CHAPTER IXA ZULU WAR-DANCE

Man carrying rifle, holding torch aloft"THE SEARCHING PARTY . . . CARRIED GREAT TORCHES"

"THE SEARCHING PARTY . . . CARRIED GREAT TORCHES"

Aunt Johanna's fears, too, were grave, and Magdalena plainly informed Hercules that there could be no happy wedding on New Year's Day unless little George was captured from the Zulu, and brought home alive and well before that time.

So all night the searching party, headed by the lieutenant, Petrus and Hercules, carried great torches of flaming grass and tree-branches, and flooded with light every deep game-pit, every clump of trees, kopje, and river bank. But no answer had come. So, at sunrise, the party broke up and returned home. Grief stricken, the lieutenant with the aid of Hercules, immediately formed a large well-armed party of picked Kafirs and made straight for the Kalahari Desert. There it was he had first seen the threatening Zulu. There it was he would no doubt return with George—and perhaps take his revenge by selling George into slavery to the Bechuanas. It was a long tripback to that deadly "thirst-land." They had left by sunrise. Already the party was well on its way.

But Petrus remembered one most significant remark of his Aunt Kotie's. He remembered her telling him that Dirk had come to her from Natal, where he had been one of a gang of Zulu dock-hands, piling lumber at the wharf at Durban. She had also told him that Dirk's people belonged to the great military kraal at Ekowe, in Zululand, near the Tugela River. Petrus believed Dirk was making his escape with George, taking the shortest cut back over the robber-infested Drakensberg Mountains to the docks.

Moreover, Mutla—who, like all Kafirs, was an expert at "following the spoor"—had "spoored" the hoof-marks of the Zulu's horse from the very door of the Chief's kraal. The ground was still moist from recent rains, and Mutla's keen eyes and quickness of perceptionhad detected the grass bent down, and pebbles scattered leaving the wet side up-turned, and often the whole hoof-press of the horse clearly stamped in the soft ground.

Mutla was certain he was following the very road the Zulu had taken. The hoof-marks led southwards, towards the Drakensberg Mountains. So for two days they traveled over the monotonous grasslands of the Orange Free State with its interminable thorn-bushes, until finally, as they neared the base of the mountains, the spoor was crossed and re-crossed by the cloven hoof indentations of the eland, the slipper-like footprints of the giraffe, and the immense circular depressions made by the elephant, with now and then, to their horror, the dreaded print of the lion's paw. Petrus and Mutla kept their rifles ready for instant use. As the trees grew thicker the whir of wings and sudden flash of brilliant plumage told them that feathered game was not wanting.

Suddenly there was a mighty rustling in the underbrush with the sound of breaking branches among the trees close to them. Mutla's pony buck-jumped, carrying his rider headlong to the ground. Five elephants burst through the trees and dashed down an embankment on the left of the road to the water, where, with mighty gurglings and splashings, the monsters threw the water from their trunks in streams over their bodies, and a little baby elephant ran about with a tree branch playfully held in his trunk.

"Oh, Baas,[16]I thought it was lions sure!" exclaimed the frightened Kafir.

"The big fellows didn't even see us, Mutla, and I don't think they would have charged us if they had. But let us water our ponies and hasten on our way."

They came out of the forest into a narrow and very winding road, and advanced at a trippingpace. Soon they were zigzagging up the face of the Drakensberg—the loftiest and grandest mountain range in all South Africa. Soon the darkness of night would overtake them. Something made them think of robbers. But Petrus was not afraid. He was a daring rider. His horsemanship had received high praise from the lieutenant himself, and he had marked skill with weapons. He knew the position of the sun at all hours of the day, and of the stars by night. They could not stray far from their way. Mutla had Arab blood in his veins. With his keen, piercing eyes he could see all the dangerous roads and precipices in the dark.

Ferus suddenly trembled violently. Petrus gave a quick glance into the trees close by. Crouching at full length, far out on a branch overhanging the stream, was a leopard glaring down, ready to spring. Instantly Petrus' rifle was at his shoulder. The report soundedthrough the forest, and the "tiger-cat," as Mutla called it, fell with a splash into the water below.

"Oh, my master, lions sure about here," protested the still frightened Mutla, as Petrus dismounted and began to cut down branches with which to build a fire. With sun-down had come complete darkness there in the depths of the tropical mountain forest.

"Fires are our best protection against wild beasts. Come, let us prepare our supper, and sleep, for to-morrow's journey is to be a long one."

