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THE DEAD. Whatever liis guilt, He is gone; His life has been spilt— ’lis the la9t of poor Milt.— Poor Milton Malone. Perhaps it is wrong,— This sad little song, Sent after his bhade: •* It may be that I Should laugh, and cot cry, When criminals die— But not thus was I made. Without any fear Will I part with a tear At the poor fellow’s bier: If we cannot forgive Our foes while they live, At least let us try To be friends when they die. Nov. 20, 1873. L. E. B. The Young Wolf “It ain't of no manner of uso to talk such doctrine to me, ma’am!” growled the old frontiersman, to Mrs. Grant, as they stood in front of the widow’s pleasant home, discuss ing the dark tiding of the Sioux rising and the coming peril—“it ain’t no manner of uso. Your husband, was a good man; but he was all wrong on the Injin question. He never known ’em as have. Tell ye what, ma'am, a wolf’s a wolf, and as soon as he ever gits old enough he’s bound to show it. First he'll bite, and then he'll run every time.” “Why, Gurney, poor Philip has been with ns six years now, and we've never had any great complaint to make of him, I'm sure.” “Yea,” said Gurney, “no doubt he’s been quiet enough. Haven’t you treated him as if he’d been your own sou ? And what has he ever done to pay you ? Has ho ever took to work ?” “Well, but, then, it's hardly in Indian j nature to be very industrious,” pleaded good Mrs. Grant. “ Taiu’t, eh? Well, laziness isn’t the only had thiDg that runs in the blood. Didn’t he clear out all last summer, and spend his time on the plains, hunting with his tribe, ’stead of help ing you here at home, as he’d onghter? And ho hasn't been the same fellow ever since he got back. Tell ye what, if there is any pos sible show for wolf-taming, the Elder missed it on Philip. He wasn’t caught young enough. Why, he was nigh on to fourteen when the Elder took him in hand, and that’s old enough for all sorts of p’ison things to have got well rooted into him." v “Oh, I hope not,” persisted the good lady, mournfully. “I want very much to think good of Philip.” “That’s what’s the matter almost ronghly returned her grim old neighbor. “I’m only afraid you’ll think too much of him. Why, it’s his own tribe and kin that’s cutting up all these awful shines among the settlements. Don’t you trust him too much, if so be the devils come down hereaway. Joab and I mean to keep our eyes peeled for him. We and the neighbors think your place is a heap too lonely, anyhow.” Mach more was said; but neither of the speakers had any idea of being overheard. The widow had taken a deep interest from the first in the success of her husband’s ex periment with the Indian boy, and had labored hard to complete the unfinished work fiis death had left to her. “Philip" they had named him, after the great Pequot chief ot the old colony times, instead ot the jawbreaking string of Sioux gutturals, with their uncanny meaning, which his tribe had left with him when they gave him up. The Grants believed in Philip; but his proud, reserved, unsocial bearing, his readi ness to take offense, and his recklessness in general, had gone far to justify the remainder of that sparse anti scattered community for disagreeing with them. One member, even of o-etf wn little larnily, had ot late ot-guu to hav inge thoughts and feelings concern ing t ill, dark, moody-looking young red man, for Emma Grant had more than once felt his impenetrable eyes resting upon her with an intensity of hidden meaning which had been anything but comfortable. And yet, of all the household, none had been kinder to Philip than the merry-eyed, golden-haired maiden, who was her widowed mother’s great est remaining comfort and stay, as well as the beauty and pride of the settlement. Emma could not, indeed, fathom the meaning of Philip's looks; but there were other eyes in the neighborhood that she found less diffi culty in understanding, and she had had glances enough to account for, in all con science. There were the great, honest brown eyes of Joab Garner, for instance, staring straight down into her own, as if he would like to eat her op, only she had never felt that he would try, giant as he was, for Joab was evidently a good deal more afraid of her than she of him. Doubtless, it could have been truth-, fully declared, however, that unless the grim old Hebrew warrior, from whom Joab took his name, was every iuch the hero he is said to have been, young Gnrney could have Uooredhim in a rough-and-tumble. He had done that very thing for every soul that had tried it with him, aud it was even said he had whipped a well-grown bear with nothing but a club. Philip had refused to be friends with Joab, but he had been wise enough not to quarrel with him. There were times, too, when not only Philip felt like it, but when Joab him self would have been glad to have given him a chance. Times? l’es, times enough, and that mor ning was one of them; for after her rough old friend had shouldered his ax, picked up his rifle, and stalked away into the forest whioh bordered her pleasant little home, and after the Widow Grant bad gone somewhat soberly back into the house to wonder whatever has become of Emma, there was a light rustle and a movement among the adjacent sumach bushes, and then in the hazel brush beyond, and the tall, lithe, sinewy form of the young Indian himself glided from tree to tree into the deeper cover. Not a sound passed his thin, tightly com pressed lips, but Philip's eyes were gleaming with strange fire, and the muscles of his face were working