Newspaper Page Text
T* •'/.**» 'i s
A SONG FOR APRIL.
GAMAKI. TO EMMA.
With sound of dove's wins* flyiug
Young April now is nighing,
/ Fair joy resumes her reign.
And trees whose roots were dying,
And mourners deeply sighing.
Cheer up. and thrive again:
And flowers by nature painted
Do smile at hearts that, fainted.
An i hoped for smiles in vain.
But while fair Flora’s fingers.
Shed tints on every bloom.
And nature’s feathered singers,
Their vernal songs resume,
Prav think of one forlnrn.
Whose year of spring is shorn
By winters icy gloom:
Whose flower, too, was fragrant
Not long ago, but vagrant
I- now her sweet perfume.
The flower I was possessing
Is now nnothers blessing
Thou art the fathlcss bloom.
THE
OLD TABBY HOUSE.
BY HARNETT MoIYOK.
CHAPTER X1V.— Forbidden* Fruit.
Days multiplied to weeks, and these to months
— and still Bertrand was seeding in vain. By
‘Personals’ in famous newspapers, by catching
at fanciful clews which led him only into disap
pointments, and sometimes into peril, for he
grew often desperate, he followed the unsuccess-
tnl chase.
At last, hope and fear,—by turns sanguine
and gloomy—began to tell upon his mental, as
upon bis physical health. He determined to
seek a softer climate, and delegate to others, it
iuay be, the labor he could no longer safely per
form bimseif. He placed his case in the hands
of a skillful detective, and returned to the city
of Oglethorpe.
The winter season had come, and the aheer-
less aspect of nature was in keeping with his
melancholy fooling*. But Bertrand was still
young in years, aud by simply roiling oti to the
shoulders of another the burden he had bcrae for
months, he found a partial relief. His pride was
stung by the consciousness of failure. The first
meeting with the young lawyer, revealed to Gor
don that the subject of Helen’s disappearance
was too sacred to bear discussion: it was never
mentioned but once.
But the heart of man is strangely inconsistent.
No sooner did Bertrand discover the real state
of affairs between the young beaut}- in the Old
Tabby House and his intimate friend, than a
dark purpose found place in his heart. Why
should Gordon—why should any man be happy
in a woman’s love whilst he was miserable? The
very thought drove him to desperation. He
could bear as little any reference to his friend's
partiality lor Ellen, as he could a word or inti
mation that brought back to memory the Belie
of Brookline. If he could not thread the
mazes of bis own mystery, and break the chains
that bound him on the rack of misery, he could
break the bonds of other loving hearts—and he
resolved to accomplish it!
Once again his old-time gallantry revived in
full force. In Gordon’s presence he was moody,
taciturn, sometimes scarcely respectful—but at
Howard Hall be was all animation, intelligence,
wit, caietv ! He saw at a glance the work before
him ° His friend was guileless, candid, trustful.
He. a man of the world, knew how to dazzle,
bewilder, and ensnare the unwary. He had
traveled much—he could paint pictures of
scenery in words that brought the remembered
scene in graphic distinctness before the hearer.
He had read much—famous thoughts of classic
Kuglish po -ts be had on his tongue’s epd. He
oiety every art that could charm woman, and
dazzle, if it did not please men. He could
place himself en rapport with his subject in such
style that he anticipated every thought, aud
shared every emotion ot his hearers. He was
not destitute of conscience, but he was proud,
and his soul rose too loftily, imperially exacting
to sutler the crown of happiness to be snatched
from his g”asp, and worn by auotber. The
crown of happiness? Indeed, he did not dream
at first that he ever could truly love the beau
tiful Ellen Gaston. No! but be could cause
her to love him 1 He could make his friend’s
cup as bitter as his own; he could win the
affection he did not want—he could humble,
and crush this defenceless woman, because his
own heart was rankling with a broken arrow-
thrown by another woman’s hand ! He did not
breathe the word—nor think out the purpose
into clearness of statement—but in his heart
there lay a lurking demon, dark as the throne
of Erebus—remise 1
To resolve and to act, with him, were syn-
onvm.s. His first visit to the Old Tabby House
revealed the line of his attack. He saw that
this pure-minded girl, whose ideas of the world
had been received almost wholly from boots,
was accessible from only one direction. To
make an issue with her heart at present, was
certain failure. Not a word must be uttered
that could, in any way, introduce a discussion
of the tender passion. Not a word that could
possibly mature her prepossession for Gordon
into tire expression of decided affection. As
yet, the dream of her life had filled only her
consciousness—she had never reasoned about
her future, or given her thoughts words to build
their fabric on—she bad never asked herselt the
question, and he had never breathed it.
