Mink W ‘

\_

*‘ I .
m """”’M‘  saw“:

. .7 , ‘ ‘19. ‘
l  I ‘I‘.[:‘ H!" ‘ ‘ ‘
“August H "ii | ' L . , ~  ‘

1‘1.  ‘ ‘ 1i:
1“

' ‘ r .v ‘ ‘
Imam]!

 

. ‘ ‘14 , n I .. - u ‘
‘l: I U "  g l ‘ mum-"NIH
innhmm! ' ‘  I w melim

 

" 'I
lllil ‘n‘u
I N

COPYRIGHTED I884.BV BEADl—E 6‘ ADAMS-

 

Ex-mnm; n- ‘nIl: Pon Omen n wa Yonx, N. Y , u SECOND Cums MAIL Runs.

V01  Published Every dieadle (f. fldanls, @zzbh'shers,

TenCenusCopy.  
W091“ 913 WILLIAM STREET, N. Y., January 23,1334. °

85.00 1 Year

  THE MISSISSIPPI SPORT; 01', TOUGH TIMES IN

TENNESSEE.

 

BY EDWARD WILLE’I‘T,

AUTHOR or “MIssIssu'I'I Moss,” “BI'CK FARLEY,” “BILL, 'rmc BLIZZARD,“ mu, £10., ETC.

 

‘\

2*.

6“

. -\ . ‘
' A.-,..\‘§\\‘\\3}.

‘~.-

:t:é3¥3\‘
RWY

‘\\\

‘5‘.

s
“
\‘\

. st:
,\\\\\ \

‘3. ‘
_\\\\X

\
\\\-“
\\

\
\.

g

\i

a,’

: \x
\ \{‘
\

.\-.
.‘\\

 

 

ONE OF THE MOST BAUER 0F THF. TENNESSEICANS HI'RRIEI) ASHURE OVER THE PLANK

LEADING FL'I‘H WV!) BY THE ROPE.
THE NHHSI“. “ICING ARUI'ND HIS NIX'K

 

/

i

‘ T max.  a. "Miss... “Sp...

 

————..

 earned,

run MISSISSIPPI ‘sson'r;

on,
Tough Times in Terfneaaec.

 

BY EDWARD WILLETT,
.am'non or “ MONTANA NAT," “ BILL, Tn Buz-
zann," " sccx ranmr,”hrrc., n'rc.

- CHAPTER L
‘ ‘ muss man‘s smnmr. .
“WALK in, my friends! Come up, boys!
newly now! Walk in and make yourselves
V ,if not happy! ‘Don‘t be backward in

w forward! Ali's free. It‘s my heat to-
 "gerfwho issued these cheerful invita-
a mm '

 toaeandwitha

.’ manner wasayoung man, a=llttlo above the
will t, with dark hair. and eyes, and

was avhrig t and intelligent face that was al-
9 .

 was that ofa mu st ishl
cut and of fine material, 51.13 the odly’tlhingi
about him which could be considered flashy
were his large diamonds one of which shone in

l a ring on each hand, and the third blazed as a
stud on his shirt bosom.

I'l'he brilliant stones “gave him away ” at
once, and indicated his occupation.

Before the war, as at all other eriods, it was
the custom of successful gamb ers to invest
their surplus funds in costly diamonds, as res
' ting wealth in a portable form, and as

ing easy to convert into cash when the cir-
cumstances required a “ stake.”

As theoirciu man is crazy for a farm, so the
river sport was addicted to diamonds.

He stood at the front of a saloon on the levee
in the town of Cairo at the junction of the Ohio
and Mississippi rivers.

The saloon was a frame building, cheaply and
rudely constructed, standing on stilts of tim-
bers that raised it even with the levee, and
film that point it was two stories in hight.

A false front that covered the gable seeming-
ly added to its size, and it was ornamented with
paper of the gayest hues and pattern, and the
, oors were wide open, revealing an exten-
sive bar and a room that was nearly filled

I with men.

“ All sorts and conditions of men ” were there
reapondin to the genial invitation of the man
with the iamonds—from East Tennessee emi-

nts and flatboat hands, to gorgeous steam-
t captains and dignified men of business.

And still he stood outside, repeating his invi—
tations to all comers.

This singular proceeding attracted the atten-
tion of two young men who were strolling in
that direction.

One of them was evidently a Southerner,
and prohahly,to judge by hiss arance the
son of a wealthy planter of isslpp or

Lari-inns.

His swartby, complexion and dark eyes in-
dicated the Southerner, as well as certain
cullarities in his dress and the tone of is
voice.

His companion was a resident of Cairo; who
was showing the expectant city to the youn

 

Southerner, and expatiating upon its future 0 '

promise, rather than upon its present appear-
a which was an thing but lovely.

“ ho is he, ck!" inquired the young
stranger, referring to the man with the dia-

monds. v «

“ That man! Oh, that is Flush Fred.”

“Flush Fred, or Fred Flush! Which is the
t name?"

‘His right name is Fred Kenning, and he is,
a sporting man—a fiver ambler. in fact. You
see, they make Cairo head-quarters, now,
boarding the boats here, worki them on their
. wn‘yhdown and up the river, coming back
Xi‘an” if 13°12” “mfiwafill‘li‘ 3°"
g, w ic t ey a are
bank, and have to borrow a a to start them
out a in. Flush Fred is careful of his money.
than I believaaudis a very decent fellow of

his c ss." .

“ Perhaps you don’t admire the class, Mack.”
“ I have noth aimt them, personally;
they are no credit the'town, and some of

, get rid of them. We have

Mites-into talk about thanto do.”
“Is it bananas he is usualiydashof money
tint man there is called fluathdi”

“I my he,or heaauaaheis fond of betting
enhance. Ha lea rarehand tohatcndnshes,
and a rare hand to hdd them. too. i remember
seeing an instance of it once when I was coming
up the river on the Aleck Scott.

“ Fred Henning was in a me with three
mend all had passed outbu himself and one
o .

“ His opponent thought that he held a master-
g hand, tuna) called. There was a big pot on

table, e we .

“ ‘ A finsh,’ said red.

, “ ‘ 'I‘ain't good,’ said the other man.

 

“ ‘I reckon it is,’ replied Fred, and he laid
down the ten, jack, queen, king and ace of
hearts.” ,

“ A remarkable hand." said the Southerner.

“Yes, and I don’t think he would be likely
to play it twice on the same man- But he is a
wonderful fellow to bet on a flush.”

“ He seems to be flush of money to—day, and
very liberal, as well. I wOuld like to know the
cause of the excitement.”

Fred Henning explained it as he continued
to press his invitations on the passing public.

‘ Walk in, my friends! Ste up, gentlemen!
Set ’em out lively, Jimmy! t’s my treat to-
day boys, becausathis is my birthday. Twen-
ayesix years old this day, and sound as a dollar
and as lively as a cricket.”

“Let’s go in, Mack,” remarked'the South-

ern . .
“pWal in m friends,” said FredH nin ,
its .3;

as he no 11' hesitation. “ All we -
come, the rich aswellas the poor. I can’t drink
and on me but

with eve man (1 k a h
will joinrgvou wil;I plaza”. ‘ After  have
paid your respects to the bar you w ll find a
nice lunch .up-stairs—as good a spread as old
man Peck can' maan if you wrint tot

our luck at a square game of taro, youw l

nd Johnny Hurtt up there ready to accommo-
date you, and he won’t hurt you. I Can vouch
for him as a perfect gentleman. Hurtt is his
name, but there‘s no harm in his nature.”

“ You had better be careful, Arthur Helms-
ley,”said the young Southerner’s companion.
“ It is safe to let the games alone."

“ Don’t Worry about me, Mack. I know how
to take care of myself.”

While the two young men were in the bar-
room, Fred ,Henning was spoken to b a man

Erma came in with a paper and pane in his
,an . i .
“ What’s this?” demanded Flush Fred. “ An-

ot’hrr church!i (icing to build another church,
hey? Want the boys to chip in? Of course
they will. that is it this time? Baptist}l
That’s all right. I believe in them all. They're
all good, and you can‘t have too much of a
good thing. What this town needs more than
anything else just now is a Baptist church.
Give me the spur."

He signed is name with a flourish, and dived
inlo his pocket for a roll of bills.

“Here’s the cash—best I can do just now.
Go upstairs and Johnny Hurtt will come down
heavy if he is in luck.” '

Arthur Helmsley was moved to add a dona-
tion. and several others followed suit.

“That‘s right,” said Flush Fred. “ I believe
in encouraging all deseyving obgects. By the
way,I wonder why the people ere don t en-
coura 9 their newspaper. I can’t imagine how
those ellows manage to grub along and make
a per on nothing, and at brains in it, too.

9 sportin men would c ip in and help them
if they wo d give us anything like a fair shew;
but th are so dead down on us that we can’t
touch ethem. Why won’t they leave us alone,
as the preachers do?” ‘

“That means you, Mack,” said Helmsley,
with a laugh. “ Here is one of the paper men,
Mr. Benn n .”

“ I know 'im, and am glad to see him here.
I wish he would take my words to heart, but
don’t supggse be will. I hogs gentlemen', that
you wil th join the in a b th a glass. _

“Many happy returns of the ay," said the
Southerner as be complied with this reliant.

“ Yes, this is my birthday," said Fred Hen-
ning, as he set down his glass. “ I don’t know
that I have any particular cause to be proud
of it; but I am glad of it. That I have lived
to see this day, after all the chances I have
taken against it, is something to be glad of,
and I am right glad that 1 am it the land of the
living and that the devil hasn’t coppercd me.
Just now I am sure that I would not have as
much as a cross look to in even to my most
deadly enemy— And‘ t are he is, as sure as
I‘m a sinner l’

A sudden change came over the look and man-
ner of Fred Kenning. '

His eyes stared straight before him, and his
face grew pale, while its muscles were
drawn and tightened _ , .

Arthur Helmaley and his friend looked in the
direction at which the gambler wasvstarlnzmnd
saw a man standing in the doorway: .

He was evidently a new-comer on the scene,
and was as evidently the.man of whom'Hen-
ning had woken, and who had caused the
change to come over him.

He was a tall man, of middle as, with a
heavy black beard, and well dressed, ough not
with any pretense to at is.

He.had sto pod in t e doorway, and as he
stood there, b a hand was in the breast of his
frock coat, and a wicked, malicious sneer could
be seen curling under his heavv mustache.

“Who is he?” asked Arthur Helmaley.

“A man who lost money to me once,” replied
Fred Banning. “ He aware that he would kill
me some time, and since then he has been on
my track. You had better get out of the
w‘v'” .

Helmsley did et out of the way, but moved
a'lowly toward t e door, as if the glaring eyes

 

of the stranger fascinated'him and drew him
thither.

“ Now I’ve got you, you swindling scoundrel!”
exclaimed the man in the doorway. “ This is
your birthday, you say, and it is the last you
will ever see. ‘ "

Flush Fred was very pale, but neither'stirrcd V

'nor trembled.
“ I have no weapon, John Mndford,” he said.

“ Would you take an advantage of an unarmed “‘

man?
“I would take any advantage of a snake
or a wolf, and I mean to kill you where you
stand.” ' ’
There was no person .near the tall stranger
when he spike these words, nor was there
ltany person tween him and his intended vic-
lm.
No one spoke or moved.
' Every one in the bar-room seemed tohsstu'
fied by the spell that he had cast upon a

place. :
He had drawn a revolver from his breast, and
bag cooker}: ang leVeled  b , ‘ .
' efore is nger can press t e trigger ,
thur Helmsley sprung forward with one ,l

andswift lea strikin upward the istoi,
atthesame ’esnatc ingit'fromtheW’s

8"”?- ‘ ' '

it was discharged, but the bullet sped away
harmlessly.

The stranger was so astonished by this sudden
action that he made no effort until he saw him-
self confronted by his own'weapon, and then it
was too late to make an eflert. ~ ‘ 5'2.» v

“ You had better go away from here,” said
the Southerner. b

He turned and walked away, and nobody ;
tried to hinderor to follow him. -

CHAPTER-Ii.
.a man can. .  

THE fine steamer Pacific, on her trip from
Louisville to New Orleans, was steaming down
the Mississippi.

She was a lendid craft, the best work of the
famous New lbany builders, well ofiicered and
well provided, in al respects entitled to be called
a floating palace, a worthy successor of the
Eclipse and the Shotwell.

The table that was Set three times a day in
the long saloon-cabin fully equaled that of the
best hotels; the ladies’ cabin at the stern was
a marvel of luxury; and the Social Hall—as
the space forward was styled, that included the
bar and the clerk’s once—was spacious and at-
tractive. .

It was night, and the Social Hall was throng—
ed by the men passen rs, a motley collection of
male humanity, but orderly and apparently
resipectable.

here was also a democratic equality among
them all such as could be seen ndwhere else ex-
cept in the mining regions of the West, where
all ranks were leveled by circumstances.

On the Mississippi steamer there were no level-
ing circumstances outside of those caused by
contact during the voyage; yet the poor working-
man was as much at home as the wealthy plan-
ter or merchant, and could speak to either of
them with the assurance of receiving a polite

.mx
\

 t

re 1 . .

_ Eli’s professional gambler, though shunned by
some who feared the tricks of his trade, was
not looked down on, and was
familiar terms withpmzdjudge who might at

some “gigs be com to enforce the law
a m m. .‘
qf‘he handsome hard the Pacific was largely

troni and at several tables, both in the
gaocial Ell add the and of the saloon that
ad oin‘ed it, games of cards were in progress.

ly one of the games was for stime mere-

ly; on two of the others found: 0 drinks were

epending; but at the rest the notes and gold

and silver on the table
sorbing interest.

It would have been impossible, except for
one who was extensivel a
which, was the prof
amateur gamblers.

' There were
merchants, planters, professional men, and

veiling! people generally who boasted of
be ga empaasweiasthe best, and
cl tckuow the tricks and ins and cuts

1
of gamutheypla ed.

represented a more ab-

, and which the!

ii
In act, there were so many weI-to-do and

i

nainted, to decide -x

in the Wait and South plenty cfi

H‘s.

vow . . v_ 1

-,.‘.A:’.‘:4‘ -.« 

likelyto be on _,

respectable citissns who traveled merely for _ 

the sake of playing, that the line between pre-
gessionals and amateurs was none too strictly
rawn.

Among those who assuredl r nted the
professionals in the Social II the Mile,
was Fred Kenning.

He was as bright
there was a bit of
face.

an anxious look in his

men were seated, and the game waspokar.

k‘ I ’3'

.i .
A.

and cheery as everybnt _

So was not playing, but was watching a! 
ta 6. . V .'
At the table which hewas watchiag~thrae g x

\

t, ’ .V.‘  ‘ ‘

?-.”’H

 

find: as these wage always will ,to’ pit
themselvesagainsttheregnlarfingarsmnd . ,t

ht their societ for r9000 0‘ .»
“ oemen worthy  ' '

 

 

.‘ a

  

-‘

as“, .1, ,

"-1, . fi

—‘

 

 

 

 

 

.. gt; , ' ,  Fréa, the Mississippi Sport.

3

 

-~—-.._ -.._ _-._. ,.. ,

One of the men Flush Fred knew to be a
skillful amateur, another he was well acquaint-
ed with as a professional, and the third was
Arthur Helmsley.

Fred Henning remembered youn .Helmsley
well enough. but had not spoken to 1m, as the

oung entleman did not seem to recognize
him, an showed no disposition to cultivate his
a uaintance. .

he luck a peared to be entirely on the side
of 'the skillful amateur.
» Helmsley had lost several pots, and the pro-
fusional, although the stakes were not high,
was in time cleaned out, having gone into be
game with iueuficient capital.

When the latter had reached this condition of

v. he rose from the table, and appealed
to Flush Fred for a loan.

“Lend me fifty," he said “ and you'll see me
clean those chaps out and get a pile of the

young fellow’s money."
“I would rather take flatm- place in the
me

,” answered Fred. “ _ in there, and
will staketyou' to the to of my pile for any-
thing else. have a par cular reason for want-

to take a hand in that , ."
friend consented, he took his seat at
the table without any objection from the other

two.

“ I understand that you want some fresh
capihl here," he said, “ and I have a little pile
which you are welcome to if you can win it. ’

“Glad to see you,” re lied the gentleman who
may be described as t e amateur. “We will
make itfihalf—a-dollar ante, and no limit, if you
oh

cone.
4. Flush Fred did choose, and he called for a
new deck of cards, and the luck changed amaz~

in l .

ifthur Helmsley won nearlyas often as he
lost; butthe amateurs money passed pretty
ra idly into Flush Fred’s possession. '

t was not because he held such remarkably
good cards that he won, but because his hands
were generally a little better than those of his
opponents.

After one of Henning’s deals the amateur

seed out, throwing down his cards and vow-

g that he would rather be kicked than at-
tempt to do any thing with such hands.

Young Helmaley staid in, as he held three
gums, which was better than any band since

red had entered the game, and he hoped that

he ht “fill.”
Igldid better than that.

In the draw, he got another queen, and the
betting between him and Henuing grew fast
and furious.

The gambler knew~ all the arts by which an
unwary o ponent might be induced to increase
the size 0 the pot, and the young Southerner
became as excited and unreasona e as a wom-
an at an auction.

At last Helmsley threw down five 8100 notes,
and it was evident that he had reached the
limit of his cash.

“I call you!" he exclaimed in avoice that
wapnhearsehand unnaturl‘al. pl ed H In

our 'ngs," uiet y re i en ng, as
he showed his hand. _ ,

The other dropped his cards on the table.

'“ I migfihave known it," he said, as he ruse
from his c air. ' ‘

“ It’s all in the draw," remarked Fred.

“ Yes, there is a great deal in the draw. You
have got all my money, and that ends it."

The eXCiting game and the high stakes had
attracted many spectators, who looked curious
I“ at Arthur Helmsley as he passed through

em and went out into the air.

Flush Fred also looked after him, but only
“in: “Emmi. red h l

en e gat e up is w nnings, put them
inhis ket, excused himself to the amateur,
and le t the table. .

Hesauntered about the Social Hall for a few
misuitm, alppiirenltly with nod pig-rose {In view,
an at si ped outsi e r one of
the forwagd dogrs 0D the cabin. on

,But he did have a purpose in view.

It was evident from the quick and anxious

he cast about him that he was looking

r no. one.
teas evident that he did not see the per-
. "h‘id?n‘°£.‘§“‘d‘°ii pas—gs h as f
e , un t on sac e o
the cabin, but did not find him there.
“Perha he has e to his room,” he mut-
tered, an returned the cabin and the clerk's

cs.
“Such is Mr. Helmaiey’s state-room?” be

m C
' The clerk glanced at the book, and gave him
number.
He 21in:m to th: room tlhat was indicated, and
t no y-
Ee opened 8the dog-pend looked in, but no

m'was them.
he went outside.
.." wouldn’t be likely to go beIOw,” he mut—
again, as he ascended the stairs that led

to the upper .
The hurricane deck/was deserted.

 . _Thenightwas intenselydark,andthere was

~loam-action there, except fcrone who desired
hm! but his own.

   

 

 

It was almost impossible to distinguish the f'

shores of the river from the darkly flowing
stream, and the only signs of life were the lights
in the lofty pilot—house, the churning of the big
wheels, and the hoarse puffing of the steam
from the escape pi 5.

Fred Henn ng ooked anxiously about, but
still failed to discover the object of his search.

One of the pilots whose watch was ofl’, came
down the steps, as if from the clouds.

“ Been anybody come up here lately, Sam?”
inquired Henning, knowing that the man to
whom he spoke could see in the darkness like a
cat.
“Yes; a youn man came up here a bit ago.
Hope you’re not untin a flgh .”

‘ Not a bit of it. W ich way did he go?”

“ I think he went aft, around the texas."

Fred Henning went aft, stepping softly as he
agproached the end of that upper cabin of the
0 core.

Just around the texas, and with his back
close to the panelin , stood Arthur Helmsley.

He was conceal from the view of any but
a close obse ver, and in his right hand ‘he held
something t at shone in the darkness.

It was a silver-plated revolver, and he was
evidently examining it. ~

There was a sharp click‘as he closed down the
hammer when he he footsteps, and he was
about to conceal the Weapon when Fred Hen-
ning’s hand was laid on his shoulder.

“ Who are you, and what do you want?”
demanded Helmsle . '

“ I am a frien
answered Fred.
savad in Cairo.”

“ Whose life I saved 3”

“ Yes, on ray hirthday,,when John Munford
had me cover with his revolver."

“ Oh, that was nothing. You are Flush Fred,
then? I thought I recognized you when we
were playing down below, and you won all my
money.”

“ The same man. What are you doing with
that fibtol ?"

“ erel looking at it.”

“ Yes.‘ know how men sometimes look at
pistols when they have lost all their money, and

hat is why I came up here. I want you to
understand, Mr. Helmsley, that I did not win
your money, but kept it for you. I went into
the game to save you from that other man. who
won d cheat the eye-teeth out of you, though
he claims to be no gambler.” \

“ I don’t understand this,” said Arthur.

“ It is plain enough. Do you so pose I would
rob a man who had saved my! fe, or permit
him to be robbed! I have saved your money
for you, and, if you will step down to my state
room with me, will account to you for every
dollar of it." _

“ I can’t allow that, Mr. Kenning. It was a
fair me."

" t was not a fair game. It was a cheatin
game on the part of anybody but you. An

ere I must say something that I want to slick
to you. Kee clear of me and all my tribe, and
that means hat you had better keep clear of
playing cards for money, as you can’t tell where
you may find us. We can win 'our money
always, and the amount we win 3 pends only
u n how much we are willing to take. To-
night I stacked the cards every time, and that
other man knew it, and was mad because he
couldn‘t beat me at doin it. I wanted to save
your money from him. t ough I supposed that
you could easily 9 are it.

“The truth is t at I could not spare it,” an-
swered the young man. “ The money was not
mine. It was lntrusted to me for a special pur-

ose, and I gambled it away. What a shame it
s to have to confess such a thing!”

“ All the more lucky that I saved it for you
then. Come down below, Mr. Helmsley, and
let me turn it over to you.”

“ It is too much to acce t. You must let me
pay it back to you when .can.”

‘All right. An thing to please you, if you
will take my‘ adv and leave gambling to
times who understand it. I want you to con-
sider me as a friend, Mr. Helmsley. I ain’t
much to be proud of in the way of a friend, but
I may be useful to you some day.” .

CHAPTER III.
THE TENNESSEE AVENGIRS.

in Cincinnati and Mom his packets were
not the biggest boats on the ver, and were too
short and chunky " in their build to be con-
sidered handsome. .

The aristocrats of the New Orleans steamers,
and even of the St. Louis pockets, looked down
upon them, and made invidious references to
fried meat and pork and beans.

Yet they were popular boats, and did a thriv-
ing. business in assengers and freight.

lush Fred enning, although one of the
high-toned sporting men of the Mississi l, on
one occasion took pesmge on a Cinc nnati
packet from Memph s, because he wanted to
get to Cairo, and it happened to be the only
craft available.

He had no idea of “ workin " the boat; but it
was onl a little while after eaving Memphis
that e engaged in a game.

of yours, Mr. Helmsley.”
“The man whose life you

 

l

'-to pass the time,” remark

Among the passengers there chanced to be a
Tennessee planter, Colonel Fowle by name—a
; gentleman somewhat more than middle aged,
! tail. dignified, and a little inclined to be pom-

ous.

l P He was a' skillful amateur, of the class that
' has been mentioned herein, and specially prided
f bimsebf upon his poker playing.

As Fred Henning was well dressed, and of a
gentlemanly manner and appearance, Colonel ,
Fowle pitched u n him as a congenial com-
panion, and struc upa oconversatiou with him
which Fred regarded as more tedious than in-
“Emma . h d eons.

e ma e t iscompagnon unoyagea
dent of his intentions in taking the trip.

“I have sold my last bale of cotton: air, to
those Memphis men," said Colonel Fowle.
“They get all the profits, air. and l have to
support all the niggersfsir, and y all the ex-
penscs. I am now going to Cinc nnati, to make
my arrangements for shipping my crop direct
to the East. air, and then i hope there may be
some money for me in cotton, as well as for the
gauged middleman. What do you say to that,

l‘ ' e ‘ -

“ I ink you are doing a good thhg for
yourse ,” answiared Fred; “ but I hope you
will do better than that hereafter. hope the
time will come, and that before long, when the
South will work up her own cotton in her own
mills. and that will be a great gain all around."

“ You are right, sir i” exclaimed Colonel
Fowle; "The most sensible man I have met
in a long time, sir. But we can’t work up the
cotton while We have the niggers, and we must
have the nigger-s to make the cotton. I con-
kiss" that I don’t see my way clear through it;
a l. e

“A wa will be 0 nod for you i time, air.”

“ But {cannot v3}; for time, a; so. I must
go to Cincinnati to sell my cotton. This is dry
talking, Mr.—ah—-”

“ Kenning,” suggested Fred. .

“ Ver dry talking, sir, and I wish you would
take a rink with me, to moisten it up a hit.”

Flush Fred consented, and the liquids were
speedily absorbed—the more speedily, perhaps,
because their qu'vlit was not remarkably good. »_

“I would like to vs a quietcg‘sme of cards

ed onel‘ Fowle.
you play, Mr. Kenning?" ‘
“ I now a few games.” answered Fred.
” Poker, for instance i”
“ Yes, I can play poker.”
“ Suppose We try a game!"
“ I have no objeclion. Are yousure that m
understand poker, colonel 1"

“Well, sir, I am sure I ought to. It is “my ,
favorite ame. I have a sort of pamion for it.
Yes, sir, do understand poker, and claim to

lay a good game. .I am afraid thQI will be

much for you, Mr. Henning; but we will,
put the limit low, just enough to. make the
game interesting.”

“I am not likely tolose any more than I can
afford to,” reilied Fred, and the cards were
procured, and they mt down in the Social Hall
to ) ay.

he ame had not progressed far when three
things came. manifest.

By the mutual consent of the players the
limit with which they had started u as enlargpd,
and finally abandoned. '

In the second place, Fred Henninc you like
covered that his opponent was not only a good
poker-player, but was an adept in the arts of
manipulating the cards.

H

As soon as be perceived that Fred was a
player, he " went in to win,i' and ed to
'put up hands” when he had deal in a

manner that surprised even Fred Banning, who
saw that there was no use‘in standing on care-
mony with such an artist, and naturally eon-
cinded that it would he only right and proper
to beat him at his own game.

' In the third place, it was manifest thatthg
bystanders. most of whom were Tennessean", '
were strongly in synipathy with 0mm Fewie.
They showed an unusual amount of late
and nquisitiveaess, overlooking '— Hen-
ning’s head, and making suggestions

ingthe y «

e had no doubt that they would,lf thy,
could, convey uch info to his opponent
at would enab e him to

It was both diflcult and disagreeable to 3'.
against the crowd as well as againsta ’l
and u ions ‘ but Fith Fred

e me with va i fortnmg.
no has; bets being at the boagdltgany time,
until at one of Fred Henning’s deals, during
the temporary ' absence of most of the
standers on a visit to the bar, he was
pmnge the cards just as he wanted

When Colonel Fbwle looked at his hand
eyes sparkled, and he be an to raise the pot.
Kenning joined him this, and
draw the stakes were worth coveting.
Colonel Fowle called for two

 

0 cut took two, andthebettinghacane
a3 furious. “

goodll

The bystanders had returned from the bar,
and were taking a lively interest in the game;
but Flush Fred did not allow them to get a look
at his cards.

As he knew exactly what his adversary held,
having selected his cards for him, the only ques-
tion was of the amount to which he could raise
the pot.

The Tenan was confident, and kept put-
ting, :1: his money, until Henning believing that
he gene far enough, made a ‘ call.”

“ The money is minel”. triumphantly ex-
claimed Colonel Fowle, as he showed an almost
invincible hand.

“ I reckon not,” replied Fred.
flush.”
“ What is a flush worth?” demanded the other.

“ Mine is a straight flush,” ansWered Fred, as
he laid down the ten, jack, queen, king, and ace
of hearts.

Colonel Fowle was terribly enraged.

Hie face was flaming red, and his wrath fairly
boiled over.

“ You are .a swindlerl" he shouted, as he
brought his fist down on the table with a savage
thump.

This was unquestionably true; but Flhsh Fred
knew that he had not done in that line anything

- more than his adversary had done or attempted

to dc» -

He had merely outswiadled him.

Therefore he was bold in his own defense.

“ You are a liar!” be promptly re lied.

“ No man shall call me that an live!” ex-
claimed Colonel Fowle, as he drew a revolver.

Fred Kenning hadexpected this, and was pre-
pared for it.

He was quicker than his opponent with his
pistol, a before the latter could bring his
weapon r, Fred fired his self-cooker.

The hall struck the Tenan in the fore—
head, and he fell from his chair to the floor, his
own shot passing harmlesst through the hurri-
cane roof.

The bystanders had not been able to prevent
this munderous result.

Indeed, they had not attempted to do so,
doubtless believinfithat their friend would easily
make an end of h antagonist. .

A soon as they recovered from their aston—

ishm at at the unexpected termination of the ,

aflair, they rushed upon Fred Kenning, who
was quietly sweeping the money from the table
into his pocket.

He forced himself to his feet in spite of them,
though he could not throw of! the grasp with
which they had seized him.

“ What does this mean i” he angrily demanded.

“ Kill him i” shouted some.

“ Han him i” cried others.

“ Yo. e a murderer!” exclaimed his ac—

cusers.

“ owam I a murderer?” re lied Fred.

“ on have murdered Colone Fowle, as good
and square a man as eVer lived.”