to and fro with the swiftly passing expressions of the fierce thoughts aud passions within, for he h'ad overheard every word of the talk between his benefactress and her neighbor. After all, any human be ing might reasonably object to being consid ered in the light of an untamable wild beast, and evou tho half-civilized son of a Sioux war-chief might almostfte pardoned for “get ting riled about it.” “That is, if he didn't deserve it?” Y r es, and Philip could not remember that he had ever harmed any one of the Gurneys. Nevertheless, his fingers closed around the barrel of his rifle just now in a way to suggest the idea that he would like to shoot at some thing or somebody right off. Philip was every inch an Indian in his physical man, although an unusually fine looking one, and his partial adoption of civ ilized dress, added to the native grace and dignity of his manner, made him a decidedly striking aud interesting personage to look at. There was not much that was pleasant in his bronzed face just then, however, and there was destined soon to be less; for suddenly his keen eyes caught sight of something which drove him instantly to “cover" again. Nothing especially wonderful, one would think. Only a young woman and a young man, walking along side by side under the primeval trees, the former lookin up every now and then into the eyes of the latter with au expression which even Sionx sharpness ol vision could not make out at that distance. “Emma—Joab Gnrney! " Philip bad spoken at Inst, but that was all ho said. Not but what his face told a great deal more, only there wa9 no one in the little copse with him to read the dangerous mean ings that followed one another sc swiftly. Again and again he gripped his rifle, and once he half raised it, as if mechanically. Just then, however, his cars were startled by a low, emphatic “Ugh! ugh!” that seemed to come from the ground under his feet. It was not in Philip’s nature to show sur prise, however much he might feel it, but ho looked down into a painted face which he iu- Btantly recognized, and he saw, too, that the owner was on the war path. Quick, low, sharp, the rough gutturals mu6t have b.'3D, as all Indian talk is—a species of vocal “short-hand,” condensing much into little, with the help of gestures and signs, for in a marvelously short space of time the two seemed to understand each other. It had been a bad moment for Philip to fall in with one of his own race who had never been tamed at all. Meantime, unconscious of any other pres ence than their own, in the seeming solitude of the forest, Joab Gurney and Emma Grant walked slowly on towards the homestead, and they also were talking of the dangerous times that threatened to come. At first Emma’s thoughts had all gone out after her mother, her little brothers and sis ters; and yet she remembered what a friend of the red man her father bad been, and what and how profuse had been the oft-repeated.as surances he and his had received of Sionx gratitude and protection. She spoke of this to Joab, but the young man fully shared in his father’s distrust ot savage good-will, and shook his head dubi ously. “ Tell you what, Emma,” said he, “there’s only one thing for it. You and your folks must up stakes and come to onr house on the first token of danger. We’re making a regular fort of it, and there won’t be less'n half a dozen good rifles to keep it, any time the red skins choose to come. Now, you're just per fectly unprotected up at your mother's." “Except by father’s memory,” replied Em ma. “And that wouldn’t hold back a Sioux war j party for half an hour. And, what's more, some of our people they’ve found Indian signs in the woods within these past few days. Tell you what, Emma, I don’t reckon there’s any great amount of time to spare about this here moving business. Father said he meant to go up and see your mother about it this morning.” Little did Joab imagine what was going on in the shadows of the woods around him even while he was talking. When old Gurney had left the widow’s door that morning, it had been with a heart and mind full of evil foiebodings of a nature to dispose him to be more than ordinarily suspicions and observing. Not a passing indication of any sort was likely to escape his keen and practiced senses, for the old man, solid and settled farmer and land owner as he now was, had been in his day one of the most noted Indian fighters on the frontier, and he hardly yielded the palm of personal prowess even to hi3 own stalwart son. As yet, all reports of savage outrages had come from localities far to the north ward ; but Gurney knew the ways of the Siouxlbands too well to be hoodwinked by that, and he strolled Blowly along with the air of a man who is continually looking for something. Whether or not this appearance was more in seeming than reality, suddenly Gurney bent forward almost to the ground, balancing bis heavy weight with his long arms, as if he discovered something on the soft earth of the damp, marshy spot he stood on tbat called for careful study. , Only tor a moment the study c'ntinued. and then the old man drew himself erect again and stride forward, while the expres sion of anxiety grew deeper and darker on his rugged, wrinkled face. “Recon there’s not many of ’em,” he mut tered. “Only a sort of a scoutin’ party ; but they’re awful close, and they wouldn’t mind picking up a scalp or two.” His eyes were travelling fast enough now, the quick glances taking in only the dim and doubtful trail he was following, but every possible object ot interest in the