It was plain to them that a man so badly mangled would not live to reach the village, so they decided upon immediate torture.
With one ear gone—the ear afterward picked up on the field of battle by Hondurah—an arm and side lacerated by the sharp teeth and claws of the brutes, and otherwise injured, Doc Cromer was in no condition to fight his executioners; but notwithstanding all this, he staggered to his feet, called for a knife and dared his red foes to mortal combat.
“Doc Cromer kin whip a nation of skunks, yit,” he cried. “If ye don’t b’lieve it, come at ’im an’ try. I don’t thank ye a cussid bit for savin’ of my life. I’d sooner die among real dogs than counterfeit ones.”
He said this in a great measure to irritate his foes. He was suffering unspeakable pain, and forgetting the ring which the blood covered, he hoped that a tomahawk might terminate his existence. But the blow did not come.
After a brief consultation two Indians ascended a tree and lowered a rude rope, which was fastened about the trader’s body. Then he was drawn up among the branches, until he was near fifty feet aboveterra firma.
“Injuns leave trader here now,” said one of the braves, as they lashed him to the limbs. “By ’m by big birds come and pick holes in his body. Trader ’feared to die?”
“Not much,” was the response. “Men hez to peg out some time, and my time ar’ hyar now.”
He would speak no more; he left the taunts of the savages unanswered, until, while tying his feet, one shot in his face an epithet that sent the hot blood to the remotest recesses of his brain.
“That’s more ’n humanity kin stand!” he hissed, “so, dog, take thet!”
With the last word, he tore one foot from the fastenings, but half secured, and furiously, mercilessly hurled his insulter from the limb.
Down, down shot the unfortunate brave, wildly clutching at the boughs, until he struck a root in the midst of his companions below, quivered once, then died—neck-broken!
The remaining Indian in the tree rose before the trader, with a yell of vengeance.
He struck the gory head with his tomahawk, and in less than a minute afterward, had torn the scalp away and was descending!
He encountered half a dozen braves climbing up to butcher the slayer of their brother; but the scalper told them that he was already dead, and they rejoined their companions.
Then the band moved away, leaving the trader lashed to a tree-top, scalped and bleeding.
It rained before day, and amid the darkness of the storm Doc Cromer opened his eyes, he thought, in another world.
He was burning with fever, and tried to quench his thirst with the rain that dropped from the black clouds.
“My God, shall I perish here with the ring that contains the mystery of a life?” he groaned. “Oh, if I could but slip it from my finger and drop it down to the ground.”
But this he could not do, for his arms were not free, and so he lay through the night and the day that followed.
The buzzards saw him and descended until they perceived that life was not extinct. Then they would fly away, wait awhile, and return.
Terrible was that day, and the trader hailed the approach of night. He began to hope now—to hope against hope, because he had not perished during the day; but when the stillness of death settled over the wood, he thought he would cease to endure the suspense, and yield up the ghost.
It might have been midnight—he thought it was—when he became aware that something was climbing the tree.
Now, he thought, the death for which he had ofttimes prayed during the last twenty-four hours was near, and the ring—he did not want to think about the bauble, which seemed to be the death of every person into whose hands it fell.
At first he thought the climber a bear; but he soon discovered that it was a human being.
How eagerly he bent forward to catch a glimpse of the intruder, in the beautiful moonlight that streamed through the sparse branches overhead.
At length he remarked the outlines of his visitor—an Indian, probably one of the band which had placed him in the tree; but what had brought the savage back to his victim?
The new-comer drew himself up on a limb just below the trader, and then started back with an ejaculation of horror.
Doc Cromer recognized the tone.
“Ahdeek’s ghost!” he gasped.
The climber, reassured, approached again.
“Ahdeek no ghost,” he said. “He stop by foot of tree to rest, and heard trader groan. Then he climb up to see who in tree-top.”
“’Tis old Doc Cromer, boy,” was the feeble reply. “He’s on his last trail. They’ve took the scalp that was gettin’ white with honorable hairs, an’ it’s too much for him.”
“No, no, Ahdeek save trader; cut him loose an’ take him down.”
“I tell ye it’s too late, boy. I’m goin’ to peg out right in this tree. What’s my right ear? Them infernal dogs chawed it up. What tore my arms? Them sneakin’ Injun wolf hounds. But I finished ’bout ten ov ’em afore the Injuns took me off. Now, Ahdeek, look hyar.”
The half-breed bent nearer, but reluctantly, as though he knew what was coming.
“Ahdeek, thar’s a ring on my hand.”
The Tiger sprung at the member, and uttered a cry of delight when he discovered the bauble.
“No, don’t take it off, chief. Listen to me. I swore that that hand should give the gal her ring, an’ by hoky! it must do it. So you’ll cut my hand off, won’t you, boy, and give it her thus?”
With manifest reluctance the young half-breed promised.
“Sech promises won’t do Doc Cromer,” said the trader. “I want to hear you swear it, and see the hand come off now.”
