon. “May I speak, sir?” asked Dick. “Certainly.” 5 “His cat killed my sister’s bird. Fanny is crying over her canary, now. I saw his cat do it, and I knocked her off the wall with a stone and then hung her.” “Why did you shoot pellets of putty at the gentleman?” ** Because he’s always sneaking around and telling tales about all the boys in our block, and that’s him!” “Hush! This is unchristian.” “So I do!” replied Dick, boldly, as he glared defiantly at Mandragon. “Go,” said his father; ‘‘I wish to be alone with this gentleman.” Reluctantly Dick quitted the room, favoring Mr. Mandragon with a contemptuous and deri- sive gesture that was not lost upon him. ““Dimity,” exclaimed Mandragon, ‘‘let mo give you a word of advice.” iT ell?” You will never do any good with that lad at home, Send him to school.” “Hal” said Mr. Dimity, drawing a long breath, y 5 That idea had never occurred to him be- fore. Dick went to the public school in the district; but a boarding-school, where he would be away any home, was a very different thing alto- gether. “T will talk to his mother,” said Mr. Dimity after a pause; ‘in the mean time, rest assured that something shall be done.” With this assurance, Mr. Mandragon, consid- erably mollified, took his departure. In the hall he stumbled over something and fell heavily, crushing his hat, which he held in his hand. “Perdition!” he ejaculated. As he rose, sore and bruised, a peal of mock- ing laughter greeted hita from the top of the kitchen stairs. “Good lands!” cried Mr. Mandragon. “‘ Only let me get a hold of you!” ‘He rushed in the direction of the stairs and tumbled over again. The first obstacle in his way had been a line extended across the hall; the second was an pay. coal-seuttle. yr. Mandragon was precipitated down the kitchen stairs and fellin the arms of the cook, who had come out to see what the noise was. The scuttle fell on the pair as they rolled over and over, “Fiend seize the woman! Let me go!” shout- ed Mandragon, extricating himself with difli- culty from the greasy embrace of the cook. Fearful of encountering any fresh trouble, he opened the back door and darting into the street, gained his own mansion. Dick’s laughter rung in his ears as he went. That evening Mr, and Mrs. Dimity sat up later than was their custom, discussing their boy’s future, ‘he prospectus of a school some distance off in Jersey was before them. The next day, after breakfast, Mr. Dimity called his son to his side. “That old skinflint, Mandragon! But I'll pay. him out, see if I don’t!” r. Dimity smiled eth “T don’t think you will have the chance to carry out your vindictive scheme,” he said, “for I shall take you to a boarding-school, near Trenton, to-morrow morning.” For once in his life Dick was fairly astonished. “Take me away to a boarding-school!” he eried. ‘Leave all the boys?” “Yes; you_will be away two years. Your mother and I haye spoilt you by making you the pet of the family, and we are responsible for what you are. It is not yet too late to rectify the error. Though if we do not act at once, it is difficult to say what faté is in store for Dick did not hesitate a moment in this emer- gency. ce ref won't go!” he exclaimed, ere “Pardon me, you will go!” replied Mr. Dim- ity, calmly. “I am your father and if you drive me to extremities I shall have to make my authority felt.” “T tell you, father, I am learning all I want to know at our school and I wil] not be sent away. | That’s flat, and final. I’d sooner run “Oh! to Cheyenne City, and from thence to the Black Hills; so look out!” “My decision is made,” said Mr. Dimity. ‘To school you go to-morrow.” “T'll run away this afternoon,” replied Dick, You'll not go far.” * Won't 12 don’t you be too sure of that!” “You will be glad to come back before you get out of the State of New Jersey.” “What will you bet on it?’ “Nothing; don’t talk to me in so flippant a manner. Bid your friends good-by and make all your preparations for an early start to-mor- Wy, ” “ But, father—” “T have nothing more to say,” interrupted Mr. Dimity, waving his hand, as he thought be- came a stern father. He walked out of the room, leaving Dick to his own reflections. Mr. Dimity did not sup- for a moment that the boy would carry out is threat at which he secretly laughed. He wrote a polite note to Mr. Mandragon, in- forming him of his decision respecting Dick,
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Island Jim. It was said that Mandragon had once had a child which had been stolen by Gypsies, and that this had soured his temper. Certain it is, that he did not like children in general and that he detested Dick in particular. Dick went to his room and put on his thickest boots and stoutest clothes. e helped himself to his father’s revolver, which was loaded in six chambers, and counted his worldly wealth which amounted to precisely one dollar and seventy- five cents. This wasnot much to start for Nebraska with, pee the breast of youth ever beats high with ope. e did not burden himself with any change of clothing, and, indeed, throughout his meager reparations, showed an utter disregard for the ‘uture, Meeting his sister Fanny on the stairs he kiss- ed her good-by. ‘Where are you going, Dick?” she asked, in surprise, ‘To the Black Hills,” he replied. ‘* Never.” “Tt is a fact. Father and I’ve had a few words, and I’ll show him I’m no slave to be sent to a boarding-school, because old Mandragon complains of me.” He pressed her hand and ran down-stairs, leaving Fanny to tell her mother the strange news. Outside the house he encountered a friend of his named Tommy Bennet. “Hello, Dick!” said Tommy, ‘‘ where are you going off to in such a hurry?” ‘Bound for the Black Hills!” “Hey!” cried Tommy, opening his eyes very wide indeed. “Father and I’ve had akick. I’m going to earn my own living and be independent.” ‘Oh, isn’t that bully? Take me with you!” pleaded Tommy Bennet. | ‘““Why, certainly! If you’ve got grit enough to go along.” “Til doit! Father licked me this morning, for playing hookey and I’d like to show him a thing or two.” ‘*Good enough. Como on!” “ Can’t I say good-by to mother?” asked Tom- my. “Not if yow’re going with me,” was the de- cided answer. Tommy was tho happy possessor of a quarter which, added to the general stock, brought the sum total up to two dollars, with which very limited amount of capital these two preterna- turally foolish boys thought they could reach the far-off Territory for which they were bound, They had a vague idea that they could do odd chores on the way, for which services they would be rewarded by a present of food and poten. to sleep at night in barns and out- ouses. Never, in the course of their luxurious lives, having encountered hardships, they made light of them. Away they went over the Hackensack mea- dows, on the road to Newark, which town they reached about one o’clock in the afternoon. Here they went into a bakery, feeling hungry, and regaled themselves with ten cents worth of cakes and a glass of water apiece. Starting again, they struck out for Elizabeth but in a short time the sky became overcast an acold, heavy rain fell. They were soon wet to the skin; their boots sunk into the mire at every step, and they shiv- ered to the bones. This dampened their ardor considerably. About two miles out of Newark, Tommy, who was not so desperate in earnest, or made of such stern stuff as his companion, gave out completely. He burst out crying lamentably. ‘What's the matter with you?” asked Dick Dimity, with a tinge of contempt in his voice, ‘““Pm wet through. Dm tired and hungry. Where we are going to sleep, ’m sure I don’t know, and we sha’n’t have any nice dinner such as we get at home,” replied the weak but practi- cal Tommy. “You shouldn’t expect luxuries when you go on the tramp,” was the stern rejoinder. “T want to go home,” whimpered Tommy, “What did you start out for?” “T didn’t know running away was like this.” “Well, then, go home; you know the way we came. Don’t give me away, though. I’m go- ing on,” said Dick, bravely. Tommy held out his cold, wet, clammy hand, which was like a fish’s fin, “*Good-by,” he said, in a faint voice. Dick turned from him disdainfully, and di- rectly afterward Tommy was seen running as fast as his legs would carry him toward home. With commendable energy and determination Dick pressed on. Half a mile further was a barn, under the side of which he took shelter from the rain. Wearily passed the hours under that leaden a; pitilessly fell the remorseless rain. Tis heart was heavy within him, and it would have been much more so had he known what was taking place during his absence at his fa- ther’s hitherto comfortable and happy house. No sooner did Fanny tell Mrs. Dimity that Dick had gone away to the Black Hills, than the lady, who was of a nervous disposition and in weak health, fell down in a fit. Doctors were sent for and messengers dis- patched in every direction after the runaway. Mrs. Dimity passed from one fit into another, and never again was entirely conscious. Before morning dawned she was dead, and the unhappy husband wept by the side of the be- loved wife’s corpse. Dick did not know this. Better for him that he did not; far better that the result of his rash and wicked behavior was not revealed to him. He had killed his mother. Had the news been abruptly broken to him, it might have driven him crazy, for he was not a bad-hearted boy, though spoilt, petted and head- strong. he had always loved his mother, as she loved m. Soon darkness began to fall upon the earth, the shades of night enveloped everything, and still it rained ceaslessly, drearily. Dick bethought himself of the inside of the
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} ~~ Island Jim. 5 barn. Why should he stay outside, when, per- chance, he could creep into some hay or straw and be warm? He moved round to the door; he pushed it and it opened; an inviting heap of rye straw was spread temptingly beside him. In his fatigue, he forgot his hunger, and with a weary sigh he sunk upon the straw. Hardly had he done so when he was heaved upward by some mighty power beneath him and a volley of curses saluted his startled ears. “What in thunder are you doing?” cried a voice, ‘‘and who asked you to come into this ranch! Curse you, git!” A violent blow between the eyes prostrated Dick upon the floor, and he felt himself brutally kicked in the ribs arid back. Inflamed with rage and fearful of being kill- ed, he drew his revolver from his hip-pocket, and fired two shots in quick succession at his as- sailant, There was a loud cry as of some one in mor- tal anguish, and this was followed by a dull, thudding sound, as of a body falling heavily to the ground. ‘Great Heaven! What have I done?” said Dick, under his breath. A deep groaning horrified him still more. In his vest he had some matches. Striking one he examined the ground, and by the fleeting light perceived the body of a poor, ragged tramp, who was bleeding from two wounds in his breast. “There was no call to give me the lead, cully,” said the man, who spoke with difficulty. “Vd-pre-empted this barn and had a right ter it. No matter; you’ve done for me, and all the harm [ wish you is, that some one will serve you the same, afore long.” Dick Dimity shuddered. He had taken the life of a fellow-creature! True, it was done in self-defense, but was he not a murderer in the eye of the law? Would not the officers of justice be on his track soon, and would he not pass many years of his life within the walls of a prison? Or might he not expiate the crime on the scaffold? Alarmed and horrified, he resolved to fly from the accursed place. Out in the rain again, braving the storm, the on fled, as if there was a legion of fiends at his eels. How long he ran, he knew not, but at length, quite exhausted, his clothes torn by coming in contact with briers, his body bruised by repeat- ed falls, he came to a full stop. The rain was over now, and the moon shone out in the clear, starlit sky. How he sighed for the peace and comfort of home, but even if he had the inclination, he could not retrace his steps till morning. He was physically exhausted, and, having run across fields, he did not know where he was. All at once he was attracted by the sight of a fire. Edging up toward it, he saw a man and a boy sitting on two big stones, and by the aid of a stick toasting some bits of meat, which emitted a savory smell. Rendered bold by starvation and desperate by the necessities of his forlorn situation, he ap- proached the group. The man was tall and wiry, having a peculiar- ly Gypsy cast of countenance, his hair being black as a raven’s wing and inclined to curl. The boy, however, arrested Dick’s attention in a marked degree, for he was wonderfully like himself in hight and general appearance, There was the same pensive face, the dark hair, the full, lustrous eyes, and, above all, the characteristic nose ! They were as much alike as the two Dromios, whose similarity occasioned so much fun and trouble. “Say, strangers,” he cried, ‘“‘can I have a warm at your fire?” The boy and the man looked up. “What are you?” asked the man. “A confounded jackass!” replied Dick, ‘I had a row with my father and concluded to start for the Black Hills. I only left home this morning, and I wish I was back again al- ready.” At this simple confession, the man and the boy laughed heartily. “You can join us, I guess,” said the man. “We're a couple of sharps, and haven’t met with a flat lately. Find a stone and sit down.” Dick did as he was requested, and showed the man what money he had left. “Tam willing topay for any accommodation you offer me.” he said. “ Better still; we will have a banquet. Jim, look in the larder and bring out that fowl I hooked to-day; it is all ready for cooking.” The Gypsy took the coin and rammed it into his pocket without counting it, while the boy proceeded to a cattle-shed hard by. The lower portion of this shed was occupied by cows, while the upper, approached by a lad- der, was filled with feed and fodder. Dick watched the boy curiously, and present- ly saw him return with a split fowl which he cast carelessly on the burning embers. CHAPTER II. THE POOR SCAMP. Tur Gypsy was a garrulous fellow, about thirty-five years of age, and while the supper was cooking, he informed Dick that he was a native of Bohemia, who had been some years in this country. : He had belonged to a tribe of Gypsies who roamed about the continent of Europe, and he fled from his native land on account of a quar- rel he had with a peddler, which resulted in the death of the latter. ‘My name,” he continued, “tis Een Belshaz- zar. ‘The boys always call me Een for short. T’m a tramp and a thief by profession, because T like it, and work never did agree with me.” “Same here,” said the boy; ‘tI believe I was a born thief, for I never did anything else but steal, and I’ve practiced the lay, pretty well, since I and Een became partners, and that’s nigh upon twelve months,” “You talk well enough. Can you read and write and cipher?” asked Dick. “You bet you I can! I got my education in the House of Refuge. Oh! I’m posted, I am!” ‘
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6 Island dim. monanie The Gypsy patted the boy on the back, ap- provingly. “This is Island Jim,” he remarked, ‘‘and Tm proud of him, fer a better pupil T never “What a name! how did he get it?” “Because, before he took to tramping, he was always being sent up on the Island for some- thing or other.” “Yes,” said Island Jim, as if admiring him- self; ‘if it wasn’t for stealing, it was for fight- ing, or being drunk, or vagrancy. I’ve got a lovely record, and young as I am, my picture adorns the Rogues’ Gallery.” In the course of further conversation Henas Belshazzar informed Dick that they were hang- ing about the cow-shed because the quarters were comfortable, and—with a sly wink—they had a little job in contemplation in the immedi- ate neighborhood, The chicken being done, Dick required no per- suasion to devour it, and the supper was quick- ly disposed of, In time tho fire dried his clothes and he felt more comfortable, especially as there was a Brogpect of a good bed on the fodder in the shed, The Gypsy artfully plied him with a variety of questions, four.d out hisname, where he lived. what the members of his family were like, and other trifling particulars. At length Dick Dimity’s eyes began to close, from sheer weariness. “Come to bed,” said Hen Belshazzar. ‘‘ You're worn out. I and Jim will smoke a pipe and join you afterward.” He rose, and beckoning to Dick to follow him led the way to the loft. Here he threw himself on a pile of straw and was soon asleep, dreaming of the ghost of the dead man, whose corpse he had left in the soli- tary barn, When Belshazzar returned to the fire he threw on some more sticks, lit his pipe and producing a bottle of apple-jack took a deep draught, after which he passed it on to his young associate in crime. Island Jim drank as heartily and with as much appreciation as his preceptor and handed it back. “Say, Jim,” asked the Gypsy, ‘‘do you see anything very remarkable short that young rooster?” ‘*T noticed he’d got a beak on him, the very image of mine,” replied Jim. “Tt isn’t that, only; you’re as like as two peas —same size, hair, eyes, everything.” “ven to the strawberry mark on the left arm!” laughed Jim. “Tm not jesting. Thisisaserious thing. I’ve got an idea and I'll propound it.” Island Jim became graye at once and prepared himself to listen, because he knew from experi- ence what a long-headed fellow Een was, and how valuable his ideas were. “Tm no fool,” began the Gypsy. ‘‘I can see my way to making a pot of money out of this young snoozer if you have only the pluck to work with me.” ‘Did you ever find me deficient in the commo- dity of cheek?” asked Jim, “Never; but this requires courage and skill combined. Dick Dimity’s folks are rich; let us knock him on the head and put you in his place!” The magnitude of this suggestion almost took Jim’s breath amey- “T personate Dick Dimity?” he gasped, “ Precisely.” ‘But, I’m only a poor scamp. It’s true he’s a rich tramp, but suppose I get found out?” “Tf so, you have nothing to fear. All the Dimitys will do is to give you some money and kick you out. These high-toned people have a horror of scandal, They would never prosecute ou.” “Think not?” “T am swre of it; and if they did it wouldn’t hurt either you or me, Wo have both served time before. Is the stake worth playing for or not, say?” Belshazzar awaited an answer. Tt was not long coming. “Tl do it,” exclaimed Island Jim. “That's my own dear boy!” said Een, with an unctuous smile. ‘‘T always said you wero a promising lad, and I knew it or I wouldn’t have wasted my time with you.” “ And now you'll either make a gentleman of me or bring me to the gallows,” Een held up his hands in admiration. ‘“ What a head he’s got!” he cried. ‘* How he song anidea! It is no trouble at all to talk to him P ‘When's the job to be done?” demanded Jim, “Right away; no time like the present. Ill knock him on the head when I’m through with this pipe, and we will carry the stiff to the old well in the next field,” replied the cold-blooded villain. y “Look out; he’s heeled! I saw the butt of a pistol.” “So did I, but he'll have no time to use it, That pistol will soon be yours. You stole it from your dad, don’t you remember, and that elegant watch, your mother gaye you on your last birthday, and you’ve got a little sister named Fanny, and your dog’s name is Lion, and your neighbor, Mr. Mandragon, is your great enemy. It won’t do to forget all these things, Dick, you know.” The villain smiled oilily again and chuckled audibly, as if vastly pleased at his own humor. All these edi pie with many others, had been diligently gleaned from Dick after supper, for the bold idea which Een had just broached had occurred to him as soon as he perceived the extraordinary likeness hetween the two boys. “You must wear his clothesand he must have on yours,” Een Belshazzar went on. ‘‘It is es- sential you should have his, and if the body is ever found, why, it’s only you, and they will never make a noise about a poor scamp like “Strip the dead!” said Jim, in a tone which seemed to indicate that, bad as he was, he was not thoroughly hardened, “Why not? It is only like laying out a corpse. I worked fer an undertaker once and am used to it,” replied the Gypsy. ie What are you to get out of all this?” asked im. “Your uncle will come out all right,” said