surrounding forest. “They can’t be tar away now,” he muttered, “and I mustn’t give ’em a chance to bush me. Hullo ! right there they seem to have scatter ed and cut in different lines. Go slow now, old man, go slow.” And suiting the action to the word, the veteran pioneer began to dodge from tree to tree as deftly and silently as if he had been stalking deer, while his keen gray eye3 work ed harder than ever under their penthouse brows. And now, as he peered from behind tho goarled roots of a gigantic upturned maple, old Gurney’s face underwent a quick, fierce, angry change. “I thought so !” he exclaimed. “There’s one of ’em in his war-paint, and there’s Phil lip, and yonder’s Joab and Emma, strollin’ on home as ignorant of danger as a pair of calves. Why on earth can’t Joab keep his eyes about him ? Hullo ! I can’t understand that—Philip won’t let him shoot! That’s queer. The red skins mad abont it, too. Good for||Philip—only what business has he got with such a scalp-taker, anyhow ?’’ The old man’s puzzle had very nearly prov ed a dangerous one for him, since it had ab sorbed him so completely that he had failed to “watch out” for other comers, and now with a crash of the rotten bark and the crumbling clods which still clung to the torn roots of the old maple, the form of a Sioux brave came lumbering down upon his very shoulders. The fellow had evidently climbed along the fallen trunk and missed his footing, for his surprise and dismay was more than equal to that of the white man with whom he almost instantly found himself grappling. “War-paint!” said old Gurney to himself. “That’s all I want. No need of any explana tions. ” And, as he grasped the redskin in a hug like tbat of a grizzly bear, tbe brave old man east off all considerations of his own safety, and shouted loudly to Joab to hurry to the house with Emma. Startled, surprised, as he well might be, Joab’s trust in the veteran's pluck aud judg ment forbade him to hesitate, and he sprang forward at once, half dragging, and some times more than halt carrying Emma, very much against the will of tbe brave-hearted maiden. As for Gurney's immediate antagonist, there was very little to be said about him, in less than half a minute “all the danger being ta ken ont of him,” as his victor coolly described the effect of the finishing stroke he gave him with his own tomahawk. And the old man crouched more and more closely under the protection of the massive trunk, for he knew not what other struggles might be in store for him. Rapidly as Joab and Emma had pushed their retreat to the house, Philip had managed to be beforehand, and that by so circuitous a path that neither of them connected him with the idea of any danger which might have been behind them. Philip had begun to say something to Mrs. Grant about signs of danger which he had discovered in the forest, when Joab and Emma came in, and the former set himself to work with the most Breathless energy to close up the house and put it in some sort of defensi ble condition. Philip silently sprang to his assistance; and if Mrs. Grant bad received any unpleasant impressions from her morning’s consultation with Joab’s father, they were in a fair way to be dissipated by the seeiniDgly zealous readi ness of her sombre and dignified protege. There was so little to be done, however, tbat it was quickly over, and Jonh’s thoughts now turned to his father, and the possibilities | of what might be taking place in the neigh boring forest. “ I would go at once to help him,” he mut tered, “if there was only somobody to stay here.” Both Emma and her mother understood, even if they heard but imperfectly, and they so loudly asserted their readiness to remain under Philip’s protection that Joab felt very much like yielding. ATLANTA WEEKLY HERALD- December 3, 1873. “Besides," thought h, “if I can only get the old man safe in here, he’s as good as ten common chaps, and he’ll know just about what ought to be done." Philip said nothing either way, seeming to be very busy with an inspection of the arms and ammunition, of which there was a very good supply; and, after a moment's counsel with himself, sorely distnrbed by the thoughts of leaving Emma Grant for one moment with out his own protection, Joab determined to venture. His first and greatest peril, as he knew, would be in getting under cover of the forest from the house; but that once accomplished, he pushed forward over the not very great distance to the point of his first alarm with creditable rapidity. Still, he was too good a woodsman to do anything rash, and even the profound silence which seemed to reign convinced him that there was danger brewing. “Either the old man’s wiped out clean, or else he’s laying for somebody, that’s flat,” muttered Joab; “and jnst as like as not they’ie a-laying for him all around at the same time. Seems to mo as if his voice sounded from just over yonder.” Joab was pretty nearly correct, not only in his surmises, but in his calculations of his father’s whereabouts; but ho himself was keeping Under the closest kind of cover now, nor had he in any manner betrayed his re turn or presence to tLe eager redskins, who were “laying for” his father. In fact, they had hardly calculated on his coming back so soon, if at all, having possi bly reasons of their own for supposing mat ters all right and safe at the house for the time being. At all events, they had good reason for be iug in something of a hurry in their business, nor was it long before Joab’s patient waiting had been rewarded. Not a sign ot life had he detected on, under, or