“Trader not dead yet,” said the horror-stricken half-breed.
“No difference. Take that hand off at the wrist, and swear that you will give it, with the ring, to Silver Rifle. Do this, Ahdeek, or by heaven! I’ll come back from Manitou land, and haunt you till you die.”
Thus terribly threatened, the superstitions Ahdeek drew his knife, and amputated the hand of the trader, who watched the proceeding with a grim, triumphant smile.
“Now I know you’ll do the balance, boy,” he said. “’Tislucky that the red villains didn’t see the ring. Now, Ahdeek, tell me something before I die. Tell me whose death you’ve been avenging.”
The half-breed hesitated.
The threat of haunting came again.
“The old trader in Watchemenetoc glen.”
“Why, he died three years ago.”
“Yes.”
“What was he to you?”
“He was Ahdeek’s father.”
“Your real father?”
The half-breed hesitated again.
“Tell me if that old man was your real father, and the secret of the ring—for you know it. Don’t lie to me now, boy, for in your sleep, in the cave, you told me that you knew the secret of the ring. Now tell me.”
“Will the trader die then?”
“Yes.”
“Then Silver Rifle is—,” the half-breed paused, for the trader’s head fell heavily on his breast, and lay there still.
Ahdeek raised it, but the meaningless stare in the eyes told him that Doc Cromer was dead, beyond peradventure.
The youth sat in the tree-top for an hour before he stirred a limb. Then upon the dead breast he made the cross which the Jesuits had preached to his Indian brethren, and slowly descended.
The hand, with its treasure, reposed in his medicine-bag, and he assured himself of its safety many times as he hurried from the ghastly tree.
* * * * * * *
The White Tiger was not knocked wholly insensible in the cave by Mossuit; but he perfectly simulated insensibility, while the savage ran with him through the forest.
Soon, however, the chief encountered the same band which had disposed of Doc Cromer, and the youth, apparently still unconscious, was left under the charge of two warriors while Mossuit returned to the cave with the remainder of the new band.
The boy heard their steps die away in the distance, and in silence nerved himself for a hazardous task. On account ofhis seeming unconsciousness he was not securely bound, and at an hour when the two guards, seated on the ground, thought not of an attack, he sprung erect and felled one with a club which fortunately lay at his hand.
The second savage rose, but was met with his comrade’s gun, which crushed his head and placed him foreverhors de combat. Then two scalps were torn away, and the double cross of the White Tiger marred the foreheads of the fallen braves.
“Now for the cave,” murmured the victor. “The red fellows shall pay dearly for this night’s work.”
He saw the flash of the four Indian guns on the cliff, heard the battle between his friends and the savages in the mouth of the cave, but knew that he could not help them.
He saw Mossuit emerge with his captives, and followed the band, though at a respectful distance.
The death of Oagla was accomplished before the youth’s eyes, and while Mossuit faced the mad braves, and dared them to advance upon Silver Rifle, he heard the clicking of a rifle-lock.
It emanated from a spot not far away, where a footstep, which he had thought belonged to some animal, had died; but now he knew that the prowler was a man.
“Surely the Indian does not know aught of my presence,” he muttered, “for I was here before he came to yon tree. However, we will soon see for whose heart he cocked his rifle.”
He tried to see the body of the foe, and once or twice, believing that the savage saw him, he drew up to shoot, trusting to luck but lowered the weapon, undetermined how to act.
All at once a sharp report rent the air, and the youth saw Silver Rifle fall, as witnessed in the last chapter.
He could scarcely repress a cry of horror, for the unseen Indian was the slayer.
“Curse me for not shooting!” he hissed. “I might have dropped the fiend, and then—”
The savage, flying from his crime, was bounding toward him!
White Tiger’s heart took a great leap for exultation, and amoment later, with the butt of his rifle, he scattered the young brave’s brains far and wide!
“Oh, heaven, does Silver Rifle live?” he cried, starting impulsively toward the group about the fire. “That I have learned to love her, must she be snatched from me now?”
He saw Mossuit face the menacing braves, with Silver Rifle hanging heavily on his arm, and then he heard the sub-chief’s voice.
“Warriors, I will be obeyed now,” cried the young Chippewa. “Hondurah is dead, and Oagla, who should have stepped into his shoes, lies before us. The Chippewas are chiefless. In the council-house we must say who shall be chief in Hondurah’s stead. Now turn upon your heels. Back to the council-house; and when we have a chief, the captives shall die.”
Without a word the rebellious warriors turned abruptly on their heels, and the march through the forest was resumed.
Mossuit walked erect, with the stricken girl in his arms.
He gloated over the thought that he had conquered Oagla’s braves, and was planning his elevation by chicanery to the chief sachemship of the Chippewa nation.
The mind of each was absorbed in dark plots, which smacked of the rifle, knife, tomahawk and stake, nor did they bear the footsteps of the White Tiger, who trailed them through the dim aisles of the forest.
The wood drama was drawing to a close; the curtain was rising on the last acts.