Petrus fastened the ponies to a tree by their head-stalls, while Mutla piled on branches and sticks, making the little fire crackle and blaze up warmly as they prepared and ate their supper.

Then, using their saddles for pillows, with their rifles at their sides and the blankets stretched on the ground under them, they fellasleep, but only for a short time. Soon they awoke to find the forest flooded with bright moonlight. It was light as day. Petrus reached for a high branch of a native tree. This he bent down and broke off a piece about four feet long.

"I'm making a 'knob-kerrie,' Mutla. It may be useful to-morrow in killing snakes." Some, like the venomous mamba, are nine feet long. Mutla watched Petrus as he skillfully formed the knob at one end. Then, aiming it at an imaginary beast far off among the trees, Petrus sent it spinning over and over through the air with a twirling motion, until it fell with a crash that reverberated throughout the forest. Instantly the whole forest was alive. Mutla grew nervous as he watched the dark forms everywhere mysteriously moving through the trees.

"Keep your gun ready, Mutla," advised Petrus.

"That I will, Baas," promptly answered the black boy.

After their night's rest, the ponies made good time early next morning, climbing the ascending jagged roads. The path dropped at times into deep mountain valleys, then rose to greater heights until at last they reached the famous "De Beer's Pass,"—which led across the lofty peaks of the "Dragon Mountains,"[17]to the Natal side. Only after hours of difficult scaling did the riders succeed in reaching this commanding ledge, from which they obtained their first view of "fair Natal," stretching far below in all its beauty.

More and more lonely and wild became the road as the descent was begun. Strange they had not overtaken Dirk yet. But they might at any moment. Gaunt crags rose all about them. From the trees overhead there came a flapping, hissing, struggling noise. Mutlagasped and uttered a shriek, as swooping savagely down upon him from its lofty nest was an immense eagle of the "man-eating" species. Its wings must have measured six feet from tip to tip. One blow from Petrus' knob-kerrie sent the "man-eater" flying from his prey.

"You have had a narrow escape, Mutla," said Petrus, springing into the saddle, as a great peal of thunder sounded and the sky darkened suddenly. Scarcely could they get into their rain-coats before the storm broke. First one, then the other of the ponies, slipped on the soft, wet ground, but quickly recovered themselves. The ponies continued to lose their footing as they made the irregular, uncertain descending slopes, often passing by dangerous ledges, dongas and pools. So dark had it grown they could not see their pony's ears in front of them.

"Follow me, my master, you're going wrong," came Mutla's caution now and then, as they traveled on through the blackness.

Late in the afternoon the storm ceased and the sun shone dimly. The dripping boys wondered where they were, and how far they had traveled, when a lone rider passed them and—to their delight—told them they were among the monarch trees at the base of the mountain. He pointed the way to the nearest human habitation, the hut of a kind Kafir missionary where they could have supper and pass the night.

Petrus was glad to learn that the kind Kafir was a very intelligent but aged missionary who spoke the Zulu language. He lighted a fire for them to dry themselves, while Petrus related to him the events of the day and why he had undertaken so dangerous a journey.

"In search of the little English boy? The Natal papers are full of descriptions of the Zulu, the offer of the reward, etc. Only yesterday just such a powerfully built Zulu, dragging a little lame white boy by the hand, came begging food at my door. When I began to questionhim he left suddenly, but not before I learned from him that he was on his way to Durban."

"Oh! That must have been Dirk! The boy must have been George!" cried Petrus, with sparkling eyes. "Mutla, up-saddle the ponies at once! We have no time to lose!"

"No, wait until morning. Your ponies are tired. The road from here to Durban is a rough one at best. Even the bravest would not be foolhardy enough to undertake it by night," insisted the old missionary.

"You are right. We will sleep to-night. In the early morning, long before you are up, we will be far on our way. Good-night, and thank you for all your kindness," said Petrus, handing the kind Kafir a sovereign to aid him in his work.

"Then 'good-night,' my boy, I wish you success and God-speed."

It was a glorious December morning. Petrus and Mutla were again in their saddles. Ladysmith and a near-by ostrich farm were soon left far behind. Then they forded the historic Tugela, which barely came up to their ponies' knees.

They made good play at a swinging gallop, threading their way in and out through Natal's tree-covered hills.

The country through which they were hastening was of indescribable beauty—a veritable fairyland with its rushing streams, beautiful forests of sweet-scented evergreens, graceful palm-trees and masses of strange and beautiful wildflowers.