about the old maple trunk, but be discov ered that, somehow or other, it was the centre of attraction. Away in the wood- at fair rifle distance, three or four painted braves were scouting slyly toward it. from tree, to tree, while two, who now made their way close to one side of it, showed evident symptoms of a desire to look over it, or even to get on top. “Tho old man's over there somewhere,” said he to himself, “only I can’t imagine how he can bide so close, with them all aronnd him. Hullo! the gravel and mud is giving way a little there at the root. If that ain’t his rifle bar’l, I’m done! There, they've seen it! Look at ’em climb ! Here go !” The sudden spring of the two braves right on top of the huge trunk had brought them in splendid range; and, as Joab’s rifle cracked, they both went over on the other side; only one of them jumped, while the other tumbled like a log. Then for an instant the forest rang with angry, disappointed yells, as the savages, one and all,broke and ran for cover— not in Joob’s direction—disconcerted by this deadly attack in tbe rear; and at the same moment old Gnrney shot ont from his hole at the root'end of the fallen tree, and made the best of his way toward where his son was lying. “Do you hear that ?” he exclaimed, as he sprang into the dense thicket that concealed Joab. “Don’t you know what that means? There’s more of’em down yonder, and they have answered that death whoop. We must go for the house now. There just ain’t half a minute of time to throw away. I'm glad we’ve sweetened them two, only that 11 fetch the rest right close on our heels." Joab needed no urging, for he had no .very high opinion of Philip as a garrison of such a fort as Emma Grant's home. Now, it had come to pass that after Joab had started ont to look for his father, and poor Mrs. Grant gathered her frightened little ones around her, as if her motherly love could of itself protect them from the atrocities of Indian warfare, Philip had again and again chimed in with Emma’s inmost thought by the, for him, strong and voluble expression of his anxiety about the fate of her friend; and when at last be declared his intention of making a sooul to wiAt had become of him, the excited girl’s uncontrollable impulses car ried her right along with him, almost in spite of her mother’s timid protest. Even Mrs. Grant, however, sympathized with Philip’s pretended motives, nor was she as yet tully awake to the condition of affairs. Neither she nor Emma bad heard or seen the slightest sign of any real danger. And so Emma and her tanned savage of a friend set ont together, warily threading the underbrush for some little distance, while all the summer stillness around them seemed to speak only of the most perfect peace and utter safety. And yet Emma was strangely conscious that there was something unusual in Philip’s eyes—a sort of halt-fierce, half-triumphant expression that was not unkindly, but still that made her shudder. She was even on the point of saying that they had better turn back, when suddenly, from under a low-growing iron-wood, there sprang ont beside them a pair of beings such as every frontier-Rirl's dreams have pictured to her, but such as Emma had never seen be fore—at least, not in the unearthly hideous ness of their war paint. She would'have shrieked, but her tongue clove fast to the roof of her mouth, and the two redskins were themselves for a moment silent. They had reached ont as if to seizs her, but Philip had motioned them off, saying some thing in their own dialect. Then followed what seemed to be a sharp dispute, and then, jnst as poor Emma’s faith in Philip’s protecting power was growing stronger, he himself seemed to yield assent to some proposal made, and she felt their strong hands tighten upon her with a rude and piti less grasp. Again she tried to cry out, but a hand was over her mouth, and the threatening gleam of a tomahawk arose before her eyes. She saw Philip snatch the tomahawk, aDd then the arm that held it suddenly relaxed, and she heard a long-drawn, mournful whoop; and then there was a sudden rush, and crash, and shout, and she was lifted up, almost fainting with terror, and borne swittly toward the house. Before she got there, however, she discov ered that she was carried in tbe strong arms of Joab Gurney. “Tell you what, my boy,” she beard his father say, “we wa’n’t any too soon. Even if Philip didn’t mean harm—and it half looked as if he was fending ’em off —they’d have been too many for him. Aud what’s more, that makes four Sioux out of this ’ere party, and that’s a kind of thinning out that the rascals don’t hanker arter.” As if there could be no manner of ground for anything but commendation of his con duct, Philip walked straight into the house with Emma and her rescuers, and seemed as alert as either of them in the attention he paid to means of defense. Old man Gurney, however, was apparently, absorbed in the deepest kind of a brown study. “Joab,” said he, at length, “it may be we’d better get out of this. It's a poor place to make a fight in, at best, and then we couldn't stand any kind ot a siege. Besides, we ought to be stirring up the other folks. This party mayn’t bo the only one in the woods.” “We’ve plenty of horses,” chimed in tho widow. “I wouldn't mind their bnruiug lip everything if Emma and the children were only safe.” “Fight here,” interrupted Philip. “Got plenty gun, got house, got everything handy. Sioux braves catch us in tbe woods. Take all children scalp. Take yours. Take mine. Emma scalp. Not leave one of us.” “That’s