“To the woods!” said our hero, calmly, turning to his friends. “There’ll be the Old Harry to pay directly. Wildcat has cheated Mossuit out of the chieftainship, and everybody will be after our scalps in a few minutes.”
The words were uttered by the young Destroyer. Howcame he here at the prison-lodge? Love, and anxiety to save those he loved, had led him to the village, and the dead guards lying on the ground told the means used to reach the prisoners. He had, one by one, by cunning artifice, lured the four men from their posts, and the deadly knife did its work, which the election of a new sachem, in the village, aided, for all the Chippewas were so interested in this important event that the prison-lodge was almost forgotten, and the braves left there to guard it were more interested in the excited doings in the council-chamber than in their allotted task. So the young Destroyer found his hazardous enterprise greatly abetted, and his subtlety and nerve had freed his friends, as we now find them.
They darted for the forest. Ahdeek bore Clearwater in his arms, and Silver Rifle ran by the White Tiger’s side. She had really been unharmed by the bullet meant to take her life.
The outskirts of the wood were gained as a pandemonium of yells rent the air. It was the conflict in the village over the new election. Wildcat had by artifice prevailed over the wily Mossuit, and the two factions were at war, under which most fortunate circumstance the fugitives fled on until the shores of the lake were reached. Then the miners’ castle was sought, and a large canoe taken from a dark passage leading from the main corridor.
The boat was launched without difficulty, but Ahdeek did not follow his companions to a seat in the craft.
“Come, Ahdeek,” said Dorsey Webb, looking with surprise upon the youth’s action. “What are you waiting for?”
“Ahdeek can’t go with his friends yet,” was the reply.
“Why, boy?”
“He must go to Snowbeard’s lodge.”
“His mind must be wandering,” continued the Destroyer to Silver Rifle. “Boy, Snowbeard died with the other traders, and the fiends burned his lodge to the ground.”
“Ahdeek go, anyhow. Snowbeard talk from his grave to him. Wait for Ahdeek in the cave where the winds never sleep. He be there to-morrow night.”
The next moment the half-breed was gone.
“What can he mean?” queried Silver Rifle, as he vanished.
“He seeks something regarding your history, I think,” was the White Tiger’s reply. “The man whom we call Snowbeard was an eccentric old trader, with whom Ahdeek spent many hours. He—the boy—used to tell me that the old man had talking-papers which would tell something about a girl, who knew not who she was. Snowbeard was massacred on the same night that witnessed the extermination of the Lake Superior traders, and Ahdeek struck more than one blow of vengeance for the old man.”
“Then I pray that he may greet us in the Cave of the Winds. I will suppress my burning curiosity, and not open the ring until he returns.”
“Which will be to-morrow night, as he has said, for he is too cunning to endanger us by seeking the cave in daylight.”
The voyagers, despite the storm that burst upon the lake soon after Ahdeek’s departure, reached the Winds’ Cave and felt comparatively safe around a fire in the second chamber.
Let us follow Ahdeek.
He hurried along the coast for several miles, until the hills came to a termination, when he plunged into the wood again.
Soon again he struck the highlands, sparsely covered with trees, and at last reached a line of bare cliffs, some of which stretched their long, rough arms over the Stygian water, irritated by the storm.
On one of these cliffs Ahdeek found the ruins of a cabin, and soon stood in the midst of half-burned logs. One corner of the hut had escaped the ravages of the savage torch, and into this the half-breed suddenly dropped upon his knees.
“This is the place where Snowbeard hide talking papers,” he said in a whisper, and pretty soon he was digging in the dark earth with his tomahawk.
He worked assiduously for several minutes, when his hatchet struck a substance which could not be earth, and an ejaculation of joy parted his lips. Then he ceased to dig, scooped up the loose dirt from the cavity with joined hands, and drew forth a box covered with tanned deer-skin.
“Ahdeek no take box,” he said, prying the lid up with his knife. “He want talking-papers, that all.”
The lid soon yielded, and he drew a small bundle of damp parchment from the box.
“Snowbeard talk after he dead,” said the young half-breed, thrusting the papers into his medicine-pouch. “Now he go back to friends, and Silver Rifle know all ’bout yellow money.”
He carefully replaced the box in the hole, and rose to his feet, as, with a sharp cry of triumph, an Indian leaped upon him!
The half-breed went to the ground beneath the onslaught, but a moment later the savage rolled from him with a death-groan. The knife of Ahdeek had done its work.
He sprung to his feet to confront three new foes, who threw themselves upon him with the fury of tigers.
His knife stretched one Indian dead upon the plain, and he hurled another into the water, then closed with the last.
All at once the madmen paused for breathing time.
“Ahdeek find papers that talk ’bout gold,” said the Indian. “Little Fox heard Snowbeard tell Ahdeek ’bout ’um by his fire last winter. Little Fox mus’ have talking-papers.”
“Little Fox wasn’t born to hear Snowbeard’s papers talk,” replied Ahdeek, calmly, and then they went at it again.