Petrus and Mutla were in the land of the black man, from the melancholy-faced Hindoo cooly to the blackest of black Zulus.

Gliding nimbly in and out through the bushes, or creeping slyly up in the tall grass, were bunches of swift-footed Zulus. Petrus shuddered, and closely scanned each black face for Dirk's. Thousands of their beehive-like kraals were thickly scattered over every hillside they were passing.

"Look out for Dirk, Mutla. We may pass him on the road at any moment," sternly cautioned Petrus, as they hastened on through Natal's tropical valleys and uplands.

They paused at Pietermaritzburg. There the papers were full of the story and the offer of the large reward, but no trace of the stolen boy. Realizing that Durban must be reached at once, if Dirk was to be overtaken, they changed their pace into an easy gallop and dashed on their way towards the coast, past many large bananaand sugar-cane plantations. A cooling breeze was brushing the hillsides, for it had rained hard during the night.

man working in mill"PILING GREAT BEAMS OF WOOD IN ORDERLY ROWS ON THE WHARF"

"PILING GREAT BEAMS OF WOOD IN ORDERLY ROWS ON THE WHARF"

It was only about noon when they reached Natal's beautiful seaport—the "Pearl of South African Cities," as Durban has been called. Petrus made straight for the land-locked harbor. Above—on one of these beautiful terraced hillsides overlooking the Indian Ocean—he could see the handsome residences of the Berea, where dwelt Durban's prosperous business men.

"Dirk would neither be working there, nor as a jinrickshaw-boy in the busy streets of the town," thought Petrus, as they hurried on to the docks. There he found hundreds of powerfully built, broad-chested, coal-black Zulus, all hard at work piling great beams of wood in orderly rows on the wharf. They sang as they worked. Petrus scrutinized every ebony face but saw no little white boy among them.

"Look close, Mutla. Dirk worked here on this dock once. He may be here now."

Just at that moment a gust of wind sent a Durban morning paper fluttering against Ferus' feet. Dropping quickly to the ground, Petrus caught it before it was gone.

"Mutla!" he exclaimed excitedly. "Quick, Mutla! We're going to Zululand! We can reach there before dark if we try. The paper says that Dirk was seen working here on this dock late yesterday afternoon, and that he suddenly disappeared with the boy in the direction of the swamps of Saint Lucia Bay, where many are following him. But Dirk will never go that far. He will turn aside and make straight for his kraal at Ekowe. Come! We'll get George yet!"

Petrus hastily sent the following telegram to Lieutenant Wortley:

"Am safe. Shall reach Dirk's kraal at Ekowe, in Zululand, before night. Hope to start home with George by morning.Petrus."

"Am safe. Shall reach Dirk's kraal at Ekowe, in Zululand, before night. Hope to start home with George by morning.

Petrus."

The heart of Zululand was but a few hours away. With a word to Ferus, and a spur-thrust to Mutla's brown pony, they dashed forward at a swinging pace. Ahead of them, as they topped each rise, rose the romantic hills of Zululand—the clear atmosphere making them plainly visible. Through the trees on their right every now and then they got blue glimpses of the Indian Ocean.

Once Ferus swerved and trembled violently. There—lying coiled up in a ring in the center of the road—Petrus saw a great hooded Cobra, the largest and most deadly of South African reptiles. Ferus was leaping in terror. Before Petrus could rein him in, the viper rose on its tail, hissed, and made two strikes at Ferus' feet, then escaped through the grass into a hole at the root of an old tree.

On they sped through the beautiful coast forests. Every now and then bunches of dark-eyed, woolly-pated, naked Zulus, with skincarosses thrown over one shoulder, appeared and as suddenly disappeared. No sooty face missed Petrus' quick eye. Once he heard the shouting and laughter of a group of good-natured young Zulus ahead of him. With glistening bodies they were emerging from the clear waters of a spruit into which they had just plunged themselves. Presently, from out the bush on his left, there stole a huge coal-black lone Zulu carrying an iron-tipped assegai. Instantly Petrus' rifle was at his shoulder. But it was not Dirk.

In the gathering dusk the roadway was becoming full of dangerous turns and slopes. Ferus never made a false step. Over many a bridge the ponies clattered on their way. At last they were in Zululand, once the land of "Chief Chaka," and of powerful "Ketchwayo," whose warriors proudly called him "Strong Mighty Elephant." It was in Zululand that Empress Eugénie's son, the PrinceImperial, had been slain by the fierce blacks.