Here, then, was the work to be accomplished.
Ellen, like all enthusiastic natures, young in
years, and fresh in their enthusiasm, was a
hero-worshipper. She reverenced men ol ge
nius, as all good and all great women do. In
tellect is God’s likeness stamped upon humanity
—Mind is the reflection of the ineffable
Shekinah of Jehovah. To capture this young
heart, it was only necessary to awe, and dazzle,
and bewilder her untaught, but exquisitely sen
sitive mind.
At once he assumed the office of a teacher—
he became, in terms, what she had timidly asked
Gordon to be to ber—a Mentor. He had studied
Nature. The world of BotaDy is a universe of
beauty, adaptation, purpose, skill, romance,
law and philosophy: the world of planis is a
cyclopaedia of thought. He understood their
habits, and explained them. He could trace
the delicate Soul of Nature in every motion o!
its infinite successions, and interpret the lan
guage, the lives, the loves, the misiortunes. and
the glories of the flowery kingdom. His fancy
was quick to weave the creations of afruitfu;
imagination into wondrous webs of mysterious
beauty, and as he took her by the hand, and led
her through the labyrinth of Nature, she felt
her own helplessness, even by the help of the
golden thread fastened at the door, to retrace
her steps alone, without his guiding hand and
assuring presence.
He was an experienced critic in the fine arts,
too, and had the delicate tact which gives iu-
struc'ion when it only seems to be drawing out,
the ideas and the judgment of the hearer. 'Che
whole lexicon of art language was Ht his com
mand. A pictnre, which to ether eyes presented
only a sorry copy ot nature, to him, presented
atberi:>-of eloquent praise. Light, and shade,
and color—the indefinable gift of the yrue artist
which conceals art, and reproduces nature—
these he could point out to the wondering eyes
of the simple maideu, and whilst the technical
terms of art-eritic’sm conveyed little meining
to her. the impression of his profound wisdom
was firmly fixed in her mind.
Chance meeting—appointed interviews— stu
dious efforts to consult her pleasure, and min
ister to her thirst for knowledge—all these were
improved with untiring diligence. His watch
ful eye did not fail to see that his company was
a source of delight—that he had inspired her
with a growing passion, which r.t first was
merely intellectual, but he knew how to mould
and direct it as he pleased.
Herbert Gordon’s ’ influence was evidently
waning. The young lawyer was slow to see the
progress of events, but the time came when he
could no longer close his eyes to the truth. The
gifted Bertrand had charmed his beautiful
friend, aud his own conversation now seemed
dull and uninteresting to her. The simple
tastes of Gordon, his antipathy to everything
that resembled pedantry and pretence, forbade
any thought of rivalry in the chosen field of lit
erary- display. In their evening conversations,
when Bertrand w-as not present, Ellen could
scarcely avoid quoting bis sentiments, and ex
pressing her admiration of his learning and
genius. Nowand then, when the three were
together, a sly thrust at Gordon was seldom
omitted. Woman’s equality in intellect with
man was a frequent theme for artful use. The
silly nothings that form so large a part oi‘ polite
conversation in society were magnified as in
sults to woman’s understanding. Were there
not great mathematicians who were women ?
Had not the fields of science yielded as large
results to woman's industry as to that of man ?
Why should we degrade and enfeeble the sex by-
presuming her incapacity, and dooming her to
perpetual childhood ?
In vain Herbert sought to defend himself from
a charge as unjust as it was injurious to him.
Ellen could not help feeling that the tenor of the
conversation, as between the two men, was al
ways in Bertrand's favor She could scarcely
repress the conviction that in some way, the
hours she spent with Gordon were unprofitable.