For several minutes they struggled, when suddenly, by a wrench, Little Fox secured the medicine-pouch and disengaged himself from his foe. Then, with a yell of triumph, he stepped back for a spring, by which he hoped to make his escape. But Ahdeek disconcerted him by following him up, and suddenly a yell of terror broke from his lips. He was tottering on the verge of the cliff! He tried to regain his equilibrium, and Ahdeek essayed to snatch him from his doom, but he fell backward, and left Ahdeek empty-handed.
“Talking-papers gone!” he shrieked. “No! no! Ahdeek get them again or die!” and as he spoke, he, too, sprung into the darkness, down into the stormy waves of Gitche Gumee!
Landing safely in the deep water, Ahdeek listened, with his feet on a rock near the shore. Suddenly something struck his body, and turning quickly he caught it in his arms. It was Little Fox, who had been, for a short time, stunned by the fall, but who now again grappled with his foe.
But the struggle was brief. The half-breed’s hand closed on the Indian’s throat, and soon Ahdeek heard the death-gurgle.
Then he felt for the medicine-pouch, but it was gone!
He uttered a cry of despair, when something light struck his thigh.
“The pouch!” he shouted, clutching after the object.
His fingers touched the beaded fringe of the bag; but before he could grab again, a wave bore it from him!
* * * * * * *
“I wonder why Ahdeek does not come!” said Silver Rifle to the young Destroyer, on the night that followed their arrival in the Cave of the Winds.
“Something must have gone wrong,” was the reply. “He said he would be here, and if he lives, he surely would not tarry longer than this night. Girl, if you but knew how I love that boy! And if the red hounds have killed him, by heavens! I’ll resume the trail of vengeance, and for every drop of his blood shall flow a crimson river from the Chippewas’ hearts!”
The youth rose to his feet as he paused, and for the fiftieth time that night stepped toward the mouth of the cave to listen for the half-breed. He had taken but two strides when something, hurled from the gloom, fell at his feet.
He started back with ready rifle, and saw that the object was an Indian, freshly slain and scalped.
The youth was bewildered, and before he could recover, a figure darted forward.
He recognized it with a joyous cry of “Ahdeek!”
Silver Rifle started to her feet, and Clearwater rose from the couch, and echoed the name of her lover.
“Ahdeek just in time,” said the youth, pointing to the dead Indian. “Red spy find Cave of Winds, and his rifle was aimed at Nahma, when Ahdeek leaped upon him like the panther, and his life went out over the waters of Gitche Gumee to the other land.”
“But, Ahdeek, think you he was the only savage hereabouts?” questioned the White Tiger, anxiously.
“Yes, he was alone. Ahdeek come back sooner, but Indians catch him on the cliff; he fight ’em all; lost medicine-pouch in Gitche Gumee; but rock catch it for him, and—here, Silver Rifle, talking-papers.”
The Girl Trailer sprung eagerly forward and clutched the roll of damp paper which the half-breed extended.
“Now I shall know all!” she cried, turning to the fire, and filled with curiosity, the two gathered around her.
Ahdeek shook with emotion, and kept his large, lustrous eyes, half-filled with tears, fixed intently upon her.
“The ring first, Silver Rifle,” he suggested, in a tremulous tone, and the girl laid the papers aside.
The ring had been taken from the dead hand of the brave but ill-fated Doc Cromer, and the member buried amid the water rocks of the lake.
She soon discovered that the large jewel of the ring could be removed, and in a short time she had accomplished this and held a small fold of paper.
Her fingers shook while she unfolded it, and the trio watched with bated breath.
Suddenly the girl looked up and fastened her eyes upon Ahdeek.
He rose to his feet.
“My brother!” cried Silver Rifle, stepping toward him with outstretched hands. “I own you, brave boy; a nobler brother than Ahdeek I would not wish to own!”
“Ahdeek Silver Rifle’s brother,” said the young Avenger, drawing the girl to his heart. “His mother sleeps in the forest; Silver Rifle’s among the white man’s lodges.”
For a moment silence reigned in the cave.
“The mystery of my life is solved,” she said, turning to Dorsey Webb, who had not yet recovered from this unexpecteddenouement. “My father was the trader whose death my brother here has avenged. He came to these shores when lies estranged him and mother, long ago. I was born after his departure; so I never saw his face. But he tells me all—who I am, what I am. In his seclusion he wedded a chief’s daughter, who gave him a son—Ahdeek—then died. I am of noble blood; father tells me so. Oh Heaven, I thank thee that I have not hunted in vain for the ring. It has told the story that sealed mother’s lips. Now, Ahdeek, the papers!”
She unrolled the wet papers, and all present bent over them to decipher, if possible, the strange diagrams traced upon them.
“They tell of wealth,” said the White Tiger. “Ahdeek, where is this cliff marked here? I never saw it.”
The half-breed looked carefully at the diagram, and after deep thought, started to his feet.
“Cliff right ’bove us!” he cried, as he snatched a torch from the fire.