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Island Jim. @ Een, with a horrid leer. ‘I shall be your pri- vate tutor, and you will have lots of chances to give me money. Leave your uncle, my dear, ~ take care of himself; he was not born yester- ay. ‘‘No, nor the day before,” replied Jim. Belshazzar -got up and knocked the ashes lei- surely out of his pipe. He took up a billet of wood and swung it through the air, regarding it approvingly. “This will do,” he remarked; ‘‘I could kill a bullock with this.” “Say, Een!” cried Jim. ‘Can’t we put up the job without killing this chap?” “No!” snarled the Gypsy. “T don’t half like—” “One word more,” interrupted Belshazzar, whose little eyes gleamed like an angry snake’s, ‘and I throw up the whole thing, and leave you to tramp and starve and slave in prison all the rest of your life. Bah! I didn’t think it was in you to weaken.” “Pm not weakening; only it’s so sudden.” “Would it make any difference if we waited for a week?” “6 No. ” “Dry up, then, and keep your eye peeled, while I go and start our young friend on his long journey,” said Ken. olding the bludgeon firmly in his hand, the Gypsy entered the barn and crept up the ladder. ick Dimity, all unconscious of coming evil, was sleeping placidly. Through a hole in the roof the moonbeams streamed in, casting a shower of silver over his pale face. He moved restlessly as Belshazzar approached him, and his lips parting, he murmured. softly the one word: ‘* Mother !” Raising the bludgeon, the Gynsy dealt him a murderous blow on the head. The boy sprung uP half-way and fell on his knees, blinded with blood, Another and yet another blow followed, end he fell on his side, to all appearances dead. Hen Belshazzar was satisfied, for he dropped his deadly weapon, and taking the boy up in his arms, careful to hold his head down, so that the blood should not fall upon him, he carried him out into the air. Laying him down in the moonlight, he rapid- ly stripped him of his clothes and boots. ‘*Peel!” he hissed hoarsely through his teeth. Island Jim removed his clothing as quickly as possible, and in less than five minutes the living posed the garments of the dead, and those of he former were tran ferred to the latter. “Take hold of his legs!” said Belshazzar. Jim obeyed without a word, and, the Gypsy supporting the neck and shoulders, Dick Dimity was carried across two fields until an old apple- tree was reached. Under this tree was an old well which had once been used by the inmates of a farm-house, not far off, but the water giving out, another one had been dug and this one was covered over with boards, Een had discovered it during a search for wa- ter_on the previous day. Removing the boards he dumped the body down, feet foremost, and satisfying himself that it had gone to the bottom, replaced the boards. “Come,” he said to Jim, ‘all isover; now for the bright and happy future!” “T hope so!” replied Jim, who was ghastly pale and trembling as if he had a chill, This was the first time he had ever assisted at a murder, and everything connected with this tragedy was so cool, calculating, and terrible, that it made his blood run cold. For some time he and his partner in crime sat over the fire smoking, after which they went to sleep in the blood-stained loft. CHAPTER III. THE RETURN OF THE\TRUANT. Iv was the afternoon of the fifth day after the running away of Dick Dimity. The sun was shining brightly in a cloudless sky and the boys were running about, merrily at play. Inside the house, with its palatial surround- ings, in which lived Mr, Dimity, there was deep and heai tfelt sorrow. Tt was a house of mourning. That day, Mrs. Dimity had been laid in her last home in the cold, cheerless cemetery, and as her husband sat alone in his library, the memory of years rushed over him like a flood, and he wept. He was interrupted by the entrance of his lit- tle daughter, Fanny, who rushed boisterously into the apartment. “Papa! papa!” she exclaimed, excitedly. “Hush, my child!” replied Mr. Dimity, re- provingly. ‘Have you so soon forgotten that we have had death in the house?” “Oh, no, papa; I can never, never forget my dear, poor mamma!” she answered, wiping her eyes. “‘But, Dick has come back!” Mr. Dimity sprung to his feet, and his red, swollen eyes flashed wildly. “ Dick—come—back?” he repeated, slowly. “Yes, indeed! I have seen him.” “Wretched boy! It is fitting that he should have chosen this day for his reappearance, Where is he?” ‘Tn the hall, with a strange gentleman.” “Tell him to come in here,” said Mr. Dimity, adding, in a low voice, ‘thank Heaven for giv- ing me back my boy, though he was the cause of my losing my wife—his mother!” A few minutes elasped, when Fanny reap- peared, leading a boy by the hand, followed by a middle-aged man, dressed in a suit of black. “Tye come back, father!” said the boy, “and I want to ask your forgiveness.” “Have you heard of your mother’s sad death?” inquired Mr. Dimity. ‘‘ We buried her to-day.” Vos,” replied Island Jim, for it was he, in his new character, ‘‘and I’m very sorry for it; but you can’t blame me and it’s no use begin- ning that sort of thing. If you do, PU run away again, and stay away.” ; ; “What am I to understand by that?” inquired Mr. Dimity. . < $ “ Make what you like out of it,” replied Jim. “The boy was playing a part in which he had been carefully tutored by Een Belshazzar. The latter stepped up fo Mr. Dimity, and fold- ing his hands demurely in front of him, said,
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8 Island Jim. with a pious snufile, ‘“My worthy friend, allow me to speak in this misguided boy’s behalf.” ‘Who are you, sir?” inquired Mr. Dimity. “One of the elect, I sincerely hope. It is my humble province to be a deacon of the church in the township, wherein I dwell, but verily, this is a sinful world.” “ How did you meet with my boy?” continued Mr. Dimity, who was completely deceived by the likeness between Dick and Jim. “He had penetrated into Pennsylvania, sir, and being an-hungered and athirst, he came to my door and did beg a meal of broken victuals,” “Beg? my boy beg?” “Of a verity, he had to beg or steal, and so chose the former alternative. Feeling interested in a lad of his comely presence, I took him in and did give him wherewith to satisfy his hunger; then he confessed to me his story and I prevailed upon him to come back to the fold, like the lost sheep, spoken of out of the hymn of the Ninety and Nine.” Jim made a gesture of impatience, “The old chap means to say,” he exclaimed, “that Iwas dead broke and he paid my way home. That is all there is in it, and if you don’t want me, Pl start out again.” Belshazzar held up his hands in deprecation. “Thad hoped, sir,” he said, ‘‘ that the young man’s recent experience, and the affliction with which he had been visited, would have softened his heart. I fear he requires some one to look after his moral character and forge the bonds of righteousness about his soul.” ‘My good sir,” replied Mr, Dimity, ‘‘ you speak well, you mean well; I am sure you are an hon- est man.” “ How well he knows me,” murmured Belshaz- war. “‘T feel that you arean honest citizen of—” * Charityville, Pennsylvania.” “Thank you! I never heard of the place, but—” “A mere trifle of a place, sir—a little village in the oil regions, but of a God-fearing popula- tion.” * And you are an esteemed deacon of the church, all love you, your life is spent in doing eee to your fellow-creatures?” continued Mr. imitiy. “He reads me like a book,” said Belshazzar, rubbing his hands unctuously together. “Will you, dear sir, will you undertake the tuition and guidance, in a spiritual sense, of my misguided boy?” “Wor a consideration?” ah ope you shall have a handsome sti- nd. “Charityville will miss me!” exclaimed Bel- shazzar, in a tone which had rt upon. many a prison chaplain; ‘the wail of the or- phan deprived of his friend, will be heard in the land: but, as I have no family ties to hold me back, I accept the offer,” “You accept?” 5 “T do, unhesitatingly. The voice of duty calls me. I will strive hard with the world and the flesh, to snatch this brand from the burning.” Mr. Dimity, simple-minded and too honest to be suspicious, said: ) “T thank you.” They shook hands, and then the bereaved father caught Jim in_his embrace and kissed his cheek. ‘*My son!” he exclaimed, pathetically, ‘‘all is forgotten and forgiven. Lead a new life.” “Til try, father,” answered Jim, ‘‘and as I see you feel bad Pll leave you alone for the present. Come, sis, Is my room as I left it?” Fann replied that it was, and ran up-stairs before him, which was very useful, as he had not the remotest idea which way to go. Dick’s room was plainly furnished, and filled with books, guns, fishing-rods, base-ball bats and other things which youth delights in. “Oh, you erin! brother!” said Fanny, ‘‘ to run away; but you'll never do it again.” ‘Not till next time. Run and tell one of the servants to bring some cigars and some beer; and say, sissy, is that old Mandragon in that garden?” Fanny looked out of the window. ‘Yes, that is he—nasty, cross old thing!” she replied. im took up a putty-blower, and opening the window, shot a couple of pellets at Mr. Man- dragon, which struck that gentleman painfully in the eye and on the ear, “Oh, my earl? cried he; ‘who's that?” “Tm back again!” shouted Jim. Mr. Mandragon darted quickly into his house and was seen no more. Fanny went off on her errand and the servant soon appeared with what was wanted, leaving the conspirators together. “ How did it go off?” queried Jim. ‘* Rirst-class! The religious lay quite took the old gentleman, ‘These clothes are tip-top for a deacon of the church. I ‘don’t think we shall have any trouble now,” replied the Gypsy. mean to have fun, J do,” said Jim. “None of your half-and-half for me! You'll have to board out of the house, Hen, or you'll be bored in.” “ Certainly; I shall engage a room at Taylor’s Hotel, so that no one will be interested in m movements, and I guess that New York wil see more of us than Jersey City. Leave all to me; never open your mouth to fill other people’s and we shall triumph,” said Belshazzar, confi- dently. ‘“T feel certain of one thing,” replied Jim, in the same cautious tones adopted by the Gypsy. “The old man is as soft asa squash, and Ill break his heart in a year.” i Their position was secured; their trick had been successful. The wonderful likeness be- tween Dick and Jim, the latter’s intimate know- ledge of the household, all combined to deceive everybody. For the first few days he had some trouble in recognizing his associates, but he spent most of his time with Tommy Bennett, and from him derived all the information he wanted without exciting suspicion. Ina fortnight he was firmly established. Mr. Belshazzar came every day to give him lessons, acting the part of his tutor, and Mr. Dimity appeared satisfied with the arrange- ments. Time passed on, however, and Jim became ir-
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Island Jim. 9 regular in his habits; he came home late at night; occasionally he stayed out altogether. n his demands for money he became very im- portunate, and his father could not imagine what he did with all the sums he gave him. One day a forged check was paid by the bank to Jim, and the forgery discovered by Mr. Dimity. This raised his ire, as the amount was con- siderable, and a very painful scene ensued, Mr, Dimity declaring that if it ever happened again, he would allow the law to take its course, The good deacon Belshazzar wept and prayed, but without producing much effect on the young man, After this a coolness amounting almost to an estrangement sprung up between the father and the supposed son, As Mr. Dimity was liberal in his donations of money to Jim, it may be wondered where the funds went. Belshazzar was the gulf into which the green- backs were poured. The Gypsy was a great gambler and could not restrain his LN ara for play, He rendered Jim’s life a misery and a burden to him by his repeated and incessant demands for money. Since his wife’s death Mr. Dimity had been very intimate with the Mandragons, both of them sympathizing deeply with him in his loss. When the forgery took place Mr. Dimity went to his friends and informed them of the distress- ing fact. “Tt grieves me to tell you this,” he said, ‘‘ but you are my friends and neighbors.” “The boy is turning out badly, as I always predicted,” replied Mr. Mandragon, ‘‘and that shows the folly of making one ¢ ild the pet of the family.” “Alas! I see my mistake now.” “‘T have an idea by means of which you might reform him,” Mr. Dimity looked up in surprise. ‘Will you impart it to me?” he asked. “Strictly in private.” ‘Ts that a hint to me to leave the room?” in- quired Mrs, Mandragon. “Yes, my dear,” replied her husband; ‘‘ not even to you dare T impart the secret. It must be known but to us two.” Mrs. Mandragon, always obedient to her hus- band’s will, did not hesitate a moment. The two gentlemen were left alone together. Their conversation was long and earnest. At the conclusion Mr. Dimity grasped the hand of Mr, Mandragon warmly. “Tt will be a terrible ordeal,” he said, “but I am convinced I ought to do it. If he commits any more enormities the ‘plan shall be put in execution,” -- “Ts it a settled bargain?” ecUtis.” What the bargain was will be seen as the story progresses. eanwhile, Belshazzar had been very un- lucky in his gambling ventures and was more than ever pressing in his demands upon Jim for money. One evening he was playing cards in the Gyp- sy’s room of the hotel. Wine sparkled in the glasses and the air was perfumed with cigars of the choicest brands. “Jamie,” exclaimed Belshazzar, throwing down his cards, ‘‘my lucky star is in the as- cendant to-night, and I haven’t a red to buck the tiger with.” “ I can get I give to you,” replied Jim. “JT worry the old man nearly to death for money, and since that affair with the bank he has not been so free with the stamps.” “You must get some.” “How?” “T have ascertained that Mrs. Dimity’s jew- els are in a drawer in the bureau of her old room. Bring them to me, The diamonds are worth some thousands.” “Steal them?” “Call it what you like; we won't cavil about terms.” “The old man won’t stand it,” said Jim. ‘I tell you it’s a bu’sted racket, and we may as well throw the whole thing up at once.” “Ah, pshaw! Blood is stronger than water. You are his son—at least he supposes so—and he may bluster, but he will never disgrace his name. I will have the jewels.” Take it,” replied the Gypsy, toying restless- ly with the cates: Jim drank more champagne than was good one Bi and went home with his head in a whirl. In the hall he met his supposed father, who in- stantly saw his condition. “You have been drinking, sir,” he exclaimed. “ What if I have?” replied Jim, insolently. “Ttis disgraceful. Go to bed and pray Hea- ven you may repent of your evil courses,” said the saddened father. Jim reeled up-stairs to his room and threw himself all dressed as he was on the bed. Fanny stole noiselessly into the room, “Dick,” she cried. ‘' Don’t you feel well?” “Verry dizzy, sis,” he replied. “You made such a noise coming up, and I heard papa scolding you. Oh! dotry to be a good boy! Papa wants to love you so and you won’t let him.” “Don’t preach,” answered Jim; ‘‘I hate ser- mons. Lemme go sleep; can’t you?” With difficulty suppressing her tears, Fann quitted the room to kneel down by her own bed side and waft to Heaven a pure-hearted maid- en’s prayer for her erring brother. That night Island Jim dreamt of robbery. CHAPTER IV. WHAT WAS FOUND IN THE OLD WELL. Mr. and Mrs, Herschell, with their son Carl, and their daughter Lena, owned and lived on the ‘Woodbine Farm ” in New Jersey, a few miles from Elizabeth. Carl came into breakfast one morning and said: “‘T don’t know, father, what the matter is with ax.” Max was the dog. “Hein!” said Mr. Herschell. ‘‘ Max vas von goot dorg. Vot he gone do wrong now?” “T can’t get him away from the old well,” _
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10: .. Island Jim. ‘P'y’aps der vos von skunk mit dot well?” “No, guess T’ve killed all the skunks round this farm,” answered Carl. “ Der tog never do not'ings for not’ings,” re- marked Mr. Herschell. * Did you take the boards up and look down?” asked Lena. ‘Not L!” replied Carl; ‘‘ I wanted my break- fast.” “Vell, you eat your breakfast and I go look at dot t’ing,” enjoined Mr. Herschell. “No, father, let me go,” pleaded Lena. ‘‘ I am dying with curiosity.” “ Mebbe somet’ings hurts you, und den you die mit somet’ings else?” answered her father. ** Please let me go!” “Donner und blitzen! Dot girl is like her mudder; she most always have her own way.” “You always let me have mine, too,” said Lena, kissing him. “Ya. Ilofemy Lena. Go denand gom pack soon, mit der news,” cried her father. Lena, with the fair hair and blue, liquid, talk- ing eyes, ran off. he was gone about five minutes, and when she returned her face was pale and her manner strangely excited. “Oh! father,” she exclaimed, sinking into a chair and covering her face with her hands. *Donner-wetter! der madschen, has seen ein ghost?” Mr. Herschell asked. “Worse,” replied Lena, recove ing herself, “ What is it?” “There is a man in the well, all covered with blood and—oh! it is so dreadful! I think he is dead.” At this intelligence, farmer Herschell and Car] quitted the breakfast-tablo and ran eagerly toward the old well. Lena had removed the boards, and looking Bonn they perceived a body, doubled up as if The dog howled dismally, as if he appreciated the discovery as much as they. “Mein Gott in himmel!” cried the farmer; “this vos von murder! Get arope, Carl! This vos von bloody murder. Hein!” Carl procured a rope, and with some difficulty the body was brought to the surface. There was a slight pulsation of the heart, and a blade of dry grass, placed against the lips, fluttered, showing that there was a feeble respi- ration. “He vos not dead yet!” said Herschell. “Send fer der herr doctor and der richter shudge! Look at dot head! It vos all crushed in, poor boy!” Carl hastened to send one of the farm hands for a medical man, and then assisted to carry the body into the house, where it was charitably placed upon a bed. d-hearted people were these Germans, and though the boy was ragged and looked poverty- stricken, like a tramp, they did not neglect to do their duty to their neighbor. Like the Samaritan, they refused to pass by on the other side of the way, but poured oil and wine—figuratively—into his wounds. The half-dead boy was Dick Dimity, whom Belshazzar and Island Jim thought they had si- lenced forever, Tenderly, as if it had been her own brother, Lena washed the clotted blood from his hair and face. When the doctor arrived, he examined the body carefully. ‘This has been a brutal attempt at murder,” he said. ‘‘The skull is fractured, and I fear there is concussion of the brain. To move him will be certain death, With you, he may re- cover.” Mr. Herschell spoke to his wife. “Doctor,” he said, ‘he shall stay here. Ve are Christians. I vill bay your bill. Isch dot satisfactory?” * Perfectly.” , The doctor dressed the wounds, left a pre- scription for a febrifuge, and promised to call again soon. For many days and nights Dick remained un- conscious, but he did not die, Thanks to the kind treatment, delicate nursing and medical skill he received, all aided by a strong constitu- tion, he battled bravely with death and gained the mastery. But when he grew well again, after the lapse of many weeks, he had a vacant stare in his eyes, an unmeaning expression about his face and an idiotic smile when spoken to. All this was very sad and painful to his good friends, the Herschells, who appealed to the doc- tor about this strange ype He was of opinion that the brain was injured and that the boy was an idiot. Whether he would ever recover his faculties or not, he would not venture to say, though he had known cases of loss of reason, arising from a similar cause, cured in time. “Watch and wait,” he concluded. Again the charity of the Herschells was called into active operation. Most people, under the circumstances, would have sent the helpless boy to the County House, where he would have been placed among the insane poor. They did nothing of the sort; they kept him with them and let him wander harmlessly about the farm, and sit down at their table and live like one of themselves. “What is your name?” asked Lena, over and over again He would shake his head sadly, “‘T don’t know,” he replied. ‘I had a name, onee, but it went away from me that night when all was so dark.” Pursuing her astute catechism, she would say: . ** Have you no home?” ‘*No; I lived in a barn.” ‘Cannot you remember your friends?” ‘Tt is all gone. I can recollect nothing,” he would reply. ‘‘I will try, though; some day it may come back to me, If I could only think of something I might get it all; but now it is blank, blank, blank!” : ; He was very grateful to them for their kind- ness, and always anxious to do any odd job they might have on the farm, compatible with his strength. And so he got to be one of the family, and the ‘‘boy,” as they called him, was pitied and liked by all. We must leave Dick Dimity, struggling with
