“And where are they?” asked several.
The trapper turned his head, as if he expected to see them, and then answered.
The guide now spoke as a man speaks who has been long debating a matter in his mind, and has at length reached a decision.
“I might have knowed you couldn’t see the Chevenine Hills; they’re off to the South, a good fifty miles from here. There’s many a traveler that remembers them, for it’s a great place for Apaches; they hide in there, and you never see nothin’ of ’em, till they come yelling and whooping down from the hills and woods, and sail through the train, shouting, tomahawking and raising all the hair they can. That’s where these dogs have gone, or have started to go and we must head them off.”
“Why do you think so?” ventured several who felt this was too serious a matter to run much risk about.
“If any of you had ever seen the place you wouldn’t ax me the question. The reason why I think so is this: The Chevenine Hills may be said to be the gate of the Apache country—that is from a hundred miles around these parts. From here to there is a broad level plain, and south of them for a hundred miles stretches a low level valley, making the best kind of a country for traveling for horses and men, while if you take any other route, you’ve mighty rough traveling through the mountains, and canons and rocks.”
“But have they not got too far ahead of us?”
“Don’t think they have; they’ve got only a few hours’ start, and have gone along the eastern ridge which would carry them ten miles to the north till they got pretty near the hills, when they’d have to bend to the right of course. Then they’ve got the gal and they’ll travel more careful than if they hadn’t her; for when a feller is in love with a gal he’s mighty careful how he treats her. Isn’t that so, Fred Wainwright?”
“How should I know?” responded the young hunter, his face turning the color of scarlet.
“You’re right,” Leonidas Swipes hastened to say. “Ican answer that question by experience. When a young man is in love, he’s sure to treat his young lady as tender as if she’s a sick kitten.”
“You see we’ll take the western side or ridge of this plain; this will keep, the two parties so far apart that there’ll be no danger of our running together, and we’ll do some pretty sharp riding and get there ahead and be ready to nab ’em when they come up.”
“Suppose we are mistaken after all,” remarked Mr. Templeton.
“How do you mean?” enquired Lancaster.
“They may get in ahead of us.”
“Can’t do it,” was the decided reply. “If we’re mind to put our horses to it, we can get six hours ahead of ’em.”
“But they may have taken another route.”
“All I’ve got to say then, Mr. Templeton, is that if you know so much you’d better take charge of the business and work it out to suit yourself.”
Mr. Templeton looked at the wrathful trapper a moment, then quietly smiled and slapped him on the shoulder.
“Now you don’t say so, Ward, do you? Are you really in ‘airnest’? Let’s take achew.”
With which he thrust an enormous plug of tobacco under the nose of the trapper, who was compelled to smile in spite of himself.
“I guess I’ll take a chaw,” said he, thrusting the whole piece in his mouth and then changing his mind, and wrenching off about a third he added as he stowed the rest somewhere about his person.
“In course you don’t want it after it has been in my mouth, so I’ll just save it till I want another chaw. Come, boys, we’re losing time; let’s be off.”
And without parleying further, Ward Lancaster struck his horse into a rapid gallop, the others following rapidly behind.
“Git up! Confound you!” called out Swipes, “Iswan if I can get this horse off this infarnal trot which nearly jolts the life out of me.”
But at this point, the animal broke into a rapid canter, and it may be said that the real journey began. It was yet early in the day, and the horses being fresh, and numbering the very best that the emigrant train could afford, they were fully able to bear a strain.
And the guide did not spare them. He took the eastern route, where the traveling was somewhat rougher, and his gallop soon grew into what almost was a run. The sun reached the meridian, and still he did not show any signs of abating his speed. When it was considerably past, they reined up near a small stream, watered their horses and gave them a breathing spell.
Leonidas Swipes rode up beside the guide and said,
“I say, Mr. Lancaster, wouldn’t it be a rather good idea to—that is to take lunch just now?”
“You can stay and eat if you choose, but the rest of us don’t wait for that; or they can eat on the way, but we don’t stop agin till we’re among the Chevenine Hills. Come, boys, we’ve no time to wait.”
And they remounted and sped away.