All was plain to the half-breed now; the cliff beneath which the old trader’s wealth was deposited stood above them; the hiding-place was the Cave of the Winds, not named, merely marked, on the rude map.
The interior of the cave was rudely but thoroughly traced on the parchment, and at last Ahdeek suddenly dropped the torch, and began to disturb the stony earth with his tomahawk.
He struck the right spot, and presently the trader’s earnings during seventeen years of highly successful toiling rewarded their labors.
The quartette started back with exclamations of wonderment at the heap of coin.
“If I could reward you with this heap, willingly would I do it,” said Silver Rifle, turning to the young Destroyer. “To your bravery I owe the happy thoughts of this hour.”
“Girl, I do claim a reward,” and Dorsey Webb took her hand. “This,” and he raised thepetitemember to his lips, “this, Silver Rifle, is the reward I claim, but I ask too much.”
Then the beautiful eyes dropped to the ground, and after long silence, the lips murmured:
“If this hand can reward thee, White Tiger, it is thine!”
He drew her to his heart in the ecstasy of his joy.
“Ahdeek ask Clearwater long ago,” said the half-breed at this juncture. “He take her beyond Gitche Gumee now.”
“Yes, Ahdeek, Clearwater is my sister,” and Silver Rifle—Marie Knight—embraced the Indian Girl. “The light has broken at last.”
“No, not yet,” shouted the half-breed, suddenly throwing himself before the girls. “The red dogs come once more!”
His rifle flashed as he spoke, and a savage staggered forward in the agonies of death.
Then the cave resounded with wild yells, and the parties closed in the final combat.
The battle raged for many minutes, but the hunted onesfought with a fury that had never nerved their arms before, and, at last, they stood over the victorious ground.
Rigid in death lay Mossuit, and Silver Rifle bent tenderly over him.
“He saved my life once,” she said, pushing aside the scalp-lock that shaded the stony face. “Peace to his ashes.”
A wounded savage told the victors that Mossuit had overcome Wildcat, and, with a few of his braves, had trailed them to the cave. The Indian whom Ahdeek slew when returning with the “talking-papers,” was Mossuit’s spy, and after waiting beyond patience for his return, the chief and his warriors sought the foe themselves.
“Our last battle has been fought,” said Dorsey Webb. “How I wish Cromer could share this hour with us.”
But such wishes were vain ones, for Doc Cromer had taken his last scalp, and peacefully slept in the top of a tree.
Luther Knight, Silver Rifle’s father, before confiding the ring to Ahdeek, told him who he was, and made him swear that after three years of vengeance he would seek out his daughter and surrender to her the talking bauble. And Ahdeek had confided the maps to Snowbeard.
It had passed through its last adventure. It had proved fatal to more than one person—indeed, it seemed death to possess it.
Dohma, waking from his trance in the grove in Silver Rifle’s cave, allured by the glitter of its diamond, stole it from the shelf whereon Ahdeek had placed it until he could find the Girl Trailer, and carried it to the spot where he was choked to death, by the ill-fated trader.
“At last! at last!” cried our friends, one evening, several days after the last battle, as they came in sight of a strong French settlement on the lake shore.
Well might they shout for joy, for the dangers of the wilderness were paused.
“The White Tigers have buried the hatchet forever. Henceforward yonder woods echo no more to their tread. The Chippewa will see their crosses on the trees, but he shall not shudder as of yore.”
Dorsey Webb was the speaker, and he stood in the gloaming of an August day, pointing to the lodge of the Chippewa.
“The Past can never return, thank Heaven!” responded the beautiful creature at his side. “The name of White Tiger has lost itself in that of Dorsey Webb, and the wild cognomen of Silver Rifle in the softer one of—”
“Wife!”
She blushed, gave him a cheek to kiss, as Ahdeek came up.
He held a little board in one hand, a piece of chalk in the other.
“Come, White Tiger,” he said, smiling, “make mark just once more.”
Then he broke the chalk, and for the last time the avengers made their mark!
But this time it was not made red by blood.
[1]The Indian name for Lake Superior—signifying “big sea water.”
[1]The Indian name for Lake Superior—signifying “big sea water.”