“ It was no muider. It was all fair. He
(ix-law, a pistol on me, and i had to defend my-
” I

“You called him a liar.”

“ He called me a swindler.”

“And you were a swindler. You‘put up a
hand on him."

‘ “ He had been doing the same to me all
along,” insisted Fred. ,‘I only beat him at his
own game, as I had a right to do.”

Fred Henning clearly had the best of the ar-

ment; but the crowd had the numbers, and
fileir brute force overpowered him.

The Tennesseeans were bent on avenging the
death 'of Colonel Fowle, with whom most of
them were well ac ainted and some .inslsted
on flowing out the. reins of his murderer then
and there. -

- “ But the captain came forward, and besought
them not to shed an more blood on his boat.

His entrusties h the effect of rtially quel-
ling the excitement, but cal to t e extent that
the idea of hanging prevails over that of shoot-

ing. ‘ - .

Wing this discussion, which was stormy but
hrb , a ew were thoughtful enough to pick u
the body of Colonel Fowle, and carry -it to h s
state-room, which was in the after part of the

cabin.

The opinion in fhvor of hacking the culprit
indenter became so nearly unanimous that the
captain was at first urged, and then ordered. to

t the boat ashore, that the summary execu-

might he proceeded with at once. -

He suggested, somewhat feebly, that the
proper course would be to land the man at the
nearest town, and turn him over to the author—

. ities.

But his weak words were overborne by the
pressure of the crowd. '

“ He won’t never get no justice that way,”
said one of them. ’

“ He is a river gambler, who has been in 11Gb
scrapes before, and knows how to work out of
them,” said another.

“ Where would the witnesses be when his
trial came off?" demand a third.

The pressure was so strong that the captain
was compelled to give orders that the boat
gou'd at once make a landing at the Tennessee

ore.

“I have a ‘

4 * Flush Fred, the Mississippi sport. '.

Fred Henning had kept quiet while his fate
was under consideration.

It was clearly useless for him to attempt to
change the purpose of the Tennessee avengers,
and uring the r wordy racket he was the cool-
est and calmest person in the cabin.

It was true that he had been in scrapes be-

fore, but never in one that was exactly similar
to this one, whose danger he recognized, though
he showed no fear or anxiety.
. When the decisive action was taken of turn.
.mg the boat’s head toward the shore, be made
up lfis mind to the worst, and determined to
meet his fate like a. man.

His .hands were tied and a rope was procured
in which a noose was knotted, and he was led
down forward to the boiler-deck, followed and
surrounded-by the men who were intent upon
putting him to death. '

He hadasked only one favor of them-that
his hat might be placed on his head—end this
they had granted.

he river was then at a good stage so there
was no steep and muddy bank to climb, and
when the landing was made the boat’s nose was
nearly level with the forest-covered shore.

No line was taken to the bank, and only a
narrow sag-plank was run out.

One 0 the most eager of the Tennemeeans
hurried ashore over the plank leading Flush
Fredk by-the rope, the noose being around his
nec

As they reached the shore the leader d
Fred by the collar of his coat, and shou to
those who remained on the boat.

“Come on, meal Come and finish this job
quick 1”

They did not come.

Somethin happened just then that interfered
with their esigns u n the prisoner.

There was a an den and loud report on
tree‘lzteamer, followed by the rush of escaping

The wheels ceased to revolve, and the boat,
no longer held to the bank b their action, be-
grrgosirift'down-stream an away from the
s o

The leader, who was on the bank, ran and
jun: aboard before the boat got out; of

C . .
Fred Kenning did not follow his example.

CHAPTER IV.
A DEAD Hart’s naueirrm

FLUSH Fm found himself alone on the bank
of the river, and never had solitude been more
welcome to him.

He axed at the crippled steamer as it floated
out in the stream, and felt that he had happi-
ly escaped a great peril.

Cool and calm at that moment as he had been
throughout the entire difficulty, he had no diffi-
culty, in estimating the extent of the steamboat’s
trouble.

A cylinder-head had been blown out, and she
was disabled, but in no danger of being de-
stroyed.

She could proceed on her voyage, going slew-
ly on one wheel, or could Work her way
pnfctll to the bank where the prisoner had been

e .

If the latter course should be decided on, Fred
Henning was of the opinion that he would not
be ver easy to find.

But e bad no fear of that. .r

The captain would find in the crippled condi-
tion of t 9 beat a good excuse for refusing to
land again, and of course it could not be ex-
pected that he would let the boat remain there
while his passengers undertook the pursuit of
the; fugitive.“h h 'ptai 1 hi

ostrengenteca nntssuposed
course of reasoning, Flush Fred at out of view,
so that he might be presume to have run

away.

But he did not lose sight of the steamer, and
soon had thé satisfaction of seein herturn with
one wheel and‘paddle down the r ver.

As she was not far from Memphis, it was
doubtless her captain’s intention to return to
that city for repairs.

Fred Kenning was overjo ed at finding
himself alive and free, and t a only question
was what use he should make of his freedom.

He was not entirely free, as his hands were
tied behind his back' ut he did not doubt that
he would soon be able in one way or another,
to st rid of that difficulty. .

s be Jerked and moved his tethered wrists,
he fortunate] discovered that the handkerchief
with which t e were tied had been insecurely
knotted, and a ter a little effort be pulled loose
from it.

He lookedat the handkerchief, which was none
too clean, and threw it away with an expression
of disgust.

The mate. with which he might have been
banged, I ll dangled from his neck. "

He removed the noose, and could not help
shudderin slightly as he did so but smiled
grimly as e threw it from the bank far into the
river. ,

“I really don’t think that I will need that
necktie a sin,” he said.

He fol ckets. and found them

 

 

in his dp0
abundantly supplie with money.

 

: §

The Tennessee Aves: , in their eagerness to
strangle their victim ad neglected to deprive
him of his cash, and had evan left him hisre-
volver. .

He was free, healthy, Well-dressed, in funds,
and armed.

To a man in that condition lifepresented no
very pe lexing problems, although he had
lately kil ed a fellow-being. ~

The world was before him, and he had but tp
choose the course that he would take.

He could not get to Cairo as he had expected
to, but could go into the interior, reach a town,
and find a convoyance in some direction.

So he turned his back on the river, ,and
walked through the forest until he came toa
country road.

This mad he follmved toward the south, his
knowledge of the geography of the region tell-
ing him that he would be likely to find the
nearest settlement in that direction. ,

He was gettin weary of walking when th.
hour of dusk a ved, and had not yet come in
si ht of even an open field.

t was probable, ho‘vever that he w. .p.

roaching the end of the forest, or at least;

break in it, as there was light ahead. and soon
he heard voices a little way beyond him.

The persons who ware speaking were in. '
little lane that ran into the main road, and it
was not until he had almost reached them the:
he discovered that they were a man and a mi.

man.

That is to say, one of them was a girl, and a

very retty one at that, and the other we. g

ly well-dressed youn man, who room
not be called handsome, an who seemed tote
then decidedly in a bad temper.

The first words that Flue Fred plainly «a.
tinguished were those of the girl.

‘ Leave me alone, Press Munfordl I tell you
that I won’t have anything to do with you, u,
that settles it." . I

“ It don’t settle it,” angrily replied the 0th...
“ You have got to have something to do at“,
me. Your father is on my side, and you any
as well ive in first as last.’

. “ I Will not give in. You are lying when you
say that my father is on your side. hate “,1
despise you, and will have nothing to do with

’I

on.

“We will see about that, my girl. I have
got you now where I want you. ’ /

He seized her roughly and she screamEd.

Neither of them had noticed the rapid ad-
vance of Fred Henning, who came uP behind
the young man, seined him by the COM? CONIr,
and erked him back.

". ou had better as out and quit that
game,” remarked the ether. '

The young man’s face flushed a fie red and
by way of reply he turned upon lush Fred,
and flew at him wildl .

But the man from the river met him with a
straight out blow between the eyes, which laid
him sprawling upon the ground.

He struggled to his feet, and put his hand be-
hind him, as if to draw a pistol.

“ Nuns of that!” exclaimed Kenning, who in-
stantly had him covered with his self-cooker.

“Give me that pistol l” ordered Fred, and it
was reluctantly handed up to him, under pres-
sure of the self-cocker.

“ Make yOurself scarce l” was Fred’s first
command. “ Clear out, I say, and be thaltkfd
that ou have got off so easy.”

“ his will be settled at another time,” said
the girl’s assailant. “ What is your name, and
where will I find you?" ’

“ Go along! You are not talking to a fool l"

The young man walked away sneakineg and
Fred Hennin turned to the girl.

“ I am gla
bother that brute.”

“;I an!)] verydthankful to you,” she answered.
on ave one me a great rvice great
than I can tell." ‘ .8 ’ “er

“ Very lucky for me that I had the chance: I -
think, now, that I had better accompany you as
far as your home. Which way are you goin l”

“ n ya little distance down the road. an I
will be very glad to have your company.”

was more than lad to accompany her,
as, in addition to her’ ty, he saw a chance of

getting supper and a shelter for the night which '

was fast approaching. .

After passing fields of cotton and corn they
c‘aumgertgda largeitfaan-house with cabins
cs near,wereth wre 181%
ed at? severalldogs. ey e ’ tr

e oung adv silenced them. and nail
prgvai ed upon Fred to enter the house. * y
My mother will want to thank you,” she
said. “'and she will be very glad to see you, Hr. .
—I believe you have not mentioned your name.”

“ Kenning is my name—Fred Kenning.”

“ I will never forget it. sir. You are a stran-
ger in these parts, I suppose” a

“ Not quite a stran er. though not a resident.
I am a travolin ma . storming at Grundy just
now, and have en trampling about to look over ‘
the ()spects 0f the cottorwrop," - l’
.1 u ogfmtgezeral miles from  n0w i.

r, an or .a reason You had be unk'
yourself at home here for a while.” “or ‘ . '

Fred Kenning was glad to do so, and in the i

g Li

»\»'-' 5’? .-. . .'
- - ,j  ‘

that ha ned aim in ti to .'
him. ‘ m

"Mm—0...: .4

 

 

-

1,:
l

l.
I
l
l
i

A 4
l

a.

i!
r

.6

my
ins
let-

1in

she
Kr.
|.. 7!

'an-

ant.
lust

lver :

0'.
take

l

i

l

-m-.‘-.... .. . c

_...._.....--_.._

‘ “witmsly.

‘ ' Flush Fred, the Mississippi Sport. “

, ‘,/

5

 

 

house was warmly welcomed by the “fining
lady’s mother, to whom her daughter the
story of her recent adventure.

.5 She introduced herself as Mrs. Fowle, and her

daughter as Ella Fowle. .

The name struck the man from the river ra-
ther strangely and a little disagreeably, in con-
sequence of that tragic advonture of his own;
but be reflected that it was not an uncommon
name and did not suffer the coincidence to
trouble him.

“You will have to makeu your mind to stay
here to-night, Mr. Kenning, said the old lady.
“ We will bevery glad to accommodate you,
and in th: morning will send you to Grundy in

. O

This {vas highly satisfactory to Fred, and he
was particularly well pleased when an excellent
and abundant supper was placed on the table.

He did ample justice to the re , and enter-
tained the ladies so well with h conversation,
which was always bright and interesting, that
they cotiild not help considering him a charming
com on.

For his part he considered himself in clover.

The contrast between his present position and
{hatttgfla few hours ago was striking and de-

n D
e was willing to enjoy the society of the two
ladies as ion as they chose to sit up.

With Ella owle he was specially fascinated,
and already pictured onta p easing romance, in
which he and she figured as hero and heroine.

She was doubtless the only child of her mo-
ther. who was robably a widow, as there was
no man about t a place.

To be sure, he thought he had heard the fel~
low from whom be rescued her say something
about her father; but that must have been a
mistake, as no such person was visible.

If she had a father, that need not spoil the
romance.

Why should not he, who felt himself falling
in love with her, make good his footing in
that house, lay sie e to her, manMer and
ultimately become t e pomessor of a fine plants.
tionl
teTolci‘is bright dream was soon rudely shat-

r I
When the hour of bed-time arrived a negro-
eervant was called in with a candle to show the

guest to his room.
‘ “My daughter and I are under fiat obli a-
tions to you, Mr. Henning,"sald a. Fow e,
“ not only for the service you rendered to Ella,
but for the pleasure of our sooiety. If Col-
’ onel F0wle were here, at would be glad to
thank you, and would do anything in his
power to make your stay with us agreeable to
on.
Fred Kenning was sadlLtaken aback.
There was a husband, t n, and he was known
as Colonel Fowle.
Was it the same Colonel Fowle whom he had
so recently killedl
That uestion must be settled.
“ ls nel Fowle away from home?” he

asked.

“Yeadr. Hehas toCincinnatLenone
ofthe etsfrom htomakearrange-
meats thessleofhisootton.”

Itwsatgsamemmzle. Therecould
mm. at... not... .......... ..

bei aired into.

" hat was the ame, Miss Ella,” he asked,
“of that young fe w who was troubling you
when I camslupi”

“Presley unford, the son of a neighbor of
ours but not a near neighbor."

" Wm is his aw. name!"

“John Munford. Are you. acquainted with

the family?"
“I have had some with a man
named Iunford; but it was probably not the

same man. Good-n 1: led and pleasant
dreamstoyou both}: t, M

CHAPTER V.

man mn‘s Bailout

Wm Fred Kenning found himself alone in
the pleasant room that had been allotted to
11:31.“ inflections were anything but agree-
s e. .

‘ “This is a way of being thrown amon ac-
quaintances that don’t suit me a bit,” he as to

himself.

“ The daughter of the man I killed, and the

son of the man who wants to kill me!
.“ It is too much.

“ I don’t worry about th Munford tribe; but
to think that I have rob that girl of her
father is euou h to make me put in pistol to
my "head an blow my miserabe brains
out.

He sat down, and leaned his head on his
hand, having not the slightest inclination to-

"ird “Baghdad d f l

t was, , a uliar an in u i-

tion in which he wafiilcaced' . " pa p0.

; He had entered that hospitable home, though

under false pretenses.

fie ntreatedasafrlendbythemother

and daugh r of the man he killed, and had felt
foratimetobealmostoaeofthe

family.

is

 

 

What would they think of him when they ‘ scout around and see what your chance is for
should find out who he was and what he had , a fair show. Just now things look pretty blue

done!

ri ht soon.

lla Fowle had assured him that she would
never forget his name, and she would have good
cause to remember it.

When the story of her father’s death should
be told her, how easily she would recognize the
name of his murderer, and how intensely she
would hate his memor i

It was no wonder t at these terrible reflec-

1
Of course they would find it out, and that 3

H

for .

“I don’t know but you are right,” replied
Fred, “ and I will take your advice. In. fact, I
had about made up my mind to something of
i the sort before I saw you.” '

George Dace’s room was quiet and retired
. enough, and Fred Henning was assured that he
, might remain there in enti e safety. having his
‘ meals brought to him, an il it should be con-
9 sidered proper for him to go out.
“ Now that I have got you settled here," said

Fred Henning from sleep, and that ‘ Dace, “I will go and find out what the dead

tions ke t

he tosses about restlesst after he sou ht his
bed, full of grief and remorse, wishing t at be
had never entered that house, and that he could
steal away without the knowledge of its in-
ma

tea.
He could not attempt to do that, as he knew
that the dogs wou d inevitably give the

arm.

At last, wishin himself a thousand miles
away, he found n sleep a refuge from his
thou hts.

W en he went down-stairs in the morning
Mrs. Fowle and Ella were up, and they re-
marked his pale and worn ap rance, fear-
ing that he had had a bad nght, and sym-

thiaing with him to an extent that was pain-

“ It is true that I have not slept well,” be re-
lied. “ I had bad dreaum, and allowed some
usiness matters to worry me. I must get away

as soon as possible."
I“; :5me not before breakfast l” exclaimed the
o y.

Of course he must stay to breakfast, and he
did so, but was quite ill at ease, and there was
nothing left of the flow of spirits and the spright-
ly conversation that had made him so entertain-
in the night before.

hen breakfast was over a buggy was at the
door, with a negro to driVe, and rs. Fowle and
her daughter bade him a fareWell that was al-
most affectionate.

"You must come and visit us whenever you
are in this neighborhood,” said the matron. “ I
want you to make our house your home and
am anxious that you should meet Colonel
Fowle.”

This was the last blow and the worst. He
knew that neither he nor the would eVer meet
Colonel Fowle in this worl , and the cheerful
manner in which they spoke of the dead man
cut him to the heart.

He concealed his feelings as well as he could.
and was glad when he got out of sight of the
Fowle plantation.

He directed the negro to drive him to the
nearest railroad station, and there he took the
first train for Menoighis.

Before he reach the station he had settled
in his mind what he would do.

ihecrippled steamer had returned to Item-

vBhehadcarriedthithei-ths ofColonel
Fowle, the even ng Team, and all the
witnemss of the atal afi’ray.

He would go there and confront them, and de-
mand a trial.

An a uittal or a sentence would remove a
great weight from his mind.

The killing of Colonel Fowle had not worried
him, but had been regarded merely asan un-

fortunate and unpleasant , until be ac-
zptedhht'he hospitality of Fowle and her

ug .

Then it to trouble him intolerably.

He knew t he had acted in self-defense
and believed that he was not ilty in law; yet
he could not be feeling that was the mur-

dererof Colcne Fowle, and that he ought to

pav the penalty of his crime.

p‘Efly‘ltlhemtlime hehmhedhfiémphls hewla:
an n, a u come

conclndlin the he had better loo around and

see how the land lay, before giving himlelf

up.One of the first men he met after he got off
the care was a prominent member of the sport-

ing fraterni , George Dace by name, whose
face at once me expressive of the deepest
sym thy and concern

H

s with me, Fr.ed,;said Bees. “"1 am
very glad an very sorry see you ere.
“What do you mean by that?" inquired Fred.

“ I mean that I am glad to see yo but sorry
to see you here. You ought not to ave come
to Memphis, Fred.”

“Why so!”

“ Because there is the very devil to pay about
that man you killed on the Cincinnati ket.
He has lots of friends here, and they are coking
for you high and low. and swear that they mean
to net you, dead or alive.” .3

“ They would have got me dead, if it hadn’t
been for an accident. That is why I'm here
Guorge. ,I want to give myself up and stand
in trial.’

“ Don’t think of such a thing, my boy. You
have friends here, as you know, who will do
all they can for you, and for their sake you
mustn’t throw yourself away. Come to my
room, where you will be uiet and out of the
way, and stay there untl some of us can

L

man‘s friends are doin . You know that you
can rel on what I te i you, and I b that
you wi l have .sense enough to be gui by
your best friends”.

Within two hours George Dace returned, and
with him were three o;her kniths of the spot.
ted pasteboards, who condoled w ith Flush Fred,
and urged him to keep quiet for a while.

“ The business is worse than i had supposed,"
said Dace. " A warrant is out, and the sheriff
is lookin for you; but that is not the worst.
The fee ng against you is very s and it
won’t be safe for you .to venture out an it gits
quieted down." .

These statements were confirmed by the others,
who united in givihg the unfortunate man the
some advice.

They kindl consented to the ordering of wine
and Cigars, or which Fred Kenning, in con-
sideration of their sympathy, was expected to
pay. and for which he d d pay. .

“One thing looks queer to me " he remarked.
“ The shooting was not in Shelby county, and
III don”tsee how they could get out a warrant

ere.

“ It was on the river,” suggested George Dace.

“ Yes; but I know something about the law.
It was near the Tennessee shore, and within the
jurisdiction of the county we landed at."

“ Perhaps it is the sherifi of that county who
has brought the warrant here.”

“ I don t see how they could get hold of him
so soon,” insistediFred.

“ There is the telegraph, you know.”

George Dace left the room with his three

. friends, saying that they would go and make
‘ further inquiries.

 

CHAPTER VI.
A FRISH SURPRISE.

Tan: prisoner in the custody of his friends was
not satisfied. ,

When his Job‘s comforters had left h his
uneasiness increased, and he was ready do
something desperate.

He did not blame them for the advice they gave
him, but was not disposed to take that ad-
v ce. ‘

They had not seen the daughter of the man be
murdered, and could not sgpreciate the con-
siderations that had bron t him to Hamphis
and nothing they had sai or might say could
lessen the weight of those considerations.

He had not (rule there to hide from the law,
but to shoulde his  and face his
aocuaers a man.

This determination came to him with re—

newed force when GeorgeDace had left him,fer

the second and he was long in ms

g: his mind to out to thefiheri!
elby county, w whom he was

well inted, to surrender

the custody of that omcial.

Hehsdaotbeenlochsdiu. Thatwouldlnve
been toostrong anexercbeofauthodty for the
best of friends.
niche sallied out boldly, andwalked downtlie
s t. , ,

But he had not got threeblocksawfg whtn
his was by another nd.

'1‘ iswasnotGeorge Deceoroneofhisstrl ,
but a young gentleman whom Fred Hem
was vary to see.

It was rthur Helmsley who was rejoiced at
meeting Fred, and greeted him most cordiall .

“The very man was wishirg to see,” sai!
Arthur. “ Let us go somewhere and have a
quiet talk.”

This suited Fred, who, although he had deter-
mined to give himself up, wou d naturally pre-
fer ntot to be apprehended or amaulted on the
sires v. -

He led his friend to a private room in a res-
taurant, where Arthur ordered a light lunch
with wine, and the were as retired and cosy
as a couple of mice in the middle of a cheese.

“ You say that (you are my friend, and I
meet you as a frien ," Arthur began. “ I shall
want to ask your advice after I ave settled a
little business with you, and the business is to

8y

aci .

“Dori’t let us start out with anynonsense,"
answered Fred. “ You don’t owe me any
mone ." ‘

“ I think I do.”

“Keep on thinking so, if on want to be
hard-beaded; but let that do t run on until I

 

sadly “ I may need some before long. Just
now I have as much as I can take care of."
“ I wish you would take it," insisted Arthur.

ace, the money you advanced thme on the ‘
0.

need money, and perhaps," he observed a little '

6 . ' "Flush Fred, the Mississippi Sport.

" But [won’t you see, and that int is set-
i'ed. Do you carry a pistol now, r. Helms-
] ‘y i” .

’7 “ Why, yes, as nexuny everybody does.”

“You haVen’t been tempted to blow your
brains out with it, I hope, as you seemed to be
when I last met you.” '

“'No, indeed; but I may be tempted again,
unless there comes a turn of the tide of my af-
fairs. There was sometbin more than the
money difficulty that troubed me then, Mr.
Henn n .” _ ~
“ CalFme, Fred, please—everybody does. ”

“ Something more, Fred, and something
worse, though I said nothing about it to you.”

“It must have been a pretty solid sort of a
trouble, then.” ’ ' '

“ Very solid. The fact is, I am in love.”

“We are all liable, as the darky said when
they accused him of stealing an overcoat,” re'-
marked Fred very sagely.

“ But this is an unusual case. She is the
dearest, best, sweetest, loveliest—”

“ That'll do,” interrupted Fred. “ You need-
n’t deal another card. I can callthe turn every
time. You have put up your whole existence
on her, and the only question is whether 'ydu
have bet to win. Is the angel fond of you?"

“ I believe she is—indeedJ am sure of it.
She has told me so often enough, and she is the
soul of truth.”

“ What is the trouble, then?”

“The trouble is with her father,” sadly an-
swered Arthur. “ He is bitterly Opposed to me,
and swears that his dau hter shall never marry
me. Her family and m ne are at outs. There
has been had blood between them for many
years, and some bloodshed, too. She and I
would be glad to heal the breach; but .her
father keeps up the old feud and hates every-
body who bears the name of helmsley.”

“Girls don’t worry much about their fathers
nowadays when they make up their minds to
marry,’ suggested Fred.

“ But this girl loves her father, and feels her-
self bound to obey him, no matter how unrea-
sonable he is. She will never .marry while he
lives without his consent.”

“There is no chancefihen, except in bring-
ing the old man over, and that ook like a
mu h deal. Docs he play cards?”

“ es, and he is passionately fond of poker.”

“ Something might be done n that way, per-
haps. Is he a Memphis man?”

No; he lives on his plantation in Tennessee,
not far from Memphis, an a few miles from
the Belmsley lace.

“Whatis e angel’s name?” inquired-Fred.
“Of course, I don’t know her; but a name is
something to take hold of.” ’

“ Her name is Ella Fowle, and her father is
Colonel Tom Fowle."

“ Mia Fowle I” exclaimed Fred Hennin .

He ted the name so strangely, an with
30h an air of surprise and consternation. if not

absolute terror, that young Helmsley leaned

over and stared at him i amazement;

"-What is the‘ matter, Fredi”.h‘e demanded. ‘

“ Do you know her?"
“ I‘m not sure but I do. Can you tell me
whether her father is‘at home‘now
“ I think he is not. I understood that he was
to go to (Racinnatl about this time to make ar-
mente for sellin his cotton.”
, “Bo same man! muttered Fred, and his
head sunk upon. his breast, and he looked the

plot of despair.
"‘ at do you mean?” again demanded Ar-
thur. “ What do you know about him, or her,

or any of them?”
Fred Kenning lucked up).
Thh was another trou le that he must meet
and face boldly. '
" l have fallen in love'with that'girl myselfl”

“ ou have!”

“ Yes; and there is a more serious difficulty
in 11) way than there is in yours.”

“ hat is that?” rather coolly inquired the
youn man.

“ I ave killed her father i”

It was then Arthur Helmsley who was forced
to show extreme surprise and consternation.

“ Killed her father!” he exclaimed, and ' was
all he could say.
“ es. Hadn’t you heard of it?”
CO No.”
I “It is well enough known in Memphis, and I
am told that the sheriff is looking for me with a

warrant.” .
,' “You astonish me, Mr. Kenning. I don’t
know what to an . Have you really killed
Colonel Fowlel hen and where di you do
,itl How did it happen?”

Fred told the entire story of the aflrav on the
steamboat, extenuating nothing for himself,
and setting down naught in malice against his
antagonist.

He then proceeded to tell how he had nar-

_ rowly escaped hanging, and related all the par-

ticulars of his chance meeting with Ella Fowle,
. and his vwlt at her home.

“ Ham v ll it"lll'il nothing at all of ‘hqf atoni-
ing wranm’" ho- a~ke'l. " l am told that it. has
cause” gr -nl. uxm'eznunt here.”

“Nothing at all. l have just got in {rum

‘1
‘1

Mississippi, and you are, th' first man I have
spoken to in Memphis.”

“ I am glad, then. that I was the first to tell
you the story, and I have given it to you as
straight as a bee-line. You see now, my boy,
that you needn’t be a bit jealous of me, though
the youn lady is more than you could paint
her, and I would bet my last dollar on her for
beauty and sweetness. I was terribly worked
up when I learned that it was her father that I
had killed; but, between you and me, I don’t
feel so badly about it now.”

“ Why not?” asked Hennlng.

r” Because it takes a pretty large-sized straw

' out of your way. You say that she wouldn’t

marry you without his consent and he would
never, consent while he lived; but he is dead
now.

“ I hope you don’t suppose that I can be glad
of his death.” ,

“ Of course not; but what I have said is a bit
of a consolation to me and I need something of
the sort. Only one thing more I can say, and
that is that you must never let her know that
you have been a friend of mine, or have even
ever ken to me or seen me. She will hate
me b tterly enough, and I don’t want her to
hate on on my account.”

“ lease don’t talk in that way,” entreated
Arthur. “ The question now is, what shall
be done to help you out of our difficulty?
You may be sure that I will 0 everything I
can do.”

“ Don’t try to do anything, Helmsley. ' Your
hump must not be mixed with mine in this mat-
ter.

“ I will do my best, whether you want me to
or not. I can be as stubborn as you can, if I
try. If money is needed, and of course it will
be, you shall have every dollar I can raise.”

h“ “here is plenty of money. No worry about
t at.

“ What are you thinking of doing, Fred?”

“When I met you I was going to find the
sheriff and give myself up.”

“Don‘t do that, I beg you. Wait until we
see what she the business takes.”

“I will. y mind has been wavering a good
deal but since I have seen you I have settled
on that. Where are you stopping?"

“I’m oin to the Gayoso.

“I wi on there to see you, or will let on
know where you can find me. I think Ihad
better keep a ittle shady for awhile."

Arthur Helmsley paid the hill, and they
separated at the door of the restaurant.

CHAPTER VII.
unsure ran mun.
.33me”ng wiasasaeressfindnasorcp'resa
ewaspopuaryspo eno n emph as a
Voodoo queen; but she did not pretend to be
even versed in the rites of the Voodoo priesteasp

hOOd. ‘

She did pretend, and it is likely that her pre-
tension was Well-founded, to be a direct descen-
dant of a race of African kings, and to be ac-
quainted with all the mysteries-of Obi, includ-
in poisons, fetiches, charms, and all manner of
w tohery.

Since the old nefress had settled in M
she had gaineda arge following of believers
and clients, and to many of the colored popula-
tion her name was a wonder and a terror.

There were plenty of white men, also, who
gauged in her, and among them was Flush

r

He was decidedly superstitious and was not
ashamed to confess his weaknem in
as it was common to most, if not all 0 the
sporting fraxernity

He was a bel ever with the rest in lucky
days, lucky houses, luckiehmte, and all manner
pf figns and omens that tokened good 0r bad

uc .

In Aunt Cynthy he believed most thoroughly,

:nd Ih‘ad often consulted her concerning his on-

sea.
bother her advice was good or bad, and
whether her predictions proved to be true or
false. seemed to matter little to Fred. His be-
lief Was never shaken, and the old negrees con-
tinued to be his oracle.