The glare of the setting sun was behind them as they turned in the direction of the famous Zulu military kraals of Ekowe. Cutting through the undergrowth of rank luxuriance, they went at top speed. Often the Zulu grass met above their ponies' ears. Presently they emerged into a more open, grassy space where they passed a half-wild herd of Zulu cattle contentedly feeding. They were beautiful little creatures.

"Mutla, we must be very near the Ekowe kraals!" excitedly exclaimed Petrus, "otherwise this herd of Zulu cattle would hardly be grazing here! Look out for Dirk!"

They had gone but a short distance farther when three mounted Zulus with strings of birds around their necks, rode slowly up, glared at them and passed on their way. In a little while their ears caught the sound of girls' chatteringvoices. Then a group of dusky Zulu beauties, scantily clad in skins and beads, strolled across their path and disappeared. Soon they passed whole troops of cunning little black urchins laughing and playing together. Petrus slackened his pace somewhat. One little group stopped to stare in wide-eyed wonder at the white riders. Then one little naked savage came running directly up to the ponies in the most friendly fashion.

A quick low whistle brought Ferus to a full stop. She patted the pony affectionately, and, smiling up to Petrus, chattered something to him in Zulu, which was equivalent to: "How do you do, great white Chief?"

Petrus handed the youngster a sixpence and asked: "Dirk? Where's Dirk?"

"Dirk? Want Dirk?" repeated the friendly child, with a brightening look and quick nod of recognition of the name. "Dirk there—kraals!" she gladly explained, pointing downthe road, then ran laughingly back to her companions with the sixpence.

"Oh, Mutla! Dirk surely must be here! Keep in the shadow of the trees. Everything depends upon our not being seen."

"Yes, Baas," answered Mutla somewhat nervously, as they began to wend their way through the city of two hundred or more armed kraals arranged in several great circles—one lying within the other like so many great garlands spread over the grass. Shields and spears were everywhere stuck into the thatch of the numerous large beehive-like huts made of wattles or poles, the upper ends of which were bent over and lashed together with a strong vine called "monkey-rope." The lower ends were firmly fastened into the ground. They had indeed reached the far-famed Zulu military kraals of Ekowe, where dwelt the garrison of the King's army. But for a pack of yelping, barking dogs, which dashed viciously out atthe pony's heels, all seemed silent and deserted.

"Turn back among the trees!" commanded Petrus. "We must get out of here quickly!" The ground under the trees into which they had abruptly turned for shelter was literally covered with strange trophies of Zulu prowess with wild beasts—leopards' skulls, Rhino horns, lions' teeth and claws, jackals' tails and skins, ostriches' eggs and feathers, with great heaps of bones and broken assegais. An array of game was hanging from the trees.

Suddenly the sound of hundreds of voices reached them from far in the distance.

"Listen, Mutla! The sound comes from the direction of that great open plateau, far across there. What can it all be about?" exclaimed Petrus, whose heart was filled with new hope. Cautiously emerging to the edge of the woods, they beheld a scene to make one's blood run cold. There—far across on the opposite plateau—chargingin a frenzy of excitement, brandishing their battle-axes and assegais, yelling and whirling their knob-kerries, was the whole garrison of mounted Zulus. As Petrus and Mutla watched, their yells broke forth into their ancient "war-song" to which Ketchwayo's victorious armies had marched.

two men in brush looking at Zulu in disance"THE WHOLE YELLING MASS MADE ANOTHER WILD CHARGE"

"THE WHOLE YELLING MASS MADE ANOTHER WILD CHARGE"

"Mutla, they surely can't be on the warpath! It must be an imaginary battle they are fighting. We must slip up closer and closer, keeping well out of sight ourselves, but where we can see if Dirk is among them. It will soon be too dark to see. Look well, Mutla!"

"Master afraid?" questioned the paling Kafir.

"Afraid, Mutla? Why should we be afraid? Are we not both well armed?" answered the Boer boy, as they crept closer and closer, taking advantage of every tree and wooded knoll to conceal their approach. Soon they were within forty yards, and evidently unobserved.The warriors' ox-hide shields and high-poised assegais gleamed in the setting sun, as, stamping the earth furiously, the whole yelling mass made another wild charge. Petrus kept his hand on his rifle and a bullet in his mouth. The Zulu's eyes blazed.