Herbert mourned in secret over his declining
influence with Ellen. More than once he sought
to remonstrate with Montmollin, but he met
him with a humorous sally, and protestufcions
of profound indifference to Ellen Gaston. Her
bert knew his heart’s history, aud that there was
nothing to fear from his innocent pastimes at
Howard Hall. But Gordon was not longer to
be deluded. lie bad never spoken openly,
plainly to Ellen of his love for her. His pover
ty, his modesty, Ids timidity had forbidden
hitherto. lVt he felt that the eclipse of this
hope would leave his earthly career in gloom
forever. For once, he determined to know his
fate, and with that purpose in his mind, lie di
rected his steps to the Old Tabby House.
The wiuter evening was clear and cold. The
light beamed from the windows of the parlor,
and the piano sent its stirring notes into the
frosty air, as Herbert stood with tin* door-knock
er iu bis hand. His heart trembled at the
thought that his dreaded enemy might be there
before him. And thus it proved. Bertrand had
brought the music of a new opera, and was dis
coursing eloquently of its beauties as Herbert
entered the parlor. Montmollin’s face beamed
with friendly recognition, and his graceful form
seemed to assert its superiority in still farther
measure, ns the young lawyer took his seat, look
ing the picture of chagrin and mortification.
Ellen was as beautiful, and graceful, and enter
taining as ever. But Bertrand monopolized the
evening, He threw the wondrous charm of his
cultivated voice into his descriptions of places
and beauties ot old-world grandeur, and before
the evening was half spent Herbert felt that his
fate was sealed.
But the shrewd calculating mind of Bertrand
peic-ived the true condition of his friend’s
heart, and lie made it convenient to retire, after
ho had essayed a particularly brilliant passage
describing some of the wonders of Alpine scen
ery. Herbert felt an embarrassment in Ellen’s
presence that he had never known before, she
-i i* -ui tv ob lost lit
reverie for some moments.
‘It was uiy purpose this evening, Miss Gas
ton,’ Herbert at length began; and the unusual
phrase sounded so distantly, so freezingly, that
lie felt his own heart chilled by the new rela
tions that were being prepared for them both,
‘It was my purpose to reveal to yon a iact which
to me is of great importance, whatever it may
be to you.'
He paused, and Ellen looked into bis face
with her bright features sobered somewhat by-
anxiety. The tone of his voice—the forma! man
ner of addressing her his embarrassment per
plexed her very much.
T am sure I feel interested in anything that
concerns you, Mr. Gordon,’ she quietly re
marked.
Her voice re-assured him, and he continued.
‘Miss Ellen, if I may be so rash as to express
my thoughts to you in absolute candor, your
kind heart will make allowances for me, and
forgive me if you can do no more. From the
first day that I met you in this house, to this
hour you have held in your hands the thread
of my destiny. I have loved you as deeply, as
purely as I believe any man ever loved a worthy-
woman. I know that I am not your equal in
fortune —that I am not qualified to make you
happy, perhaps, for there are others whom you
know, that are more generously gifted by na
ture; but there cannot exist in human form one
who is more capable of devoting ambition, life
and fortune to secure your happiness.'
He paused again—his voice trembled, and he
seemed for a moment incapable ot resuming.
Ellen’s eyes filled with tears. She turned her
head away—then quietly seated herself at the
piano. Her hand fell upon one of those simple
songs that Herbert had often admired. She ran
her fingers over the keys iu subdued measure,
but did not sing the words. The memories as
sociated with the air were vivid in the mind of
Herbert.
‘You remember that song, Mr. Gordon ?’she
said very sweetly, resting her white hand upon
the keys, and turning to her visitor.
‘I can never forget it,’ he replied.
‘Will you tell me what your thoughts were
when I first tried to sing it for you? Do you re
member them ?'
‘As if it were but yesterday, Ellen. It was the
first day that you left your sick chamber, and
lire servants assisted you to the parlor. I came
through the orange-grove and brought in my
hand one of the freshest flowers from tne tree
near the bower. I Lad not seen you for many
weeks. Your face was very pale, and there was
only a taint tinge of healthy color oa your
cheek. You sat then at the piano, and sang that
song to try your voice. The effort taxed your
strength, but the aninaticn which the music
g*vo you brightened the glow upon your
cheek.'
‘Was it only the music, Mr. Gordon; and was
nothing duo to the presence of the kind friend
who-e anxious enquiries after my health were
daih made?'