After he left Arthur Helmsley, having settled
it in his waverinf mind for the present that he
would not ve h am" up, he determined to go
and visit imt Cynthy, for the purpose of
learning from her what his chance was of get-
ting out of his present scrape with safety and

honor.

She lived in a but on the bluff, near the Uni-
ted States reservation, and beyond the region
of ved and ii htcd streets.

here Fred enning found her, after the
shades of night had fallen, and considered him-
self fortunate in finding her alone.

Aunt thy was not ve old: but her
wrinkles and her style of d ng and of wear-
ing her hair gays her an appearance of extreme

a e.

FFlush Fred found her seated in a small and
dingy room, the walls of which could be dknly
awn to to rrm‘mm‘tod with unified or dried
lizards sunk-m, Mada. yv um: “illusion, and
. other nnmmih 0in 0‘3.

A team crow ruos'ed on a stick in one corner,

 

 

that ' , how

 

—_‘

i and near him a black cat reposed on a couch of

dirty rags.

The furniture was scanty and of the poorest
quality. and the close apartment mo loaded
with an indefinable but very unpleasant odor,
suggestive at once of witchcraft and infectious
diseases.

Yet Aunt Cynthy was reputed to be
wealthy, and to have money buried all
about the hint, for which nobody dared to
search.

A uliar knock procured admittance for
Fred enmng, and he was almost joyfully re-
ceived by the old Obi woman.

“ I knowed dat was you, Marne Fred, and Pen
pow’ful glad to see you,” said she.

“Can you see me, Auntyi” he asked. “I
can’t make you out in this dark room.”

“Ob couse I kin see you. W’ot’l my
fur? I’se dark, and yon’s white, an’ dat mm:
a difler’nce. -I ’lowed you’d be comin’ up yar
’bout dis time.”

“ Why so?"

“ ‘Cause you‘s in trouble."

“ What sort of trouble 7”

“Yen’s gone an’ killed a man.”

“ What sort of a man i”

“A middlin’ ole man, but mighty y an’
Bean, wid gray in his heard an’ ha’r. ou shot

im ata game 0’ kyards, up do ribber. Oh,
honey, dam k ards is pcw’fu bad t’ings to be
foolin’ wid, an dey’s gi'n trouble to lots 0’ good
folks? well as bad ’uns.”

‘ course on know that Aunt C tb . I
has been in allythe papers, I hume  c

Don’t ye

--——.

“I don’t nebber see de papers.
knew I cain’t read, chilei”

.“Ever body in Mem his knows it.”

"I ha n’t see’d a emphis man, white or
black, in more’n two da 3. ’se been shot up yar,
’tendin’ to ’tit‘klear bus ness.”

“Well, Aunty, you know all about it, an -
how, and I suppose you know that the she fl
is after me with a warrant.”

“ Cues do shur’ff l He ain’t no ’count, nohow.
Come var, Ganja, an’ speak to yer old frien’,
Marse red.”

The black cat rose from its couch, walked to
Fred Henning, and rubbed itself against his
leg, mowing and purring.”

be old negress turned up her oil lamp a little,
and Flush Fred placed a old coin in her hand.

“ I want to know,” said e, “ how I am going
to come out of this scrape. What will be the
"agenpd 0...... kind ob ‘

an acre ll a
sometimes. But you hain’t pane cam
Wfl, chile. Ef on wants to git out, an’ is
’f ob do sh , why den’t you slide out?
 up an’ git.i h’Pears likeieyou taltze on

acra m ty queer, as ea c you
hadn’t nebber‘uen if: no sech scrapes befo’.

“Never in such a scrape as this, Aunty. It
Bulls me all sorts of ways. More than once I

ave made up my mind to give myself up, but
haxg)ba’ckedi out, so fart.” t it

on son yar,e von wan ,ora rope.
Wot‘s gotliolt oh you, chilei”

“I saw the wife and, daughter of the man I
killed. They treated me very kindly, and made
a friend of me. They did not know then what
I had done. It cut me to the heart when I
learned that they were his wife and 

“Rackon u h’etted ’boutdc can-r, ,
mom’n ’bcu do ole woman.” - ‘1 '  '

"1 di ,ncteomchere tongue with
Auntc y,” replied Fred, who was a
miffed at her tone. “I want y to in

this business is going to turn out, if you,
can, and I suppose you can if you will.”

“De solemn fat: is, honey, dat I cain’t do
datjeas . t. It’s more’n I kin git bolt ob to-
n ht,an are 13 an at to 0

lg d ‘ d' "d bed befc’I
kin seecl’ar. yer in do than; in', two
hours hefo’ noon, an’ you'll get do . dehull
goofkan’ nothin’ bnt'de troof, shuah as do sun,

see. , '
thll‘red Henning was obliged to be content with

a

He returned to the city, and found a safe and

Ernst place to pass the night; but it we not
Dace’a room.

Thus far he had not encountered a sherlfl'a

officercr a warrant and he began to belier

that the search for him was not as vigorous as f '

it was represented to be. ,,
Though he had not made himself at all con.

spicuous, and had not frequented any public

places, he had gone about enough to be

nized, and might have been found by a vigilant )
ofllcer ‘

He suspected that his friends. in their Ninety
for his safet , had exaggerated therfsctw
At ten t e next morning he .was at Am
03:33,“ hm’ speci 1 int t h f (you.
s was a l a men 0 0
found her alone ppo ’ ‘-

She had shut out the daylight from her  V ,V
as » 1

room by closing the shutters, and the o
luminatIOn was the smoky glimmer of an on
amp.

Over a bed of coals on thehearth wasa’
small not. in which was atewin eomethi
thatdld n«-t have the odor of any uman f

tered.

l whose cooking the young man had yet enconm

l...._...,~- has..- .m.»-_ ., no. .

 

\

.....“.._..... .-..-. w- 4..

- k. I.

 

 

 

 

“2%-” 5 _
.4: ‘-

— (night‘s-Earle .4 «

x a. .r 

. .1“.-

d " ‘" 4 ..
—....L' .wth ~“ .
~1mw,-..- -1...

 

“1:; _ k. ¢_

.é')

 

.e’"

 

Flush Fred, the Mississippi Sport. 7 I \,~ 7

 

 

He snapected it of being something uncanny.

This suspicion was confirmed by the old
ne ress.

he took from a tin box a small green snake,
that coiled about her hand as she grasped it,
and throw it, alive and squirming, into tue pot,
where it ceased to uirm.

“ What are you oing, Aunt Cynthy?” de~
mended Fred in surprise.

“ Makin’ a chawm, Manse Fred—do pow’s
fullest kind ob a chawm.”

“ What for!”

“Fur you, h0ney. Dis yar’s a solemn an’
sor'ons business, an’ nuflin’ but do toughest kind
ob an Obi chan ’ll git down to do troof, do
hull troof. an’ nuffln’ but do trocf.”

“ But what are you going to do!”

“ Morse Fred, I. so wine tor raise do dead 1”

“ To raise the dead ’ he exclaimed, in a voice
full of horror. .

“ To raise do dead. De on’y way to line. out
how dis yar business is gwine ter come out is to

\ioghnup do sperrit ob do man you killed, an‘ ax

“ Don’t do that, Auntyl I can’t stand it.”

“ You’a got to stan’ it, Mane Jess set
right down dar, an’ keep as qu et asa mouse,
or I’ll at a spell onto you that won’t let you
stir beg” sundown.”

The old u see placed three flatirons on the
small table the middle of the room, and on
them she set the pot which she took from the
hearth. ‘

She threw a dark powder into the steaming
mass, and a greenish vapor, with a peculiar but
not unpleasant odor, arose from the pot.

Then she ,prostratod herself u n the floor,
and uttered a string of gibberish n a language
with which Fred Henning was not acquainted—
if, indeed, it was any language at all.

Rising to her feet, she stretched out her long

and skinny arm, and spoke in a shrill and un-
earthly tone:

“ Let de sperrit a pearl”

A door opposite d Kenning opened noise-
lessly, as if of its own accord, and there, darkly
framed against the darkness of the room be-
yond, was the form of Colonel Fowlel

' '- CHAPTER vm.
~THE DEAD ALIVE.

I! was, indeed, Colonel Fowle.

There can be no doubt that expectation goes
far in determining identity.

When we fully expect to see a certain person,
anythin that faintly resembles that person
me on y be taken for the original.

'l’bis is a phase of human nature which the so-
called materialism mediums have largely taken
advantage of for ir own profit.

l Makin due allowance for this tendency to

error of dgment, Fred Henning was sure that

mi”; baforehimwas that of the man be
l

Though the moui was dark, he could not be
mistaken in the outline-of that too well umem—
hered face.

Yet Colonel Fowle did not look like a ghost;
he hadnothingof the undinonalgboat-

All kl“.
ly style about him.

Dre-din the manta which he had Horn
when he methis th, with his baton his head,
and with noise]: of color in his cheeks, as far
as could he observed in the darkness, he might
easily have been taken for his living self, and
these w- nothing remarkable about bun but
the ve singular fact that a dead man should
-be ing there.

This fact, however, was enough to unsettle
the nerves of Flash Fred.

gh the young man was usually brave al-
most to recklessness, on this occasion he turned
ash pale, and actually trembled.

all. It and stand at the image several min~
ntea before he spoke, and then he could hardly
pum&up anyth ng more than a whiger.

“ hat shall I say to hi Aunt yuthyl I
wish you would do the cack lug.”

' “ Ax him how he comed here,” replied the

 

How did you come here" demanded Fred

in a low and aepulohral tone.

“ Walked herel Go on with your questions,
yoggg rnhan.t 119:1: chock-fugspfginswlpkm.” u

9 cs e eo eurp n .e a ve
man, than Flush Fred started l’lp from his

chair.
Aunt Cyntby turned up the light in her

in v
‘ 'rnl’é ghost lifted his hat, shoWIng strips of ad-

hesive plaster on his forehead. and stepped for-
ward smiling ueoriy.
“ Shake ban s, young man,”said he, “ and
then I will sit down and take things easy ”
Fred held out his hand. who was firmly

I asked in a healthy grasp of flesh and blood.

There could be no further illusion.
The ghost was a living man—Colonel Fowle
in his proper person, as sound and hearty as he

_ ever was.

Aunt nth d her knuckles into bersidea,
Ind was :1ng tears ran down her with-

Bennlng was more astonished at the

 "  of the living man than he had been by the

 

vision of the ghost, and continued to stare wild-
ly at Colonel Fowle as he took a seat.

“ You are the man I killed,” he said.

“ And you are the man who killed me,” ro-
plied the other.

“ And yet you are, alive.”

“ I am happ to say (that I am.”

“ I don‘t um erstand t. Will you tell me how
it is that you are alive 

“ I am alive, as you see, simplfi‘because I am
not dead, and never hare been. be fact is. my
young friend, that your bullet glanced oi! from
this tough skull of mine, and merely stunned

e.
“Those infernal fools who were standing
around there were in such a hurry to take you
out and hang you, that they never stopped to
ask whether I was alive or dead, but urried
Elle back into the cabin, and ran oi! to see the
un.

“ It was no fun to me,” remarked Fred.

“No fun to me, either. I was put on a mat-
tress on the floor and lay there like a dead man,
and might as well have been a dead man while
the fit lasted.

“ When the cylinder-head blew out, I sup oso
the shock roused me, or the excitement, an the
stewardess, who saw me sitting up on the mat-
tress, gave a scream.

“ I told her to shut her mouth and bring me
adrink of whisky and she brought it, as soon
as she was certain that there was no danger.

“ Then those cursed fools came back—and
durnod lad they ware to find themselves alive
—and aptain Beasley washed m head and
put some sticking-plaster on it, an I was all
right then, needing nothing but my regular
drinks and my regular meals.”

“ I won’t undertake to tell you how glad I am
to find you alive and well,” said Fred Banning.
“ That would be too much for me. I have
givan myself a Very severe time about that
air-air.” -

“ All‘s well that ends well, ma boy. Both of
us are safe and sound now, and hope that we
may stag so. ’

‘ But ow is it, colonel, that you can meet me
in this friendly way and tredt me so kindly!
You don’t seem to have as hard feelings toward
me as I have toward myself.” .

“I did have a grudge against yggLMr. Hon-
ning, and a pretty big one; but I r on it was
as much because you beat me at my own game,
as because on shot me.

“ When ot to Memphis I determined to
give you trou 1e, and made arrangements for
that purpose; but I have learned something
about you since that has changed my mind.

“ I ran up home to see In folks, and the first
thi they did was to to me how you had
sav my daughter Ella from abrute, and what
a pleasant visit you had given them. They
spoke very highly of you, and they and I wil
be glad to see you whenever you can come out

~ there and visit us.”

“ Did you tell them that I was the man who
shot you! That was what troubled me ad. Are
you sure that the don’t hate moi"

“ Quito sure. is on will always be welcome at
my house.”

0 ea that Fred Kenning was relieved would
be the aintcet possible expression of his feel-

in

g; may be said to have regarded Colonel
Fowle for the moment as a god, and Aunt
Cynthy almost a a goddess. .

But the mystery was not yet entirely unravel-
ed, and he renewed his ueetioning:

‘ How‘is it, Celenel owlo, that I happened
to find you here, or that you happened to find
me? I don‘t know but that is the queerest mix
of the whole business."

“ That is simple enough. Aunt Cyntby used
tobelong to me. She bought her freedom six
or seven years ago, and now she wants to buy
her son, who is the best field-hand I have.
Though he is a ver valuable nigger, I‘ want to
make things one or the old woman, and have
put down the pr oe as low as I could. She has
not got money enough yet, but I think we can
arrange that matter. -

“ My folks told me that you went to Memphis
from our place, and I hurried back here to stop
the proceedings 1 had started, and to look you
n

p.
“I came to Aunt C thy’s, to bring her a
message from Scip an to speak to her about
that business of hers, and of course I told her
about that aflair on the river, and the rest

of it.

“Shortly after that, you came here and told
your story. She sent me word to be here in the
mornin . and arranged the rest of the business
to suit orsolf.”

“ i am under everlasting obligations to her
for bringing us together, said Fred with a
fervor that testified to the de th of his sincer-
ity. "Just let me know, co ouel. the amount
vthatisneededto make u the balance to bu
of! that boy of hers, and will hand it to you. ’

“You‘s chipped in a lot ob dollabs fur dat
En’chgse a‘ready, Mane Fred,” remarked Aunt

7m ’-

“And I mean to chip in some more. But
Colonel Fowle and I will settle that at our con.
venlenee.”

D

“I suppose you will walk back to the city,”
said the colone “I am going that way, and
We may as Well walk in together.”

The dead man and the man who killed him
walked away the best of friends, each with good
cause to be thankful.

Aunt Cynthy, when she was left alone in her
but, felt that she too had good reason to be
thankful.

Fred Henning walked the streets of Memphis
erect and free, esring neither boat nor sherifl',
and quartered himsel at the
found Arthur Belmsley.

“Luck is against on now and on in side,”
said he. “ one] owlo is alive and w "

“I had already learned that,” answered Ar-
thur. “ How did you come to be so sure that be
was dead 1'” ,

“ The boys told me so, and said that the sherii!
was looking for me with a warrant.”

“ And you supposed, as a matter of course,
that you had kil od him; but they must have
known better. I am glad for your sake that be
is alive”

“ I am afraid that his turning up ives
set-back, my boy. But the colone and or;
good friends now, and on may bet hi that
will do all I can to elp flu, in sp to of the
falcft”that I am in love with young lady my-
e .

The same evenin Fred met George Dace, and
at once interru that individual when he be-
gan to censure im for his carelessness in run-
ning about.

“ Say, George, why did you put up that job
on me?
about, the excitement and the sherifl, and all
that?

“ Well, Fred, the fact is that it’s mighty
seldom we get a chance to run a rig on
yfn, and when we do, we must make the most
0 it.

“ All ri t, my lad. If I don’t y on
for that bglore long, my name’s not Fahd gosh
mng. ‘

yoso, where be

008

 

CHAPTER IX.
ancxmo a ransom.

Tim Philadelphia was one of the best of the
Pittsbur boats, and was familiarly known as
the “ Ol Reliable.” ‘

She was a popular craft, too, and when she
came into the lower river there were men
travelers who preferred her to the newer an
more splendid steamers that hailed from St.
Louis and Louisville, as she had the utntton
for safety, and as Captain Klinefe ter and
Clerk Barr were well known and highly re-
spected all along the route. ,

Whenahe landed at Hemphiehgn one of her
downward tripa‘abiew. daysa

had mover-ed lance, she took on a nun;
her of passengers. .
Among them were three members of the

rting fraternity—mamer
avis, and Sam Bowers. the ldenthaal three w
had acted the part of Job’s comforters to Fred
Hernbign granite wasin sore Whig. ‘ '
y on usage, as me supposed
for the purpose olfm“ working thye boat. and
they proceedodto make themselves at homennd
“lake points” on the passenge with the he
tention of profiting by the know edge thin ac-
quired when night and games set in. ". '- _' '
One of those vho came aboard at “empiric
was a man of clerical appearance rather seedy
in his dress, and with an unmis ie‘llinb-
torial style and twang. '- “ ‘
He wore straight b ack hair and blue specta-

Why did you tell that infernal lie_

rhushll‘rod'

1’

else, was rustic as well as rusty, and waning- '

istfiared at the clerk's cfllce as Rev. Samuel flaw-
in:

when all who came within reach of his vo
were made acquainted with his profession
hisrgresent purpose. ‘

o

Baptist brethren among whom he was 1 .

.settled, he said, at a small town in Mission!
were anxious to build a church and he

been commissioned to solicit contributions from v

members of the denomination in older and
wealthier communities.

His success in Memphis had been highlagen-
couraging, and he was enthusiastic in pro of
the liberality of the good Baptists of that

as had been but a little whileaithehout

cit .
' So also developed a proclizit‘;s for seeking’
I

solace at the bar—secretly t,and then
more openly—explaining to the barkeeper that
he he been advised to do so by a wor'hy
brother who was «a prominent physician in
Memphis.

“I am emicted with bronchitis," he laid,
“and my little flock besought me to procure
the best advice. Brother Eames told me that a
little—ah—whiak now and then is needed to
o n the brouch tubes, remove the obstruc-
tona, and restore tone totbe—ah—organs in
that vicinity.."

“Cert‘nly. sir cert’nly * chimed in the bar-
keeper. “Notb ’ like it, sir. of folk:
troubled that way, and good whisky such as
gig-emulsan the the thing for ’em. 1-, sir!

988 .

 

George Dace and his companions closely ob-

\
b

 

..,.. vv s.‘

i
l
;
:2
i

ii

 

 

i

{and try

. I... I. ........ ....._.-_-~ v ~

 

'8 ' Flesh .F??§z.._th9_1‘flssi

 

served the Rev. Mr. Sawtell and his talk and
manner, and marked him as avictim.
“ We must work the person, boys,” said Dace.

“ I believe he will pan out better than anything i

We can tackle here."
‘ is was quite legitimate-at least, in the
‘view of the sporting men.

Though they were always willing, when flush
of money, tocontribute to churches, preachers,
or any oh ects of merit or charity, they were
none the ess willin to make a prey of church
funds in the hands 0 a person.

As the¥regarded the operation, it was merely
robbing eter to pay Paul.

80 they cultivated the acquaintance of the
Rev. Mr. Sawtell, and had no dimculty in doing

so.
' George Dace invited him to refresh himself at

the bar, and the person gratefully accepted the
invitation.

“ I believe that I ma partake without indis-
crotion," said he, “as am medically advised
to t a little—ah—whisk , and I alread feel a

rt oi relief from my

tle sugar in mine, young man.”

One drink led to another, although the person
did not offer to purchase any, and he
soon: I became mildly hilarious anda little boast

u 0

His new friends led him on to talk of his
succem in securing funds for the building of his
church, a subject which greatly pleased him,
and abont which he was well disposed to brag.

He produced, with other money, a roll of bills,
and roceeded to tell how he got them:

“ his was a sin is contribution," he said,
“ from a good brot r in Memphis. Yes my
young friend, if you insist upon it—a little
sugar in mine. He told me that he was flush—
meaning, as he explained, that he had plenty of
money, and said that he had just got even with
the bank.

“ The name of the bank struck me, as it was
a Scripture name which I had not supposed was
ripplied to banking-institutions 'lt was—ah—

haroah."

“ Ah!” simultaneously muttered the three
sporting men.

“You are acquaian with the bank, I pre—

mel"

“ Yes,” replied George Dace, “it is a. bank
as Shakespeare says, on which many a wild
time rows,"

“I don’t exactly understand you; but that
was the bank the good brother mentioned. He
was feeling very thankful, and wanted to chris-
ten his luck, as he remarked. So he gave me
one hundred dollars for the church. Well
really, my young friend, I am not sure.that i

831

need any more medicine; but, to oblige you, I'

will take a little with an er in it.”
The Rev. Mr. Sawtel again moistened his
tubes at the expense of his new

misdou,” he said. “ In Mem-
is Ioollootod near y six hundred dollars to
the hearts 0 the poor Baptist brethren

I lieve‘giat I lit to on! hten yti'p on
one nt,k . Bawtel," said see.
“The ban of which your friend
ve been a faro hank.”

“ :aid. The Pharoah bank—that was

80 he
mare bank, Mr. Sawtell, is a gambling
ad been

“Ilia; great reason to be thankful for the
access my

3,?

“l

as

e must

J3

Your friend, I sup ,
against the bank, and ha won a lot of
I , and that made him liberal.”

mummcast down for a moment, but
up. '

0‘“ But he get the money from a Pharaoh bank,”

he argued, '“ and that is what we may call

W the ptieu a ractice which has the
oféo‘u of ptur: I) see no objection to

‘ “Why shouldn’t you do the same?" urged
gees. ‘Hy friends and I are willing to chi

for your church; but we would rather do t
in the way of a game.
a little of what we call poker, and
what is to hinder you from having a good pile
to take home to the brethren?”

TheparsOn admitted that in his youn and
unregeneraied days he had occasionally nger-
ed the pasteboards, but protested that he knew
nothing about poker.

r “ We will teach you," said George. “It is
simple enough, and only for pastime, you know.

des, a new band at the game always has the
best luck—that is the invariable rule. If you
find your luck running to suit on, you can get
a nice sum out of iii! for your c urch.”

George Dsice’s persuasive arguments, to-
gether with another glass of anti- bronchitis, de-
(Mod the wavering mind of Mr. S'imuel Saw-
tell, and he sat down at a table with Dace and
two of his friends. ’

A ack of cards was ordered from the bar
and ace proceeded to explain to the clerical
gentleman the mysterie’ of draw poker.

The nine was not at all mysterious as
George riefly but clearly laid down its laws.

It was only necessary to hold certain cards,
which had a certain value, and to bet on ihoso
first were worth betting on.

ronchial tron Is. A,

Just sit down with uni

 

 

The remembrance of his unregenerate days
enabled the pill‘son to get hold of this, and also
to fix in his mind after a fashion the value of
the hands he might hold.

But his education lacked completenms, and
practice was necessary. .

The game began with an “ ante ” of five cents
the lowest coin known in that portion of our
happy land—and Mr. Sawtell, as George Dace
had predicted, had the prhverbial luck of a new
beginner. “‘

But it was still requisite to continue the ex.
planations of the value of the cards, and occs-
sionally to look over his hand to satisfy his in-
quiring mind.

At last George Dace declared that be under-
stood the fame wall enough and might play
his hand w thout any further elp.

The person. who was elated winning small
sums, and still further elated y more of the
anti-bronchitis, was of the same opinion.

The three professionals were sure that they
had never got hold of a “ softer thing." .

Here was a man with plenty of money, ig-
norant of the game, and huf-seawver.

They had on to arran e the cards to suit
themselves, an there con d be no question of
their winning.

The only point of anxiet was the extent to
which they could induce h m to bet when they
got ready to “ rake in his pile.”

This point was practically settled when the

arson showed his recklessness by ordering at
is own ex use a round of drinks.

At that ime the game may be said to have
fairly begun.

The Rev. Mr. Sawtell’s luck stuck to him. '

and he won at nearly ever deal, a few small
pots being taken in by the ot era for the sake of
variety.

After one of his unsuccessful hands it came
to the person’s turn to deal.

He was then excited to such a degree that he
recklessly ordered more anti-bronchitis, and
sbuflled the cards so that half the pack fell on
the door.

When he had icked them up, be dealt the
four hands decen y enough.

ssippi~ Sport.

 

 

 

CHAPTER X.
a DIFFICULTY suoornsn ovm.

COLONEL Ton FOWLE was in i'xcellent spirits
when he reiurnisd to his home from Memphis;
but there was trouble on the plantation soon af-
ter his arrival.

'He had not made another attempt to go to
Cincmnati, but contented himself with writing
letters to merchants there, stating the quality
of his cotton, and inquiring as to the best terms
they would make for its rchase.

Inhis ocket he had t a price of his “boy”
SClplo, red Henning having added to Aunt
Cynthy’s money enough to bring it up to the
planter’s figure.

So Sci io was made a free man and he went
to Illino s, and it is to be supposed, as he was a
strong, healthy, and intelligent ne 0, thou h
entirely uneducated, that he was aEfe to m e
a living for himself there. .

The colonel was particularly well pleased
with the fact that he had found Fred Kenning,
and with the way in which he had found him,
which be regarded as highly dramatic and in-

tensel comical.
He also taken a strong liking to the young
sportin man.

As lonel Damas in the
never likes a man so well as a ter he as fought
him, so Colonel Fowle may be supposed to have
never felt a real affection for a man until after
he had been shot in the head by him.

He told with great gusto the story of his dis-
covery of Fred Henning, and of the peculiar
fashion in which Aunt Cynthy brought them to-
gether, and this recital was highly in resting
as well as amusing to his wife and daug ter.

The trouble began with Ella.

Her father did not seem to be as indignant as ‘

she had ex acted to find him about her adVen-
ture with ressley Munford.

When she spoke of it to him he soon mane ed
to change the talk to the subject of Art ur
Helmsley.

“ Have you seen that
been away, Ella?” he as ed.

“ No, sir. i understand that he has not been

Davis “ came in” with a pair of jacks, and : at home in sound weeks.”

George Dace with three queens, and Bowers
“ passed out.” .

n the draw Davis got two ten-spots, and
George Dace hauled in another queen.

Then the bettin began, small at first, but
increasin when i reached the person, who
“ raised the last man ten dollars.

This was not according to the programme, as
it had been arranged that the hi and and back-
breaking game should be pla e when George
Dace next got the deal; but t e hands were so
much better than had yet appeared that it
seemed desirable to humor the parsen to the ex-
tent of his foolishness.

“Fifty dollars better ” said Dace, when Tom
Davis had made his ate 0 good.

The Rev. Mr. Sawtell frowned as be examined

his caigs.

“I ink on told me,” he said, “that two
pair is a googband."

“Yes: but you mus’n’t let us know what
you’ve ot,” replied Dace.

“ W , my young friend, as I collected this
money by my own exertions, and as I think I
haven band, I will endeavor to aid the
church y venturing one hundred dollars.”

“Fifty better," promptly replied bags, as
Tom .Davis passed out.

“Really, this is too exciting for my equili-
brium,” remarked the person. “ But I must
continue to cast my bread upon the waters.”

He increased his stake fifty dollars, and Dace
at once raised it fifty more.

Mr. Sawtell by emptyingJ his pockets, suc-
czgied in finding enough make his stake

g .

“ I can do no more,” he said, “ as I have no
more money."

“ You ca I, then," said his opponent. “ What
have you got, my ministerial friend?”

“ Two pair.”

“ It‘s no good. I have four ueens.”

“But my two pair are a l ttle bigger than
your two pair,” remarked the person, as he laid
down four kin

Words woulglhever do justice to the surprise I

and consternation of George Dace and his con-
federates.

They could not speak while the Rev. Mr. Saw-
tell bundled the money into his ~kets.

Just then the steaniboat’s whistle was blown,
and the bell was rung. .

"Sorry to leave you, gentlemen, but that is
my landing,” said the person, as he rose and
hurried away. _

In a few moments with his carpet sack in his
hand. he left the cabin, and the .men who h'ld
marked bill: as a victim watched him sadly as
he went ashore.

When the boat had backed out. the second
clerk brought a card George Dace.

It was directed to surge, an i on it he read
these words;

“Thanks for your interest in the little church.
Rockon we are even now. My bronchitis is much

better. Yours truly.
“ Faiin Hume.”

\

 

“ Glad of that. But you seem to keep the run
of him a little too well. i don’t want you to see
him, Ella. I don't want you to have anything
to do with him.” '

“ You are hard on me, father. You know
that I am fond of him, and that there i nobody
else I care for—that is, no young gentleman.”

“ I tell you, Ella, that I don’t want ytll to see
him, or to speak of him, or to hear him spoken
of. Do on sup that I wodld allow you to
marr a son 0 my hitterest enem l"

“ ut the son is not your enemy, other.- He
says that he has not the slightest grudge against

you.”

“I-would rather see you lying dead at my
feet, than married to any man who bears the
name of Helmsley.”

She shuddered, though she was used to strong
expressions from that source.

‘ Of course you can run oi! and marry him if
you want to,’ centinued the colonel. “ a
girls do that sort of thing nowadays. New,

r‘icf did;kl;ut you ksow what‘ becamoof her.’

‘ wou never 0 an against our
will,” answered Ella. .“ I dunk?“ ought z; b.
sureofthat. tyou banish» onwant
metomarry,and ouk'now eligigleyoung
mensrescarcsint is . Ofcouu.
you would net want me think of marrying

'ct'i ‘l“i°""£ m. .a is i

one ow wn . a was not i .
tatlon for some minutes before he spoke.“ and!