Lancaster the guide, in his reference to the Chevenine Hills, had described them quite aptly. A long sweep of level country, containing thousands of square miles, was divided by a ridge of hills, which after making a long sweep went straight across the country. At one point in this wild ridge, there was a pass through which the Indians traveling north and south naturally made their way, in preference to climbing and clambering for a quarter of a mile through and over rocks, chasms and gorges, dangerous to horses and sometimes to men. This was the famous “Apache Gorge.”
This famous spot was notorious to emigrants for its danger. Those who were journeying toward the most southermost part of California generally passed thro’ the gorge, and those who did as if wise were fully prepared for an assault from the vigilant Apaches or Pah Utahs. Indeed many preferred when it was possible to labor through the hills, when such a thing was within the range of human possibility, in preference to braving the perilous pass.
It was this point at which the trapper had aimed, and toward which he pressed his horse to the utmost. It was scarcely past noon when he pointed to a ridge rising in the sky, clearly defined against the blue horizon beyond, which he informed them were the Chevenine Hills, and he was soon able to locate precisely the “Apache Gorge.”
“There’s the spot,” he added an hour or two later,“where if the gal is ever seen again you’ve got to lay hands on her. If the redskins get through there with her I don’t see as there is much chance of our getting sight of her.”
If the two parties, the Indians and whites were approaching the Apache Gorge at the same moment, it will be seen that they must rapidly converge. The former it was supposed, (and there was every reason for believing it to be the fact,) were coming down the eastern, while the latter were following the western ridge. As both had the same objective point, as a matter of course they were rapidly nearing each other, and must finally come together.
Whichever party reached the Gorge first, it may be said, commanded the situation. If the Apaches had passed through, the fact in itself was evidence of a speed which would carry them safely beyond danger. If they had not done so, then it only remained for the whites to make their arrangements and await their approach.
The whites now saw the keen wisdom and foresight of their guide. What apparently seemed a rash risk on his part, it was now plain was the only plan which offered the least success, and was the only one which in any degree could deceive the Indians themselves. In the first place in penetrating their destination was a fine exploit which won half the battle, and in the next place, the course of leaving the trail and heading off the Indians was the only plan of surprising them—and in this lay the only hope of rescue.
Beyond a doubt, the Indians expected to be pursued. Where would they look for their pursuers behind or in front? Had they any reason to believe or even to suspect that there was any one among the emigrants shrewd enough to suspect the Apache Gorge? Was it likely that one man in a thousand, in attempting to follow an enemy would take any other course than follow his trail? Who so audaciousas to strike across the country and seek to head him off? Seeing nothing of the whites as they neared the pass, there was scarcely a possibility that they would expect to find themthere.
All this we say the party saw, and gladly acknowledged the superior sagacity of the unlettered guide. Mr. Templeton, offering the trapper a segar, said,
“Ward, I’ve something to tell you.”
“Wal, let’s hear it then.”
They were now within a few miles of the hills, and were riding at a more leisurely gait.
“I have just found out that you know more in five minutes than all the rest of us here knew in our lifetimes.”
“You mean about the prairies and Injin signs?”
“Exactly.”
“Wal, all I’ve got to say,” said the trapper with a broad grin, as he proceeded to light his segar. “I wouldn’t have to know much to know that; you’re the biggest set of lunkheads I think I ever came across, always barring Fred here, who hasn’t been out in these parts a great while, but long enough to learn and keep his mouth shet when them as knows more are talking.”
“Well, that is a very modest way of accepting a compliment,” laughed Templeton. “I supposed you might perhaps find it possible to say a word or two in our favor.”
“Hoogh! wagh!” laughed Ward, shaking his whole body by the violence of his convulsions. “If axed to pick out the biggest set of jackasses that ever got loose, I’d hurry up powerful quick and lasso this crowd. I’d have ’em sure.”
“I—I—trust you would not place me in that category,” said Leonidas Swipes, fondly expecting he would except him on account of his learning and accomplishments.
“No; I’d stand you out alone by yourself, as havingmore of the jackass in you than all the rest put together.”