“Ah ! Ellen ! you must answer that?”
‘But what followed the song, Mr. Gordon.’
•I gave you the flower, and you placed it in
vour hair. Shall I tell you what I thought then ?
That the soft light of that beautiful flower was
not half so lovely as the cheek it shaded, and
that the time might come, perhaps, when you
would use a wreath of orauge-blooms upon a day
the happiest that this earth can have for me!’
‘But the flower is withered, Mr. Gordon.’
'And lost—yes, but the hope has not yet died
in my soul.’
‘Nor is the flower lost,’ answered Ellen, open
ing a smalt herbarium near her. ‘Your flower
is withered, but it is still cherished. Seel'
d he orange-blossom in delicate beauty lay
embalmed between the leaves of the book. Her
bert's eyes were gladdened by the sight of his
simple gift. It had a message for him which no
words were needed to convey. After all, he
thought Bertrand had not succeeded in sup- j
planting him in the young girl's heart.
The ice was broken now. In passionate i
words his tongue fouud expression, and the
full cup of his hopes and fears, his misgivings
and doubts was pouredjiorth. But with maid
enly reserve Ellen heiirM his vows, and beard
them not unwillingly he' thought, for her fair
face was lighted by a smile which gave the en
couragement which yet her words tendered
not.
In after days he recalled the incidents of that
evening, and saw that after all, he had missed j
the lesson which his fair instructress intended i
to teach him. A lesson which all men and !
women—young and old—in the morning, the I
noon, and evening time of life are called upon
to learn—the lesson which few of ns will heed j
till repeated over, and the heart grows weary j
with its monotony. The tantalizing lesson, i
Patience !
CHAPTER XV'.—An Untimely Frost.
Never before this midwinter was such a snow-
I storm seen in Oglethorpe. The air w-as white
I for nearly two days with the descending snow.
: and every device that ingenuity could call into
j service was employed to imitate the sleighing
I of Northern latitudes. Boxes placed upon rnn-
| ners of every size and grade of clumsiness,
j dashed through the rtjjfts at early dawn, and
j far into the night. Bella, of all grades and de-
| grees tinkled their merry notes all day long,
j Business was suspended, and the unusual visi-
] tatiou caused a general holiday. It was literally
the reign of snow. Old and young, all colors,
! all classes of people mingled in the streets, and
I pelting snow-balls, and practical jokes of un-
! wonted license held high carnival.
The morning of tbe third day, whilst yet the
; deep white coverlet iay enveloping town, field
i and forest, a broad clumsy footstep was printed
l on the walk going and returning from the gate
j to tbe door of tbe Old Tabby House. The mes-
i senger tonched the knocker, but he did not
I strike it. He tarried but a momenl, leaving a
I parcel clasped beneath the grim head of tbe
brazen knocker and the panel. Early in the
morning a passing servant saw the parcel hang
ing there, and carried it to his mistress.
Folded in a soild and torn bit of newspaper,
was a letter.
The elder sister, Mary, into whose bands it
! came, opened and letter. It was ad
dressed to Ether, and a shudder of surprise and
j horror followed the reading of its contents.
‘Madam—Y'onhave Jived long enough in peace
and quiet. When I saw you last, I resolved to
trouble you no- more. But you have broken tbe
truce be-Jween us. You have followed me, and
hounded me by your meddlesome agents, and
driven me out of the country where I had taken
refuge. More than this. Y'our agent has robbed
me, and left me a beggar. I am poor, and must
live. I asa hungry and must eat. I cannot
work, or will not, whilst there are those who
can help me—those who are in my power, and
shall feel my revenge, if I do not receive at least
one hundred dollars by this time to-morrow.
One hundred will do for my immediate wanfcs-
But I was born a gentleman, and it will take at
least five thousand a year to support rue de
cently. Give me this, and I will trouble you
no further. Refuse it, and I will brand yon
with a stigma that not all the wealth of the
Howards .an wipe atfay. To-morrow, by ten
o’clock, I shall expect a reply at the Post Office,
| with $100 enclosed addressed to
Yours, Av.., Henry.’