“I don’t know about that, Ella, ’ he .id at
last. “ I am not altogether sure that it mind
he abad thing. , There is more an. m pom.
to consider in the business of marriage. The
fact is, my child, that my aflairs are not in a
first rate condition by a largle majority. Bom-
times I doubt whether I wi have an th at
all to leave ‘you, and that worries me knit...
the giézchleb: fl

“ oug you were ob ” remarked l

“It looks like it, I know, a’nd I pass torn-13c!)
man with those who are not well-posted' but
the truth is that I never more than make 'both
ends meet. and sometimes there is a p.
Every crop is drawn on for its full "13%. or.
it is made, and at the end of the year-I have less
than nothing to show for it. That is a bad way
of (icing bus users, I admit; but it costs use heap
to live, and your brother’s expenses at college
are Something SWIM. I am afraid that be is

gettivi‘i’g to bobs s ndthrifh”
‘ e m t ' n ,
zest“. a we more cheaply, she sug

“That would never do at all. If I should
give up the old style, I would be looked down
on, and my credit wouldn’t be worth a dog’s no-
tice. . Things are worse with me than you can
imagine, my child—worse than your mother
knows—and unless they change for the better, I
am not sure that I can even hold the old plan-
tation. It would kill me to have to give that
up, But if you can marry well, Ella—merry a
substantial man with land nd money—that will

I take a t weight otfm mind."
“80m; things are better than land and

»/

3 (“"313

lay en a that be ,

oung man since I have

 

_- ,9; “My... v.3?u-sxp“ .__.3

, .u...J...._

 

 

James“. A v- A:

 

 

‘in the house, including the price that was paid

"money as it belonged in fact to his creditors;
but oh

Flush Fred, the Mississippi Sport. 9

 

 

l
money,” said Ella. “ I don’t know that I need
to be rich.”

"You have always held up your head with
the best, my girl. You have never been obliged
to do any work, and have had Diggers to wait
on on. You couldn’t stand it to come down
an herd with the poor whites. John Mun-
ford. now, is a rich man without doubt, and
Pressley is his only child. You might go far-
ther and fare worse.”

Then the girl began to get angry.

“Is it possible,” she demanded, “that you
can speak of him to me in that way, when you
remembrr his outrageous behavior at the time
Mr. Henning rescued me from him?"

"Well, now, Ella," replied the colonel in a
conciliatory tone, “I have thought that there
may have teen some mistake about that. Of
course Mr. 11 nning acted like a gentleman, and
did the right thing; but it don’t stand to reason
that Pr ss Munford, a neighbor’s son, would
really mean to insult you and set your father
against him. You disliked him, and were
scared, and there may have been some mistake
about it.”

Ella declared, with an injured air, that in her
belief there was no mistake about it at all,
and her father willing] y dropped the subject.

Colonel Fowle was confirmed in his opinion
as to the mistake—if it mlly was his opinion—
by Preasley Munford’s father, whom he met
shortly after his conversation with Ella, and
who sought him out for the purpose of explain-
ing what he styled “the unfortunate occur-
rence.”

It was surel a mistake on Ella's part, the
elder Munfo insisted, and he was afraid,
considering her rejudice against Preaaley, that
she was too east y mistaken. The young man
admitted that he had been excited and a little
angry when she refused to have anything to do
with him; but he had not the faintest intention
of harming or insulting her. He had merely
declared that she must listen to his suit when
she got frightened and called for help. hen a
man came up whom Mr. Munford bad ascer-
tained to boa notoriously had and dangerous
character.

“ Hold on there!” interrupted the colonel.
“ I know Fred Henning, and consider him quite
adeCent follow. I had a little difilculty with
him, but have found him to be as straight as
most of us.”

“ Tout is a mistake of yours, colonel,” replied
John Mnnford. " The man is a river gambler,
and they can hardl be classed among decent

ple. It is my be ief that he deserves hang-
ng, and that he will yet be bun . But you
have a right to your opinion. As was saying
when that fellow came along my son was 0
course too proud to make any explanations to
him, and quietly walked away. He is very
sorry that the young lady misconstrued his
motive, and wants to apologize to her, though
he really don’t consider himself deserving of
much blame. As for that trotter of yours, col-
onel just let me know when you get ready to
sell him, and I will give you as much as any-
body, and pay cash.”

80 the disagreeable reacontrs was smoothed
over, and Colonel Fowle took an earlv op r—
tunity to inform his family that the stair ad
been satisfactorily explained, and that be ex-
pected them to treat John Munford and his son
as friends.

Ella said nothing, but inwardly declared that
nothing could chr persuade her to be friendly
with either of them, and her mother was quiet-
ly of the same opinion.

 

CHAPTER XI.
moon: on menu’s nan.

Tn next trouble in Colonel Fowle’s family
was a dark and mysterious matter.

Shortly after his return he had loaned to an
Arkansas man named Huffner the sum of three
thousand dollars, happening to have that amount

for Scipio.
He had not really been able to spare the

. n Munford, who introduced the bor-
rower. had explained to him that it was a rare
chance to get a bigl! rate of interest; that the
loan would be amplév secured b a mortgage on
land in Arkansas; bat it won d fall due in a
.hort time, and that he might as well get the
interest as give an body else the benefit of it.

So the colonel ad concluded that he would
put of his creditors, whose charges had doubt-
ess been exorbitant, and loan the money.

The mortga e was to be taken to Arkansas
to be recorde bya gentleman of the neigh-
gorhood, who was going to Helena in a few

ays‘.

In the meantime the colonel ke t it locked up,
together with a few hundred dol rs in mone ,
in a drawer of a desk in a little room on t 0
ground floor which he styled his office.

No such nuisances as burglars, or thieVes of
any description, had ever been heard of in that
no ghborhood, and the thought of a possible loss
did not'lnter his head.

 

Yet, when be unlocked his desk-drawer on

the morning of the day when he expected the
gentleman who was going to Helena, the money
and the mortgage were both gone! i

The draWer had been broken open, and the
marks of a chisel or some sneh instrument were ,
pl-ninly visible.

Then there was trouble in the Fowle family.

The colonel raged and stormed about the :
house, and all the sympathy and soothing of
his wife and dau hter could not pacify him.

It was along time before he was ab e to speak
of the matter with any degree of calmness.

Then he declared that the robbery was un-
heard of and unaccountable.

“ Who besides yourself knew what was in the
drawer?” asked Mrs. Fowle.

“ Nobody but you, my dear?”

“I am not sure that I knew it. Was any-
body with you when you put the paper away?"

"Mr. Huifner, the man who got the mone ,
was in the room, and John Munford, who th—
nessed the signing, and the county clerk who
attended to the legal part of the business.’ .

“ They are all above suspicion, I suppose.”

“Of course they are, Maria. Some thief
wanted to get the money, and happened to take
the aper with it.”

“ t is strange that the dogs gave no alarm.”

“The thief must have been somebody who
was aguaintcd with them, and who was ac-
qualn with the house and with m ways,
too. Scip left here the day after that usiness
was settled.”

“ We have always considered Scip an honest
boy " said Mrs. Fowle.

‘ es; but he may have wanted mono to
give him a start up yonder. Well, M I
don’t expect to see the moneys sin; but the
mortgage matter I hope, can arranged.
John unford tells me that Huflner is the
right kind of a man, and I have no doubt that
when the loss is explained to him he will
pinks, me a new mortgage. 1 will write to

rm.

The colonel did write, and in the course of
time he got a letter, but not from Huflner
saying that the gentleman had gone to Missouri
to look after a lead mine, in which he was in-
terested.

But that letter was not received until after
more trouble had been piled upon Colonel Fowle’s
devoted head.

He went to John Munford with the story of
his trouble, and that gentleman sympathized
with him most heartily, but assured him that
the mortgage business would be straightened
pp, as Huffner would be willing to do the fair
hin .

“ft will take time," said he “and you may
have to go through some legal formalities; but
it will be all ri ht in the end.”

“ I am afrai that I will be ressed for mono
before it is fixed u " comp ained the colone .
“ Indeed, I find myse in want of funds already.
I thought that if m creditors should bein-
clined to make it ho for me, I might arrange
with them by an assignment of the mortgage,
and still collect the interest. But I wish now I
hadn’t let that money go.”

“If on want money, colonel, su pose you
sell me . em. I am anxious to own t at horse,
and I won’t take any advantage of you. What
do you call him worth, now?"

“ y price is two thousand dollars, and I
would hate to sell him at that.”

“I will pay you that amount for blur—that
is, in a few days, when I will have some cash
comin in.”

“ It Is a bargain,” replied the colonel, and the
prospect of ready cash raised his spirits at

once.

But before the two or three days had elapsed,
Nero was missin .

The horse, which was young, a very promis-
ing trotter and a valuable animal, had been the
petlea‘nd the pride of the family since he was

on .

He had a special clover-lot near the house,
into which he was turned durin the day, and at
n ht he was secured in a lockeg stable.

as morning, the negro servant who had
charge of him came to the house in great con-
sternation, bringing the astounding information
that Nero had been “ stoled away."

He had locked Nero in his stable as usual, and
m put the key in his pocket; but in the morn-
ing the lock was found to have been wrencbed
off and the horse was gone.

It was useless to try to track him, and the
manner and direction of his disap; earance re-
mained a mystery.

Colonel Fewle was even more enraged at the
loss of Nero than he had been at the theft of his
mortgage and money.

It seemed to him that he had sustained a dou-
ble loss—both of the horse and of the sum be was
to et for him.

is wife and daughter with difliculty re-
strained him from inflicting an unmerciful
whi ping upon the negro groom “ to make him
con 053."

While he was fretting under this affliction, he
received a sharp letter from his prlDCIpfll cred-
itor in Memphis. insisting upon the settlement

 

of his claim, and threatening legal proceedings.
As Colonel Fowle had as yet heard nothing

from Helena, he was put to his stumps, as he
expressed it, to raise money.

"Marie," he said to 1118 wife one day, “I
have tlvcided to sell the gin-house in the old
field. It has never brought me in enou b to

' pay me for my trouble and the machinery
l needs repairs which I can t afford to make.”

“Can you sell it to advantagel” she mixed.

“ Yes. As it happens I have a good offer for
it in cash just when I need money. John Mun-
ford knows some men in Memphis who Went to i
buy it and enlarge the business. It is in a good l
location, you know, and has a fair run of cus-
tom. I will write to them today, and accept
the offer.”

He did write; but. before he got an answer to
bind the bargain, the in-lonse caught fire at
ni ht, and was entire y destroyed, together
with a quantity of seed and lint cotton.

There was no insurance. and it could hardly
be doubted that the fire was the work of an in-
cendiary.

The colonel was so completely cast down by
this disaster, that he was eyen incapable of
venting his indignation.

“ Ei'her I am the unluckiest man living,”
said he, “or I have some bitter enemy in the
nei hborhood that I know nothing about.”

“ t seems to me,” remarked Mrs. Fowle,
“that everytbin you have undertaken in con—
nection with J n Munford, or under his ad-
vice. has turned out badly."

“ There is nothing in that, Maria—nothing at
all in that.”

“ But it has been very unlucky.”

“ Yes, I am a very unlucky man, and now
I am in such a bad fix that 1 must begin to try
to haul in my horns. I am glad that Mar-
shall’s vacation is at hand. I shall write to the
boy to save his money, and come straight home,
and it is doubtful whether he can go back to
college.”

 

CHAPTER XII.
a BRAND most ms: sumac.

Tm! landing at which Flush Fred left the
Philadelphia, after his little game with George
Dace and his partners, was the city of Helena.

Not much of a city then or since, but quite a
bright and pleasant town when it was not
afflicted by an overflow.

Such a visitation had recently occurred, and
its «fleets Were still visible in pools of stagnant
water, upset sidewalks, stained and aorrOwiul
houses, and a vanety of stranded dugouts,
rafts, and other high-water craft.

But Flush Fred saw little of this dils idation
{Inst then, as it was dark when he in ed, and

e gladly accepth the offer of a young African
tolpilot im to a hotel.

e had come ashore simply because he had
pla ed and won his tame, and did not care to
go urther on the Phi adelphia.

Besides, as he had got even with his Job’s
comforters, it would have been adding insult to
in 'ury to remain on the boat.

e reflected on this matter as he went, and by
the time he rrached the m-pretcntious hostelry
for which he was bound, had made up his mind
as to what he would do next.

In Helena he would remain, until such a boat
as suited him shonld come along, and he might
conclude to “ work the town.”

“ This rig bas wcrked amazingly well,” be
said to himself. “ If it fooled George Dace and
the others, it would fool anybody. I will stick
to it awhile, and perhaps may pick a sucker
or two, or take a rise out of some of t a boys.”

80 be registered as Rev. Samuel Bawtell, and
in the room that was allotted to him he slept
the sleep of the just.

In the morning he sallied out after breakfast
to investi ate the moral and pecuniary condi-
tion of He ens.

After he had successfully introduced “ the
bronchitis gag ” at a saloon, but without meet-
ing any person who seemed likely to indulge in
a ittle “draw.” he came to a small (Bee in
and about which there was some excitement.

It was the tfiice of the police ms isfrate and
Fred stepped in, to look about an take items
concerning the administration of Justice in that
latitude.

There were but three prisoners who had been
brought in from the calabooee, and one of them
was a person whom the stranger recognised at
once.

It was a bumpbacked fellow named Charley
Schramm, who was well known on the river as
one of the lower class of gamblers.

Though he was an adept at Various games he
was not considered likely to rise to eminence in
his profession, as his figure and his habits were
against him.

Charley. was a young person of low origin and
instincts, uneducated. slovenly by nature and
pracdce. and strongly addicted to indulgence
in the “ flowing bowl.”

The last named failin prompted him to fre-
quent sprees, which nsua ly ended in the gutter,
and put him pecuniarin in a chronic condition
of needing to  “ staked ” by some prosperous
and sympathetic member of the profession.

When Flush Fred saw him in H-rlena he nat-
urally concluded that Charley had been enjoy-
lng one of his “ periodicals,” and the humpback

 

l

l

 

PlumesVisauississisn Siam:  

 

 

10,-

surely did present to the observer the a pear-
ance of a river town that had been adly
flooded.

The charge against him, as stated by the local
guardian of the peace, was “drunk and raising
a row.“

Charley Schramm did not deny it, and made
no appeal for mercy when the official in charge
announced the penalty of his offence.

“Three dollars and costs.”

Then it was that Flush Fred lifted up his
voice, as he would have said, like a pelican in
the wilderness.

“ I will pay the fine of that unfortunate
young man. It will be a merciful, and pose i-

ly‘ a providential act. "

he official flgured up the sum to bepaid,
which amounted “ with costs," to over sixteen
dollars.
“The total reminds me,” remarked the Rev.
Hr. Sawtell, “of the dress of a woman of
Bab lon. It cost very little for the goods, but
w; thnwas required to purchase the trim-
in

The magistrate stared at the clerical gentle-
man. and so did Charley Schramm.

“ Peradventure the youth may be snatChed as
a brand from the burning," said Fred, as he
settled the bill. “Come with me, my young
friend, and after I have administered food to
your body I will consider the needs 0L your
spiritual condition.”

“Queer customer that," remarked the guard-
ian'of the peace, as the Rev. Mr. Sawtell walked
away with the culprit.

Charley Schramm doubtless wondered as
much as any body, but said nothing, as he was
then in a coadition of such muddle-hesdedness
and depression, that he was scarcely able to
collect his scattered ideas, and was ready to ac-
09 Is any sort of a fate without a murmur.

or did Flush Fred say anything, until he had
Emulght the humpback into his room at the

ote .

Then he placed before him a bottle of whisky
and a glass.

“Peradventure, my poor youth,” said be,
“you may be benefited phys cally by a hair of
thedog that bit you. Verily there are times
when strong spirit is a comforter and arms-
tainer. But ask me not for more; for at the
last it biteth like a serpent, and stingeth like,an
adder.”

Charley eagerl and liberally helped himself
to the liquor, an his benefactor followed suit
with greater moderation.

“ I'm a thousand times oblige? to you, stran-
ger," said the humpback; “ t b‘grayshus, I
can't thinkbow you happened to take pity on
such a poor devil as I am." ,

. “You have an honest face, my poor young
friend.”

Charley almost grinned.

“You have an honets face,though you are not
lovely tolook upon, and on remind me of a
Sabbath—school scholaro mine who unfortun-
ater  while fording a creek to go to
churc one Lord's Dav."

Charleey did grin. He had never before then
suspect of having an honest face. It was one
of his drawbacks in his rofession that he did
not halve an hogan face. i e was, moreoverilso
strong y 0 pos to water n every shape, t at
be was no‘t) likely to meet the fate of the Sab-
bath school boy.

“I would fain.” continued the person, “ re-
deem you from the vice of intemperance, and

t you in the way of earning a res table

'vin Yes, my son, you may parta e of a
ma portion of the spirits.”

Charley, who had been looking longingly at
the bottle, speedily availed himself of th 3 per-
mission to moisten his gullet.

“That’s the ticket! he exclaimed. “The
liquor won’t bother me any more. I’ve had my
spree, and it’s over. I went down to the bot-
tom, and now I’m coming up. What I need,
b’gra shus, as you say, is somebody to stake me,
and era’s suckers in this team, b’grayshus,
that I can win a pile of! of."

The person groaned, and raised his hands in

horror.

“ You needn’t be ofilsh,” said the hunchback.
“ You shall be pardneni with me, b’gra shus,
and I'll divide square, sure’s my name is C arley
Schramm.”

This was too much for the gravity of the Rev.

VH1“. Sawtell, who laughed outright.

“ What in thunder you larfln' at?” demanded
Charley.
“ Young man, do on know me?”
“ Durned if I do. ever set eyes on you afore,
b’g‘rayshus.”
- he person tore off his blue spectacles.
“ Look at me now."
“Seems like I’d seen you afore, but I can’t
allace you. b’grayshus. You look sorter like—
t it can’t be.
Fred changed his voice.
“ It I should make one or two more slight
changes you would know me 33—"
“ lush Fred, b’gra shes!" exclaimed the de-
bted hunchback. he best feller on the river!
is is the richest game yet. I’m as glad to see

ion as if I broke a bank. But whatare you

’ here in that rigi”

 

 

Fred Henring related, evidently with pleas-
ure, the story of the little game be had p ayed
with George Dace and the others on the Phila-
delphia, and his companion highly enjoyed the
recital.

“ I thought I would stick to this rig for
awhile,” said he, “be ause I may make it pay
here in Helena. and I will give you a chance to
helgme, as I have found you and you belong to
me.

“ Count me in all over, b’grayshus.”

“I will count you in for what you are worth.
Now, Charley, go down-stairs and take a wash.
Don‘t be afraid of the water for once, and brush
up and make yourself decent. Do you need
any clothes?"

“ A few little things.”

“ And of course you are flat broke. Here’s a
ten. Get what you need, and account to me
for the money, and hurry back here for din-
ner. Not a drink while you are out, Charley—
mind that.”

The humpback went out, and Flush Fred
lighted a cigar, sure that his commands
would be implicitly obeyed.

CHAPTER XIII.
FLUSH FRED DISCOVERS SOMETHING.

WHEN Cnarley Schranim returned to Flush
Fred, his appearance was decidedly more re-
spectable than it had been when he was arraign-
ed before the magistrate.

Fred, who had resumed the character of the
Rev. Samuel Sawtell, took him down to dinner,
and after dinner they sought a quiet place to
smoke and talk.

“ Here is the change for your ten,” said the
bum back, emptying his pocket of money.

“ on may keep it for your honest ,” replied
Fred.

“That reminds me, old man, of a. little while
ago, when you told me that I had an honest
face. You said it so seriously, b‘grayshus,
that I could scarcely km p from snickerin’.
Thinks I, here’s the softest thing I’ve come
across in a month 0’ Sundays, and I’ll just
work the. person for all he’s worth, b’gray-
shusl”

“If you had tried it, young man, it would
have astonished you to see yourself snapped up.
I don’t look for any more gratitude from you,
Charley, than on would have shown to the
parson; but I o expect you to be honest and
truthful toward me, and to mind what I say."

“You may bet your last dollar, Fred, that
I’ll stick to you likea plaster as longas you
will let me hang on.”

“ I mean that on shall. And now I want to
know what you ave been doing with yourself
lately.”

The hunckback’s countenance fell, and it was
clear that he was not anxious to have his ante-
cedents inquired into. The e es of his “ honest
face” refused to meet the ock of his inquis-
itor.

“ What have you been doing with yourself?”
repeated Fred.

“ You know what I‘ had been doin’, b'gray-

l)

 

shus, when you picked me up.

“ Yes: but your sprees don’t last long. They
are hot and heavy, and soon over, like a thun-
der shower. You have not been seen on the
river or near it for some weeks, and none of the
boys knew what had become of you. We
thought you must have gone home to our
folks, or tumbled into the river in a fit 0 the
jim- ams.”

“ hain’t got no folks, and never got down to
the triangles yet.”

“What have you been doing, then? It will
be best for you to own up.”

“ The fact is, Fred, that I’ve j’ined an associa
tion. ‘

“ An association? Not a temperance or Sun~
day school association I’m keen to bet.”

“ Not by a long shot, b’grayshus.”

“ And not an association of houest men.”

“ Well, sca’cely. You seem to be acquainted
with me, old chap. As you are the only man
who'is likely to help me out of the scrape I am
in, and as you won’t try to do it unless I iVe
you the rook-bottom facts, b’grayshus, my .st
chance is to make a clean breast of the whole
business, b’grayshus "’

“ Now ou‘re talking, Charley. Fire ahead.”

“ You ow, Fred, that I never got along
well on the river, ’cause 0’ one thing and t’other.
I fretted because I couldn’t hold up my head
with the rest of the boys, and was always in
hot water.”

“ Hot what? Nobody ever accused you of
meddling with water.”

"You know what I mean. One day when I
was in this very town. cussiu’ my luck, and
wishin’ I had money enou h to get blind drunk
on, b’grayshus, I fell in w th a man who said he
had seen me often on the river, and had taken a
notion to me; but he didn’t tell me that I had
an honest facs; b’ rayshus.”

“ Of course he idn‘t, if he had sense.”

“ He seemed to be glad that I wasn’t that
sort, and he told me how I could get lots of
money by ’ining the association, and it’s an as-
sociation o crooks, b‘grayshus, as I reckon you
have guessed."

“ Easy enough to guess that.”

 

 

“Sol "ined," continued the hunchback; “ but
I haVent been initiated yet,.and am on] a
workin’ member, as they cal it. But ’ve
found out enough to knew that this is the head-
quarters, and that the head crook—the man

' they call the boss—has a fine place up in Ten-

nessee, where he is a high-flyer among the big
bu s. b’grayshus. There’s another agency down
in ississippi, near Friar’s Point.”

“ Vi but do they go for, Charley 3"

“Don’t you kn0w? Sometimes it’s bosses—
one thing and another—’most anythin’ that
can  carried of! and turned into money.
Workin’ the three States, you see, is mighty
handy. What’s picked up in Tennessee is run
of! into Mississippi or Arkansas, and Missis-
51ppi lunder goes over here or u there. and so
on. he ’ve got a little steam t, called the
Sunset, t at used to run up the Forked Deer.
She pretends to be a tradin’ boat now; but they
use her mostly for the association’s business.
She is light enough b’grayshus, to run over a
field of rose when t e dew s on.”

“Don t you know, Charley, that if you stick
to that sort of business you are likely to bring
Up in the State prison, or at the end of a rope!

“You bet I do, b‘grayshus, and that‘s what’s
worryin’ me, ’specially as they don’t do the
fair thing b me and let me in among the hi h-
hinders. T ey strike it rich sometimes y
makin’ deeds of other folks’ lend. Of course
that’s a touch above me; butI don’t like the
style of gettin’ more kicks than coppers, b’gray-
shus. Oh, I’m keen to cut loose.”

‘* Why don’t you cut loose, then?”

“The fact is, Fred, that the boss has got the
devil’s own grip on me. When I j’ined they
set me to stealin’a boss, and I stole it—the
worst ob I could have done. b’grayshus. It
seems t at they can prove that I did it, without
mixin’ themselves up with me, and the boss
tells me that if I kick he will see toit that I
suffer for that trick, and John Munford is a
man who means what he says, b‘grayshus.”

Fred Henning, who had leen listening rather
languidly to the hunchback’s account, scddenly
awoke to a lively interest in the subject.

“John Munford’i” he exclaimed. “Is that
the name of the man you call the boss?”

“Yes. I didn’t mean to let it out; but his
name is John Munford."

“ And he has a place in Tennessee. Is it near
Memphis?"

“ Somewhere above Memphis—not far from
the giver: h I

“ ou avaseen im so W'ha d
he look like!” ’ pm t m

“A tall and bi -boned man, about fifty, I
reckon, with a big lack heard with gray in it,
small eyes, and a heavy voice.”

“ The very man!” exclaimed Fred. “Charley,
that’s the John Munford who wants tokill me.”

“ What does he want to kill you for!”

“ We had a row over a game of poker. He
tried to put the cards up on me, and i beat him
at that game, of course, and beat him out of a
big pile of mone , too. He has sworn that he
will kill me, an he went for me in Cairo not
long ago, but lost his chance.”

“ If that’s the case,” remarked the hunchbeck,
“you had better keep out of his way, b‘gray-
shus; for he is mighty apt to fetch you, sooner
or later.”

Fred Henning had put on his considering-mp,
and he smoked meditativer for a few minutes.

Then be fixed his 9 es on the hunchback.

“Charley,” he sei , “why shouldn‘t you get
ahead of the man who wants to put you in
hock by sending him there? Why shouldn’t
you x something on him, and explode a mine
under him! Why shouldn’t you have the credit
and the reward of breaking up that band of
robbers?”

“None of that for me,” replied the bunch-
back. “It a ouldn’t pa me a cent, b’grayshns.
The reward would be a l in credit, and ami hty
long credit at that. Then, again, some 0 the
association would be sure to make dog’s meat 0’
me, b’ yshus.”

‘ I t ought, Cherie Bchramm, that you were
never afra d of anyth ng but water."

“ I don’t believe I am afraid: but I hain’t got
head enough for that sort 0’ thing, b’gra shus."

“You don’t need to have. I will at nd to
the head business. All Iwant you to do is to
kee in with those ,of yours for a while,
an introduce me am them. I will see‘tbat
you get a stake when on need one and will
steer you clear of trouh e." '

"It Will be easy enough to introduce you,
b‘grayshus. The head crook here in Helena is a

man named Lewis Mosely, who keeps a liquor

shop near the edge of town.
2‘ are: m 
' g t. ow shall I introduce on!”

“ As Rev. Samuel Sawtell, a personywho has
gone to the bad, and then let me lay my game
to suit myself. If you ever cal me an thing
ggth’arson among that crowd, I will hrea your

a .

CHAPTER XIV.
n ma mvnnnns’ non.

ABOUT Lewis Moser there was nothin of
the appearance general y attributed to the inn.
dit chief of romance.

 

i
l
l
l
l

 

or“!

-‘

‘

Flush Fred, the Mississippi Sport.

_11

 

,.,

 

Indeed, he would never have been supposed
by people who were unacquainted with him to
be anything but what he purported to be—the
proprietor of the unpretentious mu known as
the Travelers‘ Home. .

In person he was short and stout, with a
nearly bald head, a stubby gray beard, 'full and
fat face, small eyes, and a generally ‘I‘eutonic
appearance. _

When he s ke it was With an accent and
some of the dioms of a German Jew, and it
me be resumed that that was what he was.

’I’he , revelers’ Home, which was styled a
hotel because it boasted a few beds and a bar,
was a house of call or stopping-place for farmers
and market men who came in from the country,
and for whose teams there was a shedded-

ard.
yOutside of this class of custom it had but
little business to do, except with men who were
specially interested in the pro rietor.

Lowis Mosely was not I litt e surprised when
Charley Schramm came to his hostelry accom-

anied b a clerical-looking gentleman whom

e intr nced as Rev. Samuel Sawtell, from
Mississippi.

“Glad to see
“ but, by shimin
breachers for so
how to talk mit ’em.

you,”was Mosely’s welcome;
Shackson, I don’t seen no
ng dot I don’t scarcely know
If you vos like a leedlc

'vine, now—~"

“Whisky in mine,” replied the parson—
“whisky lain.”

“Ali, ot’s der right kind of a breacher—
hardshell Baptees, I reckon, boy?"

“The fact is,” said the parson, “thatI had
trouble with my last church. A married wo-
man, the young wife of one of the elders,
seemed to he fonder of me than she was of her
husband, and some people objected to that sort
of thing. They objected to it so strongly that,
in the language of the world’s people, I had to
skip the town.”

“An, doao vimmensl dose vimmensl Dey
makes trouble mit the best of us. Here’s your

oot health, sir, and hopin’ you makes better
uck as some breachers get.”

“Oh, I don’t complain of my luck. When
the church cast me off I found it easy enough
to pick up a living, provided that I wasn’t too
particular as to how I got it.” '

“ But you vos a breacher yet,” said Mosely.

“ Of course I am, when I choose to be.”

“Dot’s mighty nice—to be a breacber. and
a smart man, and not care for dings. Dere’s
blendy chances for such breachers like dose."

After this introduction and explanation the
person and Moser got on very well together
the latter finding in the intelligence and
education and evident knowledge of the
world of the former much to admire and

envy.
Their intimacy was extended and cemented

b Mosely’s discowry that the raon could
praylcards and was specially fon of the old-
ashioned game known as seven-up, or “ olt

slaitch," as the innkeeper styled it.