The loud laughter which followed this somewhat discomfited the Yankee, who, however, made a despairing effort to recover his lost ground.
“And where would you place yourself, if I may ask, Mr. Lancaster?”
“Where there was the least danger of seeingyou, but, come, boys, we’re losing time.”
Just as the sun was sinking over the western ridge of the Chevenine Hills, the party drew rein and slowly approached the Apache Gorge. While yet some distance, Fred Wainwright had dismounted, and entering the wood cautiously, made his way to the dangerous spot, to reconnoitre, and to see that no ambush threatened. Discovering nothing to excite alarm, he appeared on a high rock, and waved his hand as a signal that all was right. A few minutes later the horses thundered underneath the thick trees and vegetation that wrapped the hills from peak to base, and the wearied riders dismounted to rest and refresh themselves.
All were wearied and dusty, yet the guide said,
“It won’t do to stay here; there’s a good camping ground farther in.”
He led the way for a quarter of a mile in a westerly direction, where they found a stream of icy cold water which issued from the mountain side, and an abundance of rich rank grass. Here their animals were tethered, and Lancaster told the men that they might lunch and rest themselves, while he and Fred Wainwright would return to the Gorge and keep watch for the Apaches. The cool shadow and the soft grass were so welcome that the remainder of the party immediately stretched themselves out upon the ground to enjoy the luxury of that perfect rest, when it succeeds perfect exhaustion and weariness.
Reaching the Gorge the two hunters clambered up among the hills, until they were elevated several hundredfeet above the plain and had a view of the surrounding country for many miles. It was yet very light, and nothing obstructed their view except the horizon itself.
When they had reached an available spot, Fred Wainwright turned his head, looked one moment toward the north and uttered the thrilling words,
“Yonder they come!”
The trapper squinted his eyes for a moment, looked long and searchingly, and then replied as cooly as if he had asked for a chew of tobacco.
“You’re right, that’s Charouka and his Apaches,sartin!”
Off to the north-east, precisely in the direction indicated by the guide, a party of a half a dozen horsemen were seen approaching at a sweeping gallop. To the ordinary eye they were a half a dozen horsemen and nothing more; but the keen vision of the trapper of the Gila saw among them the object of their search. Florence Brandon held in front of an Apache Indian, who was no other than the famed Charouka.
The redskins were only a few miles distant, and would reach the Gorge within half an hour at the most. As the two surveyed them a moment, the young hunter suddenly turned to the older one.
“Suppose Ward they make no halt but pass on through?”
“What of it? They won’t go far. More likely they’ll stop here and kindle their fires,” replied the guide, rolling his huge tobacco quid from one side of his cheek to the other.
“Don’t you wish to let the others know what is going on?”
“No; let them be; they’re sound asleep and better off than here. We can’t do any thing until after dark, when the time for work will be on us. Till then why we’ll just watch.”
The Apache party rapidly approached, and as they neared the Gorge they came down to a walk. Bythis time they were so near that their features could be distinguished, and the young hunter looked upon the pale face of the fair captive with strange emotions.
She was held by the giant Cherouka directly in front of him. One arm was thrown around her as if to keep her from falling, while with the other he attended to himself. Although he grasped her firmly, yet it was not roughly. It was that grasp with which we hold the being we are unwilling to give up, and yet which we love with all the fondness and affection that our whole nature can summon.
Florence was seated in the usual lady-like fashion, as if she were supported by the ordinary “side-saddle,” her long dress sweeping almost the length of the horse’s body and shrouding her own feet, and the moccasined limit of the wild Apache from view. Her long dark hair was streaming over her shoulders, her face was white and deathly, and there was a wild agonized look in her dark eyes, which ought to have moved the hearts of the brutes which surrounded her, but which, as may well be imagined, did not affect their sensibilities in the slightest degree.
O how the young hunter longed to raise his rifle as they came within range and send his bullet through the brain of the treacherous Apache. But he was too sensible a fellow to do any such thing, even if he had forgotten that he was under the orders of his older companion.
True to the prediction of the latter, they rode a short distance through the Gorge, and then turning a little aside, dismounted, and made their preparations for a night encampment.