It was at least foil tjf > that this terrible mis
sive had fallen into o:«, r hands than those for
whom it was immedbJGriy designed. But not a
moment was to be ’/A messenger was dis-
ttetiea at once io
and that i-eniM obf’'* came hurryins
through the deep ,,T-. y, wind running the gaunt
let of a thousand bullets which peppered and
powdered him until his clothing resembled a
traveling snow bank. Shaking the snow from
his dress, he entered the Old Tabby House, and
was suon closted in piofoand consultation with
its mistress.
Indignation which barely kept inside the dec
alogue by reason of a lady’s presence, filled
the heart and lips of the good old physician.
But indignation, profane or otherwise afforded
no remedy for the case. What was he to do ?
io yield to the demand, now by sending ihe
smell sum, a-5 un earnest of the greater when
ever the party chose to demand it, was only giv
ing boundless license to the blackmailer- To
refuse, was certainly to cause him to make good
his threats. Henry Gaston was too desperate a
man. to stop at any half-way measures. He
knew bis advantage, and meant to avail himself
of it. Dating him to do his worst, might have
been good policy, if no delicate, shattered frame
trembling even'now upon the verge of the abyss
from which site had escaped as by a miracle,
had been involved. Bat there was a fair yoaug
flower, upon whose spring life the blow’ would
fall with fatal power. The mystery of her father’s
life had intruded itself upon her hours of lone
liness and melancholy, and the traces of that
secret sorrow were not unseen by those who
tendely wacbed her.
Appeals to him as a futlier and a husband weri-
useless. He had broken all'vows, disregarded
ail claims, and would be likely to rejoice and
triumph in working even more of ruin than his
wretched existence had already wrought. A
score of plans occured to the fertile mind of
the physician, but the bare statement of them
was equivalent to their rejection. Nothing
seemed to he feasible. Resistance was ruin,
concession must end in ruin.
Long and earnest were the count ils andjdelibi-
rations of that eventful day, a d the night had
fallen in-tore a conclusion was reached. A letter
was written—an appeal to the miserable wretch
to take pity upon the heart he had broken, and
tbe young being w hose life was at his me«*cy.
There was no thought of softening the vile oul-
1 cast by this letter. But the old physician vol-
I unteered to undertake a mission which might,
j or might not have a favorable result.
! The odds were agaiust accomplishing any-
! thing, but he braced ijimself with a favorite
| quotation from Scripture, aud carried the letter
j to the post-office with bis own hand. Before
j the “general delivery” was opened in the morn-
| ing, the Doctor was posted in ear-shot distance,
! hir ing notified the clerk of his intention.
I It was nearly 10 o’clock before the letter was
called for. A small hoy, of ragged and uncom
fortable looks, w-as the agent of Gaston. The
Doctor followed the boy leisurely thorugh sev
eral streets, until he saw him place the leJter
in the bauds of a man who needed no introduc
tion to the physician. His unkempt head and
beard, his bloodshot eyes, his haggard features,
and the wild, desperate expression of his coun
tenance, were enough. He .took the letter,
opened aud read it- then crushed it in his bends
aud walked away. The physician followed and
traced him to a house in a quarter of the town
frequented by tbe lowest and most depraved of
its people. The Doctor lingered at a convenient
I di da ice for some time, and, having called u po-
I liceman who was making his beat near by, gave
him a hurried message, and knocked at the door
of the house.
A colored woman answered the call. She said
a strange gentleman had been stopping there
for several days, but she did not know his name.
But Gaston ovorhaard tbe enquiry, and cams
to the head of the narrow stairway.
‘What do you want with me?’ he said in an
angry tone.
•I would like to have a few minutes conversa
tion with you,’ replied the Doctor, in a winning
voice.
‘You can have it, sir,’ was tbe reply; ‘walk
this way.’
The Doctor ascended the stairs ond entered a
dimly-lighted aud pooily-fumished room.
‘I am ready to hear you,’said Gaoton, motion
ing his visitor to a chair.
The Doctor sat down at a loss to know how to
proceed.
A lucky thought occurred to him.
‘If I am not mistaken, sir, you are a man
who has seen much trouble, and are now in dis
tress.’
‘What if I am ? Does that concern you ?'
‘Yes; and every other man who has it in his
power to save his fellow-man.’
T know of no way in which you can benefit
ms, sir. I am not a beggar. I don’t want your
charity. I am independent of all hypocrites
and 1 Pharisees of every grade.’