"Oh, Mutla, look! Look quick! The big Zulu there is Dirk! And, Mutla, that little bit of a lame boy in the midst of the 'war dance' is—GEORGE! It'sGEORGE! Look! Dirk banged him over the head with his shield. He's crying. Oh, if only we could let him know in some way that we are here. He's looking this way! I am going to wave my hat! Quick, Mutla, wave to him! There, he saw us! He waved his arm to me! He's smiling now. See him?" Petrus wanted to shout for joy.

"Yes, Master. But how dare we get him away from Dirk?"

"To-night, when Dirk is fast asleep, George will come to this very tree where he saw us.We can't remain here. It's too exposed. But he will find this note. I'll stick it right through a high tree-branch here—where he'll be sure to see it. I'll make it so big that he can't miss it. There now. Quick! Let us make our escape back among the trees, Mutla!"

Scarcely had Mutla followed Petrus back out of sight than the entire shrieking, savage regiment swept down over the very spot where, but a moment before, their ponies had been standing.

"Dirk didn't see us, Mutla. He didn't look this way at all. But I saw George look right at the big note up on the tree. He'll come."

Long was the night. At last Petrus thought he heard the joyful sound of two or three swiftly running steps behind him. Petrus listened again, but he was not certain, when—"Petrus! Petrus!" he heard close behind him.

Springing from Ferus, Petrus turned to search for the voice.

"George! George!" he cried softly in joy,as a little lame boy came limping out from behind a big tree and bounded forward into his arms.

"Petrus! Take me home! Take me home!" he cried. "Quick, before Dirk comes! Dirk tried to make a Zulu of me, Petrus, and—"

A great rushing sound of wheels drowned the rest of George's sentence. It was a large motor-car—for even in far-off Africa they have automobiles—with two armed passengers, which swung directly up to them and halted.

"Oh,Daddy! Father! Father!" cried George, throwing himself into his father's arms.

"George! George!my precious boy!" cried the lieutenant, seizing his child with a look of great joy. "Here, Petrus, jump into the car beside Hercules. You have won George's and my everlasting gratitude. Mutla, take thismoney and bring the ponies home by freight. Good-by. We're off for home!"

"Good-by, Mutla, and thank you for coming with me," called back Petrus, as the big car whirled out of sight.

It was on the afternoon of New Year's Day—the day of Magdalena's wedding—that they reached home. It was one of those bright midsummer afternoons for which the Transvaal is famous. From the windows and doors of "Weltefreden" soft lights glowed, and the merry strains of fiddles and an accordion reached the ears of Lieutenant Wortley, Petrus, and a happy little English boy sitting between them, as the big car whirred up to the old farmhouse stoop.

The long row of saddles against the red brick wall told of the large number of gayly decked riders who had already arrived—many of whom were standing in groups outside, shakinghands, drinking coffee and discussing Petrus' heroism, as they watched the unloading of Cape carts, wagonettes, spiders, horse and ox-wagons full of Dutch vrouws and children, whose bright dresses flashed gayly in the sunlight.

Every now and then the crack of a whip announced the arrival of Boer families of greater means, in conveyances ostentatiously drawn by four, six, or even eight horses, according to their wealth. The men-folks, in tight patent-leather oxfords, courteously helped their showily dressed vrouws and daughters to alight, while Hottentot nurses took care of the blond little girls in bright prints, and their little brothers in new mole-skins. Hercules had already arrived. He had hastened on by train, when the lieutenant had paused at Ladysmith to consult a doctor about George's lame foot.

"Oh, there's Aunt Kotie's motor!" exclaimed Petrus, as he and George bounded into the big house—Petrus straight into Aunt Johanna'soutstretched arms, while George rushed to his Aunt Edith, who nearly smothered him with hugs and kisses.

"Petrus is home!Petrus is home!" flew from one to another until the whole gathering had heard the good news. All knew he had won the "reward," for Aunt Kotie had brought the latest Johannesburg paper giving the full account. All had been thrilled by the story of his daring rescue of George. Now that he was safely home again, every one present crowded about to shake hands with their young hero. Scarcely had the blushing boy recovered from this ovation when he found himself enveloped in the arms of the happy bride who, with Hercules, had just returned from the church.

Then Lieutenant Wortley spoke:

"As you all know, our brave Petrus has won the reward offered for George's rescue. The amount has been on deposit in gold in the NationalBank of South Africa as advertised. Let me therefore take this opportunity of making good my promise—here before this gathering of his friends and relatives—by now writing out for Petrus an order on the National Bank of South Africa for the five hundred pounds he has so well won.