Florence was assisted gallantly to the ground, and allowed to take a seat near a tree, removed a few feet or so from the others, while they merely glanced at her as they moved hither and thither, Cherouka, however scarcely moving his eyes from her.
The Apaches had scarcely halted, when one of their number was observed to walk back toward the mouth of the gorge where he stationed himself. The two hunters looked at each other and smiled significantly, while Lancaster gave his younger companion a nudge in the side.
“How does that look, Fred? All right, aint it?”
“Yes; there hasn’t been a failure to-day in anything you have said or done.”
“Wal,” said the trapper with a complacent yawn, “if a feller hunts and traps for thirty years among the redskins, he ought to knowsomethin’about ’em, hadn’t he?”
“Of course.”
“That’s all about it then; if you had been in my place, may be you’d’ve knowed pretty near as much. But that’s neither here nor there. Things look good; now I tell you what must be done, Fred. It’s time the boys were waked up and got ready; I’ll go up and bring them and the animals down where they’ll be handy, and then we’ll see what’s to be done, whether we’re to sarcumvent ’em or to sail in and knock ’em over.”
“Am I to remain here?”
“You’ll stay here till I come back and we’ll arrange things.”
And the next minute the trapper was gone.
Left alone, Fred Wainwright looked cautiously about him, and then, so far as the gathering darkness of the imperfect light of the small camp-fire would permit, saw the position of matters. The Apaches had kindled a fire, and were cooking a large piece of meat over it; Florence was seated on the ground about a dozen feet back of them, not secured or bound in any manner.
Why need she be? What chance had she of fleeing? Was there ever a moment when the black eyes of an Apache were not fixed upon her, and were those of Cherouka ever removed? No; she was too sensible of thinking of such a step.
Yet as the keen eyes of the young hunter rested upon the scene, he saw there was an opportunity which might never come again. If she could only be apprised of the proximity of her friends, there was no reason why she should not give her enemies the slip. At any rate, he had looked but a few minutes when he determined to make the attempt.
Good fortune which had favored our friends so far, caused the encampment to be on the western side of the gorge, the same as that occupied by the hunters, and where now Fred Wainwright began creeping stealthily forward toward the captive.
He was too experienced a hunter to attempt anything like this, unless there was a good prospect of success. He was as certain, as any one could be of the most certain of all things, that when his friends were gathered together, and made a charge upon the Indians, they could scatter them like chaff, and retake Florence Brandon without the danger of a scratch to her. Consequently nothing like the present would be attempted, if there was cause for the least fear of precipitating matters.
Our hero reached a point about twenty feet not in the rear but at one side of the girl, and then paused to deliberate upon the best method of apprising her of his presence. Carefully scrutinizing everything aroundhim, he finally searched on the ground until he found a small pebble which he tossed so dexterously that it dropped in her lap. She instantly raised her head and looked toward the Indians evidently thinking it came from them. This was the critical moment; and Fred improved it, by flinging another one as skilfully as before.
This accomplished its mission. Florence Brandon knew that a friend was near at hand, and she signified her understanding of matters by glancing quickly in the direction from which the pebble came and giving a quick wave of the hand.
“Good!” muttered the hunter, “she understands; she is as bright and keen as ever.”
Creeping still closer until he had reached a point, beyond which he dare not pass, he paused to make sure that his situation would admit his acting as he had determined to do in case he made an attempt to rescue the captive. Behind him the wood and shrubbery were of impenetrable darkness, so that he could maneuver in them to the best advantage.
Now that he was sure the ear of the girl was strained to catch the slightest sound, he waited but a moment, and then whispered,
“This way, quick!”
She turned her head, glanced fearfully around her, and then rising to her feet, ran rapidly and lightly toward the young hunter. She had gone but a dozen steps or so, when an exclamation of Cherouka showed that he had discovered the attempt, and he darted after her. He evidently believed it a despairing attempt upon her part, done without the connivance of any one, and he intended to bring her back with the least trouble to herself and without any outcry or demonstration, so far as he was able to prevent it.