‘But what it 1 propose to help you by giving
yon a chance to help yourself?’
‘You mean to give me some work to dor I
don’t want to work—I am not dependent upon
my labor for support.’
‘And yet you are this moment pennilesss, I
dare say!’
‘ You dare say! Well, suppose I am penni
less, I need not, and will not stay so forty-eight
hours longer’’
‘May be not. Yet, it seems to me, that hon
est employment, and comfortable wages—salary,
it you like, would induce any man to listen, at
least, to the proprietor.’
‘Hart: you, whoever yett may be, for I have
not the honor of your acquaintance, and know
not your name, il indeed you have one—I do
not need, and do not wish io hear any of your
advice. If yon are a gentleman, you will un
derstand that this room is entirely too small for
two, and I wish to be alone. ’
The threatening gesture accompanying these
words left no room for doubting the temper of
the desperado, and the good doctor had no
other alternative but a speedy exit.
But one point was gained. He had photo
graphed his man'; be could place detectives
upon his track, and, perhaps .wine way would
be opened out of this dark and puzzling prob
lem. Speedily he returned to the Old’ Tabby
House with the story of his mortifying failure.
A long consultation followed, and was inter
rupted by the sudden and violent jlangor of the
antiquated knock. The doctor, desiring to know
the possible cause of the alarm—for it was now
long past the hour for visitors—opened the door,
and the hoy’ who had borne the letter to GasS m
in the morning placed a paper in his hand and
retired without a word.
Another letter addressed to 3thel. It was
short,but there was’no ambiguity in its contents.
‘Madam. I am now writing the story of your
shame. To-morrow morning at ten o'clock I
shall send a messenger to the post office. If I
get a letter enclosing $200 I shall not, at pres
ent, make your story public. If the money
does not come, at sunrise day after to-morrow,
on the bulletin board at the post" office deer,
the placard will be reisd by an appreciating pub
lic. * Henry.
The villnin was growing bolder, and more ex
acting. The good physician racked his brain
for hours before he iound a word of advice to
tender in the case. At last, a lucky thought
came to him —one in which he l»lt profound
confidence—nay, he seemed well nigh trans
ported with delight at the pros pent of its suc
cess. The demand must be met. The money
must be sent, then the results must be confided
to his wisdom and prudence. He did not un
fold his plan—perhaps it was yet only in out
line, and would not be intelligible until more
perfectly digested. The money package wan
soon prepared, ihe bills carefully marked, and
the marks copied into the doctor’s own diary.
Then he departed, taking the receiving box cf
ib.ct o&»ae oji his hr>vo«w»rdf r*>nte.
The lamp burned steadily ail that night i-n
the physician’s bed chamber. Moving to and
fro, lying down, rising in hie- dressing-gown,
sitting at his writing-desk, all the weary night
the faithful friend was plodding over this new
and difficult case, not wholly foreign to a pro
fession who are often the guardians of fam
ily peace as well as physical health.
[to BE CONTING3D,]
THE LOST CHILD
-OE,-
A THRILLING STORY OF THE ROCKY
MOUNTAINS.
SY W. H. B.
CHAPTER IX.—th3 home oe the sorceress.
‘What in the name of Heaven, is the matter,’
asked the trapper, as he came into camp, follow
ed by Curtiss and the Indian, all nearly cut of
breath from their rapid race.
‘Matter? Oh, my God !' and the poor woman
flung herself into her husband’s arms fainting
at once.
It was some time before a lucid explanation
could be obfcainad from any one; the conflicting
statements of the diffdrent parties, each think
ing himself right, added very much to the gen
eral mystery. At length, however, Lowell hav
ing recovered, and being able to cross-question,
sitted the matter so as to obtain the information
that both the woman and the teamsters had seen
the wolf-woman from four different points, and
the latter had fired at her, aod were satisfied
that she had not escaped their bullets, from the
finding of blood-marks upon the rock where
they had last seen her.
‘Then why not hunt for her. and for—for the
poor child?’ asked Lowell, but in sc low a tone
as not to reach the ear of the mother.