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Island Jim. 11 his mind-darkness in the family of the Herschells, while we return to Island Jim and his rascally mentor, Eenas Belshazzar. CHAPTER V. THE BOY OBEYS A BAD COMMAND. ALTHOUGH his daring venture had been suc- cessful so far, and he was living in luxury such as he had never before been accustomed to,dark clouds were gathering around Island Jim, A storm was about to burst over his head,and though the storm was no bigger than a man’s hand at present, it threatened in process of time to assume formidable dimensions. He was one morning, amusing himself by playing ball with Tommy Bennet in the gar- den at the back of the house. The ball went over the fence into Mr. Mandragon’s yard, ow- ing to Tommy’s carelessness, and its flight was followed by a slight scream. “There you go again, butter-fingers!” shouted Jim. ‘‘ Now somebody’s hit and [ve got the blame.” ‘* A lot you care!” replied Tommy. Without answering him Jim climbed the fence, and springing down on the other side, be- held a charming young lady, who was holding her hand toher face, which had been grazed by the ball. “How very careless you are!” she exclaimed, in a tone of vexation. Jim stared at her with admiration,and his fix- ed gaze was almost rude. Tall, dark, slim in figure, but wonderfully symmetrical, with long eyelashes that fringed her lustrous eyes, and features so regular as to rival those classic nymphs, sculptured by Phidias and Praxiteles in the palmy days of Greek art, he thought she was the most lovely creature he had ever seen. ““T beg your pardon, miss!” he replied. “ It was all Tom Bennet’s carelessness.” “How you stare at me!” she fretted. ‘‘One would think you had never seen me before.” ‘*T_J—that is, of course, I recollect you, but I can’t think where I have met you before,” stammered Jim. The girl laughed as if much amused. ““That’s very complimentary to me, Mr. Dimity,” she said, “‘ considering that we were fee all last year, and that you did me ihe honor to admire me—at least you said so.” “Oh, yes. Iknow younow. Itwas only my fun. How are you, and when did you come back?’ asked Jim, trying to brazen it out. “* Last night; but tell me who I am?” _ ‘‘ What nonsense! Old friends don’t want to joke like this. Excuse me a moment. I am scarcely fit to be seen after playing ball. I'll go and fix myself up, and come round to the ront,” Without allowing her to say anything more, he kissed the tips of his fingers to her and'vault- ed again over the fence. Tommy had been watching him through a hole in the woodwork. “You're a nice fellow! Where's the ball?” he said. “Oh! hang the ball! I’m not going to play any more,” replied Jim, “T see how it is,” retorted Tom, laughing. “Directly you saw Mercedita you couldn’t think of anything else.” ‘* Mercedita!” repeated Jim, to himself. “What a pretty name! So it appears, I am in love with Mercedita! Well, I have no objec- tion. ‘“ Where has she been?” he asked, aloud. “Why, don’t you know? What a fellow you are, Ever since you went on that tramp, you've lost your memory. You are always asking me the most stupid questions about places and peo- “T had a good many trials and privations, that time.” “So I should think! Well, Mercedita is old Mandragon’s-niece. I suppose you know that.” ““Ah! pshaw! What are you giving me? Tell me something I don’t know!” ‘Last year she went to visit some relations in Cuba, where she was born, and the boys always supposed that you and she were going to hitch teams some of these days.” Jim ran into the house, and brushing his hair, a on his most fascinating neck-tie; after which e visited Mr. Mandragon’s house. The servant refused him admittance. ‘*Mr. Mandragon, sir,” said the servant, ‘‘ has left orders that you are to be told that the fami- ly are not at home to you.” Jim bit his lips with vexation. In the hall he saw the young lady leaning on her uncle’s arm. ‘* Mercedita!” he exclaimed. She gave him a cold stare and passed into the drawing-room with her relative. Jim retired in disgust and felt very mean. ‘““ My dear child,” said Mr. Mandragon to her, ‘“my conduct may seem harsh, but I donot wish you to renew your former intimacy with that young man.” ““Your wishes are always law to me, uncle,” replied Mercedita. ‘He is bad, worthless and wicked. Only lately he perpetrated a forgery on his father.” “Indeed! What seemed strange to me was that he did not know me, There is something peculiar about him; he does not seem the same ick Dimity to me.” Mr. Mandragon started. “The same idea had occurred to me,” he said. “Tt is singular it should strike us both. There is a mystery somewhere, though it is useless to suggest it to Dimity; he scouts the idea.” “What do you think, uncle?” “My darling, I cannot give my thoughts words. We must leave it to time to unrayel what appears so strange and contradictory.” While this conversation took place between the lovely Mercedita and her uncle, Jim walked down to the hotel to visit his guide, philosopher and friend. To his surprise he met Eenas Belshazzar in the street. “his is an unexpected pleasure,” said he. “To me, also. am glad I have met you,” replied the Gypsy. here was that in his manner which showed that something of an unusual nature had oc- curred, for he was strangely agitated. * Anything gone wrong?” inquired Jim, his
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12 Island Jim. heart coming into his throat, as he feared that they were detected. “Yes; I must have those jewels at once.” -“*Can’t you wait till night, when the house is quiet and all are asleep?” asked Jim. “T cannot; the fact is I must cut and run as soon as possible,” replied Eenas. ‘‘ How long I shall be away I don’t know, but I will commu- nicate steadily with you, who must run the ma- chine by yourself during my absence.” “Leave me alone?” “Tt’s unavoidable. You are well planted now, and need not be afraid of anything.” “You have told me so much that you can afford to tell me a little more,” said Jim. ‘‘We ought to have no secrets from one another.” “Well, Pll trust you,” answered the Gypsy, while a neryous tremor ran through his body. “Ten years ago I was in Virginia City, Nevada, and had made a pile, speculating in stocks, which was easy enough in those days, if you were on the spot, and in with thering. There was a rich fellow there, a Spanish marquis, Manuel do Garcia. His wifo was very charm- ing, and I ran away with her.” * Ah, I begin to see!” exclaimed Jim. ‘““We went to Los Angeles, in Lower Cali- fornia, where he found us out. I fled; he killed his wife and took a solemn oath ati the old Mis- sion church there, that ho would never rest till he had slain me, and I havo always had an idea he would keep his word.” “ Well?” “Last night I met him in tho strect, and he recognized mo in the crowd. I slipped away, but [am uneasy. I dare not stay in the same city with El Senor Manuel de Garcia, for that man’s presence means death to me.” tg armed! What have you to be afraid of? The Gypsy shivered like a leaf. “T am not either morally or physically a cow- ard,” he rejoined, ‘‘ yet I lose my manhood when I think of Garcia. For ten years a blight has been on me. Nothing that I have touched has ‘ prospered with me, except this last venture of ours. I must go!” “ Whither?” asked Jim. “T know not. Anywhero out of his way. I think Pll try one of tho West India Islands for awhile. Now you see why [ must have money ab once.” Island Jim’s resolution was soon taken. ‘““ Wait for me at tho hotel,” ho ordered. ‘It is risky, but Pll do it for your sake.” They parted, and Jim returned to tho house, to learn from the servant that Mr. Dimity was lunching at Mr. Mandragon’s. He know that Mrs. Dimity’s jewels, valued at a very large sum, were locked in the drawer of a bureau in her husband’s sleeping apartment. There was no doubt about this, because Mr, Dimity had once, in a moment of confidence, shown them to him. ; Being an adept in picking locks, he provided himself with a piece of wire and ascended to the room, The servants were all below at dinner, and Fanny had gone to school. Pulling down the curtains of the windows he set to work, and in five minutes his practiced hand had succeeded in opening the drawer, CHAPTER VI. A GREAT SORROW, THERE were the jewels studded with precious stones spread out before him! ~ He clutched a handful of diamonds and put them in his pocket, and, being struck with the beauty of a tiara of emeralds and diamonds, ho held it up to the light to admire it. Suddenly the door opened and Mr. Dimity strode in, Hoe was caught in tho act! There was no escape, and any attempt at concealment would have been useless, “So!” cried Mr. Dimity, more in sorrow than in anger, ‘‘ you are a thief as well as a forger!” ‘T wanted money,” replied Jim, sullenly. “Do I not supply your wants in that respect liberally? What can a boy of your age want with such largo sums?” “T gamble, and the luck is alwaysagainst me. It’s no use talking tome. I’m bad and I know 7+ 77 “ Richard,” said Mr. Dimity, mildly, “do you not believe that our sins on earth are punished hereafter? You have a terrible futuro before you. If you bring my gray hairs with sorrow to the grave, I feel that I shall be able to hover near you for good.” ‘“ Wh-what do you mean?” asked Jim. *T shall be your guardian angel, and when- ever you are about to do anything wrong, I shall appear to you.” : At these words Jim burst into a laugh. - “You can’t frighten mo with any ghost stories,” he said. ‘I’m not that kind of a fel- low.” “‘ Will you repent and lead a new life?” urged Mr. Dimity. “No! WhatI am youmade me. If I hadn’t been spoilt as the pet of the family, I might have been better,” Mr. Dimity groaned in anguish of sprit. He had for some time reproached himself with this fact, and blamed his over-indulgence for all the boy’s shortcomings. “*T do not know what to do with you, he said, sadly. ‘‘ Close that drawer and go. Alter this, I must watch you, as if [had a thief in the house. It is horrible. “You are rich. When you dic I suppose Ill come into your money,” replied Jim. “ Why can’t you give me what I want while you are alive?” “Leave me!” ordered the wretched father. Slipping the tiara into his pocket, along with the jewels he had. taken, Jim quietly left his heart-broken parent. Mr. Dimity had neither the courage nor tho inclination to punish him himself, nor to hand him over to the police, who would have done it for him. He was essentially a weak man, and his way- ward son could do what he liked with him. Jim hastened to the hotel with his plunder, which waseagerly accepted by Belshazzar. ‘Ts this all?” he demanded, ‘All T could get,” replied Jim; ‘‘ the old fool came up and copped me right in the act.” “What did he say?” : * Said J should bring his gray hairs—precious
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+ island J. ini, 13 few he’s got of them—with sorrow to the grave, and._he swore he’d haunt me!” “Bosh |”? “Of course itis! Anyway, I sha’n’t go home for two or three days. Pl stay here and play billiards with some of the gang who are always on the lookout for a pool, Perhaps he'll be sweeter-tempered when I come back.” ““You can do as you like,” replied Belshazzar; “ only don’t throw away any chances on this game, Ishall be back after I have thrown Garcia off the scent.” ‘*Leave me to play my cards!” answered Jim with a confident air; ‘‘ I’m no slouch.” Belshazzar requested him to wait while he went out and turned the jewels into money, he being acquainted with a receiver of stolen goods, who would buy anything at a fair price and ask no questions. Island Jim amused himself by throwing dico and drinking wine for some time, but at length he rose with a yawn, threw away his half-smok- ed Pigarette and looked at his watch. tt % Jove!” he remarked, ‘* Ken is long-wind- ed! He's been gone two hours,” Slowly the time crept on, and the afternoon all et away, until the shades of evening fell. Still there was no sign of Belshazzar’s return. “T guess,” muttered Jim, ‘‘that the marquis has dropped on him and gobbled him up. Well, he’s no great loss.” Going down-stairs he ordered dinner, and strolled into the billiard-room, where he spent the evening, earning an honest dollar, as he phrased it, for he was skillful with the cue and always played for money. It was past eleven o'clock, when a servant of Mr. Dimity came into the room. “Can I speak to you, sir?” he inquired. eet Certainly. What is the matter?” demanded im “Your father, sir, ‘was taken with a fit, and he is dangerously ill. We have looked all over for you, and at last I thought you might be with Mr. Belshazzar.” Turning to his friends, Jim said: - “Excuse me, gentlemen; my father is taken sick suddenly—dangerous case.” He put on his hat, and after inquiring at the desk for Belshazzar, who had not been seen or heard of, he hurried to the Heights. The clock was striking midnight as he entered the house. The chill of death seemed to hang round everything, and a solemn stillness reigned. He went at once to his father’s room, and was met on the threshold by Mr. Mandragon. The young man’s face was flushed with wine, and his gait unsteady, but the awfulness of the surroundings sobered him. “Hush!” said Mandragon; “ this is the cham- ber of death.” The sobs of Fanny inside were distinctly au- dible without. “Ts the old man dead?” asked Jim. “Your father died an hour ago, ina fit of apoplexy, while you, I am sorry to say, were rioting with your boon companions,” ‘How much did he die worth?” “Silence! Twill not tolerate such levity at such a time!” replied Mr, Mandragon, ‘‘ Hither quit the house or behave becomingly. I will not ask you to behave like a gentleman, for that is impossible,” ‘Don’t insult me!” cried Jim, ‘‘Stand cn one side; I want to see the old fellow!” Mr. Mandragon allowed him to enter. Two candles were burning dimly on the man- tle-piece. Fanny was kneeling before an arm- chair, and with her face buried in her hands, was weeping bitterly. On the bed, the hands folded over the breast was the inanimate form of Mr. Dimity, placid in death. Jim took one look at the corpse, and walked to Fanny. All that there was of his better nature seemed to be roused into activity by the solemn sight, ‘““Come,'sis!” he exclaimed; ‘‘ this is no place for you. Dowtery. Vl take eare of you.” She suffered him to raise her and lead her away. “Oh, Dick!” she said, in a choked voice, ‘‘we are orphans; we are all alone in the world now, and I have no one but you. Do try to be good, for my sake!” He promised he would, and conducted her to ie room, where he kissed her again and left 10er, The next day the friends of the deceased called in large numbers, and on the second the funeral took place, the coffin remaining all the while in the bedroom, under the constant watchfulness of Mr, Mandragon, who was untiring in his ex- ertions. After the funeral, which was largely attend- ed, the relatives of the deceased assembled in the dining-room of the mansion on the Heights to hear the will read. Mr. Mandragon was made sole executor, and in the presence of the family lawyer, who drew up the document, he read it, Jim was much more interested in this cere- mony than he had been in the funeral, which rather bored him. The will was very brief. Mr. Dimity died possessed of fifty thousand dollars and the house he lived in—that was all; and it was a great surprise to everybody, for he had been thought enormously rich. “T leave and bequeath,” the will ran, ‘‘ one- half my fortune to my daughter Fanny, to be held in trust for her till she is of age, by Mr. Mandragon, and I give her one-half share in my house. To my son Richard I bequeath the other half-share in my house and the remainder of my personal property, amounting to twenty-five thousand dollars, which he is to have control of at my death, and I further bequeath to my said son Richard, a rope to hang himself with, if he should ever come to the conclusion that he is better out of the world than in it—the said rope to be found in the summer-arbor at the end of my garden, where I have arranged it for his use.” This was all; there were no legacies to ser- vants or relations, and the dissatisfaction at the strange will was general. _ Island Jim was very indignant at the clause in the will about the rope. “What does the old fool take me for?” he de-