enough,” exclaimed old Gurney. “If that young wolf says stay, Isay go ! Joab, you put for the barn. Rake out the Elder’s old buggy to carry tbe children in. Emma, you go help him. Quick now !” “I’ll help. Get quick ready," said Philip, while at the same time his black eyes were blazing liko two coals of fire, and he turned toward the door as if to lead the way to tbo barn. Jnst then, however, tbe right hand of ; Joab Gurney shot out from his shoulder, and I the “tame ladian” measured his length on ■ the floor with terrific emphasis. Not only ! that but the brawny young frontiersman, threw himself bodily upon him, shouting to his father to hand him a rope, and, in a mo- ' ment more, Philip was tightly bound, hand and foot, in spito of desperate struggles to draw his knife, which had only secured him a dozen more applications of Joab’s iron fist. “Why, Joab,” exclaimed poor Mrs. Grant, “don’t hurt him ! Wbat do you mean, and what is it all about ? What has Philip done ? I’m sure ” “Done? Done?” roared the angry Joab. “Dad, just look at the touchholes of those guns and pistols he was fingering with when I went out. The sneaking skunk has plugged ’em all up with little divers of wood. Much good they’d have been to us in a fight. He’s some'low at the bottom of all this, and the sooner we are out of it the better." “That’s so,” exclaimed the old man. “I saw him palavering with one of 'em, and if you can't see what he’s np to, Icin ; that’s all. Anyhow, they’ll be apt to wait for some kind of a signal from him. That’s what he was going out for, I reckon. Maybe we may git a good start, now we’vo cornered him.” Hardly had Gurney slopped speaking be fore the sharp beginning of a yell from the form on the door died out in a sort of choking sound, as the watchful Joab proceeded to gag his victim. “He didn’t even get a good whoop out,” j growled Joab. “The young wolf!" exclaimed old Gurney ‘lf he tries it ag<u n, I’ll stop his yelling for good and all. Come, now, let’s hurry up with the horses." Poor Mrs. Grant sat disconsolately looking down at the sad results of her own and her late husband’s philanthropieal experiment ; but even th ough her kindly brain strange thoughts were chasing one another, for she somehow instinctively connected Emma and her beauty with the dark doings of that event ful morning. Short time, indeed, did Joab and his father consume in their preparations, and they pittilessly refused every effort of the widow’s to take with her some portion of her household treasures. “It’s likely to be a race, ma’am,” said the old man, “and every pound is an object. Tbe old buggy’s heavy enough, at the best, with you and the young ones in it.” Mrs. Grant and the three children were hurried into the antiquated vehicle, she her self to drive, while the Gurneys and Emma were quickly in the saddle. the pair of plow-horses in front of the buggy were none of the fastest, bat they were strong and stannch, and, if a fair start could be gained, it seemed highly probable that tbe five miles or so of rough road which lay before them might be passed in safety. “What shall you do with Philip ? ” asked Emma. “Oh yes ! Poor Philip! ” added the wid ow. “Leave him there for his Sioux relatives to untie,” growled Gurney the elder. “But I warn him never to cross my path in the woods, if he doesn’t want something worse than Joab’s given him.” Philip looked unutterable things, but he could not speak. Rapid motion was the thing in order and away sprang the sharply lashed plow-horses over the rough but not otherwise difficult road toward the Gurney farm. Close behind them rode Emma, with tbe towering form of Joab by her side—a heavy weight for the po ny he was riding—while further in the rear came the old pioneer himself in a slow gal lop, evidently determined to cover the singu lar and dangerous retreat. The non-arrival of their two scouts had for a little while pizzled the Sionx, and the taste they had had of the manner of men they were dealing with inclined them to caution; but such a daring step as this of their inten ded victims oonld not but be shortly known to them, and the whole band was as quickly gathered in belt pursuit. With ttad a bettor read, there would have;dfeen, of course, no chance lor them; but, as it was, the first half-mile ot start, as well as tbe subsequent delay of the redskins themselves in their rapid plundering search of the widow’s home, had been of the utmost value to the fugitives. Moreover, the necessities of such a chase resulted in scatter ing „he pursuers, as the swifter and braver dashed ahead, while the slower and less zeal ous lagged behind, so that it was easier for old Gurney to check them, as he did, when at last they came in view, by the threatening muzzle of his rifle. “Once aronnd the carve and unto the lake shore, and I won’t care a cent,” said he to him self; “but if they know the country well enough to cut across, and head us c ff, we may have a close shave of it. Anyhow, they ain't more’n half a dozen right up in the front here, and Joab and I can try and give a good account of some of them.” On pressed the Sionx, and on rattled and cracked and bnmped the rickety old ve hicle; but the curve of the road was reached now. and with it, as even Emma and her mother coaid see, the moment of danger, while beyond was the smooth, blue,J>eautiful lake, and on the shore, not more than a mile away, was the fortified homestead of the Gnrneys, with the strong arms and ready rifles of Joab’s brethren and neighbors. Yell after yell arose behind the widow and her cowering