‘Yer might as well hunt fer ther track of er
swalier in ther air,’ replied the trapper, with al
most a shudder. ‘Y’er mought have brought
blood, but that’s erbout all yer ever kin do; and
as for the child, we saw her fall yisterday from
ther top of ther mounting, and ter-day yer say
she was alive and all right.’
‘Certainly, if I can believe my own eyes.’
‘Wal, yer had better not set too much store on
what yer see when that ar wolf-devil is erbout,
fer ye’li only be fooled, and like as not come to
grief.’
‘I am going to follow her at all events, even if
I have to go alone. She has been a good friend
to me thus iar.’
‘The moccasin of the pale-face,’ interrupted
the Indian, speaking for the first time, ‘would
hose itself upon the trail.’
T shall take the chances at any rate. Do you
call yourselves men, and yei are afraid of a shad
ow ?’
‘I am a man aud haint erfenred of anything
that ever walked er top of the earth; but this ar
thing that kin leap from ther top of ther moun
ting, and turn inter a wolf jest when it has er
mind ter, don't suit me no-how.’
‘Then I shall go alone—alone, as weak as I
am.’
‘I shall go with you,' answered Curtis, leav
ing his now partially recovered wife, and pre
paring to start.'
‘No sir, that would not be right. Your wife
and the camp require all your care.’
‘But yon must not go alona’
Wrtb the usual reticence of his race, Buffalo-
Hoof arose, drew his belt tighter around him.
looked well to his knife aud tomahawk, aud
then pointed upwards.
•Wal,’ said Fisher, somewhat ashomod of the
position he had tsken—‘wal I’m ei goin’ too,
devil, or no devil,’and he followed the exam
ple of his Indian friend iu looking to the salety
of his weapons, and then dashed ahead upon
the trail. ‘Yes, I’m er going too, I dare go
where any man dare, and ef we are ter have er
skriii'mage with ther old one, three pairs of
hands will be better nor one.
‘I trust to bring you glad tidings, madam,’
said Lowell, kindly, as he took his departure;
and then he added to her husband — ‘Have no
fear for us, if we do not return till the morrow.
Once upon the trail, I shall not pause until I
have rescued your little one. and solved the
mystery of this poor, wandering woman.’
‘God bless yon,’ was the tearful answer; ‘and
yet you are not strong enough for such an un
dertaking.’
‘He will give me strength,’ and without wait-
in:; to hear mors, he followed the Indian and
trapper, who had disappeared upon the wind
ing trail.
Tbe first point to be gained was the spot
where the Indian woman had last been seen.
Thai reached, the blood-stains were easily' dis
covered, and aster having satisfied himself that
they led upwards, Lowell called the attention
of his companions to the little cave. But it was
with great difficulty that he eauld even get them
to look within, and yet these men would have
laughed at death -hod done so a thousand times
when the odds were fearfully against them.
Like thousands who should know better, they
believed that
Spirit.--freed from mortal laws with ease
Assume what sexes »ad what sbapts they please.
and that if they once ventured within the por
tals ot that little cavern—a mere hollow carved
out by the hand of nature in the rocky side of
the mountains, they would behold their very
fill
‘Of clanking i t 'its— low, mysterious groans—
Blood crested .tuggers, and uiicoffiued bones,
Bale, gliding ghixns, with .".lurera dropping gore
And blue llames dancing round the dungeon door.
or something that to them would be equally
startling and horrible—a wolf-woman and her
devilish pets.
Nothing, consequently, hot the natural cour
age, the bravery shown by Lowell, and the tear
of being called coward, tempted them to look
within; and yet the hardy trapper was the first
ore to laugh long, loud and recklessly, when
he saw how foolish his fears- had been.
‘Thar’s nothing here to be ai'eared on,’ he said
after a careful survey of the interior, ‘and I’ve
seen ther time that I’d have been mighty glad
ofsich e» hiding-pine-^; haint yer Buff'aler-Huff?'
The Indian replied only with a nod as he
stooped to examine the floor more closely, and
Fisher continued:
‘’Fliar ar no prints of the huffs here, and I
reckon it mought have been ther den of some
old mounting bar like myself. Leastwise, I
don't think that half-beast-halt-squaw we ar er
lookin' arter ever made her home here.’