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14 Island Jini = aaa manded. *‘‘I’m not likely to hang myself—not much!” * Richard!” exclaimed Fanny, ‘‘ for pity’s sake say nothing against the dead. Reniember he is your father and mine, and think how mnuich cause for anger you gave him,” ‘Well, Fanny,” he replied, ‘tI won't kick any more. IT’ll take my money and live in the house with you until it’s gone, and then I suppose you'll turn me out or tell me to go and look for the rope.” “Don’t spend it recklessly.” ‘“ What's the use of money, if you can’t spend it?” replied Jim, with a careless laugh. He turned on his heel and was about quit- ting the room when Mr. Mandragon stopped him. “ Recollect, Richard,” he said, ‘‘ that you have a friend in me whenever you want one.” “That’s news!” laughed Jim. “Since your father’s death, you have no one to fall back upon. Come and see me. Some- times young men find the evenings hang heavily on their hands. I shall always be at home to vo now, So long as you conduct yourself prop- erly. Jim was so astonished that he was foreed into politeness, and said: “ Thank you, sir!” He determined to avail himself of this invita- tion, if it was only for the sake of seeing the peerless Mercedita once more. She had made a deep impression on his heart, and he could not shake it off. Now the will was read, he strolled down-town and inquired again for Belshazzar. Strange to say, he had not been to the hotel. His valise was on the chair, packed, as he had left it. Jim felt certain that what the Gypsy had dreaded, had_ actually come to pase and that the Marquis Garcia had fulfilled his threat and accomplished his vengeance, He gave Hen Bel- shazzar up for lost. : Returning home he met a young man of good family named Montague Chauncey, walking with Tommy Bennet. “How do, Monty?” he exclaimed, in an easy manner, ‘Why don’t you come and see a fel- low?” “Oh! I don't know. I suppose a chap has to fight shy of you, now you have come into your fortune,” replied Chauncey. ‘Not much of a fortune, after all. I thought the old man would cut up for more than he ‘* So did every one.” “Come and play a little draw to-night,” said im. ‘So soon after the funeral?” F ‘Oh! pshaw! What does that matter? Til have everything fixed comfortable, in a private room, if you like to call around at eight.” “Tm agreeable,” answered. Chauncey. “Bring some stamps with you, Monty. I mean business.” ‘“ All right! Depend on me!” was the map ly: Chauncey pleaded an engagement and _ left Tommy Bennet with Jim, who thought that he could make use of him. “Say, Tommy!” he exclaimed; ‘‘ do you want to make a stake?” “Of course Ido! Ain't Las poor asa church mouse?” demanded Tommy: “Very well. It is us easy as eating pie. I’m going to play Monty for money this evening, and [ want you to chip in.” ‘* But, I’m dead broke!” “No matter; I'll stake you, and all I ask is that you will give me two-thirds of your win- nings, that is, if you do win. Will you do it?” ‘Will a duck swim? Count on me.” Jim left Tommy, perfectly satisfied with the arrangement. He knew how to “stock” the cards, and intended to deal Tommy winning hands every time he had a chance. That evening he and Fanny dined together, alone. There were the same good things on the table, the same furniture, servants and all the accesso- ries of a well-kept household, but Mr. Dimity was missing, and it made the poor little girl re- alize the loneliness of her position. * Are you parse to stay home to-night, dear?” she asked, affectionately. “Yes,” answered Jim. ‘I have a couple of friends coming to spend an hour or two with me, “T am going over to Mr. Mandragon’s,” an- nounced Fanny; ‘‘ will you come and fetch me home about eleven o’clock?” “With pleasure!” Fanny impulsively sprung up and threw her arms round his neck, “Oh! you dear, kind thing!” she cried; ‘TI shall love you so, if you are only good to me.” “Am T not always good?” “No,” replied the little maiden; ‘* you are gen- erally very bad; but you are my brother, and I forgive you. Please try and love me.” Jim made a gesture of impatience. “Don’t bother!” he said. ‘Girls are such fools; they never understand boys. Ill come and bring you home, Isn’t that enough for you? Fanny felt inclined to ery, but she restrained the inclination and left him to himself. Half an hour later he met her in the hall, dressed in a dainty seal-skin sacque, and looking very pretty and very demure. ‘*Good-by, sissy,” he exclaimed; “ give my love to Mercedita.” “T won’t do anything of the sort, sir,” she re- plied, pouting. ‘ Mercedita, is much too good for your love!” ‘“* Ts she?” sneered Jim. about me?” “She does not like you. It takes me all my time to fight your battles.” “Go and hang yourself!” said Jim, rudely, as he went into the room which had been Mr. Dim- ity’s study, and angrily banged the door. Lighting a cigarette, he took up a book and opened it; but with a cry of disgust he threw it down. It was the Bible! His visitors were soon afterward announced, and the three sat down to play cards, the even- nai the day of his supposed father’s funeral. Ithough Montague Chauncey wasa little fast, he was somewhat shocked at the depravity dis- “What does she say played by Jim. ‘‘Upon my honor, old fellow,” he exclaimed ‘““Yowre a hard case. I thought I was bad
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Island Jim. i5 enough, but Pll be hanged if I could handle the papers the same day my dad was put under ground,” ‘Ts this my house or yours?’ demanded Jim. “Yours, certainly!” “Who's running it?” “You are,” answered Montague Chauncey. “And you are my guest—here for a specific purpose, which is to play at cards, If you have any remarks to make, and feel them a burden on por conscience, you will greatly oblige me by keeping them to yourself. Don’t get mad. hat will you have to drink?” “‘Oh!—some of the old stuff!” replied Chaun- cey. “Tommy, just touch the bell—agitate the communicator — make yourself useful, won’t you?” continued Jim. With alacrity Tommy did as he quested. Jim began to shuffle the cards, and without looking et as the waiter entered, ejaculated: ‘ime | was re- “Yes, sir,” replied the servant. There was something in the tone of the man’s voice which made Jim look up, but when he did, the servant was gone. “Cut for deal!” he ordered. ‘ Ace, high. Stake it—ante up, Monty! It’s your first show.” The cards were dealt and they began to play. By sleight of hand Jim had given Tommy a good hand, and he won. At this moment the servant entered with the wine, opened the champagne and handed a glass to Jim. As he took it Jim looked up. His eyes for an instant were riveted upon the face of the servant. Then, uttering a loud cry, he fell senseless on the floor. CHAPTER VII. THE .MARQUIS. Wuen Jim came to himself, his two friends were standing round him. The window was open to allow of a free current of air passing through, and his face was wet with water, which had been thrown upon it to revive him. ‘** Are you better?” asked Chauncey. “ What ails you?” inquired Tommy. Jim looked wildly around him, as if terrified. ‘“'Where is he?” he demanded, “ Who?” “He said he’d haunt me!” “*Do what?” “He said he’d be my guardian angel and come to me whenever I was doing anything bugs “Whom do you mean?” Jim raised himself up on his elbow and stared curiously around the room. “Ts he gone?” he queried. “Good lands! whom do you mean?” cried Chauncey. “Didn’t you see him?’ demanded Jim, in a horrified whisper. “You're a little off, I think,” answered Chaun- cey. ‘Perhaps you have been drinking, and have got the Beooklyi boys; bad crowd, Steer clear of them, old fellow!” “*T mean rather—Mr. Dimity, you know. He handed me that glass of wine!” “Oh, that’s your monomania, is it?’ exclaim- ed Chauncey. ‘‘ Well, I didn’t notice him, did you, Tommy?” ‘Didn't look at him particularly,” replied Tommy Bennet. Jim rose and sat on the sofa, holding his burn- ing brow in his hands. “ Perhaps I’m a little nervous and excited to- night,” he said; ‘ will you excuse me if I don’t play any more to-night? 4 “Why, certainly!” s Awiully sorry to spoil your evening’s amusement, but I really am not well enough to go on with the game.” “Don’t say a word!” exclaimed Chauncey, ‘Tl look round in the morning to see how you are. Anything I can do for you now?” “Nothing. I’m much obliged,” replied Jim, in a faint voice. Chauncey and Tommy shook his hand and took their leave. For half an hour Jim did not move. At length he recovered himself sufficiently to ring the bell, and when the servant came, he re- cognized the old familiar face of John, who had been in the family for years. ‘“ Who brought up the wine?” he asked. “T did, sir; and you had a fit, broke the glass, and fell down like dead,” replied the man. “You can go.” Left alone again, Jim muttered: “Tt must have been a mistake, My imagina- tion is excited by what the old fool said before he died, and I have made a confounded ass of myself; that’s all there is into it.” As Chauncey and Tommy Bennet walked home, the former said: “He's got a good deal on his mind, that fel- low. One may say he was the death of his mother and father, if all I hear is true.” “Yes,” replied Tommy; ‘this mother died when he and I ran away, and I was told he had some trouble with his father about taking money that didn’t belong to him.” “ He’s rather bad for me,” continued Chaun- cey, ‘and I think I'll have to cuthim. Itwasn’t the right thing to play cards just after his father’s funeral.” “T guess not. I wouldn’t have done it,” an- swered Tommy. ‘ He’s a bad lot!” From these remarks it will be seen that Jim was already losing caste among his friends and associates. The clock struck nine and Jim remembered the promise he had made to Fanny, and re- solved to start at once to bring her home. Very lonely and ghostly seemed the house now. He missed the kind-hearted old gentle- man upon whom he had imposed himself as a son. “Tm a worthless fellow, anyhow,” he said to himselt, ‘‘and I sometimes wish I was on the tramp again; but Pll have to go through with the fraud, I suppose, now that I have gone so far.” He heaved a deep sigh and his heart was like a lump of lead in his breast. It was only a short walk to Mr. Mandragon’s, and when he rung the bell he heard the piano discoursing the pleasant music which Mercedita, knew so well how to compel from it, ‘ #
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16 Island Jim. He was ushered in, this time, without a word. and entered the parlor, where he saw Mr. an Mandragon, Fanny, Mercedita at the iano, with a tall, handsome, middle-aged gen- Hesiatt of a Spanish aspect, turning over the leaves of her music for her. The music ceased as he entered and Mercedita said, kindly: “ Good-evening, Mr, Dimity! Allow me to introduce you to the Marquis Manuel de Garcia, an old and dear acquaintance of mine in Cuba.” Jim was completely dumfounded at this in- troduction and had scarcely nerve enough to bow and mutter a few words of recognition. But he recovered himself in a very brief space and instantly a feeling of antagonism sprung up between him and the marquis. He felt instinctively that the man had assas- sinated his friend Eenas Belshazzar, or why had not the Gypsy returned to the hotel? The rach of the marquis—the be-ringed and delicately-gloved hand, so small and well-bred wasred with the blood of his own wife and that of her betrayer! “T have heard a great deal of Spanish mar- quises,” he said, almost rudely. The marquis colored up to the eyes under his swarthy skin. “Sir,” he exclaimed, ‘‘ what am I to under- stand by that remark?” * Anything you like,” answered Jim. ‘‘T am ina friend’s house or I would talk to you very differently, for I assure you that I am not in the habit of being bearded by an insolent boy.” u An insolent boy is no worse than a Spanish assassin!” retorted Jim. At this speech the marquis became livid; Mercedita clasped her hands and Mr. Mandragon rose angrily to his feet. -“Teave this house, sir!” said he, presenting ie with his hat which he had placed on a side table. “Oh! shoot the hat!” replied Jim. ““There is your coat also.” “Stab the coat!” answered Jim, who had all the time been under the restraint of civilization, but who now began to feel some of his former rowdyism returning. |‘ My business is with this gentleman, and when I have given him an ex- planation’ I am perfectly willing to leave.” “T don’t wish any scene in my house,” ex- claimed Mr. Mandragon. ‘* You shall have none, as far as I am conecern- ed, but I am not going to be called an insolent boy without hitting back. Please let me talk to this gentleman.” “T am willing,” returned the marquis, who was still deadly pale. ; ‘Come into a corner of the room,” said Jim. The marquis followed him passively. “Now, sir,” exclaimed the latter. ‘““Were youever in Virginia City, Nevada?” asked Jim, in a low tone, so as not to be heard by the others in the room. ‘* Yes!” was the sibilant reply. ‘Did your wife leave you there?” “She did.” The deathly pallor of the marquis increased, and he bit his neither lip severely, “Did you follow her to Los Angeles, in Lower California, and there shoot her like a dog?” “Santa Maria!” cried the Spaniard; “who are you?” “ Never mind that! Tell me what you have done with Henas Belshazzar |” The marquis leant against a chair for support and his face quivered, but he made no answer. “Marquis Manuel de Garcia,” said Jim, ‘‘I know you. Beware how you insult me again.” The marquis extended his hand. “* Let it be peace between us,” he exclaimed. “How you gained your information I know not, but I will be your friend rather than your enemy.” “I scorn your friendship!” replied Jim. “ Keep away from this house, That is all I ask of you.” “Why?” “You want Mercedita; so do I; and, recol- lect one thing—I will fight for her!” A cold, sardonic smile stole over the face of the marquis. ‘* We shall see!” he remarked. ‘‘ But, come; this scene has lasted long enough. I will make all things right,” and he cast one look of deadly hatred upon Jim. ‘* Stop!” said Jim; “you have not answered my question!” “What was that?” “ Where is Belshazzar ?” ‘*He’s where he will never trouble any one again,” answered the marquis, in a stony voice. ‘“Wretch! You have killed him!” ‘“‘ T exercise my right, when I fulfill my oath.” As he said this, the marquis walked into the middle of the room, where Mr. Mandragon was Pees. awaiting the result of the confabu- ation. In the most polished manner, bowing and smiling to the ladies, hesaid: ‘‘ My young friend and I have settled our little dispute in an ami- cable manner. I am entirely satisfied. Signora Mercedita, will it be asking too much, and tres- pers too largely on your kind condescension ask you to favor me once more with some of your charming music?” Mercedita sat down at the piano, but this time it was Jim who turned over the music, the mar- uis sitting on the sofa, conversing with Mr, andragon, \ CHAPTER VIII, HAUNTED, THE crenine spared without any further in- terruption, and Jim made himself agreeable both by his manner and conversation. Then Fanny intimated a wish to go home, and they took their leave. At the door of their own home he left her. ss “yi not go out again to-night, dear!” she urged. ‘I must. The fact is I can’t be stuck in the house all the time like a girl,” answered Jim, “Tt is late, and all respectable people are home,” Fanny continued. ‘t What can you do at this hour?” ““Gamble!” replied Jim. With a sigh she closed the door and Jim walk~ ed down the street.
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Island Jin. He had not gone far before he met the Marquis Manuel de Garcia, face to face. “This is alucky meeting!” exclaimed Jim, ‘‘I can now force you to tell me what you refused to communicate at Mr. Mandragon’s.” The marquis drew himself up proudly, and all the blue blood of Spain which flowed in hisveins rushed into his face. “ Madre de Dios ! young man,” he said. ‘‘ You by, my patience.” ‘Pshaw! I ask you—what has become of Bel- shazzar 2” “ And I emphatically refuse to tell you!” Jim had not forgotten his old habit of carrying a knife, which he did in the California fashion, down the back of his neck. With the rapidity of cerns he drew it, and seizing the Spaniard by the threat, before he could divine his purpose, he cried—‘‘ Speak!” “Miserable coward!” hissed the marquis. “Speak!” reiterated Jim, ‘‘or youdie. Is he alive?” Driven toan extremity of terror the marquis spoke: “He is!” he muttered! adding—‘‘ take your hand from my throat; you are strangling me! ““Good for you—where is the Gypsy ?” Garcia was about to reply when a policeman who had come up silently, seized Jim by the arm, and forced him to release his victim. “You are my prisoner!” he exclaimed, dash- ing the knife to the ground. Jim did not attempt to make any resistance, and the marquis being free, hastened off in the darkness. It was a deep mortification to Jim to be arrested at the very moment when some light was going to be thrown upon the fate of Bel- shazzar. He still lived; the marquis had admitted that, and in that admission there was a gleam of hope. ‘What are you going to do with me?” asked Jim, uneasily. They had walked under a gas-lamp, and the popecnen, without answering, pues up his at, SO.as to let the light play on his face. Jim looked up, expecting an answer, and he saw the face which was bending down to his. In it he saw Mr. Dimity’s features! sadly stern, pale, but yet so lifelike! “ Father!” he cried. Still the softly expressive eye looked into his, and a mortal terror came over him. Sinking on his knees, he covered his face with his hands to shut out what he took to be a spec- ter. Shortly afterward, so great was his horror at this apparition that his senses left him. When he came to himself he was lying on his own stoop, cold and numb. ' Shudderingly he entered the house with the a Ee and went to his bedroom. the morning he was feverish and ill; his appetite had left him, and he was obliged to send for a doctor. The medical man he called in was one of the most famous in New York city, and a man of sound ideas, combined with great skill and plain common sense, i? Jim was pale and haggard; he smoked a cigarette, and sipped some weak whisky and seltzer. “Well, young gentleman, what can I do for you?” inquired the doctor. “Do you believe in ghosts, doctor?” Jim asked. “Under no circumstances!” “Well, I am haunted,” replied Jim, and he proceeded to tell him, first of Mr. Dimity’s threat before he died, and the two apparitions which had subsequently alarmed him. “Throw that cigarette away, and allow me to empty this glass into the grate—so!” exclaim- ed the doctor, suiting the action to the word. ‘““We must have no stimulants; the nervous system is out of order. This is, in my opinion, a case of imagination. All I can do is to advise change of air and scene.” ‘Ts there no cure for it?” “T do not say that. A celebrated lawyer came to me, some years ago, and complained that in court and out of court he could not help continually turning his head, because he fancied there was a raven perched on his left shoulder. I forbade all stimulants, advised cessation from work, and travel. Now the hallucination has vanished.” Jim handed the doctor his fee and lapsed into the deepest melancholy, from which the inno- cent prattle of Fanny could not arouse him. He was convinced that he was haunted, and the terror of the thing froze his very soul. CHAPTER IX. SAM SADRAKE.” Waite Island Jim was in this state of melan- choly, bordering on despair, a servant entered with a card. Looking at it, Jim, read: ““*Sam Sadrake, Newark avenue.’ Who is he?” inquired Jim. “Don’t you remember Mr. Sadrake, sir?” replied the servant. “ You and he were quite thick before he went to the city to study medi- cine. “Oh, yes! My old friend, Sam Sadrake! Of course; show himin! I’m a little confused to- day,” answered Jim. sently a fine-looking young fellow, about eighteen, dressed in the hight of fashion, entered the room. “Why, Dick, old man!” he exclaimed. “It seems an age since you and I robbed an orchard or a hen-roost together, How you vas, Schneider?” “Glad to see you, Sam!” replied Jim, with the nerve of a veteran actor. ‘I’m feeling bad to-day. Heard of my loss, I suppose?” oe You: allow me to congratulate you—I mean accept condolences and all that sort of thing proper on the doleful occasion,” said Sam Sad- rake. “Thanks. What are you doing now?” ‘* Working like a brick! Joined the School of Anatomy at the hospital over here. I’m a first- class sawbones already, and can prescribe any drug in the pharmacopceia. Come out with me. Tl introduce you to some of the boys, We're going on a tip-top racket to-night!” i at’s that?” s