“ I been lookin‘ dose t’ree ears,” said he, “ to
find me somebody vot can lay olt slaitch mit
me. Dot vos my sbtrong bolt.”

It was indeed his strong hold, as Fred Hen-
ning discovered when he sat down to the game.

In all the arts of the old game, including
“stackin ” the cards, and turning up jacks
from thefimttom and other improper places, he
was such an adept that Fred was “put to his
trumps” in more senses than one to hold his

own.

But he did hold his own, though he was out
of practice with that particular game, and
when he “got his hand in ” he astonished the
lnnkeepcr with his skill.

Whenever the person was a game, Mosely was
jubilant.

He was so delighted at bavin
who could beat him at “olt
rs oiced in being beaten.

he rson so won upon him—and on from

him—teat he took Charley Schramm side at a

convenient opportunity, and sounded him as to
rson’s true character.

“ oost der kind of man vot vs want, Shar-
loy.” he said. “Only dink—a breacher, and a
man like doti He vos all t’rowed avay as a
hereon. Vot dings he could vind owit,
and vot shobs he could put up, on der breacher
lay! Yoost der mau vot vs vent, by shiminy
Shackson!"

“ Right on are, old man," replied the bunch-
back. “ hat-'9 way I brought him here. He
would be worth a Ie to you in a-buslness way,

found a man
aitch,” that be

if ra shoe, and I shouldn‘t wonder if you can
go in , if you 0 to work right."
So the “he crook” sounded the person.

him hints and intimations concerning his

givin
on e employment. which were favorably re—

lceived by him for whose benefit they were in-

tended, and Fred was so charmed with the inn-
keeper and his ways that he declared his inten-
tion of stoppin a while at the Travelers’ Home.
“There is on (y one strange thing about you,
my friend,“ sai he. “ It is easy to see that von
are a German; but Lewis Mosely is not a Ger-
man name."
“ Veil, vat of dot! Dis is a vree untry, and
body can haf a name to t himselluf.

 

If it vos Mosely here, or Auifner dere, or some-
body else some odder vliere, dot vos beesners.
So dnr money cooms in, vat makes der name?"

“That is what I believe,” answered the par-
son. “ If the money comes in, what matters
an thing?"

t has been said that Mosely‘s establishment
was a stopping-place for farmers who came to
t0wn with loads of cotton and other produce.

One of them, on his way back. stopped to feed
and water his mules on the evening that suc~
ceeded Flush Fred’s arrival.

He was considerably exhilarated by the bev-
erages with which the Helena bat-keepers had
supplied him, and exhilarated himself still fur-
ther at the Travelers’ Home.

Naturally he became boastful, and exhibited
a pretty fat roll of money, which made Lewis
Mosely s eyes glisten.

At the same time he declared his intention of
driving home that night.

“ Besser you vos not,” remarked the inn-
keepei'. “ Maybe you get yourselluf stole
ava . ’

“ Not while I carry this,” replied the country-
man as he showed a heavy revolver.

After awhile he went out to look after his
team, leaving his coat and his pistol in the bar-
rOom.

Lowis Mosely examined the revolver.

When he had finished his examination it was
no longer a deadly weapon.

“It would be as easy as rolling of! a log to
get that roll of money,” suggested the parson.

“ Not in mine house,” replied Mesely. “ Dot
vould gif der Drafelers‘ Home a bad name, and
keep dose peoples avay." '

He spoke to two men who had been lounging
about the place, and they left the house.

The owner of the pistol soon returned to the
bar-room, exhilaratei himself a little further,
got his coat and his weapon, and drove away.

Within less than two hours, while Moser
and the parsOn were deep in the mysteries of
“ olt slaitch,” the countryman’s team came rat
tlin back to the house, and he burst in with a
piri.u| story.

He had been stopped on the road by two men
armed with revolvers, who had robbed him of
all his money.

“ What for you don’t shoot ‘eml” inquired the
sympathetic innkeeper.

“ did snap at ’em twice; but the durned pis-
tol wouldn’t go off.”

“I told you dot you besser vos shtalv.”

The countryman’s sad story was istened to
with emotion at the Travelers’ Home, and he
received much good advice.

Lewis Mosely kindly put him to bed u stairs,
amuriug him with a great display of li rality
that he would not charge him a cent for the
accommodation of himself and his mules.

Before long the two men who had quietly
left the bar-room came in as quietly.

Directly after their arrival the innkee r
exhibited to the person a roll of money, simi ar
in appearance to that which the countryman
had shown.

“ Vot you says vos gorrect,” he» remarked.
“ So long as der money moms in, vot madders
an odder dings!"

his was so (plain and to the purpose that the
two men he no difficulty in coming to an
understanding.

One thing led to another, until the parson
declared his desire of joining the association,
and Mosely was of the opinion that there would
be “ no droibles mit dot.”

“ To-morrow,” said he, “ Mr. Preston coomes
here, and he vixes dings for you.”

“ W ho is Mr. Preston?” inquired Fred.

“ A young man vot is high up in dis business
—a mighty shmart young feller, too. Vot Mr.
Preston says is so goot like vot der boss says.”

The next day brought Mr. Preston to the
Travelers’ Home.

He was a rather tall young man, dark-faced,
and not prepossessin in features or expression,
passany well dresse , but not stylishly.

In Fred Henning’s opinion he did not have
the appearance of a person who ought to be ex-
tensively trusted in the management of such an
organisation as that which he was supposed to
re resent.

t also seemed to Fred that the young man’s
voice had a somewhaf familiar sound, and he
was inclined to the bel of that be had seen him
previously; but he had met so many young men
of Mr. Preston’s stamp, that he too no particu-
lar notice of the impression.

Mr. Preston had along confab with the inn-
keeper, and afterward entered into conversa-
tion with the rson, whose appearance seemed
to strike him evorably.

“ My friend Mosely has taken a strong notion
to you, Mr. Sawtell,” he said. “ He tells me
that he has given you some hints about a money—
making business that some of us are. engaged in,
and that you want to be a partner.” .

“I think you would find me useful in more
we a than one,” replied Fred.

‘ I am sure that we would. From what
Moeely and Charley Bchramm say about you,
and from what I have seen, you are net the
sort of a man we want. To have a cle cal gen-
tleman among us will be, as you say, very use-

 

ful. I suppose you can act the parson, as well
as look like one.”

“ Oh, yes; I am regularly licensed to preach,
and all that sort of thing."

“ I may have a job for you before long that
will give you a chance in that nay—something
in the marrying line. I will go back to Tennes-
see and report to the boss, and Mosely will let
you know when you can be a full member."

“ To Tennessee!” muttered Flush Fred, after
this interview was OVer. “ He must go to Ten-
nessee and report to the boss. I believe that I
will go to Tennessee, and I may report to the
boss, too!”

 

CHAPTER XV.
on m TENNISSII mm

m Helmsley place, as Arthur Helmsle 's
farm or plantation was known, for lack (1a
more distinctive title, was a fine estate which
had been badly run down by extravagance and
bad management.

It was a common saying among the neigh-
bors that it was a good thing for the property
that Arthur’s father died, as he would have
left nothing of it if he had lived much longer.

What he did leave to his son was an in-
cumbered estate and the famil feud with the
Fowles, an expensive lawsuit ing connected
with the feud.

Arthur devoted himself mainlyto economy
and hard work, endeavoring to make the plan-
tation yield a good support for his mother and
silstier, and to clear of! the mortgages and other
c a ma.

It is true that he had also inherited his fa-
ther’s fancy for games of chance; but he fancied
that he might get money in that way more
rapidly than by hard work.

His experience with Flush Fred had cured
him of that delusion.

Arthur’s widowed mother was a good and
lovable woman. but not strong-minded by any
means.

His sister Kate, a bright and very pretty
brunette, was intelligent and vivacious, active
and industrious, a ready seconder of all Arthur’s
eflcrts, and his unwavering admirer.

“ Who is that friend of yours, Arthur, who is
coming to visit you!” asked Mrs. Helmsley one
morning. ~

" Henning is his name—Fred Henuing.”

“I think I heard you say to Kate that be is a
river gambler.”

“ That is his profession, I admit—if it can be
called a profession.”

“ Mercy on us! How can you do it. my son!
Think of your poor father. The money be lost
by gnmbing would make us all comfortable
now

“ I don’t gamble, mother."

“But such associates might draw you into
it. Our habits depend largely upon the com-
pany we keep.”

“ There is no danger that I will lose any! him;
by Fred Banning.”

“ But is be exactly a proper person to lulu:
into your home?" persisted Mrs. Helms c}.
 2: fitting company for a young girl line

8

“ I think, mother, that you ought to l-e ao-
qnainted with Kate by this time. in nv
opinion she is abundantly able to take caie ( f

, herself, and her sound sense and good 1rincip es

are alwavs to be trusted. As for myself. i may
say that Fred Henning has done me more gnntl
than any man living. I might have squandered
money in gambling if be had not effectually
stopped that leak, aml I owe him a debt of
gratitude greater than I can tell you for the
service he has rendered me.”

“ Arthur is its right about that," said Kate
Helmsley. “ 9 has told me all about it, and I
a e with him In his good opinion of Mr. Hon-
n ng, whom I will be glad to welcome as a.
friend.” "1'

“ if you are both of the sammopiuion, on
can’t be far wrong,” replied the widow, a l tile
querulously. "You seem. by the way, to have
more confidence in each other than you have in
your mother. But you ma be sure that any
person who hasdonease cetomyson willbe
a friend of mine, and 1 will also be ghd to
welcome Mr. Henniu .” ‘

Fred Henning a ved, and was more than
kindly received by the family of three.

Mrs. Helmsley soon forgot her prejudices in
her enjoyment of his bright and intelligent con-
versat on, and Kate, who had been pr red to
admire her brother’s friend, found area delight
in his companionship, quite outside of any con-
siderations that pertained to Arthur.

Flush Fred pamed his time very pleasantly on
the plantation, not seeking any victims to (19.
vour, but simply taking his easeand enjoying
himself. ’

But he was, at times, a little uneasy and out
of sorts.

He had undertaken an enterprise, concerning
which he was 'perplexed and doubtful—not at
all sure that I would pay him for his pains.
and wondering whether it was not too
0|]!ngth for such a matter-of—fact man as him-
se .
There was an element of hard init. tom,
which he did not fall to appreciate.

 

12

Flush Fred, the Mississippi Sport.

 

 

Was it worth while for him to put his life in
peril to gain an end that could be of no special
service to himself i

It was true that John Munford had threatened
to kill him, and doubtless intended to execute
his threat some da . It might be well to fore-
stall the efforts of is enemy; but how far would
he be justified in going to meet a danger which
he did not really read?

He had decided when in Arkansas that he
would “ go to Tennessee and re rt to the boss "
~meaning that he would visit ohn Munford in
his assumed character of the parson, and dive
deeper into the secrets of that man’s life.

But he began to feel as if he might back
cultf of the engagement he had made with him-
se ..

His days of ease and pleasure with the Helms-
le s were telling on him, and he was decidedly
o the opinion that the society of Kate Helmsley
was preferable to that of John Munford.

He and Arthur exchanged confldences; but
those of the young planter were somewhat freer
and more open than those of his friend.

“I an l{on are no longer jealous of me
because fe in love with Ella Fowls ” said
Fred. “You needn’t be, as I have already for-
gotten my fancy for her, and am dead in love
with our sister.

“ to is a tins girl,” remarked Arthur, a lit-
tle coolly.

“Oh, you needn't fret at whatI sa . That
is only a form of speech, meaning that admire
her immensely. I see youn ladies who suit my
notion of what young lad es ought to be, and
know that they can never be anything to
me; but I fall in love with them, just the

same.”

“That is all right, Fred. I understand you
quite well.”

“By the way, my boy, have you seen Miss
Fowlc lately?"

“I must confess that I see her now and then.
I say that I confess, because it really seems
to be rather mean and underhanded; but
her father is so unreasonable, and young peo-
pilabzh: love each other ought to have some

3‘ Of course they ought. Is Colonel Fowls as
bitterl opposed to you as ever?”

“Fu ly. There has been no change in him,
except that he has latel been moody and de-
pressed. He has been ro bed more than once,
and has sustained some serious losses. His
financial condition was none too favorable, and
now I am afraid that he is badly crippled.
understand that he has been borrowing money
prct heavily from a man named Munford.”

“ unfordf” exclaimed Fred, who was al-
wa a wide awake at the mention of that name.
“ hat Munford’!”

“John Munford. Do you know him?”

“ Yes. Don’t you?”

“ No; I have not yet met him. It is not long
since he came into this neighborhood, having
bought the Withington farm, and be is often
absent.”

“Arthur, that John Munford is the man who
lvivtanged to kill me in Cairo, when you saved my

a.

“The deuce you as i” cried Arthur, who was
there hly wide awa e at that statement

“ It s a fact, unless I am greatly mistaken. I
have been making some discoveries about him
lately too, that are highly interesting; but I
can‘t let you into them yet. The fact is, Ar-
thur, that I have undertaken a contract with
which that man is concerned—but that is
enough. It is a secret, and I must keep it even

from tion.”

Ar ur declared that it was too bad to ex-
icits his curiosity, and than refuse to gratify

“lam sorr I said any thing about it, my

. There sdangsr mixed with the contract
I spoke of.»and I shall surely refuse to drag you
into it, for your sister’s sake, if not for your
own.

“But that man’s son is the fellow who was
troubling Ella when you came to her rescue!"

“ I know it, Arthur, and I remember his tail-
ing bar that her father was on his side. That is
one point, and there are others. Do these Mun-
fords visit at Colonel Fowle’si”

“ I understand that they are there pretty fre-
quently.”

“Just so, and John Hunford has been often
absent from the net hborhood, and Colonel
F0wls has been rob , and he has had heavy
losses. and Munford has sent him money, and
Munford’s son wants to marry his daughter.
Wait until I can place these things together.”

“ I hope you will not belong about it, Fred.
I can guess at a part of your meaning, and I in-
dstupon it that you shall let me know your
whole meaning as soon as ou reasonably can.”

“ I promise you that. ad now I must leave
your house. and go over and pay a visit at
Colonel Fowls’a. f be presses ms to stay I
may be there several days."

“ If you want to be well received, Fred, you
had better not let him know that you came
from here.”

“ I will keep that to myself, of course.”

“ Had you not better give it up! You will be
likely to meet John Munford there.”

 

“ I have no objection to that."

“He may make another attempt upon your
life, and perhaps succeed.”

“Let him try it. When I know where to
find him, 1 also know how to meet him. I
promise you, Arthur, that I will do all I can to
serve your interests over there."

CHAPTER XVI.
“I WILL sun: YOU HUNG.”

Ar Colonel Fowle’s place the master of the
house was in low spirits, the mistress was wor-
ried, Ella was distressed, and there was an air
of gloom and uneasiness over the entire planta-
tion.

Flush Fred, however, was cordially received
there, if not joyfully, and his presence seemed
to ease and brighten the family for the moment.

For his part he was glad to perceive that
Mrs. Fowle and Ella showed no signs of resent-
ment or any ill‘tesling toward him, but a pear-
ed to regard him as a friend and hem actor,
rather than as a person who had nearly de-
prived them of a husband and father.

Yet he could not help remembering that act,
and the remembrance made him vary deferen-
tial toward them both, and at the same time
anxious to do something to lighten the burden
that so evidently wei bed upon them.

It was not long a r his arrival that Ella,
who had been out on the front porch, came in
with a decided frown on her face.

“ What is the matter, Ella?" asked her mother.

“ Those Kunfords are coming here—both of
them.”

“ Please remember that they are m friends,"
said the colonel. “I am under obl gations to
Mr. Munford, too. I hope, Ella, that you will
receive them in a friendly manner."

“I will try to," she answered. .

Flush Fred felt that their arrival at that
ti ms was something in the nature of a crisis for
him; but he was prepared to meet it.

He looked at them through the window as
they rode up and dismounted, and easily rec -
nixed the man who had proclaimed himself h
hitter enemy.

Es also recognised the young man, consider-
ably to his surprise.

It was surely a young man whom he had met
when he was masquerading as the parson, who
had gone to the bad.

It was the oung man of Helena, who had
gone back to ennesnee to “report to the boss.”

It was Mr. Preston.

There could be no doubt, then, that John
Munford was “ the boss,” and that his son was
“ Mr. Preston.”

“ Would they recognize him?" thought Fred.

Of course the father would recognize him as

would perceive in Fred Henning the Rev. Sam-
Ilel Sawtell. -

The di iae that had deceived George Dace
and his f ends might be depended on.

He greatly preferred the recogni‘ion of the
father to that of the son, as he was by no means
read todisclose the double part he had been
play ng.

He rose to meet them when they came in, and
the ordeal was soon over.

John Munford was evidently surprised, and
disagreeany so, at meeting his enemy there.

His face turned red, and the frown on his
brow clearly indicated his displeasure.

Fred Kenning was introduced to them, and
the father ackn0wledged the introduction by a
cold and distant bow.

Fred also bowed stifliy.

Of course that was not a time or place for
open hostilities.

Colonel Fowle perceived this coldness, and
naturally supposed that it was caused by the
remembrance of Fred’s rough encounter with

oung. Munford when the former first met Ella

ow

I‘IsI hastened to smooth vsr that matter.

' 09°
Pmsley will have no grud against In friend
Henning on account of ant little a air in
which he interfered under a miss. rehansion.”

“ No grudge at all,” answered Jo n Kunford.
“ It was all a mistake, as has been exp to
your satisfaction."

“Just so. I have ngt yet had a chance to
explain to Banning that it was a mistake; but
that is what it was—a mistake of Ella's as to
the intentions of this young ntlsman.”

“I am glad to learn that t wasa mistake,”
re led Fred, "and I hope the young gentleman
w I accept my apologies."

The young gentleman did accept them, though
not very cheerfully, and remarked that there
was something so amiliar to him in Mr. Ben-
ning’s voice and appearance, that he thought he
must havs met that gentleman somewhere.

" That is quite probable," answered Fred.
“ If you ever travel you are likely to have met
me on the river or elsewhere."

Fred had freely oflercd his apologies—although
Ella Fowle looked strange] at him when e
did ao—for good reasons of h s own.

He was as gracious as possible toward both .

the Hunfords, because he knew that he could
gain nothing by putting them on their guard
against him.

, Munford,” as d be, “ that you and '

 

His only chance to disarm them and discover
their secrets lay in getting them to act and talk
at their case in his presence.

Colonel Fowle soon made excuses for himself
and John Munford, whom he withdrew to his pri-
vate room for a business conversation, leaving
the young people with Mrs. Fowle in the silting-
room.

It' Pressley Munford had come there for the
porno-e of wOoing Ella, he had precionslittle
opportunity to do so in the presence of Mrs.
Fowle and Fred Henning.

it was plobable that he would not have suc-
Ceeded much better in their absence, as the
young lady treated him quite coolly, and made

ut the tiriefest replies to his attempts at
familiar conversation.

Fred Hen-ling was quite sure that the court-
ing, it any, must be(,slons by one of the men in
tho- rivate room. 9

hen John Munford came out with Colonel
Fowle, he sent his son away presumably on an
errand, and Ella was relieved to that extent.

The father remained a little while longer, and
when he left, Flush Fred made an excuse for
going out, and followed him to his horse, oven-
takirw him as be was about to mount.

“ hy have on followed me?" angrily
demanded John unford.

“ I merely wanted to ask you,” pleasantly
replied Fred, “whether you are still in the
notion of killin me!”

Fred expects an affirmative answer, accom-
panied by action, and was prepared to meet it
prom tly.

“ 0—1 am out of that notion."

“Thank you. As I may remain in this neigh-
borhood a while, it isnatural thatI should want
that int settled.”

“ hen I say that Iam cut of that notion.”
remarked Munford, “ I mean that I am sure
you are bound to be lvun , as you have often
deserved to he, and that will live to see you
hung. l have concluded to wait for that."

“ And that will be satisfactory to you, 1 mp
B2“. Very well, sir. I prefer the chance of

ing hung to the certsint of being shot. When
I am bung I hope you w H be there to see the
performance.”

“You may be sure that I will,” growled
Munford, as be mounted and rode away.

When Fred returned to the house he was
taken to task by Ella Fowle, who had been
watching him jealously.

“You seem to he quit; friendly with those
Huntords ” said she.

“ 1 thin it best to be so,” he answered.

“That is a little strange, Mr. Kenning. since
you must know as well as I do that what my

. father speaks of as a mistake was no mistake at
Fred Henning, and be had no fear that the son ‘ all ”

“ I am quite sure that there was no mistake
about it, and yet I garter to be friendly with
both of those men. ut I want you to believe
Miss Ella, that however I may behave toward
them, or whatever i may have to do with them
I am always looking out for your interests, and
for those of Arthur Helmslcy.” -

Illa blushed at the mention of that name, and
also opened her 9) es wide.

“ Do you know him, than?" she asked.

“ I do, and he is my particular friend.”

“Then you may rest assured that I believe
you and trust you.”

In the evening Colonel Fowle and his guest,
separating themselves from the rest of the fam-
ily, had a rivate chat while one smoked a cigar
and the ot r a corncob ipe.

The colonel was not at [disposed to be Very
confidential concerning his own aflairs; but he
soon thawed under the chin] manner of his
friend, and began to comp in of his losses and
recount them.

Flush Fred became deeply interested in these
ions, and brought to bear upon them kcenness
and shrewdncsa which a criminal lawyer might
have on isd.

Con in the missing and unrecorded moi-t.
gags he ask substantially the same questions
that Mrs. Fowlc had asked her husband, and
was interested in learning that John Munford

had been present when the paper was laid in the.

desk-drawer.

He was also interested in knowin
borrower had been introduced by
ford, and that his name was Huffnsr.

Flush Fred, who was not given to forgetting
things, remembered so slight a circumstance as
the mention of the name of Huflnsr as one of
Lewis Moscly’s possible aliases.

“ But you may settle the matter, colonel,” he
rug csted. " If Huflncris an honest man, there
oug t to be no trouble about that.”

‘ Of course he is honest. John Hunford has
vouched for that. But i am afraid that the set-
tlemsnt will be a slow matter. I wrote to He-
lena as soon as the loss was discovered.”

F “giave you got no answer yeti” inquired

re .

" An answer came at last from another man,
saying that Hnflner had gone to Missouri to
lock after a lead mine. Here is the letter."

Fred Henning read the letter, which was
brief, and opened his eyes when he came to the
signature.

It was signed “ Lewk lonely.”

that the

 

ohn lun- '

 

' Mosely wrote the English language consider-
abl better than he was in the habit of talking
it; but the letter was unquestionably that of a
German.

Fred was convinced that both the mortgage
and its theft were parts of a “ put-up job” on
the part of John Munford to rob Colonel Fowle
and cripple him.

He was also sure that the colonel would
never recover his money from the alleged Huff-
her.

But he made no mention of his convictions to
the victim cf the conspiracy.

The time had not come for telling what he
knew of John Munford, and it might not be
eaiybto bring Colonel Fowle to his opinion.

0 stealing of the horse and the burning of
the n-houre were next discussed, and Fred did
not ail to notice the close connection of John
Munford with both of those calamities.

“ Of course the horse was stolen," he said. “ I
wish you would describe him to me.”

The colonel described Nero as a very dark
by, noarl black, with a blaze on his forehead,
and the o hind-foot white. '

“ Had be any tricks or peculiarities?"

“ He had one, but you ma be sure that I
never spoke of it to any y who wanted to
buy him. He would never trot without a
chug-rein, and it had to be tightened up pretty

all

w .

“ That could scarcely be called a defect," ob-
served Fred. “As the horse is a fine trotter
'and as I mix considerably with racing men, I
ma see him or hear of him."

colonel also informed his guest that John
Muuford had stood by him in the distress that
had followed his losses, and had advanced him
a considerable sum of money when it was sorely
needed.

“ To be sure, he is well secured,” continued
Colonel Fowle. “ He has a chattel mortgage
on the best of my nigfen, and the loan has but
a short time to run. f I should not be able to

ay it when it is due, he will of course renew

Flush Fred was b no means so sure of.that,
and the conversat on deepened his conviction
that Colonel Fowle’s affairs were in a bad way,
with no visible prospect of improvement.

CHAPTER XVII.
IN ran Lion’s DEN.

Tax information he received at Colonel
Fowle‘s, and the convictions that were forced
upon him there, decided Fred Henning against
backing out of the “contract” which he had
vaguely mentioned to Arthur Helmsley.

What he had begun as a freak, or as a matter
of personal enmity, he was prepared to persist
in as a sacred duty.

Personal enmity no longer had anything to do
with it, as it was no longer worth while to forc—
stall the efforts of his foe.

John Munford had assured him that it was
his present intention to wait and see him
ban ed.

nah Fred was also content to await that un-
desirable event.

At the same time he had a suspicion that his
laldversary might bathe first to try the virtue of

em .

Itgvas because he believed that he could see
through the designs of John Munford so well,
and because he was anxious to help those at
whom the desi us were aimed, that be deter-
mined to porsi in the “ contract.”

In his Opinion, he was under a deep obli tion
to Arthur Helmsley, who had saved his li e, and
to Ella Fowle, u n whom he had come so near
inflictin a terri lo injury.

Add to this was the excitement of pursul
the detective instinct that was born in him, an
his natural craving for adventure.

In order to carry out the “ contract,” be con-
sidered it necessary to visit John lunfond at
his home as he had purpossd doing when he
came to onnosseo.

This could only be done, of coume, in the
gal-actor of the parson who had gone to the

d.

80 he cut short his visit at Colonel Fowlo’s,
and returned to the Holmslcy plantation.

Arthur Belmsley’s curiosity had grown upon
him until it had become anxict , and he was
eager to know what disconiios lush Fred had
made ooncsrnin John Hunford.

Fred causes to explain to him a portion of
those discoVerios, and in general terms, after he
had secured a promise from Arthur that he
would not sa a word about them to any per-
son,and woul do nothingrss tin them with-
out the advice and consent 0 his f end.

“ It is my belief," he said—.H and I assure on
that I have good reason for its—that it is ohn
Munford who has been .crlppling my friend
Fowle, and at the same time getting him into
his power by lending him money on short time
and hard terms. This. as You may sup so, is
because he wants Colonel Fowlc’s dang tor to
marry his son.

“ As Ella is bitterly and teetotally opposed to

 

Flush Fred, the Mississippi Sport.

“Why don’t you explain this to Colonel
Fowle, and put him on his guard against Mun-
ford?” inquired Arthur.

“Because he would not believe my conclu-
sions, no matter how well they are rounded,
and I have nothing but conclu ions. am not
yet in a positiOn to put the facts before him so

lainly and strongly that he can‘t deny them;
But i hope to be.”

“ What do you hope to find out?”

“ I have already found out something about
John Munford: but I want to get hold of roofs
—solid and substantial facts—such as Wil send
him whirling out of the country or into the
State prison. But this is a dead secret, Arthur.”

“ I wish I could be in it and help on.”

“ But. you can’t. in fact, I Can L elp myself,
but must call on another man to help me. That
is to say, I am going to visit the Mnnfords to-
morrow, but shall 0 in disguise.”

“ I am afraid, red, that you are putting
yourself in peril for my sake.”

“There gnu danger, not yet, at least ”

“John unford may forget that he has
chan his mind, and conclude to kill you.”

“ o won’t know me from Adam‘s 0R ox
when I am ready to meet him. Come up to
my room early in the morning, Arthur—very
leiarlyras I must be away from here by day-

ht.

8“ Without your breakfast?”

“ I want to t away from here without being
seen in my isguiso, and can‘t bother about
breakfast.’

Early in the morning Arthur was in his
friend s room, and was surprised at the change
th had been made in his personal appearance
by t rscn's “ rig,” which he had exhumed
from h capacious carpet-sack.

He did not recognise Fred Kenning in the
Rev. Samuel Sawtoll.

“You see that I am all right,” said Fred.
“ Now I want you to send me away from here
quietly, and make the best excuse you can for
me to our mother and sister. I shsn‘t see you
a sin era, as I shall go on toMemphis from

unford‘s. If anything should go rticularly
wrong here drop me a line or to raph me.
Herein my Memphis address. I may not be
there, but will be found as soon as possible.
And, Arthur, above all things, I want you to
remember and mind every caution I have given
you. ,

Young Helmsley promised to do so, and the
two friends separated witha hearty hand-clasp.

Flush Fred felt no misgivings as to his recep-
tion at the home of‘his enemy.

Like Byron’s youth in the Chillon prison, he
was “formed to combat with his kind,” and
in the delicate and dangerous enterprise which
he had undertaken, he found aposilive pleas-
tire.

The Munfords, father and son. were both at
home when he reached the house, and were not
z little surprised at seeing him there at that
ime.

But that was nothing to Flush Fred, whose
easy and devil-may-care style at once forced a
wag for him into their affections.

' 0 did not need tointroduco himself as he
immediately recognized Pressley Muuford as
“ Mr. Preston,” and hailed him by that name.

So all the necessary explanations were given
by the youn man, who spoke warml of the
good—mean ng the bad—character o the ex—

parsou.

“ As I happened to he in this nei hborhood,”
said Fred, “ and as Mosely had to] me where
to find you, Ithoughtl might as well look in
and let you know who and what I am.”

“ That is ri ht,” replied John Munford. “ As
Press has sai , you seem to be just the kind of
man we want, and you come well recommended
When you get back to Helena on will find
cverythin straight for you, and think there
will soon a rich 10b ready in which you can
take a hand. I wi i give you a line to Hufincr
—Mosel , I mean."