The other Apaches witnessed the whole thing, but very probably they concluded if Cherouka intended to make a wife of the “pale face,” it was about time he commenced the “breaking in” process, and theytherefore continued their attention to the roasting antelope.
Fred Wainwright stood in a crouching position until Florence Brandon reached him, when he whispered hurriedly,
“Don’t stop; we’ll take care of you; run on, and I will attend to this gentleman.”
Cherouka came straight ahead until he had reached a point only a few steps behind the girl, and his arm was outstretched to seize her, when a dark body suddenly arose to his feet, and the next moment to use an elegant expression, “the first thing he knew he didn’t know anything,” for he was felled senseless by the crashing blow of Fred Wainwright dealt straight in his face.
Thus far, thus well. The hunter now whirled on his heel, and started after the flying girl. She was too startled to comprehend that it was a friend instead of an enemy who was pursuing her, and she fled all the faster. Not until they had run quite a distance, and he had called to her several times in as loud a tone as he deemed prudent, did she pause and wait for him to come up.
“Oh! is that you, Mr. Wainwright?” she asked trembling like an affrighted bird, hardly daring to trust her senses, and ready to dart away again.
“Yes; there is no need of this hurry, Miss Brandon; they don’t suspect you have had help and we can take matters more leisurely.”
“Where is Cherouka?”
“I don’t think he will trouble you very soon.”
“You haven’t killed him?” she asked, her heart recoiling at the thought.
“No; he merely ran against my fist; he will be alive and kicking and howling in a few moments.”
“Oh! let us hurry then, for I would rather die than let him get me again.”
“No fear I think.”
“Are you alone?”
“Yes, except there are ten of our men waiting for us a short distance from here.”
“Oh! how thankful I am; let us hasten to them before it is too late.”
“Please take my arm; and we may be able to travel faster.”
She did so, and they walked forward as fast as the nature of the ground would permit.
As yet there was no outcry or clamor from the Apache camp, proof that the real flight of the girl had not been discovered.
“How much farther away are our friends?”
“Only a short distance; we will meet them in a few minutes.”
“And you think they cannot get us—the Indians will not follow and kill you and take me back again.”
“They may pursue us; but as to getting you into their hands again, that is a far different matter, and one about which there will be a little fun if they attempt it.”
“Oh! I cannot realize that I am safe again; and you have followed us all the way?”
“Not exactly; Lancaster the guide, knew they were making for this point, and so we hurried and got here ahead of them.”
“Did you see us come?”
“Yes; we or rather I have had my eyes on you for the last hour or more, but we waited until it was dark——”
“Hark!”
“I swan if I didn’t run my chin over a limb that time, and it nearly sawed my neck off.”
“Keep your mouth shet or you’ll spile the whole game. Hello! there’s somebody here. That you, Wainwright?”
“Yes; I am here, Ward, all right.”
“And the gal?”
“Is with me.”
“Good for you! you’re a trump—hello!”
At this instant, a succession of yells was heard from the direction of the Apache camp, proclaiming that Cherouka had come to his senses, and the redskins were at work.
“Let ’em yell,” muttered the guide, as he noticed some trepidation among those around him, “what can they do?”
“But they may get torches—that is, as it were,—and follow us,” ventured Mr. Swipes, “but, Miss Brandon, allow me to congratulate you on your successful escape from the Indians.”
“Yes; let’s hear how it was,” said several as the two young persons appeared among the overjoyed whites, who gathered around them and shook their hands again and again.
Fred Wainwright related in a few brief words, how he had seen there was a good chance to get her away from the Indians without waiting for the return of his friend. At its conclusion the latter said,
“Well, you saved us a fight any way; and I s’pose that suits the gal better. Let’s mount and be off. Fred, we’ve only ’leven animals and there be ’leven of us. I’m mighty afraid you’ll have to take the gal on your hoss with you.”
This was nothing very dreadful, and the young people managed to survive it. Strange emotions thrilled the heart of Fred Wainwright, as he held the dear being close to him, and several times he was on the point of giving utterance to the tumultuous feelings which thronged upward,—but he restrained himself. The time had not yet come.