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i8 Island Jizi. ——s “You see, the whole crowd is dead broke. Never saw such a bu’sted crowd in my life; books all up the spout, jewelry gone, and no hang-up atthe beer-saloon; hard-hearted pari- ents won’t respond to heart-broken appeals.” Here he raised his handkerchief to his eyes and wiped away an imaginary tear. “Well?” “We must have a subject. The keeper of the Morgue won’t give us one unless the order is‘C. O. D.2 We owe him for three, already, and to-night we are going to the cemetery after a stiff.” “Resurrectionists, eh?” “Precisely,” replied Sam Sadrake. “Tl go with you, just for the fun of the thing. Pwant something to wake me up, but if you really want money, I have come into my fortune, such as it is.” “Don’t growl; you're well fixed. I heard all about it. Wish I was half as well off.” “ Anyway, my purse is at your disposal,” con- eluded Jim. “Never talk like that again, please,” said Sad- rake, in a toneofannoyance. ‘‘I didn’t come to you begging. If our crowd is hard up, I hope we are gentlemen.” “Don’t get mad. I didn’t mean that. You are so touchy that you jump down a fellow’s throat before he has time to explain himself.” Sam Sadrake accepted the apology, and they started together for the purpose vf meeting Sam’s friends. “Tm going to take you to Takemoff’s,” ex- plained Sam. ‘He’s just passed, and has started on his own hook. Doesn’t do much yet; lives in hopesand oncredit. Wise fellow. el pool in for beer and tobacco. I can answer for us. Willsend out to the restaurant for dinner; at dark we will start for the bone-yard.” ' “ Leave the restaurant alone for to-day,” said im. “Oh! Jt will stand it! Weare good there till the end of the week by a private arrangement with the proprietor.” ‘‘Come and dine with me, Tl order dinner : for six, at Taylor’s. Don’tsayno. Linsist upon it Sadrake made no objection, and Jim stopped at the hotel on his way to order a sumptuous re- past, including all the delicacies of the season, regardless of cost. *You’re a trump!” said Sam Sadrake, enthu- siastically. “T always like to treat my friends well,” re- plied Jim. In time they reached a house, which had a * sign on the door: “Doctor Takemoff. Office hours 10 to 12 and 3 to 6. Leave orders on the slate.” He was ushered into a room on the first floor, which was the young doctor’s office. It was garnished with medical books, surgical instru- ments, which had a decidedly depressing effect on the visitor, and a few relics of mortality in the shape of bones and skulls. In an adjoining room, separated from the office by folding doors, was heard a confused noise, as of many voices. “Mor Heaven's sake, hush up!” said some one; - ‘didn’t you hear the bell ring? I’ve got a pa- tient!” At this declaration the laughter increased to a roar. ‘‘Make your mind easy, on that. score,” added another. ‘‘ That’s an impossibility!” “Have the decency to Balieva yourself while T goand see. I am in the melancholy position of a promising young man,” “Very promising! When did you promise to pay your landlady?” Le r. Takemoff held up his hands in depreca- on. “Gentlemen,” he said, ‘‘ no personal remarks. I beg. Allow me to secure this patient and I will promise to kill him in a month.” This ludicrous scene was cut short by Sam Sadrake, who threw open the folding doors. “Behold your patient!” he exclaimed, ‘‘and let me introduce to your favorable notice, Mr. Dick Dimity, who has just come intoa fortune at the death of his father, whom he cruelly poison- ed with arsenic, and has, as an expiation of his sin, invited us all to dine at Taylor’s Hotel, at six this evening.” The half-dozen young men present began to pound the table with empty glasses, stamp their feet on the floor, and by imitating cats and roosters, endeavored to convey to Jim an idea of their appreciation of him. “Gentlemen,” continued Sadrake, ‘‘ pray si- lence! Do you wish to convey to Mr. Dimity the idea that dining is such an unwonted occur- rence in your daily lives, that you cannot re- strain yourselves at my announcement?” Sadrake would have continued, but he was hit in the mouth by an _ old shoe; he successfully dodged a thigh bone, but eventually succumbed to a syringe which broke upon his ear. Order being restored, Jim produced a five dol- lar bill, which each member of the party got up to look at. It was regarded as a rare curiosity, and he was eee if General Cesnola dug it up in Cy- prus A portion of it, however, was soon resolved into cigars and beer, which increased the hilari- ty of the party. The conversation was strictly of a ‘‘shoppy” kind, every one talking hospital or medi- cine. “T had a lovely compound fracture of the tibia, to-day,” said one; ‘‘ most beautiful thing Lever saw!” ‘ Bot it couldn’t beat my cancer,” exclaimed another. ‘I’m old Cutter’s dresser, you know. and when we got it out, it weighed a pound and a quarter; the woman fainted and we were half an hour bringing her to.” “Ah, pshaw!” remarked a Janguid youth; ‘“what’s that to my morphine suicide? I was up all night withher. Terrible time. No good, though; died at seven this morning. No one claims the body, Cut her up, to-morrow. Pret- ty girl; very!’ ‘By Jinks!” said a very beery-looking young man, ‘‘ you ought to have seen my fatal accident! Fellow fell from a third story window; smashed. all to pieces; put him together again, though, and I guess he'll live three days.” “Gentlemen!” said Dr, Takemoff, “if you’
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Island Jim, i9 will allow me, I will tell you about my mysteri- ous case.” Cries of, ‘‘ You never had one!” ‘‘ Go “long!” “What are you giving us?” ‘ We don’t want a taffy!” ‘* You can’t play it on us,” ete. r. Takemoff put his hand on his heart and smiled, blandly. “T assure you, gentlemen, that I have a most remarkable case on hand, and while we drink the beer, for which we are indebted to the gene- rosity of our new acquaintance—let me call him ‘friend’—I should like to give you a clinic about it.” No opposition being made he continued, after a brief pause: “You are all aware that I have for three years made galvanism my principal study, and what little reputation I have gained is entirely due tc the success I have met with in that branch of research. A little while ago I cured a case of paralysis of the brain, and now I have a youth under my care whose memory is entire- ly gone.” “ Congenital?” asked Sam Sadrake. “By nomeans. Near Elizabeth lives a far- mer named Herschell, who, some months back, found this boy in a dried-up well, with a frac- tured skull. It was evidently an attempt at murder. The boy is now perfectly well and healthy, but his memory of all that had occur- red to him before the fracture is gone.” ‘Don’t recollect anything?” ‘Nothing at all. He can’t say who he is, or where he came from. Outside of that he is per- fectly rational. He’s bright, sensible, intelli- gent, and works on the farm. He reads and talks like any one else, but his mind islike a slate that has been wiped with a sponge. Mr. Her- schell has called me in. I have examined the case, and find it as stated. To-morrow I begin she fp Bim treatment.” im listened to this explanation of the re- markable case with something akin to awe. It occurred to him that the boy, whose memo- ry of the past was gone, could be no other than Dick Dimity. If so, the meshes of a strong net were gradually closing around him. A cold sweat broke out all over his body; his spine became icy cold, and a chilling damp burst from his forehead. “Do you think you will be successful in your treatment?” he asked. “Tt is impossible to say,” replied Doctor Takemoff, who looked curiously at Jim, adding: ‘‘ By the way, it is somewhat curious that this new cap ah of mine is very like you.” “ Like me?” “Yes indeed! You might be taken for twin brothers.” This exclamation redoubled Jim’s anxiety and horror. Already the gloomy doors of a prison seemed to yawn for him, and he saw himself condemned to the laborious seclusion of a jail. Fervently he hoped that galvanism might be unable to effect a cure, for so long as Dick Dimity remained in his present state he was not dangerous. A long discussion about galvanism ensued, in which every one had something to say. “Tf I only had something to go upon,” re- marked Takemoff; ‘‘ if I could touch some sym- pathetic chord, I should be sanguine of success— a picture of some relation—a familiar name, shown or uttered when I administer the shock, would help me greatly.” Soon afterward an adjournment to the hotel for dinner was made, and an elegant repast was done ample justice to by the students. It was nearly ten o’clock when they quitted the dining-room and made their way on foot to the cerhotane where a man whom they em- ployed in these af ge had preceded them with a wagon, which he drew up under the sha- dow of a wall. It was a wild night. The rain fell at inter- vals, and the wind blew in fitful gusts; dark clouds obscured the surface of the moon, which appeared only at intervals. better might could not have been chosen for the accomplishment of the revolting task these youthful resurrectionists had set themselves, as they argued, in the interests of science. Reaching the spot where the man was wait- ing, Sam Sadrake spoke a few words in a low tone. Armed with a couple of spades, Takemoff and the man led the way over the wall, the others following. The man had been in the cemetery during the day and had selected a grave to which he led the ghouls. It was a newly-made grave, for the earth was ia freshly piled up in a mound-like form on the top. The ground was soft, and presented little dif- ficulty to the diggers, who worked with a will, till they were tired, when two others took their place. By this system of relays the grave was rapidly emptied of the earth. Tt fell to Jim’s lot to work in the last shift, and he plied his shovel vigorously, until he struck something hard. “Coffin!” he eried. “Hurrah, boys!” said Sam Sadrake; “ get the ropes ready!” A few minutes more and the ropes were placed under the coffin, which was hauled out and placed on the ground. A couple of chisels were at once inserted near the lock of the casket, which was of elegant make. “We've got some swell here!” said Sam Sadrake; ‘ this is no poor man’s coffin.” ‘““What’s the odds?” replied Dr. Takemoff. #' on won't cut up any the worse for being rich. Suddenly the wrack which was driving across tee i lifted, and the pale moon shone out in all er glory. Jim at his eyes accidentally on the lid of the coffin, and the inscription on the silver plate was distinctly visible. He uttered a ery of alarm, mingled with hor- ror, The inscription on the plate was as follows: ‘RICHARD Diwiry; BORN 1836; pimp 1873,” The doctor also saw it and was equally shock- ed. “Great heaven!” he exclaimed. “This is awkward! By Jove, never saw such a thing in
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26 Island Jini. my life! The man’s dug up his own father! Put it back again, boy!’ We'll try our luck an- other time.” It was true; by a strange irony of fate, Jim had assisted in unearthing the casket which con- tained the remains of the man he called his fa- ther! Just as the doctor spoke, Sam Sadrake suc- eeeded in foreing up the lid, which flew back with a jerk. Jim turned away his face, expecting as he did, to see tho pallid features of the dead man who had been so kind to him. Hardened though he was, he could not bear to look upon the ghastly remains of his benefactor. He was startled by a loud ery of amazement, which broke from all the students at once. Turning again, he was compelled by a strange species of fascination, to peer into the casket. The cause of the exclamation was apparent— the coffin was empty! Nothing reposed in the satin-lined receptacle of the dead, not even a cerement or a shroud was to be seen. “Tn with it, boys! Somebody has been here before us!” exclaimed the doctor. There was something about thissoremarkable * that Jim could not fathom it, though his disgust was lessened when he found the casket contained nothing. The most plausible theory, certainly, was that some grave-robbers had been there before them, though of that there was no evidence. With the utmost rapidity the coffin was once more lowered into the grave and the earth shov- eled over it. Scarcely was the operation completed when a man’s form was seen coming up the path. “The watchman!” whispered Sam Sadrake, es ema his spade. ‘‘ Run, boys! Step lively!” Hvery one took to this heels, except Jim, who started, but fell over the rope which had been used in raising the coffin. Ere he could rise a strong hand was placed on his shoulder. “Let me go!” he said, ‘‘ or it will be the worse for you!” 3 6 drew a pistol, with which he intended to shoot the watchman, if he did not loosen his hold. It would have been utter ruination to him, if it got about that he had been caught in the act of desecrating his father’s last resting-place. “ By heaven I'll fire if you hinder me!” he cried. He looked up to get a good shot at the watch- man, when he beheld Mr. Dimity bending over him, There was no mistaking that severely calm, sad face, whose eyes seemed to burn into him, like coals of fire. It was too much, to be confronted by his sup- ae father, at such a time and in such a place. ith a sharp cry of agony, such as only those mentally afflicted can utter in their hopeless de- nl he fell upon the ground and his senses left : ; m. There could be no doubt now, that he was haunted by a phantom father! Three times had he seen the dread apparition, and no doctor could make him believe that he was the victim of a hallucination, CHAPTER X. EENAS IN THE TOILS. Wr must now return to the crafty Eenas Bel- shazzar, whom we have not seen since he went to convert the stolen diamonds into money, The receiver with whom he was in the habit of doing business lived in a small, obscure street aoe the river, where he ostensibly kept a junk- shop. It was well known to thieves that they could dispose of any kind of plunder to this man, who was in partnership with a brother in Amsterdam and promptly shipped all goods to Holland, so that they could not be traced by the police of New York. Belshazzar did not notice that he was closely followed by two men, who shadowed him from the time he left the hotel. Had he known that his footsteps were dogged he wouldn’t have tripped along so blithely, whistling as he went for want of thought. He reached the junk-store, disposed of the diamonds for one-third of their value, received the money and was on his return when he was seized on either side by the two men who had been watching him, “One word and youare a dead man!” said one.” : “Struggle!” exclaimed the other, ‘‘and Til stab you to the heart!” Eenas was a terrible coward, and after this intimation he did not dare to offer any resist- ance, The outrage occurred in broad daylight, and several people were moving up and down the street. A policeman hove in sight and the Gypsy’s spirits revived. “ Help!” he cried. “What are you doing with this man?’ asked the officer, ‘* He’s a deserter from our yacht, the Firefly,” was the reply, ‘Sand as we found him drunk in a saloon we're bringing him back,” “Ts a lie!” said Eenas; ‘I don’t know them!” : ““Take him along!” exclaimed the policeman, who did not see the necessity for interfering. The Gypsy was about to speak again, when one of his captors gave him a brutal kick with his knee in the small of his back which took his breath away, and quite incapacitated him from further talking. At the end of the street was the Hudson river and a boat was moored to the dock. Into this Eenas was unceremoniously bundled, one man keeping guard over him, by placing his foot on his breast, as he lay at the bottom of the boat, while the other rowed. They had some distance to go, for they crossed the bay and made for Staten Island, off which several yachts were riding at anchor. One, named the Firefly, belonged to the Mar- quis Garcia, and it was by his orders that the GYPSY had been kidnapped and brought down he bay. . At the time of the captive’s arrival, the mar- quis, who had been lunching at the club-house, was on board and the prisoner was at once brought before him in the cabin. No sooner did Belshazzar see that he was ac-,
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a Island Jim. 21 tually in the power of the man he had wronged so deeply than his limbs trembled so violently that they threatened to give way under him. ““So we meet again, my fine fellow!” cried the marquis. ‘‘I always believed we should, and I am prepared to keep my oath.” Eenas mustered up courage enough to speak. “What good will it do you to take my life? The law will avenge me!” he exclaimed. ‘You robbed me of all that I cared for in this world—my wife. 1 will take from you all that you care for—your life,” was the stern and uncompromising rejoinder. The marquis was the judge—the sumptuously- furnished cabin, the court—Eenas, the prisoner —the two sailors, the police—it only remained to send for the executioner. The marquis touched a silver bell, whose tink- ling had scarce died away, when a tall Spaniard entered. “ Quevada,” exclaimed the marquis, ‘‘ did you rig up that scaffolding in the hold?” ‘Yes,” replied Quevada, who was the captain of the yacht and a man thoroughly devoted to his employer’s interests, as were all the crew. “Tt is raised a few feet above the bilge-water. I have a chain and a padlock.” ““Confine this man there, without food or drink. To-morrow morning up anchor and set sail. When you are a safe distance outside Sandy Hook, string him up to the yard-arm; hang him as you would a dog, and after tying a hundred weight of iron to his feet, throw his worthless carcass into the sea.” ; ‘ Si, senor !” replied the captain, with a grim smile. At this terrible sentence, the Gypsy’s features worked convulsively, and he blanched under his swarthy skin. Sinking on his knees, he held up his hands in supplication, and in piteous tones exclaimed: ““Mercy! mercy!” “You have none to expect from me,” replied the Marquis Garcia. ‘Oh! spare me, as you hope for salvation hereafter!” “ Away with him! You have my orders, cap- tain.” ‘ Ay, ay, sir!” The shadow of death seemed to fall upon Bel- shazzar, who shrunk into himself and became smaller, as it were. As he was dragged below, he uttered shriek upon shriek, abandoning himself to the most ab- ject fear. He was taken to the hold and chained to the scaffolding which had been rigged up for his es- pecial accommodation. When the men with their lanterns had gone away, he was in total darkness. No sound reached him but the plash of the water beating against the side of the vessel, the sharp ring of a ship’s bell, or the dash of a rat into the water. The solitude was awful, and was made more real and striking because the contrast between his present and former condition was so great. A few short hours before he was the owner of money with which he intended to have a good time in Havana and other places in the West Tndies, where he was well acquainted, Now he was a poor wretch, condemned to die in a few hours, during which he would suffer the pangs of hunger, the tortures of a ringing and ever-increasing thirst, and mental agony such as it is the lot of few men to undergo. It seemed to him, chained as he was in tho hold of that ship, that all those he had injured during his life passed in array before him, gibing and jeering and mocking him about his ap- proaching doom. He dared not pray; he could only cry aloud in his mortal terror, and when his mood changed he would cry like a child. About two o'clock in the morning, a messen- ger hailed the yacht, having in his hand a tele- graphic dispatch for the captain. It was from the Marquis Manuel de Garcia, and to this effect: “ Order canceled. Shall come on board early in the morning.” This dispatch was sent to a Quevada after the scene which took place between Island Jim and the marquis in Mr. Mandragon’s draw- ing-room, Consequently, Belshazzar was respited, al- though he did not know it. The marquis wanted to find out from the Gypsy the nature of his connection with Jim. Early in the morning, Garcia came on board and ordered the yacht to proceed to sea. When out of sight of land and with no ships a sight, the wretched man was brought on deck. He was cold and shivering; hunger had made him faint, and he was tormented with thirst. A rope had been thrown over the yard-arm, and the noose dangled loosely in the wind with a barrel beneath it. Belshazzar eyed the preparations with ner- vous interest, knowing that they were provided for his especial benefit. “Your hour has come,” said the marquis, in a stony voice, which resembled the knell of doom, *‘ unless you answer truthfully the ques- tions I put to you.” “T am ready,” replied Belshazzar; ‘‘ what are they?” “You are acquainted with a young man call- ed Dick Dimity, the son of the late Mr. Dimity, of Jersey City?’ “ I am ad “What is the nature of your connection with him?” “T acted in the capacity of his adviser and tutor.” “How did you become acquainted with him?” ‘T met him when he ran away from home.” “What induced you to tell him all you knew about me?’ pursued the marquis. : “1 saw you in the street. I was afraid of you, and took him into my confidence.” “Ts that all you have to say?” “Tt is.” “T am persuaded that there is something you are keeping back. That boy is not what he seems to be. If you do not speak fully in five minutes I shall order your execution.” The marquis took out his watch and began to count the minutes as they winged their flight