children. Closer and closer now, for the red men were “cutting across,” and the hard-driven horses were getting somewhat blown. There! That was the crack of old Gurney's rifle, and Joab had turned to stand by his fa ther. Hurra! The lake shore now. A few minutes more, and— But just at this critical moment, when the sky seemed brighter to the two poor women, there was a sound as if of breaking wood, a dull crash, and then the two reeking horses stood still of themselves in their tracks, in front of the ruin, which was all that remained of the broken-down buggy "Hand me np one of the children, mother!” shouted Emma. “Now, another behind me.” And by the time the half-frantic widow had complied, Joab had sprung from his pony by her side, swung her back into the saddle, lifted the youngest into her arms, and then he said, as coolly as if nothing particular was the matter: “I’ll cut the traces of these two, and get what good I can out of ’em. You ride on, but don’t try to get too far ahead, and dad and 1 11 fight ’em off yet.” Emma looked at her friend in undisguised admiration and gratitude, but there was no time for words. Forward the two heavily burdened ponies, and forward also their stalwart defenders, pressed closely by the yelling fiends, who would now be gathering speedily m greater number. “Well, Joab, my boy, your last shot was a good one. Glad we bain’t got far to go now, for there mnst be nigb on t o a score of these cusses, and they’re likely to gather for a rush in on us about these days, I say. There they come! Give it to ’em straight, boy! Joab, he’s hit! Stand up to your work, my boy! ” Emma Grant looked back just then, with a light of hope and gladness on her face, that died suddenly out as she saw old man Gurney reel sickly in his saddle, while a seemingly overwhelming number of whooping demons closed in around tbe youDg hero, who bound ed forward to defend bis lather. They had miscalculated the all but frenzied strength of tho border Hercules, however, and bis siugle arm, with its flashing axe, that came and went like lightniDg, was all suffi cient to hold them at bay for that brief mo ment which allowed the help to come. “The help! ” Yes, the dozen or so of stalwart pioneers, whose appearance, hurrying down tbe road, had brought the light to tbe face of Emma Grant. They bad caaght the alarm in ample time. but for the disaster to the wagon, and even now they were in at the crisis. The red men drew back in dismay, and hurried off to cover, what were left of them followed for a long distance by their vengeful adversaries; but Joab Gurney did not go with hi3 friends. There were several human lorms lying in the road by the lake shore, and by one of these the young man was anxiously kneeling. “It’s no use, my boy,” grasped the old frontiersman. “I’m done for, this time; hut I’m glad it’s me, and not you. Emma’s a good girl, and I'm glad we saved her and her mother and the children. Be good to her, Joab.” The young man was speechless with his sad den sorrow, and his father went on, slowly and with pain: “Joab, my boy, tell Widder Grant, I say it, never to trust any more young wolves. I saw Philip right in front of ’em, after all. It was all his work." “Saw him ?" exclaimed Joab. “Why, fa ther, I believe it was ho that fired that shot at you; and I know one. thing, I cut him down through the shoulder only a minute ago. There he lies.” The body at which Joab pointed seemed to recover strange life at e sound of his voice, and the dark head was slowly lifted. It was unmistakably that of Philip himself, and he said, in the very fair English his benefactors had so .refully taught him: “The young wolf was the son of a chief he was not a white man’s plaything. 'When he saw another man taking the woman ho chose for himself, his red blood rose within him. That was ail. White men are fools, but white women ” No other words came from the mocking lips, but instead thereof a stream of tbe “red blood” he had been so idly vaunting, and the finely molded but low-browed and com pressed-looking head fell heavily back to its long silence. Some minutes later, as Joab still sat by his father’s side, with a cup of water he had brought from the lake, he heard the sound ot horse’s hoofs beside him, and then a light form sprang down and knelt, and a white hand lay upon his own, and although not a word was spoken, tho bravo fellow's heart learned once for all what a wonderful help love can be, in even the darkest aud saddest hour of trouble, for the little white hand was that of Emma Grant herself. A Horrible Fix. FORTY-ONE HOURS IN A WELL FIFTY FEET DEEP RESCUED BY CHANCE IN AN EXHAUSTED CONDITION. From tbe San Francieco Bulletin. A man named Hughes, who keeps a hog ranahe near the Golden Gate Park, met with an accident the other day which nearly re sulted in his death. His house is situated a considerable distance from the road, and he lives alone, being a gay bachelor. Last Mon day afternoon, about three o’clock, Mr. Hughes had occasion to go to his well, which is a few paces from the house. While fix ing the rope he fell into the well and brought up at the bottom, a depth of abont fifty feet, much shaken, but not materially injured. His utter helplessness completely overwhelmed him, but at the top of his voice he began to shout, hoping that someone in the park would hear his cries. Monday evening passed, and his cries for “help" was unanswered. Tuesday and Tuesday evening passed, and still no response to his frantic appeals for aid. His feelings, while down in that well, with the cold water up to his