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Ellis.29—The Scout.By Warren St. John.30—Eagle Eye.By W. J. Hamilton.31—The Mystic Canoe.By Edward S. Ellis.32—The Golden Harpoon.By R. Starbuck.33—The Scalp King.By Lieut. Ned Hunter.34—Old Lute.By E. W. Archer.35—Rainbolt, Ranger.By Oll Coomes.36—The Boy Pioneer.By Edward S. Ellis.37—Carson, the Guide.By J. H. Randolph.38—The Heart Eater.By Harry Hazard.39—Wetzel, the Scout.By Boynton Belknap.40—The Huge Hunter.By Ed. S. Ellis.41—Wild Nat, the Trapper.By Paul Prescott.42—Lynx-cap.By Paul Bibbs.43—The White Outlaw.By Harry Hazard.44—The Dog Trailer.By Frederick Dewey.45—The Elk King.By Capt. Chas. Howard.46—Adrian, the Pilot.By Col. P. Ingraham.47—The Man-hunter.By Maro O. Rolfe.48—The Phantom Tracker.By F. Dewey.49—Moccasin Bill.By Paul Bibbs.50—The Wolf Queen.By Charles Howard.51—Tom Hawk, the Trailer.52—The Mad Chief.By Chas. Howard.53—The Black Wolf.By Edwin E. Ewing.54—Arkansas Jack.By Harry Hazard.55—Blackbeard.By Paul Bibbs.56—The River Rifles.By Billex Muller.57—Hunter Ham.By J. Edgar Iliff.58—Cloudwood.By J. M. Merrill.59—The Texas Hawks.By Jos. E. Badger, Jr.60—Merciless Mat.By Capt. Chas. Howard.61—Mad Anthony’s Scouts.By E. Rodman.62—The Luckless Trapper.By Wm. R. Eyster.63—The Florida Scout.By Jos. E. Badger, Jr.64—The Island Trapper.By Chas. Howard.65—Wolf-Cap.By Capt. Chas. Howard.66—Rattling Dick.By Harry Hazard.67—Sharp-Eye.By Major Max Martine.68—Iron-Hand.By Frederick Forest.69—The Yellow Hunter.By Chas. Howard.70—The Phantom Rider.By Maro O. Rolfe.71—Delaware Tom.By Harry Hazard.72—Silver Rifle.By Capt. Chas. Howard.73—The Skeleton Scout.By Maj. L. W. Carson.74—Little Rifle.By Capt. “Bruin” Adams.75—The Wood Witch.By Edwin Emerson.76—Old Ruff, the Trapper.By “Bruin” Adams.77—The Scarlet Shoulders.By Harry Hazard.78—The Border Rifleman.By L. W. Carson.79—Outlaw Jack.By Harry Hazard.80—Tiger-Tail, the Seminole.By R. Ringwood.81—Death-Dealer.By Arthur L. Meserve.82—Kenton, the Ranger.By Chas. Howard.83—The Specter Horseman.By Frank Dewey.84—The Three Trappers.By Seelin Robbins.85—Kaleolah.By T. Benton Shields, U.S.N.86—The Hunter Hercules.Harry St. George.87—Phil Hunter.By Capt. Chas. Howard.88—The Indian Scout.By Harry Hazard.89—The Girl Avenger.By Chas. Howard.90—The Red Hermitess.By Paul Bibbs.91—Star-Face, the Slayer.92—The Antelope Boy.By Geo. L. Aiken.93—The Phantom Hunter.By E. Emerson.94—Tom Pintle, the Pilot.By M. Klapp.95—The Red Wizard.By Ned Hunter.96—The Rival Trappers.By L. W. Carson.97—The Squaw Spy.By Capt. Chas. Howard.98—Dusky Dick.By Jos. E. Badger, Jr.99—Colonel Crockett.By Chas. E. Lasalle.100—Old Bear Paw.By Major Max Martine.101—Redlaw.By Jos. E. Badger, Jr.102—Wild Rube.By W. J. Hamilton.103—The Indian Hunters.By J. L. Bowen.104—Scarred Eagle.By Andrew Dearborn.105—Nick Doyle.By P. Hamilton Myers.106—The Indian Spy.By Jos. E. Badger, Jr.107—Job Dean.By Ingoldsby North.108—The Wood King.By Jos. E. Badger, Jr.109—The Scalped Hunter.By Harry Hazard.110—Nick, the Scout.By W. J. Hamilton.111—The Texas Tiger.By Edward Willett.112—The Crossed Knives.By Hamilton.113—Tiger-Heart, the Tracker.By Howard.114—The Masked Avenger.By Ingraham.115—The Pearl Pirates.By Starbuck.116—Black Panther.By Jos. E. Badger, Jr.117—Abdiel, the Avenger.By Ed. Willett.118—Cato, the Creeper.By Fred. Dewey.119—Two-Handed Mat.By Jos. E. Badger.120—Mad Trail Hunter.By Harry Hazard.121—Black Nick.By Frederick Whittaker.122—Kit Bird.By W. J. Hamilton.123—The Specter Riders.By Geo. Gleason.124—Giant Pete.By W. J. Hamilton.125—The Girl Captain.By Jos. E. Badger.126—Yankee Eph.By J. R. Worcester.127—Silverspur.By Edward Willett.128—Squatter Dick.By Jos. E. Badger.129—The Child Spy.By George Gleason.130—Mink Coat.By Jos. E. Badger.131—Red Plume.By J. Stanley Henderson.132—Clyde, the Trailer.By Maro O. Rolfe.133—The Lost Cache.J. Stanley Henderson.134—The Cannibal Chief.Paul J. Prescott.135—Karaibo.By J. Stanley Henderson.136—Scarlet Moccasin.By Paul Bibbs.137—Kidnapped.By J. Stanley Henderson.138—Maid of the Mountain.By Hamilton.139—The Scioto Scouts.By Ed. Willett.140—The Border Renegade.By Badger.141—The Mute Chief.By C. D. Clark.142—Boone, the Hunter.By Whittaker.143—Mountain Kate.By Jos. E. Badger, Jr.144—The Red Scalper.By W. J. Hamilton.145—The Lone Chief.By Jos. E. Badger, Jr.146—The Silver Bugle.Lieut. Col. Hazleton.147—Chinga, the Cheyenne.By Edward S. Ellis. Ready Feb. 10th.148—The Tangled Trail.By Major Max Martine. Ready Feb. 24th.149—The Unseen Hand.By J. Stanley Henderson. Ready March 9th.150—The Lone Indian.By Capt. Chas. Howard. Ready March 23d.151—The Branded Brave.By Paul Bibbs. Ready April 6th.152—Billy Bowlegs, the Seminole Chief.Ready April 20th.153—The Valley Scout.By Seelin Robins. Ready May 4.154—Red Jacket, the Huron.By Paul Bibbs. Ready May 18th.