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22 Island Jim. toward eternity, in the awful total of which they were speedily lost. Belshazzar was obstinate and would not talk; with all his faults he could not bring himself to betray his accomplice, “Time is up!” said the marquis, putting the watch in his pocket again and making a sign to the attendant sailors, Belshazzar was hoisted on the barrel, his hands were bound behind his back, the noose was placed round his neck, and the support kicked from under him, The rope tightened round his neck, and he spun round like a teetotum, struggling convul- sively, and growing black in the faco as strangu- Jation set in, Still he uttered no sound, and it was evident that he was willing to die rather than speak. Seeing this to be the fact, the marquis said: “Cut him down and take him back to the hold. Perhaps hunger will do more than the fear of death.” Belshazzar was cut down and laid on his back on the deck, he being already insensible; and no wonder, for he was half-strangled, His eyes were starting from their sockets, his tongue, black and swollen, lolled out of his mouth, and the veins of his forehead and neck, tightened like cords, were swollen almost to bursting. He was allowed to remain on deck till he re- covered, when he was taken below and chained to the side of the vessel as before. The yacht’s course was altered, and she tack- od up the bay until she reached her former an- chorage. Before he quitted the yacht, Marquis Gar- cia said to Captain Quevada: ** Visit tho rcees every four hours and ask him if he will confess. Food and liberty sha!l be his reward. If he will not speak or has noth- ing to admit, let him rot where he is. Should he, however, incline to reveal the mystery of which I think he has the key, telegraph immedi- ately for me.” The captain promised to faithfully attend to these orders, and the marquis returned to the city. The first time tho captain visited his wretched captive, he begged piteously for water, but did not offer to make a confession. The second time he was equally obdurate, al- though he was told that freedom, and all that is conveyed in that blessed word would be his if he spoke out, At the third visit, however, his fortitude gave way. Send for the boss,” he exclaimed; ‘i will confess all.” He was instantly removed to the lower deck, and refreshments were provided for him, while the captain, as quickly as possible, telegraphed the welcome news to his employer. CHAPTER XI. JIMW’S REFORMATION, Wuen Island Jim came to himself, he was lying on the grass of the cemetery, where he had fallen, when appalled by the apparition. He was wet and chilled to the bone, Rising, he looked about him in a neryous man- ner, but could seo no one. The storm was over, and the moon rode serenely in the heavens. Hastily he made his way home and sought his bed, Tho next day was Sunday, and at breakfast Fanny importuned him togo to church, “Pleaso come with me and Mercedita,” sho pleaded. “Ts Mercedita going?” he asked. ‘Oh, yes; she always goes. Do come! so much nicer to be good than bad.” Thus pleaded the little maiden, “ Well, sissy,” replied Jim, ‘‘ Pll try it for onco, and I'll promise not to drink, or touch a card for a whole month.” Fanny rose, delightedly, and threw her arms round his neck, kissing him enthusiastically. ‘You don’t know how happy you have mado me,” she exclaimed. ‘‘ This is like old times, be- fore you ran away. You always did what I asked you; since then you have been so strange.” * Have I?” asked Jim, abstractedly. “Yes, indeed! You are not like the samo It is boy.” dressed himself very neatly and aecom- panied the two girls to church, spending the rest of the day at Mr. Mandragon’s. Mercedita was much interested in him. Sho had always liked Dick, and though she knew the Marquis Garcia wanted to marry her, she preferred the young scapegrace. They were sitting in the drawing-room after dinner, turning over some views of the Holy Land. Mercedita had on her third left-hand finger a plain gold ring. “Do you remember that ring?” she asked, casting her eyes down with a blush. Jim did not, and was at a loss what to say, when Fanny impulsively came to his rescue. “*T do!” she exclaimed. “ Hush!” said Mercedita, coloring again. “Why should I? Dick gave you that, before you went away to Cuba, and you agreed that it should be your engagement-ring.” Jim tried to look fascinating. “ As if I ever could forget it!” he exclaimed, with a loving glance at Mercedita. “T have worn it ever since,” she replied. “Tf I thought you really could think as much of me as I do of you,” cried Jim, ‘‘ I would give you ten thousand dollars’ worth of diamonds.” ‘As I have accepted you, I will accept them. This is my engagement-ring, but you must promise to bo as good as you told Fanny you would be.” ‘*T will, indeed!” **Tf not, uncle would never hear of our union. Why can’t you go to college, and when you take your degree, we could be married?” “Tl do it!’said Jim. ‘‘That’s a splendid idea! It will keep me out of mischief, and I shall have something to work for, But, make my mind easy on one point,” “What is that?” “Tell mo you do not care for the Marquis Garcia.” “T value him as a friend, that is all; there is He warmer feeling on my part,” replied Merce» ita,
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Island Jim. 23 ‘*But he loves you!” “T cannot eee. Young as I am, it has been my fate to be loved by several men, whose advances I could not conscientiously encour- age. ria was entirely satisfied with this declara- tion, which gave him every hope. The next day he went to New York and bought ten thousand dollars’ worth of elegant diamonds, which he personally presen to Mercedita. " She was delighted, as any young girl would naturally be, with such a magnficent present. Mr. and Mrs. Mandragon admired the jewels very much, and Jim was bold enough to tell them the story of the engagement-ring. The highly approved of his project of going to college. Yale was decided on. He said he would be ready to start in a week, and they de- clared that, if his conduct was satisfactory dur- ing his three years’ stay, he might have their consent to become Mercedita’s husband. He was petted and praised by all. His reformation was believed in thoroughly. Fanny shed tears of joy. He sat on the lounge with Mercedita’s hand in his, while Mr. Man- dragon delivered a little homily on all the vir- ues. It is probable that this might have been the turning-point in Jim’s career. In time he would have become a respectable member of society, but fate was against him. In the moment of his triumph, while his heart was really feeling softened, the Marquis Manuel de Garcia was announced. ; “ Ah! marquis,” said Mr. Mandragon, ‘‘ you have just come in time to congratulate our young friend here.” - on what?” Sernandee the gtr is going w) college, and he is engaged to Mereadita.”” et isa The marquis looked at Jim from under his dark, bushy eyebrows. “T think it is extremely probable,” he re- plied, ‘‘ that he will go to a very different place.” ‘“ What do you mean?” “I mean simply that he is an arrant impos- tor. At this declaration every one turned pale and looked at the speaker for an explanation. “Take care, marquis,” said Mr. Mandragon; “such an accusation as this requires proof.” ** And I can produce it in overwhelming quan- tities. Why, sir, this boy is not Dick Dimity— he is a low-born tramp, who personates him. The real Dick Dimity is dead, and this fellow has taken advantage of a remarkable likeness between them to perpetrate this daring fraud upon all of us.” “Dick Dimity dead?’ repeated Mr. Mandra- gon. Jim felt utterly crushed. He wished that the floor would open and swallow him up. “Oh!” said Mercedita, tearfully, “this can- not be true! Speakand clear yourself from this imputation, Dick!” She looked anxiously, even lovingly at Jim, As for Fanny, she seized his arm and cried: “You have no right, sir, to say such things! This is my own dear, dear brother, and [ will not have him attacked, because you are jealous of Mercedita.” This speech struck the keynote for Jim. “Of course,” he said, ‘I can see how this charge originated, but I will content myself with asking this wife-murdering marquis to prove it.” ‘““What did you say?” asked Mr. Mandragon. “He murdered his wife in Los Angeles, a few years ago, and he cannot deny it.” The marquis lowered his head. Peace be with her!” he said, softly. ‘She was falso to me and I shot her; but,” he added, “the proof of what I advance I have at hand, and I will utterly confound this upstart fraud, out of the mouth of his companion in crime, Belshazzar.” He advanced to the door, opened it, and beck- oned to some one without. The next moment, Belshazzar stepped into the room. He had made his confession, and the marquis had brought him to Mr. Mandragon’s, so that the exposure of Jim might be complete, over- whelming and final. “Good-evening, ladies and gentlemen!” ex- claimed Belshazzar blandly. He grasped Jim’s hand eigen ‘*My dear boy!” he added, ‘‘I hope I see you well. Itis impossible to find words to express how much I have missed your society for the last two days, during which I haye been to visit my friends in Pennsylvania.” “Oh! pshaw!” said the marquis; “this is no time for fooling; tell these people what you con- fessed to me.” “T confessed?” repeated Ken, in surprise. : ¥ + man alive, tell them all about this oy! Belshazzar smiled. “You must be dreaming,” ho replied. “TI know nothing about him, except that he is a most promising pupil.” Jim began to breathe again. Tho marquis grew white with rage, and his eyes threatened to start out of his head. oy Villain !” he cried, ‘‘ you shall pay dearly for is, Mr, Mandragon thought it incumbent on him to interpose. ‘“‘ Marquis,” ho said, “I must beg you to re- tire; you are suffering from some unwonted ex- citement, and I cannot have my house turned into a bear-garden.” “But the infamous scoundrel confessed all to me!” herejoined; ‘‘and I have brought him here to open your eyes.” “T think you have opened our eyes. Oblige me by withdrawing. You have been dining out, Ipresume. Call again in the morning.” he marquis lost all control over himself, and rushed upon Belshazzar, who was unarmed, and bore him to the floor, clutching him dangerously by the throat. “ Fe-help!” ho gurgled. Mr. Mandragon rung the bell for the servants; but Jim drew his knife, and running to Belshaz- zar’s assistance, stabbed the irate Spaniard in the side. : His grasp instantly relaxed. “Oh, God!” he cried; ‘‘T am stabbed!” Now, the greatest excitement prevailed, Tha Pan b ere me Sp A eS SESE ee eee ea ee
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Island Jim. ladies screamed. Mr. Mandragon called for the police, and amid the excitement Belshazzar re- ained his feet and, with Jim, slipped out of the ouse, When they got outside, they ran a consider- able distance to avoid pursuit. At length they ecpped, and, entering a saloon, sat down at a le ‘“‘T guess the game’s up now,” said Jim. ‘Perhaps not; we must wait and see,” replied Belshazzar. ‘‘ Let us talk over what has hap- pened while I was away.” Jim told him of his father’s death and the strango will; he informed him of tho legacy which he had drawn from Mr. Mandragon, and spoke of his prospects with Mercedita. In return, Belshazzar related his adventures, and told how he had been compelled to make a confession. “T took it all back though,” he added, ‘* and perhaps they won’t believe the marquis; they can’t find the real boy.” ** Maybe they can!” said Jim, “ How?” Jim informed him of the young doctor’s re- markable case, “Hom!” said the Gypsy, “the prospect looks dark. How much have you got left of your legacy?” ‘Fifteen thousand.” “Give it to mo, I will play to-night, and make a fortune with which we will go to Hu- rope, FS “Suppose you lose it all?” “T can’t; L feel my luck is in. Hand it over. We will cross the ferry at once; to-morrow we will inquire about the marquis’s injury and see what is best to be done.” Reluctantly Jim gave him tho residue of his fortune, and they quitted the saloon, crossing the ferry to New York. There was an up-town gambling-house which Belshazzar was in the habit of frequenting, and to this place they made their way. Few people were in the room, as it was early when they arrived, but the dealer opened tho game and Belshazzar sat down to try his luck. He played all the evening with varying suc- cess, sometimes winning, sometimes losing. Jim watched the game with great solicitude, as he was as much interested as the player. - All night long the game went on, and luck turned against the Gypsy, whose pile of green- backs gradually decreased. CHAPTER XIT. A SUICIDE’S REPRIEVE. GAMBLING is terribly seductive and fascinat- ing. More alluring than the charms of woman, more fatal than the wine-cup, it binds its votary in adamantine chains he cannot break. At len the candles burned in the candela- bras with a garish hue, and the gray dawn of sung stole in through the chinks of the shut- Ors, _ But a few frequenters of the rooms remained. Some idlers had dropped in to risk a few dollars, or for the sake of the free supper and the wine, which was spread out on tables, in true lavish Delmonico style, Others, overcome with excitement and drink, were asleep on lounges and in chairs. Belshazzar watched the cards fall, with a rest- less, lynx-like eye, and smothering a curse rose from the table—a beggar. He had lost all and pauperized himself and Jim, whose fortune was completely dissipated. Sinegoring to the table, he gerra “ Brandy,” gt the attendant negro pushed the bottle to m. He filled a goblet with the fiery fluid, and drank it down as if it had been water. For a moment a bright, hectic flush came into his cheek; it died away; he tottered, threw up his arms and fell to the floor like a corpse. This was no startling novelty in this place, and he was promptly dragged into an inner room, where he was left to recover himself at his leisure. Jim was feverish and impatient. Hastily writing a note, in which he told Een to seek him at his house, he ordered tho missive to be given him when he recovered. Then he walked to the ferry and sought his home. Beggared as he was, ho had made himself en- tirely dependent on his sister’s charity—that is to say, on Fanny. It was about seven o’clock when he let himself into the house, His footstep called out Fanny, who had been rr a all night for him. ‘Oh! I am so glad you are here!” sho cried. “T thought you would be afraid to come home, after the dreadful scene of lastnight. As for me, T could not sleep. How ill you look!” Indeed, he did. His face was pale and hag- gard, while his eyes were sunk in his head. **Ts the marquis dead?” inquired Jim. “No; fortunately the knife glanced along the ribs. The doctor says that though painful, the wound is not dangerous. Ina week he will be able to leave his bed.” ae is good news. What does Mercedita sa: ‘Sho is very angry with you.” **So they believe da stories the marquis cir- culated about me?” ‘"No; they attribute it to jealousy, but all think you had best go away somewhere for a time.” “Tm tired of living. Everything seems to go against me,” said Jim, i yh “You want sleep; you will be better able to think and talk when you are rested,” replied Sar “There is no wei in my eyes.” * Recollect that I am always your friend, and I will do all I can to make Mercedita forgive you, though sho has a horror of deeds of violence and is thoroughly afraid of you.” Jim pressed her hand gratefully and went in- to the library, where there was a sofa, on which he threw himself. Sleep, however, would not visit his eyelids. * Old Dimity was right when he left mo that rope, in his will,” he muttered. ‘“Pve a good mind to use it!” Tho idea grew upon him, and it became dan- gerous in the then excited state of his brain, A door opened on the garden from the Ji- 4 b
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brary, and through the window he could see the summer-house mentioned in the will. he opened the door and walked to- ward it, having, in a brief time, developed what the doctors call a suicidal mania. He entered the summer-house unperceived by noe one and shut the door carefully behind im. The summer-house had been built for years, and was in a very rickety and tumble-down condition. Plaster had dropped in flakes and patches from the walls and vane, Hanging from an iron hook was the rope, the noose all ready to slip round the neck! “Here goes!” said Jim, stepping on a table. “T am ruined. Garcia will never rest till he roves me an impostor. Dick Dimity may be ‘ound, and it will be better to die now than nd the best years of my life in prison, after living like a young ee I eouldn’t goon the tramp again. I don’t want to be bad any more. I wished to marry Mercedita after pass- ing through college, and be a respectable citizen. That dream is over. Ill show them that I had the courage to die.” He adjusted the noose round his neck, One kick sent the table rolling over; the rope tightened; there was a sense of suffocation; all the blood in his body seemed to rush to his head ; a mist swam before his eyes. Suddenly there was a grand crash. He fell to the floor with a heavy thud, and it appeared as if the whole ceiling had given way and fallen on him. It was some time before he could recover from his astonishment. When he did, he got up, removed the rope and looked around him. His amazement increased when he saw that the floor was covered with bank-bills, each for one hundred dollars. . “ Am I dreaming?” said he, rubbing his eyes. He picked up one and examined it; then an- other; they were perfectly genuine, and the floor was littered to the extent of many thousands of dollars in value. It was a veritable treasure, and he had at his feet another fortune. What could it all mean? In the midst of his bewilderment, he beheld a sheet of note-paper on which something was written, in a bold, masculine hand. Perhaps this would afford a clew. He took it in his hand and read as follows: “My son, I felt that you would foolishly squander the money I left you, and I arranged this rope so as to come down with the ceiling at a slight pressure. In the ceiling I hid another twenty-five thousand dol- lars. Knowing that if despair drove you to suicide, you would have learnt the value of money and be } deserving of a fresh start in life. Let me pray you, if this last sad step should be taken by you and these lines meet your eye, to live a life more worthy Fj of yourself and the name you inherit from me. God be with you! Looktohim for guidance in the fu- ture. Ricuarp Draary,” This remarkable document explained all. The foresight of Mr. Dimity had calculated what was likely to happen to a boy of his son’s disposition, Ashamed, penitent, yet happier in his mind Island Jim. 25 Jim collected the money and returned to the house, determined not to say a word to any one. He had the means of a fresh career in his pos- session, and he resolved to lead a different life. All that worried him now was the possibility of the real Dick Dimity appearing on the scene. He retired to rest, and in the evening awoke much refreshed, to find that Belshazzar was waiting for him. Not even to his confederate did he say a word about the singular windfall of bills which had come in his way that morning. The Gypsy expressed his intention of taking up his residence in the house, under the guise of Jim’s tutor, and they both agreed to defy the attacks of the marquis. CHAPTER XIiI. A MYSTERY EXPLAINED. WHEN Belshazzar was fully informed of Jim’s virtuous intentions, he laughed immoderately. In every way he endeavored to dissuade him. ‘* What is to become of me?” he asked. *T don’t know. You can’t expect me to look after you all the days of your life,” replied Jim. “But I do.” ‘Then you will find yourself mistaken.” The Gypsy laughed incredulously. “My dear boy,” he said, ‘when you went into partnership with me, it was for life. As long as you have a chance of getting a cent, I shall stick to you like a burr.” “T won’t have it!” “How can you help yourself? I am to you what the old man of the sea was to Sindbad, the sailor—you can’t throw me over.” “Why can’t I?’ asked Jim, toying nervously with his wallet in which was all his money. “ Because, if you attempted it, I should de- stroy you, crush you as I would a worm!” re- pliec Ishazzar vindictively. ‘You are a cold-blooded villain.” “T admit it. Come, abandon your virtuous ; get all the money you can and we will earry off this Mercedita.” “Carry her off?” ‘““Why should we not? We will take her to Canada.” In his agitation, Jim broke the elastic which contained his wallet and the heap of bills rolled out, Belshazzar’s eyes glistened, greedily. ‘Ah! we are rich!” said he. ‘‘ It was wrong, my dear child, to conceal this from your uncle. How much haye you got, and where did you steal it?” Driven into a corner, Jim admitted that he had attempted to commit suicide, and related the result. ‘Bad boy!” replied the Gypsy. ‘‘ But, out of evil shall come good. Dimity must have been a curiously eccentric old man, very. However, we will drink his health!” He poured out some wine from a cut-glass ca- raffe into a tumbler. “Now we are in funds again,” he exclaimed; ‘(my spirits always rise when the cash account