"Much as I rejoice at the finding of my own little boy, Petrus is the real hero, and I want to express the overwhelming sense of gratitude which both George and I feel towards this brave young lad.

"Petrus, there is no one we would rather have had win this reward than you—especially as it is to be the means of your some day coming to England to take your college course at Oxford with George.

"We return to England at once. My country needs my services at the front. But in the years to come there will never be a more welcome visitor at our old home in London thanour daring little Boer friend from 'Weltefreden.'"

"Good-by, Lieutenant Wortley! Good-by, George dear!" stammered Petrus—his eyes sparkling and his sun-burnt cheeks aglow with pride, as, waving a last farewell to the English friends he had grown to love, he dashed from the room amid a great clapping of hands and more congratulations.

He was glad to make his escape up to his own little room—to think. He had so much to think about. Oh, everything was possible now! Mutla's poor sick brother should be saved from death in the Kimberley diamond mines at once. And, as for his own great trip over the new "Cape to Cairo" road? Why, yes! He could now take Aunt Johanna and the whole family with him. Then there was London! His college course at Oxford, England, and, best of all, he would again see George! Wonderful dreams for the future thronged the mindof our little Boer cousin as he gazed from his window towards the star-lit heavens in the midst of which burned the Southern Cross.

THE END

FOOTNOTES:[1]A flat-topped little hill.[2]The open grassy plains.[3]Unhitch.[4]"Step-by-Step."[5]"I don't know."[6]General Petrus Joubert went with Paul Kruger to England in 1878 to protest against the annexation of the Transvaal, and in 1880 joined with Kruger and Pretorius in proclaiming its independence. In the war that followed he commanded the army and won the famous victories of Laing's Neck and Majuba Hill. He was elected Vice-President in 1883, contested the presidency in 1888 and in 1899 took command of the army in Natal, defeating the British in several engagements and holding General White besieged for months at Ladysmith, despite General Buller's efforts at relief. He died at Pretoria, March, 1900.[7]"Well content." (Great Boer farms are given names.)[8]"Mutla" means "thorn."[9]Village.[10]Little stream.[11]Preacher.[12]Evening call.[13]Suitor.[14]"Set aside."[15]Payment in cattle, without which no Kafir marriage was legal.[16]Master.[17]Drakensberg.

[1]A flat-topped little hill.

[2]The open grassy plains.

[3]Unhitch.

[4]"Step-by-Step."

[5]"I don't know."

[6]General Petrus Joubert went with Paul Kruger to England in 1878 to protest against the annexation of the Transvaal, and in 1880 joined with Kruger and Pretorius in proclaiming its independence. In the war that followed he commanded the army and won the famous victories of Laing's Neck and Majuba Hill. He was elected Vice-President in 1883, contested the presidency in 1888 and in 1899 took command of the army in Natal, defeating the British in several engagements and holding General White besieged for months at Ladysmith, despite General Buller's efforts at relief. He died at Pretoria, March, 1900.

[7]"Well content." (Great Boer farms are given names.)

[8]"Mutla" means "thorn."

[9]Village.

[10]Little stream.

[11]Preacher.

[12]Evening call.

[13]Suitor.

[14]"Set aside."

[15]Payment in cattle, without which no Kafir marriage was legal.

[16]Master.

[17]Drakensberg.

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THE RIVAL CAMPERS AFLOAT:Or, The Prize Yacht Viking.ByRuel Perley Smith.

Square 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated $1.50

This book is a continuation of the adventures of "The Rival Campers" on their prize yachtViking.

THE RIVAL CAMPERS ASHOREByRuel Perley Smith.

Square 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated $1.50

"As interesting ashore as when afloat."—The Interior.

JACK HARVEY'S ADVENTURES:Or, The Rival Campers Among the Oyster Pirates.ByRuel Perley Smith.

Illustrated $1.50

"Just the type of book which is most popular with lads who are in their early teens."—The Philadelphia Item.

PRISONERS OF FORTUNE:A Tale of the Massachusetts Bay Colony. ByRuel Perley Smith.

Cloth decorative, with a colored frontispiece $1.50

"There is an atmosphere of old New England in the book, the humor of the born raconteur about the hero, who tells his story with the gravity of a preacher, but with a solemn humor that is irresistible."—Courier-Journal.