1—Hawkeye Harry.By Oll Coomes.
2—Dead Shot.By Albert W. Aiken.
3—The Boy Miners.By Edward S. Ellis.
4—Blue Dick.By Capt. Mayne Reid.
5—Nat Wolfe.By Mrs. M. V. Victor.
6—The White Tracker.By Edward S. Ellis.
7—The Outlaw’s Wife.By Mrs. Ann S. Stephens.
8—The Tall Trapper.By Albert W. Aiken.
9—Lightning Jo.By Capt. Adams.
10—The Island Pirate.By Capt. Mayne Reid.
11—The Boy Ranger.By Oll Coomes.
12—Bess, the Trapper.By E. S. Ellis.
13—The French Spy.By W. J. Hamilton.
14—Long Shot.By Capt. Comstock.
15—The Gunmaker.By James L. Bowen.
16—Red Hand.By A. G. Piper.
17—Ben, the Trapper.By Lewis W. Carson.
18—Wild Raven.By Oll Coomes.
19—The Specter Chief.By Seelin Robins.
20—The B’ar-Killer.By Capt. Comstock.
21—Wild Nat.By Wm. R. Eyster.
22—Indian Jo.By Lewis W. Carson.
23—Old Kent, the Ranger.By Edward S. Ellis.
24—The One-Eyed Trapper.By Capt. Comstock.
25—Godbold, the Spy.By N. C. Iron.
26—The Black Ship.By John S. Warner.
27—Single Eye.By Warren St. John.
28—Indian Jim.By Edward S. Ellis.
29—The Scout.By Warren St. John.
30—Eagle Eye.By W. J. Hamilton.
31—The Mystic Canoe.By Edward S. Ellis.
32—The Golden Harpoon.By R. Starbuck.
33—The Scalp King.By Lieut. Ned Hunter.
34—Old Lute.By E. W. Archer.
35—Rainbolt, Ranger.By Oll Coomes.
36—The Boy Pioneer.By Edward S. Ellis.
37—Carson, the Guide.By J. H. Randolph.
38—The Heart Eater.By Harry Hazard.
39—Wetzel, the Scout.By Boynton Belknap.
40—The Huge Hunter.By Ed. S. Ellis.
41—Wild Nat, the Trapper.By Paul Prescott.
42—Lynx-cap.By Paul Bibbs.
43—The White Outlaw.By Harry Hazard.
44—The Dog Trailer.By Frederick Dewey.
45—The Elk King.By Capt. Chas. Howard.
46—Adrian, the Pilot.By Col. P. Ingraham.
47—The Man-hunter.By Maro O. Rolfe.
48—The Phantom Tracker.By F. Dewey.
49—Moccasin Bill.By Paul Bibbs.
50—The Wolf Queen.By Charles Howard.
51—Tom Hawk, the Trailer.
52—The Mad Chief.By Chas. Howard.
53—The Black Wolf.By Edwin E. Ewing.
54—Arkansas Jack.By Harry Hazard.
55—Blackbeard.By Paul Bibbs.
56—The River Rifles.By Billex Muller.
57—Hunter Ham.By J. Edgar Iliff.
58—Cloudwood.By J. M. Merrill.
59—The Texas Hawks.By Jos. E. Badger, Jr.
60—Merciless Mat.By Capt. Chas. Howard.
61—Mad Anthony’s Scouts.By E. Rodman.
62—The Luckless Trapper.By Wm. R. Eyster.
63—The Florida Scout.By Jos. E. Badger, Jr.
64—The Island Trapper.By Chas. Howard.
65—Wolf-Cap.By Capt. Chas. Howard.
66—Rattling Dick.By Harry Hazard.
67—Sharp-Eye.By Major Max Martine.
68—Iron-Hand.By Frederick Forest.
69—The Yellow Hunter.By Chas. Howard.
70—The Phantom Rider.By Maro O. Rolfe.