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26 {sland Jim, is allright. To-night we will abduct Mercedi- ta.” “How? In what way?” eagerly asked Jim. “T will have a carriage in waiting. She is coming here to see Miss Fanny at seven o'clock. I overheard her tell a servant so.” “ Well ” ‘*She shall be pushed into the carriage, and we will conduct her to a lonely house, the occu- pee of which I am acquainted with, in Hobo- en. There a priest shall marry you. I think it will be a good spec, as I hear she has an inde- pendent fortune. When she finds that there is no escape we will go to Canada, I willleave you two in retirement and come back and make terms with Mandragon.” “ But the marquis?” “T am armed, and shall be on my guard in future. Once married to Mercedita, your posi- tion is secure, for if we are found out no one will prosecute us for her sake. I very much ap- prove of the plan.” Indeed,there were many reasons why it should be acceptable to both of them, ith Belshazzar—to conceive was to act. _ He went out at once to make all his prepara- tions. A room was engaged at the Hoboken house; a priest was to be there at a certain hour, to perform the ceremony, and a trusty car- riage-driver was employed to assist in tho ab- duction. Thus the crafty Gypsy in half an hour scatter- ed all Jim’s virtuous resolves to the wind. The day passed very slowly for Jim; it seemed as if the lagging hours would never go by. He felt as if a crisis in his fate was approach- ing, so true it is that coming events cast their shadows before them, After dinner, at which Fanny presided, like tho little lady she was, Jim and Belshazzar went out. They stood in the shadow of the doorway wait- ing for Mercedita to arrive, The coach was drawn up close by, and the driver, with his hat slouched over his eyes, awaited the signal for him to open the door, In half an hour they were rewarded by seeing the graceful form of Mercedita approach- ing. She had carelessly thrown a Spanish mantilla over her head in the Spanish fashion, and was anticipating a pleasant evening with her friend Fanny. Before she could utter a ery she was unex- pectedly seized by Belshazzar, who bound a cloth tightly over her mouth and bore her swiftly to the carriage. “Open!” said the Gypsy. The hackman descended from the box and threw open the door. Mercedita was pushed in. Belshazzar entered after her, and Jim was about to follow. So far all had gone well. No one had witnessed the outrage. Mercedita was in a half-fainting condition, incapable of speaking or moving. As Jim reached the carriage-door, he looked at the hackman. Pree sprung back as if an adder had stung m a, ‘“ By Heaven!” he cried, ‘ the ghost again !” ? In the guise of a hackman, Mr. Dimity stood before him, his arm extended warningly, ““Come! come!” exclaimed Belshazzar. ‘t‘ What is keeping you?” ‘*T cannot!” replied Jim, his teeth chattering with fear. “What is it?” “The ghost again! Look! It is Mr, Dimity! There he stands!” eee Belshazzar stepped out of tho coach, Even he started back, for the driver was so like Mr. Dimity that it was overwhelming. ‘“* This is not the man I hired,” he said. “Come away!” cried Jim, ‘tI cannot go any further with this to-night.” Belshazzar drew a pistol. “T'll soon see how much ghost there is about this fellow!” he exclaimed. He raised the weapon to fire, but the driver knocked the pistol from his hand, and closed with him. A terrible struggle took place between them, cae which Mercedita recovered sufticiently from her alarm to tear the bandage from her face and call loudly for the police. In less than a minute an officer was on the spot. He secured Jim just as the strange hack-driver had thrown the Gypsy on his back. ‘Take that one into the house!” he exclaimed. “*T will follow with this fellow.” The door was soon open. Mercedita rushed into Fanny’s arms, and hysterically began to laugh and cry, while the servants looked on in amazement. Jim, held by the collar, looked sullen and de- fiant, while Belshazzar, covered with blood and with his clothes torn, glared impotently at his captor, The latter threw off his coat and hat, when his resemblance to Mr. Dimity became still more striking. Papa!” exclaimed Fanny. “If he was not dead, I should say it was my father.” At this moment Mr. Mandragon stepped from an inner room, where he had been concealed. “My dear child,” he said, ‘‘it is your father, Do not be afraid.” Fanny sprung forward, and was instantly clasped in a strong embrace. “My darling,” said Mr. Dimity, ‘I must ex- plain what is a mystery to you.” A dead silence, during which you could hear a pin drop, reigned in the hall. ‘This bisyat he continued, pointing to Jim ‘* whom I am ashamed to call my son, behaved. so badly that Mr. Mandragon and I thought only a severe lesson would reclaim him. I pre- tended to die, "You all thought I was buried. I was not far off—a room up-stairs—a, faith- ful servant. It was easy enough to play my part. ““T see it all now,” said Fanny. ‘I often wondered why that door was locked.” ‘At times I haunted my son, but even my death and his fear of the supernatural did not affect him. He is incorrigible. His offenses culminated to-night in the abduction of Merce- dita, of which villainy I was well informed. ' Tonight I threw off the mask, and now, kind-
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Island Jim. a4 ness having failed, I will try what harsh, pater- aa discipline, aided by a yard of hickory, will 0. He pointed to a hat-rack, in which were sev- eral sticks, ‘* Give me one of those,” he ordered. It was instantly handed to him, and taking Jim from the policeman he held him tightly, while he administered a thrashing that made him howl with pain. In spite of his struggles he could not escape. When Mr. Dimity, himself again and a ghost no longer, had finished his discipline, Jim eet he had not a whole bone left in his ody. e ached and tingled from head to foot, and rolled on the floor, moaning in agony. “ As for you,” said Mr. Dimity to Belshazzar, “T shall have you tried and punished for at- tempting to abduct this young lady.” “You can’t do that, unless you bring the boy in, too,” replied the cunning Gypsy. . Dimity saw the point and bit his lip. It seemed as if Belshazzar would escape the punishment he so justly merited. Just then a loud ring was heard at the door, ‘See who is there!” said Mr. Dimity. The door was opened and Dr, Takemoff, with Sam Sadrake, appeared. Between them, they conducted a boy wrapped in a thick overcoat, and having the peak of nis cap drawn over his eyes. ‘Hurrah!” exclaimed the doctor; ‘ galvan- ism did it! We brought backhismemory! It’s the finest case on record.” “Where’s the counterfeit?” asked Sadrake. “Pray, gentlemen, what does this mean?” in- quired Mr. Dimity. “Tt means that the fellow you've got here, is not Dick Dimity. This is the real Dick, and the other isafraud. Show yourself, Dick! Hurrah for galvanism! I knew Vd do it!” oxclaimed the doctor, e The boy removed his cap and the father and son were face to face, At this juncture the scene was intensely dramatic. Fanny and Mercedita stood hand in hand, Jim was writhing on the floor from the pain of his recent beating; Eenas Belshazzar was in custody of the policeman; Mr. Mandragon and the servants looked on in surprise, while Mr. Dimity, like Nemesis, towered over all. The excited doctor pointed to their patient. Tt was now Mr. Dimity’s turn to be surprised. “ Have I two sons?” he cried. “No, father!” replied Dick; ‘‘I am the only one.” ‘‘ Will some one kindly explain this mystery to me?” the amazed father demanded, Dick’s story was soon told by Dr, Takemoff and Sam Sadrake, who expatiated upon the skill they had shown in the case, in bringing back the injured boy to a memory of the past. ‘‘ Policeman!” commanded Mr. Dimity, ‘handcuff those two cheats together.” The cold steel quickly connected Belshazzar and Jim, who stood cowering, side by side. “Miserable wretches!” continued Mr. Dimity. “Go to meet that fate you have so richly de- served, Tho remainder of your lives will prob- ably be passed in the slavery of that living tomb, a State prison, and no word of pity or protest will go up in your behalf. Take them away.” Neither spoke a word. They were too thoroughly crushed to make any appeal for mercy, and as the door swung open, they passed out into the black night with their custodian, and were marched to the cells in the station-house. The curtain had fallen for a time on their ex- ploits. Mr, Dimity was overjoyed at finding out that the boy who had so ruthlessly torn his heart was not his son. He prosecuted Island Jim and Een Belshazzar with the utmost rigor of the law and_ each re- ceived a long term of imprisonment. The Mar- quis Manuelde Garcia got well, his wound hay- ing no serious consequences, and married Merce- dita, who rejoiced greatly at the escape she had had, from the meshes in which Belshazzar and Jim had sought to entangle her. Dick Dimity did not forget his friends, In the first place, his father, whose will was as deceptive as his supposed death, and who was really worth about a million, bought the Her- schede a larger farm, making them a present of it. Dr. Takemoff was made the family physician, and soon enjoyed a large practice. Sam Sadrake became the inseparable compan- ion of Dick, who, having a fondness for the medi- eal profession, determined to become a doctor, and was entered as a student in the same hospi- tal with Sam. “Father,” said Dick, soon after hisreturn, ‘Til never run away from home again.” “Tf you do,” replied Mr. Dimity, ‘‘T0—Pi galvanize you, and the result will not be so agreeable as your last experience was.” : fie Dimity laughed, and took Fanny’s hand in his. “Tf,” he exclaimed, ‘‘a boy can’t be satisfied with a good home and such a father and sister as I have got, he deserves to be shot.” The pet of the family had learned wisdom in the crucible of suffering, and became one of the best young men in the district. Indeed, Sam Sadrake often said he was too quiet for him, but he had been through the fire and had come out purified. THE END, The Dime Dialogues No. 32. Containing eighteen Minor Dramas, Extravaganzas, Burlesques, Farces, Dress and Humorous Pieces, for the Amateur Stage, Parlors, Schools and Exhibitions, All original and by favorite authors, professors, teachers and amateurs, For sale by all newsdealers, or sent, post-paid, on receipt of price—ten cents. BEADLE AND ADAMS, Pvstiisuers, 98 William Street, New York,
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BEADLE’S HALF-DIME LIBRARY. 101 Jack Harkaway in New York; or,The Adventures of the Traveler’s Club. By Brace- bridge Hemyng (Jack Harkaway). Dick Dead-Eye, the Boy Smuggler; or, The Cruise of the Vixen. By Col. Ingraham. The Lion of the Sea; or, The Vailed Lady of San Tropez. By Colonel Delle Sara. Deadwivod Dick’s Device; or, The Sign of the Double Cross, By E. L. Wheeler. Old Rube, the Hunter; or, The Crow Cap- tive. By Captain Hamilton Holmes. Old Frosty, the Guide; or, Niokana, the White Queen of the Blackfeet. By T. C. Harbaugh, One-Eyed Sim; or, The Abandoned Forest Home. By James L. Bowen. Daring Davy, the Young Bear Killer; or, The Trail of the Border Wolf. By Harry St. George. Deadwood Dick As Detective. By By 102 103 104 105 106 107 108 109 Edward L. Wheeler. 110 ‘The Black Steed of the Prairies. James L. Bowen, 111 The Sea-Devil; or, The Midshipman’s Legacy. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham. 112 The Mad Munter; or, The Cave of Death. By Burton Saxe. 113 Jack Hoyle the Young Speculator; or, The Road to Fortune. By E. L. Wheeler. 114 The Black Schooner; or, Jib sunk, the Old Tar. By Roger Starbuck. 115 The Mad Miner; or, Dandy Rock’s Doom, By G. Waldo Browne. 116 fhe Hussar Captain; or, The Hermit of Hell-Gate. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham. 117 Gilt-Edged Dick, the Sport-Detective. By Edward lL. Wheeler. 118 Will Somers, the Boy Detective By Charles Morris. 119 Mustang Sam; or, the King of the Plains. Jos. E. Badger, Jr. B 120 The Branded Hand or, The Man of ystery. By Frank Dumont. 121 Cinnamon Chip, the Girl Sport; or, The Golden Idol of Mt. Rosa. By E. L. Wheeler. 122 Phil Hardy, the Boss Boy; or, The Mys- tery of the Strongbow. By Charles Morris 123 Kiowa Charley, the White Mustanger. By T. C. Harbaugh. 124 Tippys the ‘Texan; or, The Young Cham- ion. By George Gleason. 125 Bonanza Bill, Miner; or, Madam Mys- tery, the Female Forger. By KE. L. Wheeler. 126 Picayune Pete; or, Nicodemus, the Dog Detective. By Charles Morris. 127 Wild-Wire, the Boss of the Road; or, The Wolves of Satan’s Gap. By Frank Dumont. 128 The Young Privateer ; or, The Pirate’s Stronghold. , By Harry Cavendish, 129 Deadwood Dick’s Double; or, The Ghost of Gorgon’s Gulch, By E. L. Wheeler. 130 Detective Dicks; or, The Hero in Rags. By Charles Morris. 131 The Golden Hands; or, Dandy Rock to the Rescue, By George Waldo Browne. 132 The Hunted Hunter; or, The Strange Horseman of the Prairie. By Edward 8S. Ellis. 133 Boss Bob, the King of Bootblacks; or, The Pawnbroker’s Plot. By Edward L. Wheeler. 134 Sure Shot Seth, the Boy Rifleman; or, The Young Patriots of the North. By Oll Coomes. 135 Captain Paul, the Kentucky Moonshiner; or, The. Boy Spy of the Mountains. By C. Dunning Clark. 136 Night-Hawk_ Kit; or, The Daughter of the Ranch. By Joseph E. Badger, Jr. 137 The Helpless Mandy; or, Backwoods Retribution. By Captain Mayne Reid. 138 Blonde Bill; or, Deadwood Dick’s Home ase. By Edward L. Wheeler. 139 Judge Lynch, Jr,; or, The Boy Vigilante. > By T. C,. Harbaugh. 140 Blue Blazes; or, The Break o’ Day Boys of Rocky Bar. By Frank Dumont. 141 Solid Sam, the Boy Road-Agent; or, The Branded Brows. By Edward L. Wheeler. 142 Handsome Harry, the Bootblack Detec- tive. By Charles Morris. 148 Sear-Face Saul, the Silent_Hunter; or, The Mystery of Fort Rane. By Oll Coomes. 144 Dainty Lance, the Boy Sport. By Joseph ¥. Badger, Jr. 145 Captain Ferret, the New York Detective; or, Boss Bob’s Boss Job. By E. L, Wheeler. 146 Silver Star, the Boy Knight. By Oll Coomes. 147 Will Wildfire, the Thoroughbred; or, The Winning Hand. By Charles Morris, Sharp Sam; _or, The Adventures Friendless Boy, By J. Alexander Patten. A Game of Gold; or, Deadwood Dick’s Big Strike. By Edward L. Wheeler. Lance and Lasso; or, The Children of the Chaco. By Captain Fred, Whittaker. Panther Paul, the Prairie Pirate; or, Dainty Lance to the Rescue. By Joseph E. Badger, Jr. Black Bess, Will Wildfire’s Racer; or, Win- ning Against Odds. By Charles Morris, Eagle Kit, the Boy Demon; or, The Out- laws of the Gold Hills. By Oll Coomes. The Sword Hunters; or, The Land of the Elephant Riders. By Capt. F. Whittaker. Gold Trigger, the Sport; or, The Girl Avenger. By TC. Harbaugh. Deadwood Dick of Deadwood} or, The Picked Party. By Ed. L. Wheeler. 57 Mike Merry, the Harbor Police Boy. By Charles Morris. Fancy Frank, of Colorado; or, The Trap- per’s Trust. By Buffalo Bill. The Lost Captain; or, Skipper Jabez Coffin’s Cruise to the Open Polar Sea. By Capt. Fred, Whittaker. Whe Black Giants or, Dainty Lance in Jeopardy. By Jos. B. Badger. Jr. New York Nell, the Boy-Girl Detective; or, Old Blakesly’s Money. By Ed. L. Wheeler. Will Wildfire in the Woods; or, Camp Life in the Alleghanies, By Chas. Morris. Little Texas, the Young Mustanger. By Oll Coomes. Dandy Rock’s Pledge; or, Hunted to Death. By George Waldo browne. Billy Bagge > ee, the Railroad Boy; or, Run to Earth. a Charles Morris. Hickory Marry; or, The Trapper-Bri- gade’s Spy. By Harry St. George. Asa Scott, the Steamboat Boy; or, The Land Pirates of the Mississippi. Ky Ed. Willett. Deadly Dash; or, Fighting Fire With Vire. By Jos. E. Badger, Jr. Tornado Tom; or, Injun Jack From Red Core. By T. C. Harbaugh. 664 Trump Card; or, Will Wildfire Wins. and Loses. By Charles Morris. : Ebony Dany; or, The Rival Leagues of Silver Circle. By Frank Dumont. Thunderbolt Toms or, The Wolf-Herder of the Rockies. By Harry St. George. Dandy Rock’s Rival; or, The Hunted Maid of Taos. By George Waldo Browne. Bob Rockett, the Boy Dodger; or, Mys- teries of New York. By Charles Morris. Captain Arizona, the King Pin of Road- Agents; or, Patent-Leather Joe’s Big Game. By Philip S. Warne. The Boy Runaway; or, The Buccaneer of the Bay. By Lieut. H. D. berry. U.S. N. Nobby Nick of Nevada; or, The Scamps of the Sierras. By Edward L. Wheeler. Old Solitary, the Hermit Trapper; or, The Dragon of Silver Lake. By Oll Coomes. 179 Bob Rockett, the Bank Runner; or, The Road to Ruin, By Charles Morris. of a J \