All night long they traveled their progress being necessarily slow. Nothing more was heard of their pursuers, and at daylight they halted on the ridge not more than half their distance accomplished.
“I will ascend to the top of the ridge and take observations. I swan if I feel quite safe!” remarked Mr. Swipes as he clambered to the top. Reaching the backbone of the ridge, he took a careful survey of theopposite plain which stretched far away to the South and South-West.
The next moment a loud shout was heard from the Yankee, and he was seen dancing and flinging his arms like a lunatic. All eyes were turned wonderingly toward him.
Leonidas Swipes continued dancing, shouting and gesticulating like a madman. He threw his hat in air, and, as it came down stamped upon it, turned summerset, hooted like an Indian, and finally shouted to the upturned faces below him.
“By jingo! just come up here! Did you ever see such a sight! Ki ’yi!” and he executed another double shuffle as a vent to his superabundant glee.
Fred Wainwright finally accepted the invitation and clambered up beside him.
“Just look off there!” shouted the Yankee, before the man has fairly reached him, “aint that enough to make your eyes sparkle? I swan! Ki ’yi!”
The next moment, the young hunter saw that the fellow had good cause for his unusual excitement; for there, right below him, were resting the five thousand and odd sheep, which the Comanches had taken so unceremoniously from him a few days before. Their multitudinousbaaing, made it a source of wonder that their proximity had not been suspected ere this.
It was yet early in the morning, and the sheep were resting from the severe marching to which they had been subjected. The Indians could be seen, scattered here and there on the outer confines of the immense drove, where any stampede would be sure instantly to arouse them. Here they were slumbering, their faithful animals cropping the grass close beside them, where they could be reached in a second’s call.
One Comanche had just risen, and stood leaning against his horse, and appeared to be yawning and gaping. As there was imminent danger of Swipes being seen, Fred pushed him down from his perch.
“You want to alarm them, do you, and have them all get away, not that you have a chance to recover your property?”
“Well, I swan it makes a feller feel so good that it don’t make much difference whether I get ’em back agin or not.”
“Little good will it do you, then. Let’s go down again and have consultations with Ward, and decide upon our means of recapturing them.”
“But won’t they give us the slip while we’re talking?”
“Not much.”
“I guess I’ll stay here and watch while you go down and make the arrangements. Be as quick as you can.”
“Come along; you’ll get to dancing and hooting again and alarm the whole country, so don’t wait.”
The prospect of recapturing the entire herd of sheep was too tempting to pass by. When a man sees an opportunity of recovering a fortune lost, is he apt to shut his eyes and turn his back upon it? Not much.
The arrangements were soon made. Ward Lancaster, Fred Wainwright and four of the best mounted men dismounted and led their horses up the ridge, and as carefully descended on the opposite side. Here they remounted, consulted a few moments, and then with a series of resounding whoops, dashed around the southern side of the drove, firing their guns at the Comanches at the same time.
The latter comprehending that the game was up, vaulted upon their mustangs and sped away like an arrow over the prairie, firing as they rode. In a few minutes, the entire body of sheep was in motion to the northward. They kept along the western side of the ridge, while Florence Brandon and her friends followed the eastern slope, both parties instantly remaining within call of each other.
In the afternoon of the same day, the entire company united with the emigrant train and the march westward was resumed.
Messrs. Swipes, Bircham and Doolittle with the occasional assistance of the others kept the sheep drove in motion losing a very slight per cent. When the point was reached where they were to divide, they met a party from Sacramento who were going east to purchase sheep and cattle. They had an abundance of funds, and, after considerable bantering, they took the entire flock off of Swipe’s hands, giving him thirty thousand dollars.
The Yankee divided the money as he had agreed, with his companions, and compelled Lancaster and several others to take quite a handsome present.
“And now,” said he, as the three set their faces toward San Francisco, “I’m going hum.”
“But how about the Fort Mifflin Institute for the Education of the Youths of both Sexes?” inquired Fred Wainwright.
“Fort Mifflin Institute be hanged. I’m going hum to buy Deacon Popkin’s farm and settle down with Araminta.”
And home he went.