Batisfii I with the good .oipiession thus pro
duced, Lowell again returned to where the
crimson blood had left its stain upon the rock,
aod proceeded to follow. It was but a very short
time that they had such a guide. Boon the rocky
path was free of hues, except those imprinted
there by nature; thus baffled, he turned to the
Indian and asked him if he could discover anv
footprints.’
‘IIsr6 is the print of the moccasin,’ said Buf
falo-Hoof, after a patient search. ‘Here it touch
ed the moss—here it became unsteady like the
foot of the bison, when it grows faint from the
arrows of th“ hunter.’
‘That ar er fact,’ replied the trapper, ‘and
here she put down ther little one. I reckon
she hadn’t strength ter carry it any further.’
‘Thecatcher ol beaver is right; and here she
sat down to rest, iI—i-e, too, she stripped the
bark from the trees and moss from the rock to
bind the wound,’
AH these things were wonderful to Lowell, for
although his attention was called to the fact,
and the particular places and indications point
ed out, he could scarcely convince himself that
any one could arrive atcertain conclusions from
such dubious premises. He bad very much
yet to learn of the power of the eye when train
ed from the earliest infancy.
‘If you are certain about vvhat you sav,’ he re
marked, there will be no difficulty in following
tbe trail to the end.’
‘Ther keenest-nosed bound that ever followed
er deer will be at fault’ when he comes to run
ning water,’ replied the trapper, ‘and I reckon
onr’n will gin out in erbout ther same manner;
but give us ther ghost of er sight, and we’ll find
ther way ther sarpent went. Haint that so, Buf-
faler ?’
The Indian either beard not. or was not dis
posed to pay any attention to his words, for he
held his way upward and onward. His eye was
upon the trail, and bis heart was in the search.
It was professional pride with him now. The
doubts Lowell bad expressed, had nerved him
■as fully to the task as if he had been following
t the trail of a wounded enemy, or the more
doubtful oneof the swift-footed deer. But sud
denly and unexpectedly all trace was lost, as the
trapper had hinted.
‘Thar,’ he said, as Buffalo-Hoof paused and
motioned the intelligence—‘thar, I told yer so,
she has flew erway.’
•Pshaw !’ replied Lowell; ‘you have lost the
trail, that’s all.’
‘Then yer find it if yer kin,’ was the sullen re
sponse, and Fisher sat obstinately down, as if
determined to move no further.
But not so the Indian. Tne superior intel
lect, knowledge and dauntlessness of Lowell had
made an impression on him, and the pride of
his race (for the red man is ever unwilling to
own that he has a peer cn his hunting grounds
and iu his peculiar pursuits) rendered him un
willing to confess defeat. Still he stood for a
moment lost in thought. Then a smile lit ap
his dark features, and kneeling, he began to
turn over the loose stones, one by one, and
with rhe most extreme caution, so as not to dis
turb a morsel of earth or particle of moss. At
length his patient search was rewarded, and
looking up, be almost whispered :
‘The catcher of beaver has forgotten his cun
liing. See!’ and he pointed to the slight im
press of a moccasin. ‘Here she took up the pap-
poose again.’
•Wal, that looks mere like er human than any
thing I've seen berfore; - and with alt his doubts
vanished, the trapper, as usual, was the first to
act.
But their hopes were only short-lived. They
were all obliged to confess themselves baffled.
All the skill and cunning of the Indian were of
no avail. There was no ground to receive an
impression—no loose stones to cover a footstep —
no moss or lichen to be torn away—nothing but
sterile rock Then, for the first time, the swarthy
face of Buffalo-Hoof grew black with doubt, and
that of Fisher was lighted up with a triumphant
smile.
•1 told yer jest bow it would be,’be exclaimed;
I knew theer devilish footsteps would vanish
after er leetle, and so they have. Wnat are yer
er goin’ ter do now ?’
‘I’m going to tbe point from which you say
she either fell or jumped yesterday,’replied
Lowell, sternly
‘But \o 11 find nothin’ thar.’
‘Perhaps not, but I’m determined to see with
my own eves.’
Wal, we’ll soon show yon who’s right,’ and
expecting to be again triumphant, Fisher wil
lingly led tbe way.
By tbe ro,n«they travelled, the summit was
much easier aud sooner reached than it had been »
Continued on 6;h page. '*
i
t
V