waist, can be better imagined than described. On Tuesday morning G. A. Friermuth went to Hughes’bouse for the purpose of delivering the Call. He heard the unfortunate man’s shouts, but believing they came from the park he paid no attention. He was surprised yes terday morning on going to deliver the paper by hearing the shouts again. The paper which he left the day before was lying on the stoop. This fact increased his astonishment, and after listening attentively, curiosity drew Rim to the well, from which the cries arose distiutly on his ear. Mr. Friermuth was somewhat star tled on learning what was the matter. After a few words had passed, Mr. Friermuth en couraged Hughes to hold out a few minutes longer, and, jumping on'.his horse, rode at full speed to obtain assistance. In a short time he retnrned with two men, and Hughes was fished up from the well in a deplorable condi tion from exhaustion, his face as pale as marble. Alter his “inner man” had been fed, he explained the circumstances to his rescuers, and stated that he thought some one had set a trap for him. He was under the impression that his foot had caught in a book or something which had been placed near the mouth of the well. A diligent search was made, but no evidence to confirm his suspicions of soul play was found. Hughes is a man of strong constitution, but it will probably take several days to quiet his nerves. Life Insurance Decision. The following important decision was re cently rendered by the Circuit Court of the United States for the Western District of Tennessee: CIRCUIT COURT OF THE UNITED STATES FOR THE WESTERN DISTRICT OF TENNESSEE. W. E. Taitetal., Heirs of Dr. Samuel Bond, deceased, vs. New York Lifo Insurance Cos. Commonß, J. A policy of insurance which indemnifies a public enemy against loss in time of war is unlawful; and where entered into before hos tilities, is abrogated when they occur. The relations it establishes are illegal between bel ligerents. Where a life policy provides that it shall be void upon the non-payment of premiums within the time prescribed, sucb payment is a condition precedent: time is of the essence of contract, and there can be no recovery if punctual payment is omitted. Where the performance of a condition pre cedent becomes unlawful, or by the act of God, impossible, this will not authorize a re covery upon the contract without performance. Such case distinguished from those in which subsequent impossibility and illegality are re lied upon as a defense. A contract of insurance, the continuance of which depends upon tho election and acts of the iusured, is not like a debt, the obligation of which is absolute, and which is suspended only by war. The relations between the members of a corporation for mutual insurance present all tho evils and are dissolved by war for the same reasons as those between ordinary copartners. * The reasons for the dissolution of executory contracts by war are not alone such contracts involve inter-communication across the lines, or that they relate to property liable to cap ture; but more especially because their execu tion increases the resources of the enemy. A court of equity has no authority to de cree the specifio performance of an agree ment in favor of a party who has failed to perform a condition which is of the essence of the contract, although prevented by its becoming subsequently illegal or impossible by act of God. A court of equity will not relieve a party from the effect of omitting to perform an act, although the omibsion was caused by subse quent illegality or impossibility arising from the act of God, where such act wa3 merely optional, and the other party had no right to enforce its performance. Tho agency of one representing an insur ance company, authorized to receive premi ums and renew policies, becomes unlawful when the insured and insurer become public enemies. Humes & Boston, for plaintiff; Randolph, Hammond & Jordan, for defendants. The two female members of tbe Wydihiug Legislature are said to have already acquired great profioiency in the art of throwing ink | stands and dodging law books. “SPEC’S” FIRST. SOTES FROM THE “CITY O.F MAGNIFI CENT DISTANCES.'' Hotels and Boarding Houses—Tile City Filling Rapidly—Congressmen and Newspaper Men—Cuba and the War with Spain—The Currency Question “The Sage of Liberty Hall”—The Or ganization of the House—The Mexican Veterans—Arrivals from the South. Special Corretpondence ol the Herald. Washington, D. C., Nov. 26, 1873. WASHINGTON BOARDING HOUSE KEEPERS are once more happy over the anticipated harvest of "Spinner's promises to pay.” Prices of grub and gruel have fearfully “riz.” First class hotels, like Willard’s, the Arling ton and the Ebbitt, charge now according to tho room occupied and the appearance of the victim, while such bedding traps as the Im perial and National whisper five dollars a day as soothingly in your ear as if “money grew on trees.” They claim that “now is the accept ed time” to “grab” their “back pay." Store okepers, hackmen, saloonists, in tact everybody and the “balance of the world” in Washing ton refuse to recognize the panic and pop prices on you that startle and “bust” yon. THE CITY FILLING UP RAPIDLY. Tbe city is filling up rapidly with the usu al winter citizenry, office seekers, plunder ers, lobbyists and hariots. Willard’s at night, with its brilliant gas jets, fine dressed men, and silk-clad women remind us of the “times of tbe war,” when to the hangers on all things went “smoothly as a marriage bell,” and dol lars were thick as black berries in