It was a beautiful day in spring time some years ago, and the emigrant train was proceeding leisurely through Southern California. It was within a few days of its destination. A few hundred yards in the rear of the company, a lady and gentleman were riding, their horses walking closely together, while the riders conversed in those slow sweet tones, so unceremoniously by persons under such circumstances. They were our old acquaintances, Fred Wainwright and Florence Brandon. There was a peculiar smile on the face of the latter, as she said, after a moment’s lull in the conversation.
“Do you suppose Mr. Fred Wainwright, that I do not know who you are?”
He looked inquiringly at her.
“What do you mean?”
“You are Mr. Frederick Ashland, of Missouri.”
“Florence! Florence, who has betrayed me?”
“No one, but yourself, on the night you so noblyrescued me from the Apaches. I penetrated your disguise.”
“Why didn’t you let me know it?”
“I thought I would wait and see your object in thus remainingINCOGNITO; but I can’t divine your meaning, as I thought I would let you know that I generally keep my eyes shut. Mr. Frederick Ashland, what is the cause of this?”
“You.”
“Please explain.”
“You know after we were engaged, I called several times to see you, and was told you were out. I felt hurt very much at this, as I knew it was untrue. Finally, when I concluded to go to California, I made up my mind I would call and bid you good bye, your aunt, Miss Sillingsby told me you positively refused to see me, and I received a note which I had sent unopened. This was the last drop in the bucket and I left you, resolved never to look on you again, and I should never have done so until we were so strangely brought together, and I believed you did not suspect my identity.”
Whereupon Florence told how she had been deceived; that Miss Sillingsby had taken a fancy to a rich old crusty bachelor, and resolved that Florence should marry him. She had started the false message between the two, and finally succeeded in making both believe that the other had committed the transgression, and hopelessly estranged them.
But now all was made right—and well, we have nothing more to say. Our readers can fill in the minor details of a little scene at Fort Mifflin a few months later, when Miss Sillingsby had the chagrin and the others the exquisite pleasure of seeing our hero and heroine made happy in each other’s love.
THE END.
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. Redman.62—The Luckless Trapper.By Wm. R. Eyster.63—The Florida Scout.By Jos. E. Badger, Jr.64—The Island Trapper.By Capt. 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 Robins.85—Kaleolah.By T. Benton Shields, U. S. N.86—The Hunter Hercules.By 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, Jr.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.
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. Redman.
62—The Luckless Trapper.By Wm. R. Eyster.
63—The Florida Scout.By Jos. E. Badger, Jr.
64—The Island Trapper.By Capt. 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 Robins.
85—Kaleolah.By T. Benton Shields, U. S. N.
86—The Hunter Hercules.By 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, Jr.
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.
The following will be issued in the order and on the dates indicated:
131—Red Plume.By J. Stanley Henderson.132—Clyde, the Trailer.By Maro O. Rolfe.133—The Lost Cache.By J. Stanley Henderson.134—The Cannibal Chief.By Paul J. Prescott.135—Karaibo.By J. Stanley Henderson. Ready136—Scarlet Moccasin.By Paul Bibbs. Ready137—Kidnapped.By J. Stanley Henderson. Ready September 23d.138—The Maid of the Mountain.By W. J. Hamilton. Ready Oct. 7th.
131—Red Plume.By J. Stanley Henderson.
132—Clyde, the Trailer.By Maro O. Rolfe.
133—The Lost Cache.By J. Stanley Henderson.
134—The Cannibal Chief.By Paul J. Prescott.
135—Karaibo.By J. Stanley Henderson. Ready
136—Scarlet Moccasin.By Paul Bibbs. Ready
137—Kidnapped.By J. Stanley Henderson. Ready September 23d.
138—The Maid of the Mountain.By W. J. Hamilton. Ready Oct. 7th.
☞Beadle’s Dime Pocket Novelsare always in print and for sale by all newsdealers; or will be sent post-paid, to any address: single numbers, ten cents; six months (13 Nos.) $1.25; one year (26 Nos.) $2.50.
Address,BEADLE AND ADAMS, Publishers, 98 William Street, New York.