Fred ound the Hunford mansion in no im-

rtant particulars diflerent from the ordinary

arm-houses of that region, except that there
were no white in or about the place be-
sides the proprietor and his son, and but few
colored servants. The “ niggers” who were in
sight seemed tohave been picked from among
the lowest and most vicious of their class.

The farm was kept up and cultivated after a
fashion; but the visitor suspected that this was
figflthe purpose of a blind, rather than for

f

” You see how we are here ” said John Mun-
ford. “ Everything straight and square and
respectable. Nothing here that a sheriff or even
a sharp dotectivo could find fault with. Just an
old-fashioned farm-house—that’s all. But I’ve

. got a big and fine cellar under here that I don’t

allow anybody to see. It was made by my own
niggcrs, under my own direction. and a mighty
good and usaful piece of work it is.”

Fred Kenning Would gladly have taken a
look at that cellar; l-ut he was not sufficiently
intimate with the Munfords to hint at his de-

that match, his only chance is to exert such a ‘ sire, and he was not invited to inspect it.

So he contented-himself with making a men-
tal memorandum of its existence and the limb-
able object of its existence.

pmure upon her father, and through him
223011 the family, as shall force her to come to
rms.

l

 

13

Before he left the house, the Rev. Mr. Saw-
tell was obliged to listen in sewre strictures
Upon the character of one Frmi Henning, whom
John Munf'ord had reCcnlly met. greatly to his
sui-pris» and displeasure. at the house of a
friend in the Neighborhood.

That Frl-d Helping, as John Munford de-
scribed him, was such a consummate scoundrel,
and a “monster of such hideous mien,” that
hanging Would be entirely too good for him.

It was simply astonishing that a respectable
planterlike Colonel Fowle. should associate with
such a fellow, and admit him to the society of
his wife and daughter.

“ Perha your friend don‘t know what kind
of a man E: is,” suggested the psi-son.

“ If he don’t, be wrll soon find out. I will tell
him who it is that he allcws to visit his family,
and he sha’n’t have the excuse of ignorance to
odor.”

“ Perhaps you have a grudge against the
man!" observed the parson.

“ I have, and had sworn to kill him, but
have decided, as i told him, to wait and see him
hung. If he don’t come to the end of a rope in
one way, he will in another. Some day. if he
ventures into this neighborhood again, he will
be found swin ing from one of the black-jacks
or «calms at here."

I the Rev. Mr. Sawtcll had been acquainted
with that rascally Fred Kenning, he would
surely have advised him to be careful how
he ventured into the neighborhood in which
Mr. John Munford was a prominent citisen.

As the case stood. he coincided with the views
of his boat, and accepted the hospitality of the
Munford mansion until the next morning, when
Pressley Munford drove him over to the railroad
station.

On the way be extracted no important in-
formation from the young man, cxcopt. that
Pressley spoke of his infatuation for Ella Fowle,
arr; declared his intention of making her his
w e.

“ She hasn't come around yet,” he remarked;
“but the old man will fix that. I tell you,
person, the boss is the man to tie tr, if you want
money, or anything done. Stick to the boss,
and he will st ck to on.”

The parson vow that he desired nothing
better than to stick to the boss until the hottest
portion of the universe should freeze over, and
took an aflectionate leave of his young comrade
at the railway station.

 

CHAPTER xvm.
A CRISIS UP THE COUNTRY.

TEE volunteer invcstigator had not gained

much by his visit to John Munford. and yet he
had ained quite as much as he could reason-
ably ave expected.
He had at least gained a step forward, and
had made sure of his connection with the “ as-
sociation” that owned John Munford as its
"boss ” without which connection he could
scarce y hope to accomplish anything.

He had also settled the point that in his
character of the person he need not fcar being
recognized by John Munford as Fred Kenning,
and that fact emboldened him to go on.

At Memphis he went to a room which he
kept as his permanent abode, thou h be seldom
ihised it, and which was always a order for

im.

Then he put aside the parson’s “rig,” and
issued forth as Fred Henning.

He also resumed the character of a roaring
lion, going about and seeking whom he might
devour.

The fact was that he needed money.

His Quixotic enterprise, though it was in-
teresting, and thou he expected it to be even
more useful than t was interesting, was
ductive of an outflow of cash rather than an
influx of that recious commodity, and it was
one of Flush 's fixed 0 nions thata man
without a dollar had better a dead man.

He had but one wa to accumulate dollars,
and that was byhis sk ll at cards.

As he did not wish to spare the time for a
river tri just then, he was obli toseek his
victims a the city, and necessa ly among the
members of his own profession and the skilled
amateurs who did not differ much from the
professionals.

Both of those. classes fought shy of him, and
his succe s was not very notable, chiefly because
of a lack of subjects to operate on.

While he was thus engfied. he was also an-
deavoring to perfect a emc to “beat the
bank ” at faro.

This is the eat object of the professional
gambler’s am tion—the main purpose of his
existence.

It is the dream of his life to invent a style of
playing against the bank, at. which the bank
shall invariably lose, notwithstanding its in-
variable percentage.

For this he preys upon the public whenever
he can get; hold of it: for this be journeys into
remote regions, and fleeces unsuspecting stran-
gers.

He inevitably returns to the faro bank, and
devotes his profits to the development of his
" system,” and the faro dealer rakes them in.

a... ....- w...” a, ‘-_..._. ......—. -..........h...-... _-....., _ ~—

14: T- 

I "I Flush Fred had a “system,” which he had
a ,9 been a long time developing and improving.

' He had lost much money by it, but held to
his belief in the system. as some people persist
in believing in the possibility of perpetual mo-
tiou.

While he was diVing for ducats in Memphis
he occasionally tried his system, until he be-
lieved he had "got it down fine," and that
all he needed was money enough to give it a

1 chance, and a bank of suflcient capital to ac-

, commodate him.

* He was going home one evoning, to examine

’ his system for the last time, and to ut the flu-

‘ ishing touches wit, when he ran aga nst Arthur
Helmsley.

 

The s rise was mutual. and so was the
pleasure; t Arthur’s gratification was the
mounmtrained.

“I am immensely glad to see you, Fred,”
.uid he.‘ “There is no man living whom I
wouldbebetter leased to meet just now. But

- I had not be for the good luck of finding

on. I
1 “Anything LIP?” inquired Fred, who could
mail see titted 3 friend was in trouble.

“{es, in , Matters up- my we have
come to a crisis, and the worst kind of rouble
has set in.”

p . . . “ That means John Munford, of course. What
‘_ ‘, . , hashe been dolngl” ‘

L ' . , “ You know that be had loaned Colonel Fowle
.‘ ‘1 money. It seems that the sum was five thou~
n . v sanddollars—moro than I had so posed it was.

" ’ Asnyou told me, it was lent on s ort time and
ha terms. The colonel gave him a chattel

fif-‘..2..-... -a ~4..~. ..‘;.__... g : “I

,sllortgage on several of his best bands, with
t . a power of sale in case of default of pay-
  * ment.’
 “ When the debt became due, of course the
 u. .eolonel, was unable to pay it, and his credit
j,- 3 ~ ‘ is so bad that he can’t borrow a dollar any
'-’¢  , more. He had supposed that Munford would
’ ' extend the time; at that was just where he
made the bi gent kind of a mistake.
_ “Then Jo n Munford came forward with a
'wopositiou for settlement. ‘
“- Earner-ed to let the debt go, and to call it
square, if Ella Fowlo would marry his son.
“Thecolonol had no rticular objection to
" but he knew that ila objected to it most
dot-i edly, and so he told the man.
"‘You must make her come to it’re lied
, I Munford, and the colonel went to his dang tar,
{ " x . l and made a clean breast of his business. '
 “Ella was terribly distressedl of course; but
she utterly refused to marry Press Munford, no
matter what might happen.
“The colonel reported this to his creditor,
f. who'told him ver plainly that the marriage
;  . {'1 must come ofl w thin the ten days’ grace al-
  : lowed by the mortgage, or the oolonel’s negroes
j: '- i w dhssoldout.
 u . “ hi you know, meant nothing short of

f
i
73 ~ , - ruin (a m. .
,l‘  . ' ' f‘A this was fearfully hard on Ella. It
  ' missed that she must become the wife of a man
' ' dis hated, or be regarded by her father as the
use of lis calamit
» " 80 she came to me for advice, and I hurried
o! to Memphis to borrow money to meet the
debt, though I don’t suppose the colonel would
hits it from me if i got it.
«“Bfitl have had no success worth speaking
bore, ah though I might raise the amount b
'a manage on my farm, there are legal di
 t would prevent me from getting it
 httmstostop the sale. 80 I am lad that l
have met you, and my last hope 3 that you
 i will be | letosaggest somethin .”
., " ‘ ' Flash '  listened to narration as
‘ ' v; :3“,qu w t he had expected to hear,
" 9 model: its class he was ready with-his sugges-

, , , . *~ ‘ .muckmooey haVe you got,‘Arthurl"
was". , lbw-fired 0M” '

" . I yes. muohas have. Will you trust

' in “'1:th thmgm’wryth'

‘ w on. a ing.
17 . 410 «Jr w

§ i‘ - u lineal-‘3h answered Fred, "and

amps, _ 0rd of what he p “to
that! am ready for that yet. would

an thsplan l havsformed, and I must not
unless it is absolutely necessarfo '

a ages can he done thsnl” _

 m thing will be topay‘ the money.”

I .“To pa the money! You don’t msan'to my

,: that on have got that mnahr'

:: but I hope.” get it tonight.”

'r owl”
“.i am to break the bank." .
Arthur mslsy was bewildered. Nothi
burglary arose in h

.. , . .
T.“ l'f-‘sr flown! «eve. .‘r‘Bi. with 7. <5 “5;, .
“._~.‘.._y~i.‘.-§,ai‘n‘ "A
" a
.,

 

 

.i_
l
n,

gt,

  
 

it, . ’~-./’
A

‘5‘. .
‘r .

45¢.

A.

3
NS;
_ ,i", .

. w
, , » ,

thau'visions of

" I'dou't understand .you ” he said.
“Itisafaro hank thatlam goingtobreak,

g:

a.
5
8

against the bank, and believe that it is all
Iamgoingtoriskyour'mooe and
as on t,and make or break. IfIs uld

u . L -. ' _ A
W am gin-jummeie‘tmulg.‘ ‘
' f‘A'x'y . Inf-m. .  a
‘ ' 1 ‘ ‘ fl ‘ h ‘—

"fail-’—that is, if my science or my luck should
prontobstooweachango upintothe
and see be John luuford will

rsonal credit amounts to very little '

Ihave been at work on a system to-

 

..._....—~q—.~ 1...... -. ...  .  -., -. --.. 4..
 ‘ A 'z“
i_ r L raw 4
r

 

 Flesh Free: Sport 3 7 A ' ‘

CHAPTER X‘X.
BREAKING A BANK.

ARTHUR HELMSLEY had implicit confidence
in his friend, and at once assented to his propo-
sition as if it had been nothing but an ordi-
nary business operation that he proposed to un-
dertake.

Fred Henning led him directly to Richey &
Winn's eetnblishment.

This was a faro game that was run by two
well known men, whoOopened it every night
with an announced andflou'btless assured, cap-
ital of ten thousand dollars.

The capital named formed the limit of the
betting, and if it should be exhausted, the bank
was “ broke ” for the night, no matter how
{nuch money the prdprietors might have behind

t.

Before in u stairs Fred halted, ands he
to his friegod. 8' p ’ p0

“Of course you are going -in with me, Ar-
thur, and while I am playing you must ray
for me. No.1 don’t mean that. Luck at aro,
I reckon, is not exact] the correct thini‘to
pray for. But you mu wish me well, for lie.
Fowle’s sake, and kecp'ou wishing.”

As they went upstairs they encountered a
white cat, which mewed, and rubbed against
Fred’s legs as he passed it.

‘ “ I am all right now i", he joyfully exclaimed.

“What do you mean?” asked Arthur, who
began to believe that his'friend had gone crazy.

' Did you see that cat? She was clear white
-nota black spot on her. And she spoke to
me. That is a sure sign of good luck. Come
on, rthuri, I am in a hurryto try my for-
tune. ’

There were several men in' the fare room
when the two friends entered it; but only two
or three of them were playing in a small way.

When Fred Kenning came in, it was plain
from the way he went to work that he meant
business. ‘ ' '

He spoke to one of his acquaintances there.
who stationed himself near the case-keepe , and
to another, who placed himself in a posi on to
watch the dealer.

None of; them had a suspicion that the
prietors were anything but lair: but Fred en-
ning meant to play a big game, and the tempta-
tion mi ht be great, and it was well to take
pwifimgi‘ f you ll "be said h

‘ to rig or r e to t e
dealeras he took 11 s seat.p '

Thlswas a notice that he meanttotry to
breakthebark, and at thesame timeanotice
that it- Would not behealth to play anything
but a uare game against h m.

The saler smiled asFred took out a paper on
which he had marked the exact course that be
intended to pursue, this being the “system”
on which he had expended so much thought and

money.
The dealer knew that nobody had yet suc-
ceeded in breaking his bank, and experience
had given him a contempt for systems.
The few who were playing abandoned their
amusement, and all the men in the room stood
oi- seated themselves near the tableto watch

Fred Hennin and his bi game. -
If there he been an ant as to whether he
mhant husl it won d have been dispelled by

the style in which ho laid one hundred dollars
on the king. ‘

He lost, oubled his hot, and changed ten-
other card on which he won. -

' Again be doubled, changed ain, and lust.
' A in he doubled and chah . and won.

elmsley began to grow-pa a when his friend
went back to his bet of one hundred dollars on
the kin , which he lost. ,

But red kept on doubling, chan log and
winuln , until his gains amounted to our thou-
sand do less. ’ '

‘Thefu the dealer opened his eyes widely, and
31th::- Helmdcy’s face was red with excite.
eu : ‘
The bystanders, too, were becoming excited,
and crowded to the table moreolosely. ' .

Again the “scienced” 1:!» went down in
the‘seale of bettingmegl’h ng with ‘one hun-

dred dollars, and hangs n hegtah todoubls and
chain , always referring‘ to he paper that he
held hishaod. ~

So he went on until he had five thousand dol-
lars, the amount of Ms “pile” as the tune,
placed on the kin . ' ‘ - ‘
_ Then the game became intense writing.

here was but see more king come out of
the box at that deal, as all in the room knew,
With the possible exceptIOn of Arthur Helmsley
and the tion was whether it would fall
onthesi of thebank,oronthatofthe

pig».
man eager eyes of skilled famists were
festsned oh the dealer, that there was no chance‘
“Emma to gait"; he ‘t'hWoughttof 1: ti d
e y a no 0 e as ng, an

not a muscle of--his face movedas he monoto-
noust dealt the cards.

Flush Fred was a little pals, but-gave no other
Evidence of emotion as he steadily watched the

ealer.‘
Arthur Helmsloy’s hand shock as it rested on
lib friend’s chair; hutueither he nor any other
person in the room uttereda word,and nothing

\

a-.. . —-‘.4—v .4.-..._..

could be heard but the dropping of the cards as
they fell into their places. i

The en gerly expect-ed king came out.

Flush Fred won!

“ The bunk is closed.” said the dealer.

He paid the successful player the amount of
his winnings, put away the cards and chips,
and folded up the ” lay-out.”

Fred Henning left the house with Helmsley.

“ That was a great stroke,” said Arthur. “ I
suppose you have perfect confidence in your
system now."

“ I don‘t know that I hava," replied Fred.
“ I have perfect confidence in the white cat.
The system didn’t get a fair trial, as the white

thetlfi’s 1:10 telllin tvlvlhetfier igals ck or the
ssmtatrae e e. t’vo and
that point is settled.” p ' “at it,

He took Arthur to his room, where he looked
the door, ut the money‘in a pile on the table,
and sor it out. -

“This will make things uare,” mid he—
"at least for the present. ere is our five
hundred, Arthur, and here is Colone Fowle’s
five thousand. and I believe I' will.ch the
rest. You had better stay here with me to-
night, my boy. as it is getting late, and it will
be best for both of us to guard this monoy.’l . -'

" Are you afraid of thieves, Fred l"

“Not afraid of them: but it is as well tabs
on the safe side, as I wouldn’t lose this mone
now for twice the amount at another time. t
would take a pretty smart set of thievm,
though, to get it away from twoof m."- . .

They examined their revolve", placed them
within easy reach, and slept the sleep of the
just bothered by no burglarious alarms.

“ ow are we to get the money to Colonel
Fowlei” was the question that Arthur pro-
pouuded in the morning.

" That is easy enough,” answered his friend.

“I fail to see how it is easy. You don’t want
to go up there now, and he would never think
of taking it from me, and if 1 should giVe it to
Ella, that would not help the case."

“1 how thought of that, my be . We will
get Aunt Cyntby to take it to him. .

“ Who is she!”

"An old fortune-teller here. She used to be-
long io Colonel Fowle, but bought her freedom.
She will be glad to take it, and I will send him
a note that will make him feel easy, I hope."

This is the note that Flush Fred wrote:

"Eifmg'wiif'rm :t-hh til you in

, ', ave . o ear

trouble for want ofpapfew thousand dogma 
“Aslhavea ttle moneybymewhids lhavono
usefor,andwh Iwouldbegladtoinvemsecure-
lyforawhualtahethehberty of aendinglt toyou
gyrflwnnyml-it y,hoplng that youwillfovormeby

“ I shal have to charge on eight r ' n

at is about the current rat); of interest: afd kFig:
c ose a note which you may alga and hand to Aunt
Cypthy, if the time named is a too short. ' ‘

Hopin that you and your-fa an i
heals) and with many thanwor WWW“:
rom you all, i remain. '

.Yours ve‘rfit‘glyfi ."

“ That is about the ticket, I reckon." re-
marked Fred, who prided himself upon his
abilit as a letter-Writer.

Art ur was of the opinion that the letter was
quite the correct thing. and they took it with
the money to Aunt Cynthy, who ao-
ce ted the mission. . . I

he set out for Colonel Fowle‘s. notation,
escorted by Arthur Helmsley. and
ning prepared himhlf for a visit to Helena.

CHAPTER XX.
A noun-sac: ar Rama. -

WI!!! the Rev. Samuel Sawsell returned to
Helena he was cordially welcomed bachuot
only by Lewis Mosely. but ‘by “Mr. Preston,”
.who had brought from Tennemss we unden-
‘tials that entitled the person to become anem-
berof the “association.” . ' r - .

Built may be doubted whsthsrany. rson
therewas sogladto seehlm as was 03.1.,
Schramm. ‘

“I haVe’ been having the west kind of a
dealsince you left hsrs," said the huuohhack.
“Those cusses want to put of all the rough and
dirty work on me. b’ yshus, and I stools. ‘ t
enough outof'em t6 esp adog alive. r! h

on could find some way for me to u out of
a, warms, and save my neck.” v e i

{1" t fret atbgltlthat,” replied Fred. i“ You
w comaouto a rlhtbefore ’ -
be on; justwait a littlg while.” m M

_ “staked” the hunobhook liberally, and
Charley's confidence in his friend audio for-
tuiie {as renewecli’.“ ' .

t appened t the persons arrival st
then was peculiarlv fortunate, as a big huge-
race was to come off.

“ The rape was to be a "putup h” by
which the confederates expected to the
citiaens of Helena and the surrounding country
pretty severely, and in this undemki g they
counted on the person to render emcee: aid.

“There is a man who lives a littl- wey from
here, named Rule,” Ir. Preston,

 

“who claimstohavsthe fastest horse ln mess

cat was sure to bring me luck, an how. 80'

Heu- V

 

 

k,-

 

 

,“l

 

 "  ' *'  “the  sport:

 

rts, and I suppose lw i~ the fastest, as he has

aten everything that has been brought for-
ward any where near Helena.

“ Rule has a standing challenge out, and
Moser and I have taken it u for a. horse that
we have brought down from ' ennessee, and the
race is to be run to—morrow for a purse of one
thousand dollars.

“ We have adead sure thing of it. as We know
that our horse can trot away from Rule‘s flyer
without half trying, and the only thing we have
to icok after is to g~t as many bets on him as

ssiblé. no as to make our pile a big one.

“ What we want you to doa is to help us out

Mr. Preston sat erect, with a confident smile
on his face, holding Nero in by a steady strain,
and leaving scarcely any doubt in the minds of
the spectators that he could easily pass his com-
petitor if he wanted to.

The horse was evidently so ambitious and
anxious to push ahead, that there was a eneral
wish, expressed by shouts and yells, t at he
should be put to his speed.

But his driver made no effort, except to hold
him in, until the race was about half run, at
which time the mare'had a good lead.

Then Mr. P. eston let him go, giving him the
word, and touching him lightly with the whip.

 

the cloud of gloom tlat hung over the Fowlo
homestead grew darker and heavier, and tho
estrangemenf of the colonel from his family
was almost complete.

He kept him<elr apart from them, ale little.
but drank largely, and there were fears that at
any moment he might make an attempt upon
his life.

Poor Ella was distracted by conflicting emo-
tions, and was seriously doubting whetherber
duty to her parents did not n quire her to msko
a sacrifice of herself.

It was the afternoon of the ninth day.nnd
she had gone out to have a quiet cry all to her

15'

Cheers burst from the crowd as Nero reached l
out his neck, and began fairly to fly over the !
turfy track. ‘

self, when she saw an old colored woman
lug up the road toward the house.

with the betting, and you can do that well
' be wiped her eyes hastily, and ran in.

> h, being a stranger here, and a person at

 

59‘ “m .tmr- ,5

new < s  _.

£5

 

\

 

(if; ‘_ w W

551.» 

fasten.

‘ money, he was m

. in. .
“ We want you to go around among the peo-

Just then the check rein broke.

Her mother and father were seated in gloomy

e to-morrow, and talk our horse down, so as The effect upon the Tennessee horse was won- silence in what was known as the si {003
. work them up to betting, and make the odds derful, thou b there was probably no person “ 0h, mammal" she joyfully rxc aimed.
favorable to us. Of course, you must back our present but red Henning who suspected the “ Here comes old Aunt Cynt yl Bless her door ,,
opinions by betting against him; but on‘t cause. old heart! How glad I will be to see her!”
make big hots-a number of small ones will, be His sudden burst of speed had already carried Mrs. Fowle brightened up at once; but noth~

the correct thing. Do you understand?”
. The p lrson di understand, and was ready to
,llndertake the contract.
“Do you want any money?” inquired Mr.

The did not want any moue , but
'would like to take a look at the horse. y
. Winn of the fact that the trotter had been
at down from Tennessee had awakened a
scentme'mory.
. The horse was brought out and shown to
him, and proved to be a splendid animal.
He was a Very dark bay, nearly black, with
ablaze on his forehead, and one white foot.

him abreast of the mars, when he sic pod, his
forefeet rose in the air, and he re to take
another step.

in spite of the cruel cuts of his enraged
driver s whip, he could not be induced to budge.

The mare Went over the rest of the course
alone. to the great delight other owner and his
friends. >

The Nero party were completely crestfalleu.

They were broken down, as well as broken

up. -

Their defeat was overwhelming, dishearten-
ing. and inexplicable.

one of them guessed the cause of the horse‘s

ing could cheer her husban .

“ She will be here in time to wlhsm
downfall of the old family,” said he.
had waited until now, she might have bought
Selig) chea enough to suit her.’ '

lla an her mother gave the old negrem a
more than kindly welcome. and she was sccucom-
fortably seated and making herself thoroughly

'st home.

“ And what has brought you all the a
from Memphis, Aunty, and from that big
uess that is earning you so much money-fide-
maoded Ida. «
“Laws'a-musy, chile, don’t you s'po.

As Fred Hennin had suspected, he was Ner strange behavior, though the damage to the wanted to come up uu’sec do ole place, nu’ooo
the horse that h been stolen from Colone check rein was of course discovered. They did you all? I'se been away a long time now. on'
owle. not suppose thatsuch a trifling accident would dough l‘se see’d Msn‘r Tom, I ain’t son'd you

He was not astonished at the confidence of the
confederatesin the ability of the Tennessee trot-
ter to beat the Arkansas horse.

. Nero was sure to do it unless something should

Wu. .
fiat something might happen. _
The person Was stron ly inclined to the 0pm-
ion that something wo (1 ha n.
When he had discovered t at the horse an-

swered to Colonel Fowle‘s description of Nero, .

he was re than willin to meet the expecta-
tions ofnh‘fcuiy and Mr. $reston.

In fact, he was prepared to go a little fur-
ther.

The next morning the crowds that assembled
testified to the excitement which the event had
aroused, and to the interest that had been care-

fully worked u by the confederates. son. Arthur He mole . ’
T o race-tr , thou h well located, was not “ You willf" " His name is red Kenning. I "chum
skillfully‘laid out;but t had served the purpOss “Yes. It takes a preacher to sell a tricky Tom haln’t forgot him. Bo gi’n moth

of the “quarter horses" of the neighborhood,
and was presumed to be good enough for the
looming trot. ,

When Nero was brou ht .out and/exhibited,
under the pressure of a emaud from the crowd,
the betting began in earnest.

‘ The horse showed to such advantage as com-
pared with the slight form and underbred ap-
arance of Farmer Rule’s mare, Jennie, that
gensin found backem,,and even the boastful
Rule was cautious about increasing his stake by
betting on the more. .
Than it.wu that the person put in his fine

wot
\ He circulated among the crowd, making dis-

ragiug remarks concerning Nero, and throw-
fn‘g out whispered insinuations in disapproval
of that noble animal. .

He had known the horse in Tennessee, he said,
and admitted that he was fast; but he had the
reputation of being unreliable.

As he wearendy to back his opinion with his
I tl'ully listened to, and his
Work soon had a v sibloueflect upon the betting.

CHo did.more than this.

Making the acquaintance of Farmer Rule, be
m the Who! that worth ' mm. by en—
. I'll

him with the lump sum ‘0 one thousand

.' §hnto bet against the Tennessee horse, and

_to talk them it .and
oven old man Rule ’ homo forward with an
even thousand.” . w

“It. will be a his thin: for you.” remarked
the n. “ I not” you will count me in.”

“ fcoune wow U We stlnd towina big
pi] and you shall have your share."

12in person was about the horses when they
wmuody to start, sndpully contrived to cut
Nero’s pluck-rein nearly in two with his sharp
puknl o.

The word was given as the horses went over
the together, and the start was wltchsd
with “use anxlet by all, who'lcr they had

on or at. “ Anddtéifi so of me would mean death to panes.“ h m the of

n I, mm D n u ,L “ u ow new: ~m m~ *fi

has driver of the Rule nag let the mare “is looked at her roproochfully, but made no I is Crud-y!" inquired thoycclonol. Igor ‘ a;
a" lol- allsho was worth,” she «all took the y. . as . rimming fa hold of er I . 1 “TE;
» tholsst of thoteu day-ofgrsessppcosohod, “Dalia mm know,  Didn’t-x h" 

lhutthotdld notsflocttho

. p l

 

have interfered with the animal.

They paid their losses manfully but mourn-.

fully, and returned to the Travelers’ Home to
ruminate upon thesad event.

The person, who was largely in hot by the
result of th a race, became an orac e in the sight
of farmer Rule and the populace.

At the Travelers’ Home he found the con-
federates gloomil discussing the matter, the
discussion consist mostly of impmcntious
upon the horse. -

“ He ain’t worth a continental for racing.”
said the young man. “ A horse that you can’t
depend on is worse than no horse. If [could
get fivo hundred dollars for him right now, I
would jump at the cfler.”

“ I will give you that for him,” said the par:

horse to advantage.” ,

Bo Nero sued into the possession of Fred
Henning, w 0 took him to a liver stable in
Helen, and contracted for-his boar-(z

CHAPTER XXI. , ,
mm A CLOUD or omen.

ann Arthur Helmsley went to Memphis,
with the intention of doing something to help
Colonel Fowle out of his difficulty, but with
vague ideas as to what he should do, he tried
to comfort Ella; but she was not comforted.

Loving him as she did, and with the strongest
belief in his good intentions she doubted his
ability to do what the ocvasion required, and
saw nothing but trouble and sorrow before her.

Her despondeucy was increased by the sad
state of affairs at home.

Ear father made no displays of ill-temper,
which might have roused her to assert herself;
but his moody siipnce, his broken-hearted
appearance, and the re hful glances that be
frequently cast at his wife and daughter, filled
the house with gloom.

Ella was hourl compelled to feel-sthcugh she
knew that the eeling was unjust to herself—
that she was the cause of the calamity that was
crushing them all. At least, she was the only

Moria," he said, when his wife had but: trying
to console him. “ Neither of on does. I sup-
pose it is because you don’t no erstsud it. That
mom‘se covers six of my best nigger-s, and if
they are sold at auction, as the must be, they
won’t bring half their value. e ion of those
niggers means ruin and destruction to all of us.
I can’t work the plantation w thou: them, and
can’t keep the family up, an we will have to
give u the old place, and go to Arkansas, or
somew ere onto the way 0 everybody. The
sale of these ni gen means death to me.

 

an’ Miss Mariar. Hone you’s all well,- n' how‘s
young ‘Mars'r Marsh gittin’ on?"

"You find us in good health, but not in good
spirits,” replied Mn. Fowle. “ Marsh was well

when we last heard from him, and we expect '

him home soon.”

“Snmefih’ do matter, den!”

“ Everythin ’s the matter. Cynthy,”
ically replied t Monet. “You have «on to
see the c d place; but it won’t be our scsmudx
lo: The field hands have got to
an we will soon b quite broken up.”

“ I done hecr’d dst you was in some mwt
trouble. A gen’lemon friend ob youm come
see me in Memphis, su’ he tole mo ’bout it."