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; : BEADLE’S HALF-DIME LIBRARY. ee 180 The Sea Trailer; or, A Vow Well Kept. By Lieut. H. D. Perry, U.S. N. 181 Wild Frank, the Buckskin _Brayo; or, Lady Lily’s Love. By Edward L. Wheeler. 182 Little urricane, the Boy Captain. By Oll Coomes. 183 The Hidden Hand; or, Will Wildfire’s Revenge. By Charles Morris. 184 The Boy Trailers; or, Dainty Lance on the War-Path. By Joseph E. Badger, Jr. 185 Evil Eye, King of Cattle Thieves; or, The Vultures of the Rio Grande. By F. Dumont. 186 Cool Desmond; or, The Gambler's Big Game. By Col. Delle Sara. 187 Fred Halyard, the Life Boat Boy; or, The Smugglers of the Inlet. By Charles Morris. 188 Ned Temple, the Border Boy; or, ‘The Mad Hunter of Powder River. By T. C. Harbaugh. 189 Bob Rockett, the Cracksman; or, Driven to the Wall. By Charles Morris. 190 Dandy Darke; or, Tle Tigers of High Pine. By Wm. R. yster. 191 Buffalo Billy, the Boy Bullwhacker; or, The Doomed Thirteen, By Capt. A. B. Taylor. 192 Captain Kit, the Will-o’-the-Wisp; or, The Mystery of Montauk Point. By Lieut.-H. D. Perry, U. 8. N. 193 (Captain Mask, the Lady Road-Agent; or, Patent-Leather Joe’s Defeat. By P. 5. Warne. 194 Buffalo Bills Bet; or, The Gambler Guide. By Capt. Alfred B. Taylor, U.S. A. 195 Deadwood Dick’s Dream 3; or, The Ri- vals of the Road. By Edward L. Wheeler. 196 Shadowed; or. Bob Rockett’s Fight for Life. By Charles Morris. 197 Little Grit, the Wild Rider; or, Bessie, the Stock-Tender’s Daughter. By Col. Ingraham. 198 Arkansaw, the Man with the Knife; or, The Queen of Fate’s Revenge. By Harbaugh, 199 Featherweight, the Boy Champion of the Muskingum 3 or, On_his Muscle, Wits and Honor. By Edward Willett. 200 The Boy Bedouins; or, The Brothers of the Plumed Lance. By Capt. F. Whittaker. 201 The Black Hills Jezebel; or, Dead wood Dick’s Ward. By Ed. L. Wheeler, 202 Prospect Pete, of the Boy Brigade; or, The Young Outlaw Hunters. By Oll Coomes. 203 The Boy Pards; or, Dainty Lance Un- masks. By Jos. E. Badger, Jr. 204 Gold Plume, the Boy Bandit; or, The Kid- Glove Sport. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham. 205 Deadwood Dick’s Doom; or, Calamity Jane’s Last Adventure. By Ed, L. Wheeler. 206 Dark Paul, the Tiger King; or, Caught in His Own Trap. By Charles Morris. 207 Navajo Nick, the Boy Gold Hunter. By T. C, Harbaugh. 208 The Boy Hercules; or, The Prairie Tramps. By Oll Coomes. 209 Fritz, the Bound-Boy Detective; or, Dot Leetle Game Mit Rebecca. By E. L. Wheeler. 210 Faro Frank of High Pine; or. Dandy Darke’s Go-Down Pards. By Wm. R. Eyster. 211 Crooked Cale, the Caliban of Celestial City. By Joseph E. Badger, Jr. 212 Dashing Dave, the Dandy Detective. By Charles Morris. 213 Fritz to the Front; or, The Ventriloquist Seamp-Hunter, By Edward L. Wheeler. 214 Wolfgang, the Robber of the Rhine. By Capt. Fred. Whittaker. 215 Captain Bullet, the Raider King; or, Little Topknot’s Crusade. By T. C. Harbaugh. 216 Bison Bill. the Prince of the Reins. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham. 217 Captain Crack-Shot, the Girl Brigand. By Edward L. Wheeler. 218 wager ‘Tom, the Texan Terror. By Oll Joomes. 219 Despa d, the Duelist; or, The Mountain Vempires. z By Philip S. Warne. 220 Tom Tanner, Scalawag and Scapegrace; or, The Black Sheep of the Flock. By Philip S. Warne. 221 Sugar-Coated Sam 3 or, The Black Gowns of Grim Gulch. By Ed. ‘P Wheeler. 222 Grit, the Bravo Sport; or, The Woman Trailer. oF Col. Prentiss Ingraham. 223 Ozark Alf, King of the Mountain; or, Featherweight Among the Outlaws, By Ea- ward Willett. 224 Dashing Dick ; or, Trapper Tom’s Castile. By Oll Coomes. 225 Sam Charcoal, the Premium Darky; or, How the Boy Got ven. By Chas. Morris. 226 Snoozer, the Boy Sharp; or, The Arab De- tective. By Edward L. Wheeler. 227 Dusky Darrell, Trapper; or, The Green Ranger of the Yellowstone. By Edwin Emer- son, 228 Little Wildfire, the Yourg Prairie Nomad; or, The Idyl of Echo Canyon. By Oll Ccomes. 229 Crimson Kate, the Girl Trailer; or, The Cowboy’s Triumph. By Col. P. Ingraham, 230 The Yankee Rajah; or, The Fate of the Black Shereef. By C. Dunning Clark. 231 Plucky Phil, of the Mountain Traii; or, Rosa, the Red Jezebel. By T. C. Harbaugh, 232 Gold-Dust Dick. By Ed. L. Wheeler. 233 Joe Buck of Angels and His Boy Pard Paul Powderhorn. By Albert W. Aiken, 234 Old Rocky’s ** Boyees;” or, Benito, the Young Horse-Breaker. By Maj. Sam 8. Hall, ‘ Buckskin Sam. 235 Shadow Sam, the Messenger Boy; or. Turning the Tables. By Charles Morris. 236 Apollo Bill, the Trail Tornado; or, Rowdy Kate from Right Bower. By Ed. L, Wheeler. 237 Lone Star, the Cowboy Captain; or, The Mysterious Ranchero. By Col. P. Ingraham, 238 The Parson Detective; or, Little Shocky, the Ranger of Raven Roost. By Oll Coomes. 239 Whe Gold-seeker Guide; or, The Lost Mountain. By Captain Mayne Reid. 240 Cyclone Kit, the Young Gladiator; or, The Locked Valley. By Edward L. Wheeler, 241 Bill Bravo, and His Bear Pards; or, The Roughs of the Rockies. By T. C. Harbaugh. 242 The Two * Bloods?®; or, Shenandoah Bill and His Gang. By Charles Morris. 248 The Disguised Guide; or, Wild Raven, the Ranger of the North. By Ol] Coomes, 244 Sierra Sam, the Frontier Ferret; or, A Sister’s Devotion. By Edward L. Wheeler. 245 Merle, the Middy; or. The Heir of an Ocean Freelance. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham. 246 Giant George; or, The Ang’l of the Range. By Major Sam 8. ali—* Buckskin Sam. 247 Old Grizzly and His Pets. By Capt. * Bruin ”* Adams, 248 Sierra Sam’s Secret; or, The Bloody Footprints. By Edward L, Wheeler. 249 Milo Romer, the Animal King; or. The Round the World Wanderer. By Capt. Fred. Whittaker. 250 The Midshipman Mutineer; or, Brandt, the Buccaneer. By Col, P. Ingraham. 251 Light-House Lige; or. Osceola, the Fire- brand of the Everglades. By Captain J. F. C. Adams. 252 Dick Dashaway; or, A Dakota Boy in Chicago. By Charles Morris. 253 Sierra Sam’s Pard3; or, The Angel of Big Vista. By Edward L. Wheeler. 254 Th Half-Blood; or, The Panther of the Plains. By Edward §. Ellis. 255 Captain Apollo, the King-Pin of Bowie. By T. C. Harbaugh. 256 Young Kentuck; or, The Red Lasso, By Captain Mark Wilton. 257 Whe Lost Hunters; or, The Underground Camp, By Captain J. F. C. Adams,
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BEADLE’S HALF-DIME LIBRARY. 258 Sierra Sam’s Seven; or, The Stolen Bride. By Edward L. Wheeler. 259 The Golde:. Marpoom; or, Lost Among the Floes. By Roger Starbuck. 260 Dare-Devil Dan, the Young Prairie Ran- ger. By Oll Coomes. 261 Fergus Fearnaught, the New York Boy. By George L. Aiken. 262 The Young Sleuths; or, Rollicking Mike’s Hot Trail, By Charles Morris, 263 Deadwood Dick’s Divide; or, The Spirit of Swamp Lake. By Ed. L. Wheeler. 264 The Floating Feathers; or, Merle Monte’s Treasure Island. By Colonel Prentiss Ingraham, The Viger Tamer; or, The League of the Jungle. By Captain Fred. Whittaker. Killb’ar, the Guide; or, Davy Crockett’s Crooked Trail. By Ensign C, D. Warren, Whe Buckskin Detective; or, Claude Crecy, King of American Road-Agents. By T. C. Harbaugh. 268 Deadwood Dick’s Death ‘Trail; or, From Ocean to Ocean. By Ed. L. Wheeler. 269 The Gold Ship; or, Merle, the Con- demned. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham. 270 Blizzard Ben, the Arizona Cyclone; or, The Riot at Keno Camp. By Capt. M. Wilton, 271 The Huge Hunter; or, The Steam Man of the Prairies. By Edward 8. Ellis, 272 Minkskin IWike, the Boy Sharpshooter, By Olt Coomes, 273 Jumbo Joe, the Boy Patrol; or, The Rival Heirs. By Edward L Wheeler. 274 Jolly Sim, the Detective Apprentice; or, Harry Keen’s Big “ Lay.” By Charles Morris, 275 276 277 265 266 267 Arizona Jack ; or, Giant George’s Tender- foot Pard. By Buckskin Sam. Merle MWonte’s “Cruise 3 or, The Chase of “The Gold Ship.” By Col. Prentiss Ingraham. Penver Doll, the Deiective Queen; or, Yankee Fisler’s Big Surround, By Edward L. Wheeler. The Three Trappers; or, The Mountain Monster. By Major L. W. Carson, Old Winch, the Rifle King; or, The Buck- skin Desperadoes. By T. C. Harbaugh. 280 Merle "Wonte’s Fate; or, Pearl, The Pi- rate’s Pride. By Col, Prentiss Ingraham, 281 Denver Dolls Victory; or, Skull and Cross-bones. By Edward L. Wheeler. 282 The Typo Detective; or, Weasel, the Boy Tramp. By Edward Willett. 283. Endian Joe; or, The White Spirit of the Hills. By Major Lewis W. Carson. 284 Whe Sea Waranders or, Merle Monte’s Pledge. Ry Col. Prentiss Ingraham, 285 Deny. Dolls Decovw; or, Little Bill’s Bonanza. By Edward L. Wheeler. 286 Josh The Boy Tendertoots or, The Wild Men of Buzzard Bar. By Capt. Mt. Wilton. 287 Billy Biue-Kyes, the Boy Rover of the Rio Grande. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham. 288 "Whe Scalp King; or, The Human Thun- derbolt. By Captain J. F.C, Adams. 289 Jolly Jim’s Jo»; or. The Young Detec- tive’s Triumph. By Charles Morris, 290 Little Foxfire, the Boy Spy. By Ol Coomes. 291 Turk, the Boy Ferret. By BE. L. Wheeler. 292 Sancho Pedro, the Boy Bandit. By Maj. BE. L. St. Vrain. 293 Red Claw, the One-Eyed Trapper; or, The Maid of the Chit. By Captain Comstock, 294 Dynamite Dan: or, The Bowie Blade of Cochetopa. By T. 0. Harbaugh. 295 Fearless Phil; or, The King of Quartz- ville. By Edward Willett. 296 Denver Dolls Drift; or, The Road ercars Big Campaign. By E. L. Wheeler, 297 The Tarantula of Taos; or, Giant George’s Revenge, By Buckskin Sam. 278 279 298 299 300 301 ed The Water-Hounds; or, The Young Thoroughbred. By Charles Morris, A No. 1, the Dashing Toll-Taker; or, The Schoolmarm o’ Sassafras. By E. L. Wheeler, The Sky Demon; or, Rainbolt, the Ran- ger. By Oll Qeomes. Leadville Nick, the Boy Sport By Major. BE. L. St. Vrain. ‘The Mountain Detective 3 or, The Bul- ly of Trigger Bar. By T. C. Harbaugh, °Liza Jane, the Girl Miner; or, The Iron- Nerved Sport. By Edward L. Wheeler. The Dead Shot Dandy; or, Benito, the Boy Bugler. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham, > Dashaway ot Dakota; or, A Western 310 311 312 313 Lad in the Quaker City. By Chas. Morris. Neck-Tie Ned, the Lariat-Thrower; or, The Dug-Out Pards. By Maj. Henry B. Stoddard, The Strange Pard; or, Little Ben's Death Hunt. By Buckskin Sam. Keno Kit, the Boy Bugler’s Pard; or, Dead Shot Dandy’s Double. By Col. P. Ingraham. Deadwood Dick’s Big Deal; or, The Gold Brick of Oregon, By Ed. L. Wheeler. The Barranea Wolf; or, The Beautiful Decoy. By Joseph E. Badger, Jr. The Roving Sport; or, The Pride of Chuckaluck Camp, By Edward Willett. Redtop Rube, the Vigilante Prince. By Major EL. St. Vrain. Cimarron Jack, the King Pin of Riflo- Shots. By Frederick Dewey. 4 The Mysterious Marauder; or, Tho 315 316 317 318 319 320 321 322 323 324 325 326 327 328 329 330 331 332 333 334 835 336 Boy Bugler’s Long Trail, By Col. P. Ingrahain, Ned, the Cabin Boy; or, The Witch of the Haunted Fort, By Jack Farragut, Old Kelipse, Trump Card of Arizona; or, Little Snap Shot’s Horse Hunt, By T. ©. Harbaugh, Peacock Pete, the Lively Lad from Lead- ville. By Lieut. Alfred Thorne. Ker-Whoop, Ker-Whoo! or, The Tar- antula of Taos on the War-Path, By Buck. skin Sam, The Black Rider 3 or, The Horse-Thievee’ League. By Jos. E. Badger, Jr. The Sea Sorceress; or, Lieutenant Ned, the Boy Skipper. By Jack Farragut, Peadwoo Dick’s Dozen; or, The Fakir of Phantom Flats. By Ed. L. Wheeler. Nemo, the Detective; or, Kit Kenyon’s Vendetta. By Edward Willett. Arkansaw Jack, of the Man Hunters; or The Scourge of the Mines. By Harry Hazard. Kalph Ready, the Hotel Boy Detective; or, Tracking the Foxes to Earth. By Chas. Morrir. Kelley, Mickey & ©o., the Sleuths of Philadelphia. By Edward L. Wheeler. Whe Ten Pards3 or, The Terror of Take- Notice. By T. C. Harbaugh, Creeping Cat, the Caddo; or, The Red and White Pards. By Buckskin Sam. The Sky Detective; or, A Boy’s Fight for Life and Honor. By Major Mickey Free. Red-Skin Toms; or, The Demon’s Trail. By Harry Hazard. Little Quick-Shot, the Scarlet Scout; or, The Dead Face of Daggersville. By Edward L. Wheeler. Black Nick, the Demon Rider; or, The Mountain Queen’s Warning. By Captain F, Whittaker, Frio Fred3 or, The Tonkaway’s Trust. By Buckskin Sam. rimstone Bob, and His Lightning Horse Quartette. By Major HE, L. St. Vrain, Kangaroo Kit; or, The Mysterious Miner, By Edward L. Wheeler. Old Double Fist; or, The Strange Guide. By Joseph B. Badger, Jr. Biz Benson, the Brazos Bombshell; or, The Queen of the Lasso, By T. C, Harbaugh,
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BEADLE’S HALF-DINE LIBRARY. 837 Ben Bird, the Cave King; or, Big Pete's Scoop. B: Ww. J. Hamilton. 338 A Tough Boy; or, The Dwarf’s Revenge. By Philip 5, Warne. 839 Kangaroo Kit’s Racket; or, The Pride of Played-Out. By Edward L, Wheeler. 340 Clip, the Contortionist; or, The Vigilantes of Montana. By Edward Willett. 341 Tony Thorn, the Vagabond Detective; or, Running Down a Rogue, By Charles Morris. 342 ‘Khe Mountain Devil; or, Yellow Jack, the Outlaw Captain, ns Harry Hazard. 343 Manhattan Mike, the Bowery Blood. By Edward L. Wheeler, 344 Mhe Fighting Trio; or, Rattlesnake, the Tonkaway. By Buckskia Sam, 345 Pitiless Mat, the White Slayer; or, Red Thunderbolt’s Secret. By T. C. Harbaugh. 346 Rapier Raphael; or, The Swordsmen of Zacatecas. By Maj. i. B. Stoddard, Ex-Scout. 847 Deadwood Dick’s Ducats; or, Rainy Days in the Diggings. By Edward L. Wheeler. 348 Fireheels; or, Old Skinflint, the Death- Shadow. By Roger Starbuck. 349 Wild Wolf, the Waco; or, Big-Foot Wal- lace to the Front. By Buckskin Sam. 350 Red Ralph, the River Rover; or, The Brother’s Revenge. By Ned Buntline. 351 Deadwood Dick Sentenced; or, The Terrible Vendetta, By Edward L. W heeler. 352 Tombstone Wom, the Arizona Boy of “Sand”. By Major E. L. St. Vrain. 353 The Reporter-Detective; or, Fred Fly- er’s Blizzard. ly Charles Morris. 354 Big Horn Y¥ke, the Hill Tramp; or, The Odd Pards. By Roger Starbuck. 355 Whe King of the Woods; or, Daniel Boone's Last Trail. By Jos. E. Badger, Jr. 856 Cool Sam and Pard; or, The Terrible Six From Texas, By T. C. Harbaugh, 857 The Manch Raiders; or, The Siege of Fort Purgatory. By Buckskin Sam. 858 First-Class Fred, the Gent from Gopher. By Edward L. Wheeler. 359 Durango Dave, the Young Champion Wrestler; or, The Colorado Song Queen. By Major E. L. St. Vrain. 8360 Silver-Niask, the Man of Mystery; or. The Crogs of the Golden Keys. By J. C. Cowdrick. 361 The Phantom Light-House; or, “Black Rock,” the Smuggler Spy. By Roger Starbuck. Deadwood Dicks Claim; or, The Fairy Face of Faro Flats. By Edward L. Wheeler, Little Tornado 3 or, The Outcasts of the Glen. By Philip 8. Warne. Snap-Shot, the Boy Ranger; or The Snake and the Dove. By Buckskin Sam. Baltimore Ben, the Bootblack Detective; or, The Fortunes of an Orphan Girl. By An- thony P, Morris. Velvet Foot, the Indian Detective; or, The Taos Tiger. By T. C. Harbaugh. Wide-Awake Joe; or, A Boy of the Times. By Charles Morris. Vreka Jim, the Gold-Gatherer; or The Lottery of Life’ By Edward L. Wheeler. Siynatn. the Gold King; or, For Seven Years Dead. By J.C. Cowdrick. Breaker §Sen, the Reef-Runner; or, The Telitala Hand. By Roger Starbuck. Kingbolt Chris, the Young Hard-Shell Detective; or. The Solid_Man From Slow- Coach. By Maj. E. L. St. Vrain. Wreka Jim’s Prize; or, The Wolves of Wake-Up. By E. L. Wheeler. 373 Wittle Fingo3 or, The Queer Pard. By Philip S. Warne. 5 374 Gold Dust ‘Toms; or, Ambergris Ben’s Double Match. By George Henry Morse. 375 Chiota, the Creeks; or, The Three Thun- derbolts. By Buckskin Sam. 362 363 364 865 86% 367 368 369 370 371 372 ; 376 California Joe’s First Trail. A Story of the Destroying Angels, By Col. Thomas Hoyer Monstery. 377 Bonodel, the Boy Rover; or, The Magless Schooner. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham. 378 Nabob Nedj3 or, The Secret of Slab City. By Edward L. Wheeler. 379 Larry, the Leveler3 or, The Bloods of the Boulevard, By Charles Morris. 380 Avalanche Alf, the Foothills Guide; or, The Snow-Prisoners of Colorado, By Major E. L. St. Vrain. 381 Bandera Bill; or, Frio Frank to the Front. By Buckskin Sam. 382 Cool Kit, the King of Kids; or, A Villain’s Vengeance. By Edward L. Wheeler. 383 The Indian Pilot; or, The Search for Pirates’ Island. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham. 384 Whip-King Joe, the Boy Ranchero; or, The Border Schoolmaster, By Oll Coomes. 8385 Wreka Jim’s Jekers or, The Rivals of Red Nose, By E. L. Wheeler. 386 Captain Cutlass, the Ocean Spider; or, The Buccaneer’s Gir] foe, By T. C. Harbaugh. 387 Warpath Will, the Roy Phantom; or, The Traitor Guide. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham. 3883 Littlo Oh-my3_or, Caught in His Own Trap. By Philip S. Warne. 389 Bicycle Bens or, The Lion of Lightning Lode. By Edward L. Wheeler. 390 Jaguar Joe, of the Mountain Mail-Line. By Maj. E. L. St. Vrain. 891 Kid-Glove Kit, the Dandy of the Rockies. By Maj. H. B. Stoddard, Ex-Scout, 392 Romeo and the Keds. By Buckskin am. 393 Seawaif, the Boy Lieutenant. By Colonel Prentiss Ingraham. 394 Yreka Jim of Yuba Dam. By Edward L. Wheeler, 395 California Joe’s War Trail. By Capt. F. Whittaker. 396 Rough Rob, of Dynamite; or, The Twin Champions of Blue Blazes. By TC. Harbaugh. 387 Bob o? the Bowery 3 or, The Prince of Pi Mulberry Street. “By Jo York Detective Force. 398 Kid-Glove Kit and Pards or, The Gold King of Weird Canyon. By Maj. H. B. Stoddard, 399 Black Buckskin; or, The Masked Men of Death Canyon.. By Col. A. F. Holt, 400 Wrinkles, the Night-Watch Detective. By Edward L. Wheeler. 401 Little Shoo-Fly; or, A Race for a Ranch. By Philip S. Warre. 402 Isodor, the Young Conspirator ; or, The Fatal League. By Col. P. Ingraham. 403 Firefly Jack, the River-Rat Detective. By Charles Morris. 404 Little Lariat. By Buckskin Sam, 405 Deadwood Dick in Dead City. By Edward L. Wheeler. 406 The Mad Man-Munter. By Maj. H. B. Stoddard, Ex-Scout. By Col. Ingraham. By Philip s. 407 ‘The Boy Insurgent. 408 Little Leather-Breeehes. Warne. 409 Hercules, the Dumb Destroyer; or, Dick, the Boy Ranger. By Oll Coomes, 410 Deadwood Dick’s Diamonds. By Hd- ward L. Wheeler, 411 The Silken Lasso3 or, The Rose of Ranch Robin. By T. C. Harbaugh. 412 The Wild Yachtsmans3; or, The Cruise of the War-Cioud. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham, A New Issue Hvery Tuesday. The Half-Dime Library is for sale by all newsdealers, five cents per copy, or sent by mail on receipt of six cents eacb. BEADLE AND ADAMS, Pustisumrs, $8 William Street, New York, ierce, of the New
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82 OCTAVO PAGES. wee. > PRICE FIVE CENTS, gEAD das E> 5 : POGKE? tt BRAR®X, TOODDDO OS OSSD SOOO DOO OOOOOKN ~ COSOOSSOOOOOOOSOOSOOOS ISSUED EVERY WEDNESDAY. nya 1 Deadwood Di k, the Prince of the Riad. By Ea- ward L. Wheeler. Kansea Kings or, The Red Right Hand. By Buf- fu o Bill. The Fiying Yankee; or, The Ocean Outcast. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham. The Double Daggers. By Edward L. Wheeler. The Two Detectives, By Albert W. Aiken. The Prairie Pilot. By Buffalo Bill. The Buffalo Demon; or, The Border Vultures. By Edward L. Wheeler, 8 Antelope Abe, the Boy Guide, By O}1 Coomes, 40 41 Az 48 Ned Wylde, the Boy Scout, By “Texas Jack” (J. B. Ouiotysero}. fuffalo Ben, the Prince of the Pistol. By Edward L. Wheeler. Ralph Roy, the Boy Buccaneer. By Cl. Ingraham. Nick o’ the Night; or, The Boy Spy of 76. By T. OU, Harbaugh. Yellowstone Jack. By Joseph E. Badger, Jr. Wild Ivan, the Boy Claude Duval. By Edward L. Wheeler. Diamond Dirk. By Colonel Prentiss Ingraham. Keen-Knife, Prince of the Prairies, By O11 Coomes, Oregon Sol; or, Nick Whiffles’s Boy Spy. By Capt. es C. Adains. Nasactae, the Detective. By E. L. Wheeler. Lasso Jack. By Oll Coomes, Roaring Ralph Rockwood, the Reckless Ranger. By Harry St. George. The Boy Clown. By Frank S. Finn. The Phantom Miner. By Edward L. Wheeler. The Sea-Cat, By Captain Frederick Whittaker. The Dumb Spy. By Ol! Coomes. Rattling Rube. By Harry St. George. Old Avalanche, the Great Annihilator. By Edward L. Wheeler. Gla «-Eye, the Great Shot of the West. By Capt. J. F.C. Adams. The Boy Captain, By Roger Starbuck. Dick Darling, the Pony Express Rider, By Capt. brederick Whittaker. Bob Woolf, the Border Ruffian, By E. L. Wheeler. Nightingale Nat. By T. C. Harbaugh, Black John, the Road Agent. By J. E. Badger, Jr. Omaha Ol, the Masked Terror. By E. L. Wheeler. Burt Bunker, the Trapper. By George E. Lasalle. The Boy Rifles, By A. C. Irons. The White B: ffalo. By George E. Lasalle. Jim Bludsoe, Ir. By Edward L. Wheeler. Ned Hazel, the Boy Trapper. By Capt. J. F.C, Adams. Deadly Eye, the Unknown Scout. By Buffalo Bill, Nick Whiflles’s Pet. By Capt. J. F. C, Adams. Deadwood Dick’s Eagles. By E. L. Wheeler. The Border King. By ll Coomes. Old Wickory. By Harry St. George. 44 The White Indian, By Capt. J. F.C. Adame. 5 Buckhorn Bill, By Edward L. Wheeler. The Shadow Ship. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham, The Red Brotherhood. By W. J. Hamilton. Dandy Jack. By T. C. Harbaugh. Hurricane Bill. By Joseph E. Badger, Jr. Single Mand. By W. J. Hamilton. Patent-leather Joe. By Philip S. Warne. The Border Robin Wood. By Buffalo Bill, Gold Rifle, the Sharpshooter. By Edward L. Wheeler, Old Zip’s Cabin, By Capt. J. F, C, Adams. Delaware Dick, the Young Ranger Spy. By Oll Coomes, Mad Tom Western. By W. J. Hamilton. Deadwood Diek on Deck. By E. L. Wheeler. NMawkeye Marry. By Oll Coomes. The Boy Duelist. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham. Abe Colt, the Crow-Killer. By Albert W. Aiken, Corduroy Charlie, the Boy Bravo. By Edward L, Wheeler. Will Somers, the Boy Detective. By Chas. Morris. Sel Ginger, the Giant Trapper. By A. W. Aiken. Rosebud Rob. By Edward L, Wheeler. Lightning Soe, the Terror of the Prairie. By Capt. . C. Adams, Kit Warefoot, the Wood-Hawk. By T. C. Har. bangh. Rollo, the Boy Ranger. By Oll Coomes, Idyl, the Girl Miner. By Edward L. Wheeler. Detective Dick; or, The Hero in Rags. By Charles Morris. Sure Shot Seth, the Boy Rifleman. By Oil Coomes. Sharp Sam; or, The Adventures of a Friend ess Boy. By J. Alexander Patten. The Lion of the Sea, By Albert W. Aiken, Photograph Phil, the Boy Sleuth. By Edward L, ¢ heeler. Pleay une Pete}; or, Nicodemus, the Dog Detective. By Charles Morr s. Island Jim; or. The Pet of the Family. By Brace- bridge Hemyug (Jack Harkaway). Watch-Eye, the Shadow. By Edward L, Wheeler. Dick Dead Eye, the Boy Smuggler. By Col. P. In- gralinm, Beadle’s Pocket Library is for sale by all News- deniers, five cents per copy, or sent by mail on receipt of six cents each, BEADLE & ADAMS, Publishers, 98 William Street, New York.