71—Delaware Tom.By Harry Hazard.
72—Silver Rifle.By Capt. Chas. Howard.
73—The Skeleton Scout.By Maj. L. W. Carson.
74—Little Rifle.By Capt. “Bruin” Adams.
75—The Wood Witch.By Edwin Emerson.
76—Old Ruff, the Trapper.By “Bruin” Adams.
77—The Scarlet Shoulders.By Harry Hazard.
78—The Border Rifleman.By L. W. Carson.
79—Outlaw Jack.By Harry Hazard.
80—Tiger-Tail, the Seminole.By R. Ringwood.
81—Death-Dealer.By Arthur L. Meserve.
82—Kenton, the Ranger.By Chas. Howard.
83—The Specter Horseman.By Frank Dewey.
84—The Three Trappers.By Seelin Robbins.
85—Kaleolah.By T. Benton Shields, U.S.N.
86—The Hunter Hercules.Harry St. George.
87—Phil Hunter.By Capt. Chas. Howard.
88—The Indian Scout.By Harry Hazard.
89—The Girl Avenger.By Chas. Howard.
90—The Red Hermitess.By Paul Bibbs.
91—Star-Face, the Slayer.
92—The Antelope Boy.By Geo. L. Aiken.
93—The Phantom Hunter.By E. Emerson.
94—Tom Pintle, the Pilot.By M. Klapp.
95—The Red Wizard.By Ned Hunter.
96—The Rival Trappers.By L. W. Carson.
97—The Squaw Spy.By Capt. Chas. Howard.
98—Dusky Dick.By Jos. E. Badger, Jr.
99—Colonel Crockett.By Chas. E. Lasalle.
100—Old Bear Paw.By Major Max Martine.
101—Redlaw.By Jos. E. Badger, Jr.
102—Wild Rube.By W. J. Hamilton.
103—The Indian Hunters.By J. L. Bowen.
104—Scarred Eagle.By Andrew Dearborn.
105—Nick Doyle.By P. Hamilton Myers.
106—The Indian Spy.By Jos. E. Badger, Jr.
107—Job Dean.By Ingoldsby North.
108—The Wood King.By Jos. E. Badger, Jr.
109—The Scalped Hunter.By Harry Hazard.
110—Nick, the Scout.By W. J. Hamilton.
111—The Texas Tiger.By Edward Willett.
112—The Crossed Knives.By Hamilton.
113—Tiger-Heart, the Tracker.By Howard.
114—The Masked Avenger.By Ingraham.
115—The Pearl Pirates.By Starbuck.
116—Black Panther.By Jos. E. Badger, Jr.
117—Abdiel, the Avenger.By Ed. Willett.
118—Cato, the Creeper.By Fred. Dewey.
119—Two-Handed Mat.By Jos. E. Badger.
120—Mad Trail Hunter.By Harry Hazard.
121—Black Nick.By Frederick Whittaker.
122—Kit Bird.By W. J. Hamilton.
123—The Specter Riders.By Geo. Gleason.
124—Giant Pete.By W. J. Hamilton.
125—The Girl Captain.By Jos. E. Badger.
126—Yankee Eph.By J. R. Worcester.
127—Silverspur.By Edward Willett.
128—Squatter Dick.By Jos. E. Badger.
129—The Child Spy.By George Gleason.
130—Mink Coat.By Jos. E. Badger.
131—Red Plume.By J. Stanley Henderson.
132—Clyde, the Trailer.By Maro O. Rolfe.
133—The Lost Cache.J. Stanley Henderson.
134—The Cannibal Chief.Paul J. Prescott.
135—Karaibo.By J. Stanley Henderson.
136—Scarlet Moccasin.By Paul Bibbs.
137—Kidnapped.By J. Stanley Henderson.
138—Maid of the Mountain.By Hamilton.
139—The Scioto Scouts.By Ed. Willett.
140—The Border Renegade.By Badger.
141—The Mute Chief.By C. D. Clark.
142—Boone, the Hunter.By Whittaker.
143—Mountain Kate.By Jos. E. Badger, Jr.
144—The Red Scalper.By W. J. Hamilton.
145—The Lone Chief.By Jos. E. Badger, Jr.
146—The Silver Bugle.Lieut. Col. Hazleton.
147—Chinga, the Cheyenne.By Edward S. Ellis. Ready Feb. 10th.
148—The Tangled Trail.By Major Max Martine. Ready Feb. 24th.
149—The Unseen Hand.By J. Stanley Henderson. Ready March 9th.
150—The Lone Indian.By Capt. Chas. Howard. Ready March 23d.
151—The Branded Brave.By Paul Bibbs. Ready April 6th.
152—Billy Bowlegs, the Seminole Chief.Ready April 20th.
153—The Valley Scout.By Seelin Robins. Ready May 4.
154—Red Jacket, the Huron.By Paul Bibbs. Ready May 18th.
BEADLE AND ADAMS, Publishers, 98 William Street, New York.