“ Who was he, Aunt Cyst?!" ugly naked
Ella, tho h fearing the men on of nsmocf

fur you, Man’r Tom.”
“ A letter from Banning! Give it to no, Cyn-

th ." -
EOIOuel Fowle matched at Fred’s letter”, no ‘

cording to the good old simile, o drowning man
will grasp at a straw.

But it was not a straw that ho piped; it
was a rope.

'As he read the letter his face grow rod. and
his eyes were bright with glsduom, and than
dull with tears of icy.

It was some m nutes before he was able to

speak, and then it was in a broken. gasping ' 

way. ,

'“ The letter says—Cynthy—oomothhlg about

a sum-of money." '
“Dat's all right, ,Hsrs‘r Tom. Ills

money right yer. Truvs cl- Cynthy fur dot.

giantey’sjessas safewid moo-cf ’twuhll
n .

As the old woman spoke. she brought’ out a
bundle from her bosom, untied several ‘

nlled out. a quantil of plus, "moved a hu-

er of re , and discl’csed

bills, wh obs triumphantly ou'tho

it.”
Colonel Fowl. hastily and nervcd m

Re kissed and hugged hh'wife'tnd dun
who kissed mugged Aunt ‘Cynthy. 
all four of them kissed and hugged in a
The colonel ran and» brought out his
tie of whisky with an ample allow-mum,

seldom,

 .
“lids

Mg, 

a mum,

table.  r 
“Dar’sdomcney,hm m31.“lw .

and Mrs. Fowle brought out o bonnet humor- ‘

dial, and Ella brought a big plots of cake, and
Aunt Cynthy was potted be and mm. and
in some mysterious manner t news 1 I great
piece of good fortune crned out from

and the cloud of gloom that bad hung so «(fly
over the Fowle plantation was broken and db-

 

Rule hastened to invest it. one who seemed to be able to reveut it. the money. while the other: Icebodcu do... it
.wuatoring up to when the horses were being Yet she would not vent t. She still mo- and of course he got it wrong. '. v 
gummy for the race, the poison encounter- luter refhsed to con iats her‘father’s creditor He began ogn’m. this “no pith difa  
. ‘31:. P " who was to drive Nero. , by deliverinfgt‘hcmlf up to a hated slavery. fereutdoncmiusticuo of an. in. pass My, . at;
.  own. also there. and both were In this a tnde h'r mother supported her, amithus finally arrived autism“ ' 
ju out over the prospect of making a big and she needed support. ' ’ “'lhere‘o tho-nun dollars ofer p. ex. '
Wisdom)?“ thence. At the same time both of them sympathinod c'nimed. "Now been up. (I! that .
. You v“ done nobly, par-son," said the deeply with the afflicted colonel, who wgs utterly mermaid John  w _
 mun. .. » ~ , , ,hnve been betting right woe-begone. devil. Prod 5”“)ng his. ‘00)»
vol! since you “You don’t seem to feel this trouble as I do, um” - -

 

 

 

.-..~ "‘11 m 4

A... .‘ .._ . .a-

:1: ‘:-l-:-z‘——‘ 42-: .-"~

- -n_l~‘«;i- -4.- -

’2 {1.15 at":

‘rw-éi‘bntji.‘ . .. “1.. ‘y

l
«w, ‘F‘t’v‘  in. “gun “we:

 

2,..32 (The; :3

/
<¢ie¥!’>~\x:~§qfi:~x,-’ mg:5:.va'.=\ “cg-a...

. 4.
c. I .

g I, a (K t: e.

v .4443 a.“ use,“ éki.
at . r V._

“‘m\

'. l ‘

  

 

16

Flush Fredéthe

I

ississippi Sport. '

 

 

 

“ Why did he not bring the money, instead of
sending it by you?"

gale had to go right away ober to Rackensack,
sa .. ,
“ Was he alone when he came to see you?”

“ Um—ab—yes, sub—all alone.”

“ Well, this money is a. Godsend, and you are
a messenger of joy to us, Cynthy. I Will pay
you well for your trouble.”

“ Don’t want nufiln’, Mars’r Tom. My ’spenses
is done paid, an’ 1 was pow’ful glad to come up
yar an’ see on all.”

“ i lmpe, ‘homas, that you will not put this
mono in the drawer of your desk,” remarked
Mrs. owle.

” Indeed I will not Maria. Aunt Cynthy
who had brought it slfely from Memphis, shall
take care of it to night, and in the morning I
wm get rid of it soon enough."

The old ne ress was given one of the best
rooms in the once that 113% with her was
the responsibility of the that was to
five the family.

Ella,who accompanied her to her reom, had a
unplclon connected with her hesitation in au-
swerih the question whether Fred Kenning
was a one when he came to see her, an
schaaueeaedw ed in talking the truth out of Aunt

yn y.

The truth was that Arthur Helmsley had
come to her cabin with Fred Kenning. and that
Arthur had accompanied the old woman from
Hemphis, payin her fare both ways.

She knew not lug moreconcarning Arthur’s
connection with the money

But. that was enough or Ella, who went to
had with her brain filled with pleasant thoughts
of her low-r.

In the morning Colonel Fewle was “ bold as a
lion.” and ready to meet his creditor. '

John Munford came at an early hour to de-
mand a final settlement.

There could be no doubt in his mind that the
colonel would ly with the condition be pre-
scribed, or woul be reduced to such an
extremity as should ultimately compel his com-
pliance. .

. -’ “ I have come for my answer,” he said, when
the two men were seated in the “ emce."

“ For your money, I suppose you mean,” re-
plied the colonel.

“For what I am willing to take in place of
the money yon can’t pay me. I will repeat my
offer. If your daughter will marry my son’

‘within a month, I will give you a clear receipt
for all,you owe me.” .

“I have thought over that matter Mr. Hun-
ford. and ha come to the conclusion that it
will be halter or me to pay you the money than
toksell ygu my daughter or allow you to sell my

' I era.

“ a me the money?” exclaimed Munford, in
aston out. .

“ Yea. Have you brought the mortgage?”

5 “It is in my pocket. But I don’t understand
thh. A while ago you mid that you hadn’t a
dollar in the world and couldn't raise a dollar

and on and implored me to extend
the trma. ow is it that you have the money
now

"it is enough that I have i "answered the
colonel, as he produced a bi ml of bills. “ At
the time you sfak of, I b not found you out.
a a uni bargain with me, and then

You
wan to push me to the wall, th you had
given me to understand that I d have my

own time for payment. I know you better now
I know on then.”

“ on don know me yet, Colonel Fowlel”

' racial-ed lunford Mkiu the table with his

"You hermit fou me all out yet.

i ' I shall know more about me he-

anongh  m!" it is. There is
on as

money, sir: countitfand then ive me a

:Wuthemm It issor so that

you will find it easy to count.”

 naturism-sodas money,wrote

left the house without another

The-as."said lira. Fowla, “that
,lyaawiilnottrytobaepthatrecelptadpapsriu
yourdssadeawsr.”

, not.”rapliadthecolonal. “Iwill
"hmywtoheapfermsfl
v .Isdgaedl‘mdflenuing’anotaandgaveitto
Cynthy,withoutobjaetlngto thetlmanamed

Is my be
aboatthe time,er about theneesssltyof pay~

I a. was not muss he! was dhhonest.
was y vi eut. ~
/ Bus impflmelynext door to dishonesty.
' cums xxn.
moan sun A5 a noses-ruins.
. Jena limos» was angry when he left Col-
smel wale’s—very angr -excsediu ly an ry.
He had his money in h 3 pocket, bu hadf n
,~ farshort of getting what he wanted.
While he was in the house he had bottled up
his wrath as well as he could, but when he got

when was an explosion.
e swore horribly, cursing everything in sight

 

'But I am glad to see you all.

doubted wbsthsr a fiiought,

 

' and out of sight, and expended a large part of

his anger on his horse.

That unoil’rnding animal had a hard time
until his master got home.

Munford sent for Dave Hertsey a leading
member of the “association,” an his light
bower in that region.

“Dave,” said he, “I’ve been thinking the
matter over, and have come to the conclusion
that you are right about the people around
here. We will have to stir them up, and shake
them up, and rattle them, and make them
afraid of us. There’s plenty of rich pickings
abouthere, and we had better begin to haul
them in."

“Jest what I’ve been tellin’
Cap," replied Dave Hertse . “
’em and git ’em cowod, an
sherifi' of our own and rule the roost."

“That is what we will do, Dave. I‘ve got the
plansnin my head, and we will go to wor right
soon. -

John Muuford couversed with his confederate
for some time, giving him full and careful dip
fections, which appeared to suit Dave aw
n y.

ve Hertsey hurried away to. prepare for
executing the tasks that had bee confided to
him, and the “boss” gave himse! up to re-
flection, like a general who is planning a cam—

ou all along,
e need to scare

pa 0 was seeking revenge and profit. and
lfity of each, and he wanted to be sure of

While he was thus engaged there was an ar-
ri}al that surprised and el ghted him

t was his son who arrived, acccm niéd
is): the Rev. Samuel Sawtell and rley

hramm.

They did not have the appearance of victors
returning from a triumph.

Their rows were not wreathed with laurels,
nor their faces with smiles.

Pressley Munford, indeed, seemed to besad
and downasst.

“ Glad to see you, my boy ,” exclaimed his
worthy parent. ‘ I didn’t expect on back so
soon and didn’t look for these eut emen at all.
ow did you get
here so soon ’1"

“ We came up on the Sunset ” replied Pressley.
“ We left her at the mouth of the branch.”

“ That is lucky. 1 may need the Sunset be-
fore lon , and it will be handy to have her
about. at you have walked from the river, I
an , and are tired. Sit down and rest an
to l me all about the race. How much did you
win r! And did you succeed in selling the trot-

ter .

“ We didn’t win a cent, but lost a heap,” sul-
leniy answered the young man.

“ Wha-a-t ”

John Munford could not understand this as-
tounding intelligence. It was too_much for him.
The failure of asure thing required to be ex-
plained to be appreciated.

“ Didn’t win a cent? Why, Pressley, what do
you meaul Whaton earth can have been the
matter?"

Pressley told the sad star of the disastrous
race near Helena, and his a atement was con-
firmed b his com ions.

John unford flew into a fearf l scion.

His auger when he left Colone owle’s was
nothing to the white heat of his rage when this
intelligence burst upon him.

He cursed until it seemed that the air of the
room ought to turn blue.

He ceased onl when he had exhausted his vo-
cabulary of suit .
“ The is e es of our bad luck,” said

he, “ and Tom Fowle is the cause of it all. But
he will have to settle for it, and pay well. too.
I thought he was too muchof afooltoget
ahead of me' but he swindled me most shame
fully in that horse. He represented him to me
as sound and rfeet in every re ct, and I
was to have d him two thousand ollars for
the beast, it hadn’t found a way of gettiu

him cheaper. Of course the infernal scoundre
knew that the horse was bulky. is ust
wonchrful how men will lie about horses. at
I will make him pa for that swindle.”

Pressley Munf who uneasy while
his father was abusing Celenel Fowle, ventured
to make a suggestion.

“ Hadn’t you better go a little easy, sir, until

business of the gi is settledl”

“ It is settled, curse it! That is bu’sted wide
open. too. I went over there this morni , ex-
pecting him to come to terms, and he ha the
money ready for me, and paid me. He was as
cool as a chunk of ice about i too. I couldn’t
have been worse disappointed i had pulled a
hos-net’s nest for honey.” .

“ That is a her, despoudently remarked
Preeg’l’ey. “ t is going tobe done about it
now

"We will have to do as the farmer in the
spelling book did—trfi what virtue there is in
stouea Oh you aha have her. m boy, sure
as death. on‘t worry about that. hat frets
m3 is the way that man fooled me, and where
di he get the money i"

“ I kpow that his credit hi not worth a cent,”
remarked Pressley.

then we can elect a ‘

 

fix

“I know that, too. Everybody knows it.
And I know that when the money was due he
didn’t have a dollar. But this morning he
turned up, bright and shining, with every cent
of the five thousand. Where can he. have gotitl”

“ Where can he have got it?” chorused
Presslev.

The ev. Samuel Sawtell would have been
glad to inform them both, then and there, that
the mone came from John Municrd‘e pet an-
tipathy, ed Kenning.

He would have heartily enjoyed the burst of
anger that would follow that announcement,
and the curses that would be heaped upon the
head of the absent Fred.

But his policy did not permit him to make
disclosures of any sort {ust then, and he was
obliged to content himse f with imagining the
effect of what he might say. a

” It sticks in my crew,” continued John Mun-
ford, “ that he may have got that money from
Arthur Helmsley, who has blen trying tombs
up to the girl for some time past. can’t that
how else he could havo ct it.”

“ But he hates all the elmsleys,,and will have
nothing at all to do with Arthur, observed the
son

“ He may have concluded to be very fond at
him, finding himself so hard up. Some ban
will do ’most an thing for money.”, '
“ If thzt is t e case, father, we will have to
pegtln‘ to brew stones pretty quick and pretty

as .

“I mean to. You maybe sureofthat. And
Helmsley will come in for a few rock? too,
you may bet. Some folks about here w lget
seat back before lcn . So you sold the horse
to the parson here. at’s right. He couldn’t
be in better hands. By the way, person, I‘ve
got sigh ready for you.”

Fl Fred, who had been sitting there in
silence, quietly “ taking in” all that was said,
and thinkin his own thoughts the while
roused himse f at the mention of his assume
title, and was ready and eager to learn what
was waiting for him. ,

“ You will find me on hand. Cap, no matter
what it is,” he cheerfully replied.

“ It is a simple matter. You have bought
a horse for five hundred dollars, and may
think that you got him cheap; but there is an
easier way to get hold of horses, and i want
to see what you are worth at that business.”

"Do you want me to steal a horse,then?'

eried Fred, who did not really banker after
t at sort of an experience. -

“That‘s art it. We are going to shake it
some of t e folks about here and Ailing
Helmsley is one of them who will have to an -
fer. He has a fine sorrel mare, and we wsfit
that mare.”

The task would be an easy one, Fred thought,
and be was read to undertake it. -

" Whemhall do it!” he asked. ' "

“ To-night.” ' '

b “What shall I do with the mare when I get
er ‘

“I’lring her to me, and I will take caret of

“All right. Direct me to the (place, so that
I can go and get the lay of the inn , and the job
will be done to suit you.”

Late in the afternoon of the same day Arthur
Helmsley was informed by a young person of
African descent that there wasa " strange gem-
:nsn out by de hoss lot ” who wanted to see

in.
“ What is his name!" asked'Arthur. '
looks like a preachah; but

“Dunno, ssh. He

he me atmabtah.”
u lin is unusual liberality with in.
fact at stranger looked like a reseller.

Arthur jumped to the conclusion t at Fred
Kenning was there, and that he was in disgube
and consequently unwilling to come to the

house.

Therefore the youn entleman hastened to
the horse lot. where e welcomed his
friend, and proceeded to ll im how no
reigned again in the household of the row

‘ I know all about my bov,” inter.
rupted Fred. “1 am afraid the their troubles
{to she: ovter yet; buttvvz:f must wait adios.

ow ca amps hex ore we can -
thin more.) my

“ on have done wonders already,” was

ur.

“Of course. That is understood. Int I
didn’t come for compliments. I am here on
business.”

“ What sort of business.”

“I understand, Arthur, that you have a fine
mrllhm‘m" i ll tl of th d

“ aveance tens at eacrlption.
What of her!" ‘ ' /

“I want to steal her.” '

“To steal her! What do on mean mar

“ Just that I must steel er tonight, and I
want you to leave her out where t will be
handy fw me to get hold of her.

“ I don’t know what you mean, but it is all
right, of course.”

“lam not read to explain m mean, Ar-
thur; butitis all ght. as cuss . You'ma
never see the more again. f you don’t, I w l ,
pay you her value." -* ‘- A

/

.wuzhewW...“ w

._———-—~...___‘—.~V _ nw-M‘X

h“; l _

s..-“ .i. 1 A

, .....,_....I-..- m. ...

 

.m—

‘mm. mwwf. ,.e.«:.~\%m a V

. e_.__..r<

- A ‘ 1 m .m?d.g;£# m l -

. "ssh

.—

 

 

 

b

Flush Fred, the Mississippi Sport.

1'7

 

 

“ Indeed you will not! I owe you more now
than I am likely ever to pay cu. You are
Welcome to the mare, Fred me with me,
and I will show you where you will find her.”

“That will be as eas as lying.” said Fred,
when the details of the eft had been arranged.
“Of course, you will miss the mare in the
morning, and then you will raise a bowl in the
neighborhood about horse-thieves.”

CHAPTER XXIII.
comm rowuc's um 0mm.
FLU“ Fan’s entry into the horse-stealing
0n was eminentdy succemful.
A little before midnight he rode up to John
Hartford's house, without a saddle, but with a

sufficient bridle.
He was met at the gate b John Munford,
ey Sc amm, and two

his son Pressley, Char
other men.

The “boss” congratulated the recruit on the
prompt performance of his task.

“ i see that on will do to bet on. par-sen,”
said he. “ ls t at Arthur Helsnsley’s mare?“

“ It was his a while ago," answered the par-

son.

“Just so. Do on recognise the mare, Press-
leyi And you, ve Hertseyi And you, Joe
Ambleri”

They all recognised the mere.

“And if {ecu should be called up in court,
would you able to swear to the man who
brought her here?”

Thai/y were sure that they would.

“ but does this all mean?” demanded the

rson.

“ It just means that I want you to see the fix
you are in. If you should try to go back on us,
somebody might bring up this matter of the
mate against you. Now that you are in with
us you will have to stay in.” y

1‘ Of course I mean to stay in " re nded the
parson. “ I hope you don’t think hat I am
the kind of man who would want to drop out.
You need not have played an trick on me."

“ That’s all right, parson. on are- Only on
a level with the rest. Before any man becomes
a full member of the association, he is re-

ired to do that very thing. It is the initia-

‘ l

n. .

“It don’t worry me a bit, Ca .”

“ You are the right stuff. ow, if on will
step inside, I will tell you of another jo I have
for you—one that will probabl y suit you better,

i and with more money in it.”
‘ When they were in the house together, the
rson discovered that the “job ” that awaited
in was more in his line than horscretealing,
and decidedl preferable to that employment.

“ Colonel om Fowle has a son at coils in
Kentucky” explained John Munford. “ I ear
that he s a wi d young fellow, as free with his
money as if he had a million to back him, and
of course he drinks, and plays cards for money.

“He is expected home and, and willcome by
boat from Louisville, and I can judge the time

 

'

pret closely.
“ hatlwantyoutodolstc toLouie-
ville, take him, and

on the boat w
elssahimoatofnslastdollarheforehegetsto
“I understand that on handle the cards
right cleverly, and it w l be easy en h for
you to do that. It will suit me exactly zlou
mveryth he has about him,’aad send at
Theeflatbrc eand andtgunk. u M
parson acce r206! on
full but had a litae doubt o? h ability.
“ is only one the that I realt under-
I rm 3’ u at new $6? "103°?"
t‘ preac ing. re's ar ey
Schramm, who is well ted in all sorts of
mes. If I ma take im aloug,l have fig:
ubt that he an I can work the racket, as
world’s page say.” ' ' ’
“Take ariey, then, though I had thought
of making him useful about here. Isupposa
. you will need some money."
I The person was sure that he would. So much
of his mcne had gone into John Munford’s
pocket that e thought it was high time to be—
:iozlgcriet some of it out, and he took all he

Ear the next morning Premley Mumford
drove im and Charley Behramm to the nearest
railway town, and left them there.

But the person did not take the first train to
the north.

Instead of that he took a room. from which
he shortly emerged as Fred Henning, and it is

l probable that he felt greatly relieved at being
able to resume his true character.

Then he hired a buggy, and drove direct to
Colonel Fowle’s.

! He had been pleasantly received there before
on two occasions, but had never been as cor-
dially welcomed as he was at this time.

It is true that Ella was somewhat restrained.
and that Mrs. Fowle was meek as if from a sense
of obli tion; but their looks spoke more forcibly
than‘ eir words. telling him that he was
greeted both as a friend and as a benefactor.

t the colonel was enthusiastic.
loved for a time from the remure of debt
and the fear of a forced sale of is property, he

‘ was his genial, hoapitoble self again.

exclaimed. “ Welcome over and over again.
You find us easy and happy and jolly here to-
day. and we owe t all to you, every bit of it.”
“Please cut t at oi! short, colonel,” replied
Fred; “ Life is too short to bother about the
st. '
“ Not too short for us, my dear fellow. You
shall see that we are grateful for your unex~
kindness and generous assistance—every
one of us. But I want to know—"
“ And I have not time to tell you, if you will
on me for cutting in. I have come for a
ittle business talk with you, and am in a hurry.
If the ladies will excuse us, we will have it out
with no delay. ”
“ All right my boy. Step into my office.”

The colonel natural] wondered what Fred‘s
Business could be, an why he was in such a
“We

He was not at all backward in inquiring.

“ What is the business you speak of, riend
Henningi The note was all right. I signed
it just as you sent it, and gave it to Aunt yn-

th .”

xIt is not that.” answered Fred.

What could it be, then? Was it possible that
Henning, having advanced the money for Mun-
ford, expected to take that creditor’s place, and
claim the hand of Ella?

That would be too much. He was a fel-
low on a friend and as a money-lender: t as a
husband for Ella he was not to be thought of.

But it was a far different matter of business
that burdened the mind of Fred Banning.

“ You have told me, Colonel Fowle,” said he,
“that you think you must have some bitter
enemy about here. Have you found out who
that enem is?"

“ No. have no sort of a clew.”

“ I know who itis.” ‘

“ You do? Is it Arthur Helmsley!”

“ No rson who bears the name of Helmsley
or is re ted'to an of the Helmsle 3. But be-
fore you learn 0 the discoveries have made,

yo must promise to keep everythin I tell you
a s rict secret, even from your fami y.”

The colonel solemnly romised.
t ‘:iY,our enemy," sai Fred, “is John Mun-
or .‘ ' .

“John Munford‘l I have had my doubts
about him lately.”

“I should think you might have. But what
I am going to tell you will astonish you. He is
at the head of an extensive thieving band, or
association, as he calls it, which I have Joined
for the purpose of getting hold of his secrets,
and I have got hold of them."

The colonel was a little incredulous at this
glint,i as John Muufcrd had described Fred

ennng to him as a most detestable charac-
to

hates ou worse than lson.”

“ I now that, and .will have better cause
to hate me before lam through with him. But
Iam not Fred Hennlng when'I am in his
can”

Ahl Disguisedl"

“Of course. John Munford pretended to be

your friend, so that he mi ht cripple on, and
get you in his wer, and area a ma age be-
tween your ughter and his son. His first

game was to get money from you on a fraudu-
at We."

“ Frau ulentl" shrieked the colonel.

“Entirely so. You loaned the money too.
man named Huflner. Do you know what has
become of him?"

“ The last letter I had from Helena told me
that he had died in Missouri."

“The fact is that there is no such men as
Huffner. Your letters from Helena were writ-
ten by Lewis Mosely, who is a chief of Mun-
ford’s gas at Helena Iknow him well. He
personat Huffaer here, and sent you the let
ters from Helena. I don’t know that John
Mpnford got the money, or that he stole the
fraudulent a e from your desk; but I
have no doubt that e did."

“ Creation!” exclaimed the colonel, who was
utterly bewildered.

“ Then you lost a valuable horse. John Mun-
ford was to buy him for two thousand dollars;
but found it chea rto steal him."

“ What'l Mun 0rd got my horse? He stole
Nero?”

“Stole him and shipped him to Helena. where
I bought him from Pressley Muuford for five
hundred dollars. There is agood joke about
that matter, which I haven't got time to tell you
now. The horse is safe, and you can get im
when the time comes. I know nothing about
the burning of your cotton-gin, but can guess
that John Munford kncws.“

" The infernal scoundrell” exclaimed the
colonel.

“ Then he loaned you money when you were
in trouble, and put the screws to you, to compel
you to give your dau hter to his son.”

The colonel jum up, and flew. into a pas-

on.
“That man is a wild beast!” he exclaimed.
" He is a terror' H“ has laid himself liable to

 

'the law. I will send him to the State prison. I
will shoot him on sight." -

“ You are more than welcome, my boy!" he I

r.
“That is queer," said he. “ Why, Munfcrd »

“ You will do nothing of the kind, my dear
; sir, unless you are willing to break the promise
3 you have iven me. You must remember that
i have no egal procf of what I have told you— _
that is, to connect John Muuford with it. His
son might be accused of having stolen goods in
his possession; but that was in Arkansas. You
aufnsimply keep quiet, and wait until I get .
c .

“ Where are you going. friend Kenning?”

“ I am going to skin your son alive.”

“What in the name of goodness do you
mean by that!"

“ By the orders of John Hunfcrd I am going
direct to Louisville, to come down the river
with your son, to play cards with him, to beat
him out of every dollarhe baaand to and
him home as near a wreck as pomible. Hulk
ford has an lied me with money for that

u’rpose, don’t you thilr I can accomplbh

a

t.

“I should say that you can if you want to.
But 1—1 am very glad that Marsh will be in
your hands.”

“ Will you give me\ very short letterof in-
troduction to him 1’?

“ Gladly.” ‘

“ Now, colonel,” said Fred, when he had
the note, “ you haVe Only to keep quiet for'
present, let John Munford alone, uard a that
thefts and swindles, and take g care cryon-
daughter. Yes, there is One other point. It
you want to get even with that scoundrel. you
will have to make friends with the Helmsleys.”

“ I will never do that, Henning.”

“ I have no time to hrgue the point, colonel;
but you will have to come to that.” ,

Flush Fred left the ladies disconsclate be-
cause he resisted their anti-entice to stay to din-
ner, and drove to the Helmsley place.

There he found Mrs. Helmsley covered with
gloom, and her daughter in deep distress, be-
cause of the loss of the sorrel mare.

“ She was my pet,” said Kate. “She was
my own riding-horse. 1 had named her Kate
and I was so fond of her, and she was so fond
of me i” ' ~

“ If the thief had known that,” said Fred,
“ he surely could never haVe had the heart to
steal the mere.”

“ ThieVes have no hearts, Mr. Henning.”

“ I am not so sure of that. I have known one
in my time who was really bothered in that
way

But Fred had no time for sympathy or any
other emotion just then.

He had some advice and caution for Arthur,
which be duly delivered, and hastened back to
the railway town. where he and Charley
Bchramm took the first train northward.

a—I-u—
CHAP'I‘ER. XXIV.
mp suns amass .
Hanan:me themcoionel’s son, was a
young man twent , w was 11 swear-nee
at least two ears thr.
He was I, athletic, headline, and as fine a
s imen of youngni'panhood to look as as either
ennesseeorXen kycould undone, and that
is not a little thing to say.
Hehad beenattendiagaso-called college in
Kentucky, which was in reality a military in-
stitute with an educational attachment—poa-
hapsthebsstscrtcfacollegehseould have
been sent to. .
A hiscanrades he waafamlliarly known ‘
as ,andtheaameoflarshll'owlern-
gestedvarious nicknames, whim were read“ y
applied—Inch as HeronLCrane, loomaad the e

e.

But after the young allow hadbdwtew
tights about that sort of thing,» got used to it,
and rather liked it.

The so-cal place.

Thescholarswerenearlyall the sonsef rich
men, who “ slung on style " exnnsively, and
spent their money lavishly. ,

Marsh Fowlewas bouadto holdnphlshead
with the best of them.

He came of an extravagant stock, and his
training had never been in the direction of
“‘1’?” di n guisbed among other thin

e was s n ,
for the elegance of his attire, and the general
freedom with which be dispensed hi ducala.

Ccnsequentiy it isnot surprising that he got
the reputation at home, as well as elsewhere, of
being a most prodigious spendthrii‘t.

After he was informed bv letters from home

-vaguely and severely by his father. and more
definitely and aflectionatel by his mother and
sister—of the money tron as there, be was glad
that the term was about to end, and that he
would soon be clear of his expensive surround-
ings. ,
This feeling. however. did not revent him.
from stopping in high style at the est hotel in
Louisville. and waiting for the finest boat that
went southward from that port. ,

Nothing less than the Shotwell would suit
the voung aristocrat.

He paid his passage like a ace, and was
mgned focus of the best eta rooms on the

His tall and elegant figure caused general re.
mark as he walked down the long cabin, and he

 

 2;.;..,.."..‘«.Lv‘~;~n

Us

% 171:3“ L:

:. ~..~..

  ~WMEE'WV‘ hat-71*“ .
._ , .

 

 

.. "a... m...

,4

 

q.

1.

. 'v
a a... an M 0......"

v

t

.,\
~
,,
4r

 
 
  

 \

 

'
r . I

, ' claimed to be a Mississippi

‘L, , ‘i

. u I'ui‘i’fglad to meet you, air.
a sort »

~18

"' Erna“
r'r

.3.
‘7 > ‘ ‘- ’ _ ., ' s

'/

Flush Fred, the Mississippi Sport:

 

r1

had been but a little while on board when he
was almost intimate with the ladies in the after
part of the boat.

In the forward art, and especially in the So-
cial Hall, he was nclined to be exclusive.

He took a few fastidious drinks at the bar,
but was not disposed to associate with any of
the passengers in that region except the elderly
and solid ones, upon whom his style made a fa-
vorable Impression.

When night came on, and cards were brought
out, he kept aloof from the games, and easily
resisted the advances that were made to induce
him to engage in them.

At last he accepted the invitation of three ap-
grently solid citizens to sit down quietly at a

his with them, to pass the time, and poker
was proposed, with limited stakes, merely to
make the game interesting.