FAMOUS CAVALRY LEADERS.ByCharles H. L. Johnston.

Large 12mo. With 24 illustrations $1.50

Biographical sketches, with interesting anecdotes and reminiscences of the heroes of history who were leaders of cavalry.

"More of such books should be written, books that acquaint young readers with historical personages in a pleasant informal way."—N. Y. Sun.

FAMOUS INDIAN CHIEFS.ByCharles H. L. Johnston.

Large 12mo, illustrated $1.50

In this book Mr. Johnston gives interesting sketches of the Indian braves who have figured with prominence in the history of our own land, including Powhatan, the Indian Cæsar; Massasoit, the friend of the Puritans; Pontiac, the red Napoleon; Tecumseh, the famous war chief of the Shawnees; Sitting Bull, the famous war chief of the Sioux; Geronimo, the renowned Apache Chief, etc., etc.

BILLY'S PRINCESS.ByHelen Eggleston Haskell.

Cloth decorative, illustrated by Helen McCormick Kennedy $1.25

Billy Lewis was a small boy of energy and ambition, so when he was left alone and unprotected, he simply started out to take care of himself.

TENANTS OF THE TREES.ByClarence Hawkes.

Cloth decorative, illustrated in colors $1.50

"A book which will appeal to all who care for the hearty, healthy, outdoor life of the country. The illustrations are particularly attractive."—Boston Herald.

BEAUTIFUL JOE'S PARADISE:Or, The Island of Brotherly Love.A sequel to "Beautiful Joe."

ByMarshall Saunders, author of "Beautiful Joe."

One vol., library 12mo, cloth, illustrated $1.50

"This book revives the spirit of 'Beautiful Joe' capitally. It is fairly riotous with fun, and is about as unusual as anything in the animal book line that has seen the light."—Philadelphia Item.

'TILDA JANE.ByMarshall Saunders.

One vol., 12mo, fully illustrated, cloth decorative, $1.50

"I cannot think of any better book for children than this. I commend it unreservedly."—Cyrus Townsend Brady.

'TILDA JANE'S ORPHANS.A sequel to 'Tilda Jane. ByMarshall Saunders.

One vol., 12mo, fully illustrated, cloth decorative, $1.50

'Tilda Jane is the same original, delightful girl, and as fond of her animal pets as ever.

THE STORY OF THE GRAVELEYS.ByMarshall Saunders, author of "Beautiful Joe's Paradise," "'Tilda Jane," etc.

Library 12mo, cloth decorative. Illustrated by E. B. Barry $1.50

Here we have the haps and mishaps, the trials and triumphs, of a delightful New England family, of whose devotion and sturdiness it will do the reader good to hear.

BORN TO THE BLUE.ByFlorence Kimball Russel.

12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated $1.25

The atmosphere of army life on the plains breathes on every page of this delightful tale. The boy is the son of a captain of U. S. cavalry stationed at a frontier post in the days when our regulars earned the gratitude of a nation.

IN WEST POINT GRAY

ByFlorence Kimball Russel.

12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated $1.50

"Singularly enough one of the best books of the year for boys is written by a woman and deals with life at West Point. The presentment of life in the famous military academy whence so many heroes have graduated is realistic and enjoyable."—New York Sun.

FROM CHEVRONS TO SHOULDER STRAPS

ByFlorence Kimball Russel.

12mo, cloth, illustrated, decorative $1.50

West Point again forms the background of a new volume in this popular series, and relates the experience of Jack Stirling during his junior and senior years.

THE SANDMAN: HIS FARM STORIES

ByWilliam J. Hopkins. With fifty illustrations by Ada Clendenin Williamson.

Large 12mo, decorative cover $1.50

"An amusing, original book, written for the benefit of very small children. It should be one of the most popular of the year's books for reading to small children."—Buffalo Express.

THE SANDMAN: MORE FARM STORIES

ByWilliam J. Hopkins.

Large 12mo, decorative cover, fully illustrated $1.50

Mr. Hopkins's first essay at bedtime stories met with such approval that this second book of "Sandman" tales was issued for scores of eager children. Life on the farm, and out-of-doors, is portrayed in his inimitable manner.

THE SANDMAN: HIS SHIP STORIES

ByWilliam J. Hopkins, author of "The Sandman: His Farm Stories," etc.

Large 12mo, decorative cover, fully illustrated $1.50

"Children call for these stories over and over again."—Chicago Evening Post.

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