spring time. CONGRESSMEN LINGERING BY THE WAYSIDE. Members of Congress are slow in arriving, lingering, doubtless, by their virtuous and re ligious firesides to partake of the good old “thanksgiving dinner." Bnt one “class” have as yet arrived in full force, and they the persevering, untiring denizens of “Newspaper Row,” ready to “interview,” dine, wine, play draw, anything in fact, for the “special use of the Smithville Enterprise.” CUBA AND THE WAR WITH SPAIN. Of course the first great topic is Cuba and the war with Spain. “Specs” lias done his part in the "hobnobbing” and, “interviewing” line and sagely arrives at the conclusion this morning that there will be no war with Spain. The Government is making a big show ot getting ready, which, by the way, is well enough in giving employment to thou sands ot hard working mechanics, in a desti tute condition, bat beyond this no sane man seeing the drift of events here believes there will be war. Spain will apologize; blood money will be paid the families of the butch ered victims; Fish will temporize; Castelar will pay in prolific promises and Sickles will continue to flirt and frolic with the dark-eyed, hot-blooded Senoritas of Spanish land. Thus will pass away the visions of “grim visaged war.” THE CURRENCY QUESTION. Western members are on hand with a pro position that will be backed almost solidly by that section for the rapid and heavy inflation of the currency. General Hawley, who has the bill in charge, is ready and profuse with his arguments to Southern members that the West and South need more banks—more currency. It is understood that the kings of Wall street, and the moneyed men of the East, will favor contraction. The fight promises to be heavy and interesting. HON. ALEXANDER H. STEPHENS arrived on Monday night, accompanied by his private secretary, Mr. W. H. Hildell, a most genial and intelligent young gentleman, and his old and faithful body servant, Harry. He has taken quarters at the “National,” and has been called upon by hundreds of his old time friends, prominent officials of all par ties, etc. “Little Aleck” is quite a lion here, and will re-enter the Honse with a prestige and ectol, seldom accorded to American statesmen. That he will sustain his old time reputation, none can donbt, who look apon the sparkle of his eye, and the conscious smile of power, which ever and anon plays upon his lip. A LIVELY FIGHT is anticipated over the organization of the House of Representatives. Blaine, however, will distance Maynard for Speaker; MoPher son will be Clerk; Ordway, Sergeant at Arms; and Buxton, Door-Keeper. For the Postmas tership of the Honse there is a lively strug gle. Ohio presents two candidates, Michigan one. It seems to be generally conceded, how ever, that the place will be accorded to the South, in which event I think Perce, of Mis sissippi, will be the man, although Virginia has a candidate in the person of Mr. Clem ens, while the usual candidacy of Sam Bard, from Tennessee, Georgia and Louisiana, ' ‘ap pears.” Bard has no showing in the world for the place. He made some “enquiries” on arrival, re lative to Dunning’s place, but the plain, straight-forward, honest and manly course of Mr. Dunning, under so many embarrass ments, has made him steadfast friends here, and there is no probability whatever of his being displaced to m.ike room for Bard or any one else. THE MEXICAN |VETERANS are making great preparations for their “Na tional Convention," to be held here on the 15th of January. Railroad presidents are of fering the “usual reduction,” charging only “halt fare.” Joe Brown was the first Rail road president in the United States to offer tho “half fare.” ARRIVALS FROM THE SOUTH are “few and far between," eo far. Mr. Wal bury and wife, Georgia; Houston Chirch and wife, Georgia, and John G. Stokes, Alabama, are at Willard's. J. R. McClintock, Mobile ; li. Wilson and M. J. Hughes, Tennessee, are at tho “Continental.” E. R. Johnson, Ala bama; L. M. Ogletreo and W. L. Oinberg, Georgia, are at the Metropolitan. “ Specs ” now doffs his hat to the Herald readers for the season, and will try and spico his correspondence to suit facts and the most fastidious tasto. “Specs.” A correspondent of tbe Eveuing Post re cently gave a description of “Thomas Nast’s Home and Studio,” at Morristown, N. J. We clip a few lines in reference to the studio: “Three windows afford light, and near one is placed a plain table, at which Mr. Nust works. On the table are newspapers in pro fusion. A well-used volume of Shakespearo is the only book within reach. Around the walls are a large number of pictures in colors, drawings, and sketches for studies, while upon brackets are busts and figures. A glass case contains a complete skeleton. It is so per fectly hung on wires, and each joint so pivot ed that every motion of the liviug man can bo copied on the skeleton. A cabinet contains the photographs of nearly every important person in this country and abroad. He draws directly upon tbo wooden block, and never first sketching Hi” dea upon paper. His ideas are generally unformed when he begins to sketch, having in his mind only a rough outline of what ho wishes to portray. He works rapidly, as may bo interred from bis multitudinous cari catures. If visitors are in his study, ho con verses freely as ho works, and his children play around without annoyance to him; in ; deed, one is often on his kneo as ho works. I Several of his drawings of children are por ■ traits of his own, and the little ones are proud of being taken to sit for their pictures. 5