The three citizenaaccording to their own ac-
counts, were each solid in his way.

One was a Mississippi planter, another was an
Arkansas merchant, and the third Was going to
New Orleans to Collect the money. for it drove
of mules from his farm in Kentuck .

None of them seemed to be a skillful player,
and the game was not interesting. .

youn man had won several small pots,
when the ississippi planter proposed that the
limit of betting should baraiscd, and the two
other solid citiuns assented to the proposition
at once. ‘

Marshdll Fowle rose from his chair.

"I must ask you to excuSe me, gentlemen,”
mid he. “ I will leave you to enjoy your

0

game.
, “ What do you mean?” demanded the plan-

“ I mean that I am not accustomed to playing

cards for moneyy and am not willing to go be-
my depth.’

" But you have been winning straight along,

and now you want to quit when ‘you are

ahead,” sneered the Mississippian. Is that
' your style?” . '
“ I don’t know that I havo any special style

about that sort of thing. If the small amount
oft money that I have won is in the way of my
guitting, I will lay it on the table, and you can
ivide it to suit yourselves.”
As the young man put his hand into his ket
to get the money, the gentleman from Ar ansas

up.
“Do on mean to insult us?” he hotly de-

. mand .
“ I can’t see that I have insulted you,” re lied
Powls, “unless you want to be insulted. sat
down to play: game for amusement, and am
not going to drawn into heavy betting. That

“a.
“ t sort of thing won’t do," said the plan-
ter. ,;‘We can’t allow you to quit in that
I. . a

"Can‘t you? Vsrywell. I have quit the
farms. thwhat myou going todo about
t

“ You dull no what we will do, young chap,
soon.” ‘

and that nigh

“You will do noth at all,” quietly remark-
ed a fifth man, who approac the table
during’the altercation. ‘

Tbodfth man was Flush Fred, who had ke t
his eyes onyouu Fowle since he left Louisvil ,
and had to ideas of his own omoernizg
Ihanaquite diflerent from those which he h

rod from his father and John Munford.

Marital! Flewla‘ looked around, and saw a

Juli-dressed young- man, of quiet and gentle-

mauly .Pflflnco.
vTho res solid citihens looked u , and must
have-recognised Flush Fred, as the demeanor
«obs instantly. '
“ s youn gentleman has a right to quit
if he wants to, ’ said Fred. “ You surely don’t
urea to hold him to a game against his will.”
‘That’a ah right,” answered the man who
planter. “ We
don’t want to force anything on him; but when
he sat down we expected him to stay with us a

w ls.”
Euclid] Fowle turned away, and Fred Ben-
. nin followed him.

‘f‘i‘hat‘s a mean trick of Flush Fred’s,” whis-
pered one of the solid citizens. “ Of course he
wants to carve the goose himself.”

“He will find it a tough ‘One, I reckon,” re
plied the gentleman from Arkansas.

“ Are you not Marshall Fowlel” inquired

“That is my name,” answered the young
man. .
“sun of Colonel Toni Fowle, of Tennessee?”
V N Y..."
acquainted with

'“I am.

ygur father, and
have a letter of introduction

you.”

Ihad got into
V a mess yonder, as you saw, and

’ ht I had better back out. I wish you

won d tell me why those men cooled down so

quickly when you spoke to them.”

“Because I know them. and they know me.
Before i show you the letter I spoke of, Mr.
Powle, I may as well introduce myself. I am
the man who killed our father.”

"The man wh led my father?” exclaimed
Marshall. ‘

,horse that was-stole

 

Then his face changed, and he laughed
heartily.

“ Oh, yes!” he said. “ I know all about that.
My sister wrote me the full particulars. and I
nearly split my sides over the story. So you
are Fred Henning. I am ever so glad to see
you. All’s well that ends well, you know.”

“ Yes, and I am lad that the killing busi—
ness ended better t an it threatened to. Here
is the letter; but it really amounts to nothing,
as it doesn’t ex lain my purpose in being here.
I am under or ers to follow you from Louis-
ville, and to skin you alive.”

The oung man looked at his companion as if
he dou ted his sanity.

“Come, come, Mr. Henning. You can talk
sense if you want to. What do you mean by
that?”

“I can talk sense to you, Marshall Fowle,
and I am as glad of that as if I had fallen into a

fortune. I have lots and lots to tell you, and it
is of the greatest imBEortance to you and to your
family t at you ould understand matters
clearly.” '

“That suits me exactly. Let us get some
cigars, and go out on the guards, where we can
be quiet.” .

Flush Fred had
closely.

He found him to differ considerably from
the impression his father had conveyed, and
from the idea that John Munford had of him.

A solid, sensible young fellow, in fact who
coulii be trusted to think and not well and
cool . _

Just the sort of young man who was needed
at the present crisis in his family’s affairs.

Consequently Fred told him a long story.

It was bound to be a lon sior , as he gave
every particular of Colone Fow e’s afflictions
as far as he k'hew them, and of his own con-.
nection with the family and John Munford.

The young gentleman interrupted the nar-
rative frequently to ress his opinion con-
cerning matters, and especially to speak in
praise of Fred’s sa acit and disinterestean

“ You are won erfu ly kind to take such an
interest in us, Mr. Kenning,” he said. “I
don’t know how we are ever going to pay you
for all you have done for us to say nothing
of what you expect to do. But for my part
I will try to let you know that we are not un-

grateful.”

“Su we dro that. my young friend,
and tal business. but do you think of the
advice I have fiVen you i”

“I believe t to be entire] correct. I have
been brought up to re ard hat feud with the
Helmsleys as part of be family inheritance;
but I am now convinced thatitis worse than
foolish. I will act on your advice; but you
know how hard-headed the old gentleman is. I
will have to humor him.”

“You will bring him around. Since I have
found out what you are I believe that thin s
will bestrai htened up. 'Now I must go bar
into the cab n. I have a partner here, and we
must try to make our expenses on this 
As you are not to be fieeced, I will have to l k
for other victims.” V '____

CHAPTER XXV.
axorm not wait in: mason.

Joan Human was holding a confab with his
son and Dave Hertse , when the Rev. Samuel
Sawtell and Charley ramm returned from
their trip up and down the river.

“So you have got back,” said be. “What
luck did you have!

“ As good as could be expected," replied the

rson. ,

“ Did you clean the oung cuss out?” .

“ Of all he bud. e didn‘t havs much—not
enough to  ex uses: but We got that. I
had to Ian im ve dollars to take him home
anddlnsuppose he is laid up new with a swelled

ea .

“ That was the best on could do, I suppose.
Tom Fowle .will be we come to all the comfort
he can get out of that scamp. We have been
busy while you were away."

" What have on been doing?”

“ Making it ively for some of the Fople
about here, including Toni Fowle and rghur

measured young Fewle

Helmsley. I reckon you will hear enough of it
if on 0 about any. By the way person, I
aha l n you to-night. . I expect to have a job

for you that is in your line.“

The person did hear, and that right soon, of
the manner in which John Munford, with the
aid of the “ as'ociation,” had been making it
lively for his neighbors.

He went to visit Arthur Helmsley, sending a
voung African to the house for him, and meet-
ing him at the horse-lot as formerly.

“ Where have you been all this time?” in-
quired Arthur. .

“I have been hunting a fpol and finding a
wise man. But I will tell you all about that in
time. Have you heaié‘d anything of your sister’s
n

“ Nothing):e

“ I have n all broken up about that. If I
had known that it was her horse I would neVer
hays undertaken the job. But it was part of the
contract. and can’t be helped now.”

3" J"

I ""I' 1.

the profits.

 

:-

“That is not'a circumstance, Fred, to what
has been goin on while on Were away.”

" I haVe ha a hint of t at from another party.
Tell me all about it.” ,

Arthur Helmsley had a long story to tell. '

It was a story of herse stealing, of burglaries,
of thefts of various descriptions, all about the
neighborhood.

He and Colonel Fowle had been the worst
sufferers, and on the Helmsley plantation the
scoundrels had not been content with robbery,
but. had cruelly and wantonly mutilated horses
and cattle.

The sheriff and his deputies had been active,
together with the county constables, but had as
yet found no clew to the perpetrators of the
outrages.

All the sufferers had banded together to put
a stop to the crimes and unish the criminals,
with the exceptions of Co onel Fowle and John
Munford. I

John Munford claimed to be a loserbytho
depredaiions, but preferred to act independ-
entl . .

Colonel Fowle, as might be expected; would
have nothing to do with any plan or organise.
tion with which the Helmsleys were connected,
and most of the Helmsleys were equally unwill-
ing to associate witb'liim.

“ Just so,” said Fred Henning. “The infernal
feuds and jealousies of such neighborhoods
as this are enough to upset ever thing. That
sort of thing must be stoppediI you want to
succeed.”

“I would be glad enough to stop it all,”
answlelreg Arthur; “ but that seems to im-

e. l

“ Not as im ssible as you may su pose.
There is one ipingrtant person who will join
you in an effort to uiet the feud.”

“ Do you mean E ai”

“No; her brother. Come into the stable
where we will be out of sight, and I will tell
you all about it.”

Fred gave his friend the full particularsot
his meeting with Marshall Fowle on the Shot-
well, and of his experience with that young
gentleman.

Arthur Helmsley was more than rejoiced at
what he heard.

“That is a vbry pleasant surprise,” said he.
“ It givesa fair promise of peace and bagpi-
ness, and we owe it all to you. If you ad
done nothing else for me, Fred, that would en-
title you to my everlasting gratitude.”

“ It won’t brin back your sister’s horse,
though, and that on ht to entitle me to an ever
lasting kicking. vs a little patience, Ar-
thur, and I hepe we can get all these tan lea
straightened up. I must go now and see w t.
the next move of the enemy will he.”

The next move was intended to show the

extent of John Munford’s audacity, and to»

make an end of his operations in that re ion.

He ex lained it to the, person when that in-
dividu returned from roamin about
neighborhood, full of the stories he‘had hear of
the recent in terious depredationa.

“Yes,” said Munford with a chuckle; “we
have stirred them up right lively, and have got
hold of about as much property as we care to
oarr away.”

“ hat 0 you do with it all?”

“ We havo a good t stoer on the Sunset
down at the river, a more in the cellar here,
which we will t aboard of her one of those
nights. Then will steam away and‘be safe,
and then we will realise on the stat and divide
There will he a good bit coming to

on, rson.” .

y “'I’haat will suit me,” rained the person.
“ Money is what Iwaiit. iVe me plenty of
money, and I can run a church tosuit my-

The “ boss ” made a mmark concerning the
churches that would have shocked a preacher in
good standing. , , \

“If you want to run a church,” said he
“ you can start one for me to-night, and I will
gay cu well for it. I am going to make Tom

ow e’s daughter my son‘awife, and you shall
attend to the marriage business.’

“ How are you going to bring her around?”
inquired the person. ‘

"Just by main strength and awkwardness.
All the nice work has been already put in by
Press. The fact is, person, that Arthur Helms-
ley is the man she wants, and his head is set

on her.” .
“ That makes it rather bad for yon,.l should

an .
x Not a bit of it. Some heads can be set on
things, as well as others. Press has his head

set on the girl, and mine is set on his having ev- '

erythin he wants. He has been looking after
the sfl'a for himself, and has got the business
down fine.

“ There is a hollow tree in the woodsvback of
Tom Fowle’s house, which the girl and young
Helmsley use as a postoflce. One drops a lat-

ter there, and the other comes along and gets.

it.
“ Of course, Press is smart enough to open
the letters. read them, add seal them up. ,

“ They also meet at the same place, and make

appointments by letter, and this morning Frets

t. g-

 

‘ '1" ‘4 a.“ _-‘__-—._.4<.“\
Vi /

 

at”... ,.

It- _.__. ,.

-——-£#¢W““~E,‘K ‘: v‘

 

 ._a.a¢_,_%.4_aw_m a. .....__. <

 

#—
4-.

v-

.: sails-sis,

 

 

1v
.- -7. -V-‘. .w...

\ .-.‘_%,‘. ,j. ,, ,....'

Flush Fred, the Mississippi. Sport.

, _...Y.V_.. .. -__.,.-.,.,

19

 

 

found a letter there from him, asking her to
meet him this evening after dark.

“ We know the route she takes, and we will
be on hand—Press andI and you.

“We will pick her up on the way, and will
bring her here, and you shall marry her to
Press. .

“Then we will put her On board the Sunset
and slide out.

“ How does that strike you, person i”

“It seems to be correct; but you ought to
know bet about that. I will be ready to do my
part of the job. At what time will you want
me to be on hand?”

V “You will take supper here, of course, and
seen after supper we will start."

 

CHAPTER XXVI.
ABDUCTION AND mmacm.’

THE person did not need to reflect upon the
plot arranged by John Munford.

He had made up his mind as soon as it was
proposed to him, and was ready to do his

share.

His share included a little work that was not
contemplated by the “ boss,’_’ and he was
_ obliged to move about pretty liver in order to
get through with it.

As he had the use of John Munford‘s horses,
and there was nobody to question his doin 5, he
secured a good mount, and rode rapidly to
Arthur Be msley’s place.

When he had finished his business there, be
hunted up Charley Schramm, to whom he in-
trusled a lezter for Ella Fowle.

Charlev was instructed to deliver it to the
young lady herself, and to bring back an an-
swer, written or verbal.

At supper-time the person “bobbed up se-
renely ” at Munford’s, and was the third at the
table with the two other conspirators.

The son was nervous and excited; but the
father was calm and determined.

Little was said by either of them concerning
the contemplated out e, and the parson was
not encouraged to spea of it.

They evidently believed that their lans were
well laid and that nothing was 11 ed but ef-
ficient action. I
, But the person was a little worried.

He had not yet scen Charle Schramm since
he sent him to Colonel F0wle s, and it was pos~
sible that his own plans might miscarry.

As the rty made their preparations for de-
parture, h s anxiety made him nervous.

A two-seated spring-we n was ready for
them at dark, and when t ey went out to it
Charley had not et put in an a arance.

But he ate forward bris y when they
were about to take their seats, and nodded in
answer to the parson’s inquirin glances.

“ What’s up now?” he asked. i‘ Going on a
private spree?"

“We are oing’ to take a little ride,” an-
uttered, the “boss. “ Stay here and look after
therlzpuse, Charley. Dave Hertmy will be along
a

ho .” ,
a “AK right,” replied the hunchhack, with 'a
‘wink that put the at ease.

Press Hunford dress, and his father and the
person econ ed the back seat.

Not far from Colonel Fowle’s, a narrow lane
set on from the main road toward the south.

On the eastern side of the lane was a Ieoe of
woods, and the western side was heav y bor-
dered along the fence by bushes and vines, and
the house was just in sight.

team was driven a short distance into the
lane, and was turned around under the cover
of the trees. '

It was explained to the rscn that Ella
Fowle always crossed the fiel that lay between
the lane and the house, climbed the rail-fence,
and passed into the woods to her post-office

so.

At the point where she got over the fence she
would be seized.

“You stay here and take care of the tea

souls we will do the heavy work,”eal

John Munford and his son walked down the
, and concealed themselves near the fence
under the bushes.

The person, aftei hitching the horses. laced
blame) in a position to look across the lie d and
down the lane. ‘

\ He. soon had cause to admire the accuracy
with which his partners bad calculated their op-

portunity. '

After a little while he caught sight of a young
lady—though he saw her dimly in the darkness
_who was crossing the cotton-field, near the
fence that so arated it from the cornfield,

There coul be no mistaking that figure, an"
than most women, but lithe and graceful, and
the clinging and perfectly fitting dm E1).
Fowle always wore.

0n she came evidentl suspecting noharm.

icking her way swift y and rural in the
garkness, as if she was accustomed to t t path.

As she approached the fence the parson could
see that she was heavily veiled, and that her
vail was tied around her nrvrk.

This was deubtlma to 3 rcvvnt discovery of
her person and her pu rpnses.

 

She passed out of the person’s view as she
reached the lane fence; but he heard some-
thin .

W at he heard was a scream.

It was a slight scream, and quickly choked
off. asif she had been gagged.

She had not really been gagged, but the r-
son saw what had happened when John un—
ford and his son hurried her up the lane to where
he was pos .

He had hastened to unhitch the horses, and
was then standing at their heads awaiting the
other conspirators.

He then saw that they had tied a cloth over
her face outside of her veil, and had also tied
her hands.

The parson watched them closely as they
brought her to the wagon.

It was clear to him that she had not fainted,
and yet she was limp in their hands, as if she
was paralyzed by fright.

She was lifted into the back seat, and John
Munford got in there with her.

The other two climbed into the front seat,
Pressley taking the reins. .

The young man was yet more e1cited and
nervous than he had been at the supper table;
but his father was as cool and calm and deter-
mined as ever.

They drove quietly out of the lane, and re id-
ly up the road, and scarcely a word was spo on
while they made the distance of more than
three miles.

Ofteh Pressle Munford looked around, but
only once he spo e.

“ Father, is she-”

“qu" grufiiy answered John Munford.
“ Don’t make a fool of yourself. She is all

ht, if you will only hold our ton ue.” ,

hen the wagon reach John Edunford's
house the darkness was intense. ‘

The sound of the wheels and of the horses’
hoofs brought out Dave Hertsey and Charley
Schramm who were the only pegple visible.

John finnford, calling Dave erteey to his
aSSistance, lifted down the almost inanimate
form of the irl, and she was carried into the
house, Press ey at her side, and the person and
Charley Schramm following.

The led her into the sitt ng room, which was
also t e dining-room of the farm—house, and
which was lig ted none too brilliantly by a
coal-oil lamp.

She sunk into a chair without uttering a
word.

Indeed, she could not have spoken if she had
tried, as the bandage was still over her mouth,
and her hands were tied so that she could not
remove it.

“Stand here, Pressle ," ordered John Mun-
ford. ’1‘ We must get hmugh with this ina
hur .

When he had untied her hands and taken the
cloth from her face, her first movement we to
clutch at her vail and hold it down. \

Then he assisted her to rise and placed her at
the side of Presley um holding sei- arm.

She did not but her slight form shiver-
ed as he toncedhsr, andsheseemedtohe

dazed.

“ Go ahead, poison,” ordered John Munfond.
"I suppose you know the service, and don’t
need any book.”

P essle Mu nford took the lady’sgloved
ha d in is, and the person aw forward and
began his work as if he were an old hand at the
business. . ‘

“ Do you, Pressley, take this young woman to
our lawful wedded wife, to love, cherish

n Protect'her while on both shall live!"
" do," answered
nervously.

“ o you—what is the
Mr. unfordi”

“ Ella Fowler.”

‘- Do you, Ella, take this young man to be
your lawful wedded husband, to love, honor and
obey him while you both'shall liVel"

S e did not answer, exoept b a hysterical
sob, and again her slight form sh vered.

“Silence gives conscnt,”said thecheerful par-
son. “Then, by virtue of the authority vested
in me, I pronounce you man and wife. Pressley
Mumford, salute your bridal”

The shrinking girl 8% no resistance
when the young man her vail and dis-
closed the countenance of a negressl

A young and comely negress, and a mulatto
at that, but none the less a negress.

red Henning recognized her at once, and so

did John Munford and his son, as Celia, Ella
Fowle’s maid.

She seemed tobe terribly frightened, and well

young lady’s name,

she might be, as she needed all her fortitude_

when she found herself in that den of wolves.

Pressley Munford started back, astonished,
confused, and for the moment incapable of any-
thin but silent amazement.

Jo n Munford kooked quickl and inquiringly
at every person i the room, h a glance resting
longest on the parson, whose countenance wore
I user expression.

n his wrath fiamcd up in his face, and
burst out at his mouth in a storm of oaths. ,

He grubbed at the mnl'lllq gill, wlaotvadcd

his grasp and ran from him.

young man, a little.

'daring to recklessness. high-tun ,

 

She would have run out at the door if Dave
Hertsey had not stood there to stop her. .

“ There seems to have been a mistake made,”
coolly remarked the parson. “ I ought to have
collected my fee in advance."

“This is nothin to joke about.” exclaimed
John Mumford, w th a fearful oath. “ I want
to know who is responsible for this swindle, and
I mean to find out, if I have to in hip the life out
of that nigger.”

The “ni ger ” had dropped upon a chair,
nearly para yzed by fear, as she probably real-
ised for the first time the danger of her post.
tion. '

“That sort of thing won’t do, Cap.” said the
Rev: Samuel Sawtell, speaking calmly but in a
determined tone.

" Haw do you know it won’t do?” ergrily de—
manded John Munford. “I say that it will do,
andnit won’t be healthy for any man to dispute
me.

“ I say that it won‘t do at all, and if you will
cool down a hit you will see that it won’t do. .
Whoever has put up the job, it is likely that this
girl is innocent, and she ought not to be made
to snfler for another person’s fault. Suppose
you give her a chance to tell her story.” ,

“Let’s hear what she has to say.” suggested
Pressley. “ Perhaps we can get to the bottom of
the thing that way.”

Thus encoura , Celia found her tongue, and
proceeded to to her story, though it was ren-
dered rather misty by her tearsand robs.

“ Befo’ de Lawd, ssh,” she said, “ I hain’t put
up nufiln’, an’ hnin’t tried to do no harm in no-
body. It was Miss Ella w’ot dressed nne' up in
her clo’es, an’ sent me ’crOes de field to de woods;
an’ I didn’t do nuffln’ lu' jess w’ot young missus
tole me to do, an’ dat’s de Gospil troof. I didn’t
know numn’ ’bout you folks, an’ didn‘t hab
nuiiin’ to do wid you, an’ nehber ’spected to -
meet on out dar, nohow.”

” hy did she send you there!" demanded
Pressley.

“ Jess fur to play a joke on Arthur He’msley,
sah—dat‘s w’ot she tole me, an’ 1 war gwine to
find him when you colched me.” ’

“ Why did you not speak and let us know
who you were ’

“Befo’ de Lawd, ssh, you didn’t gib me no
chaince. You tied up my mouf, an’ kerried me
away, an’ when I got heah I was so had soar’d I
couldn’t say a word."

“I jud e that she is speaking the truth " ro—
marked t e person.

“I suppose she is,” mhlcd John Munford,
whose anger had not a ted, though its viable-
fire had cooled down.

“Isu she is; but shehasb‘roughtmetho
worst cos of luck that I have had for this long-
time. I suppose we ought to have made sure
that we had caught the right bird; but who
would ever have suspected such a trick as that!"

“ It is internally unfortunate that Ella Fowlo
happened to take that notion into her head just
then," observed Pressley.

“ What shall we do with the girl!" asked the»
person. “We can’t let her go had home, as.
she would give the business away.” '

“Befo’ do Lewd uh, I won nebbsr my.
w to nomdeclaied (Elia. I m 

“ a can . you on t.
that you will have to shpthcr up and let your.
niggrs look after her, until—9' ' >

' es,” assented John [unfordv—“until we
slide of! en the Sunset.” 
in; gut the Fowles will ruin her and look br-

“.Let them look. It won’t be the am “this ’  ‘
they have looked for may without finding it.  ’4

cam xxvu‘.
m OLD FIELD HUD. . ~

Hana! Hm Bunniqu was rightly
named, as he was by nature head and:

and impatient of any opinion but iaown.

He was tall and handsome, a apttalhorse-
man, an excellent shot, e in all athletic
exercises, and akfimcater w had good reason

a l

toboaetofhis .
he wasthe young prince offliecoun- '

In fact
tr , and his position was “comm. .
in Arthur Helmsle ‘s,cousi'n, and afew
years is senior, as we
pro rty, he assumed the ri to lord itovor
Ar tor, and to give him vice which he in»
tended should be respected as commands.

Bein generally looked nptoas thelieadoftho ‘
Helms ey family, he re‘gurded himself as an in-
heritor of the feud w th the Fowies, although
that dimculty in truth aflected only Arthur’s
estate.

Feeling such a d interest in that feud, he
was bitterly opting) to any sort of a com-
promise, even i the other fine had shown an
d ion to cornpromise, which the othc

ha always totally failed to show. ' ’1, A

Re how that Arthur would be more than-l

willing to shuffle on the difficulty ."d m m I I 
of it,rand on that account he watched his cousin  

closely, for the purpose of preventing any such
weakness:

' The feud, as *s- "homily the case with v " ‘
foolish family quarrels, had grown Lu big pro-

 

__...W§ .,. ,_,..

as hair to abiggar,  

 

"  . powls’s daughter. That is all the respect you

win.

a

.‘H ..‘- .y . gr __A
I . . .

20

Flush Fred, the Mississippi Sport.

 

us from a very small beginning, and
ts origin had been simply contemptibie.

It was all about a petty and worthless strip or
gore of land between the Fowle and Helmsley
plantations.

This strip was claimed by both families the
original deeds of the land having described the
boundary-line so indefinitely that it was really
difilcult to determine on which side of the strip
it ought to run.

They had gone to law about it, and the legal

ht develo (1 personal conflicts, until Dick

owie kill Arthur Helmsley‘s ndfsther
just after they had both come out 0 church.

Thceafter the feud became more intense and
bitter, and bloodshed was looked for whenever
any of the contending parties came in sight of

other.

The legal aspect of the case in the mean time
had gone from bad to worse.

The wretched strip of land had dragged the

,. two families into the court of chancery, which
still flourished in Tennessee, and there they
were hopelessly tied up and tangled.

,As for the value of the strip, that had been
many and many times expended in feeing law-
yers, and in the endlem costs of the lit ation.

In fact. it was merely an old field w ich had
been long since worn out, producin nothing
but unsightly broom sedge and re using to
grow even hriers and bramh es.

It was commonly said of it that the soil
would not sprout black-eyed pears.

At last something in the shape of a decision
was reached, though it was merely temporary
and unsatisfactory.

‘ It was ordered that a fence long since erected
b the Helmsleys, and which had rotted down
1! til it was nearly invisible, should be re-
moved—pending further consideration and ad-
judicat on. .

Arthur would gladly have eflaced the last

' I , Vestige of the old fence, but failed to do so, ow-

ingto the o osition of his cousins.
he sheri of the county was then directed to
do the work, and a day was set for the execu-
tion of the order of the court.
' Arthur Helmsley and his sister were not at all
‘ ‘sur rised, on the morning of that day, to see
their cousin Harry Hotspur ride u to the house,
accompanied bv his young brot rs, Bradley
and Prentiss Helmsley. \
They carried rifles, as well as weapons that
were concealed, and it was easy enough to guess
the object of their visit.
“ More trouble about nothing, Kate,” said
Arthur, film a sigh. “ Yes, about worse than

nothin . - .
“I hope, Arthur, that you will not refuse
to stand up for your own family,” remarked his

mother.

‘ “Of course, mother, I will stand up for the
” answered Arthur, who did not wish to
the question with her.
three cousins were of course hoepitably
and heartily welcomed, the tie of kinship being
v strong in that mam
best

E

bases were sta and fed, and the

the house elorded in the way of eatahle
saddriekable wasset before them.

Harry Hotspursoon made known hismimion

I. in halluer and  way.

hi

‘ Wei course you don’t meaatoailowhim
to touch it.” .

“Whynoti- Itistheorderofthecourt.”

“Who cares for the order of the court?
Since when have we n to obey orders?
I have been to see Em. E eridge, and he tells
me that the wder amounts to nothing,as it
don’t touch the merits of the controversy. If

, don’ttouch the merits of the controversy,
 had better keep away from that

aims Belmaley said nothing: but his look
edthathcwaaboredand worried.

g“:

' ‘ , “You mustgodown there with us, Arthur,”
; continued his fiery cousin.

“ Of course the

In)!!!” 'm b“inhehma‘ill B ill eed
‘ suppose y w . r n w n

y to show him where {gonad the fence

, , so
 «if there is anything left of it. Of course I

will» go with you, Harry. though I am tired

V of'the whole business. But there is plenty of
. m. 1’

“Tired of the whole business, are out We
lknow what that means, Arthur. It as ot to
Che common talk that you are in love wit Tom

:haverfor your family and our rights. It is
lucky that I am on hand an able to look after
things.”

i ' Arthur smiled, and left the talking to his mo-

' andhls cousins.
y were still at it when a smart-looking
colored man rode up to the house, leading a

I. ' handsome sorrel horse.
. Kate , lmsley. who was standing at thef
. window, c a pod her hands. and her joyful cry

brow her rcther to her side.
“ k, Arthur,” she exclaimed. “ Here ismy
Kau'com'e back 1‘

 

It was not the sorrel mare that had been
stolen, but was so ve like her that the young
lady wondered what i meant.

hat it meant was shown by a letter which
the colored man handed to Arthur Helmsley,
and which he was compelled to read for the
benefit of all.

It was in these words:

“Mr Dun Ma. Humans:—

“ I was very sorry to hear of the loss of your sis-
ter‘s riding horse, which I had admired so much. I
have hafifieaed to come across a mare which is near
enough e her to be called a match, and I send her
to you, begging you to persuade our sistcrto accept
her in the place of the fit wh h some scoundrel
stole from your stable. oping that I am not too
free and deeply remembering how much I owe
you, remain,

“Yours very truly,
“Faun HENNING."

“ That is all correct ” said Arthur, as he
handed the messenger a liberal deuce-Mr.

“ Does to accept such a present from a
com rative stranger!” asked his mother.

“ hope she does. ' If she does not, I must
take it in her place. He is nota comparative
stranger to me, but my particular friend, and I
am anxious that Kate should oblige him by ac.
cepting the mare.”

‘ He writes a good letter,” said Barry Hot-
spur, who had not been backward in picking it
up and readi it. “ I am sure that I have
heard of him. sn’t he a sporting man.”

" That is just what he is,” replied Arthur.
“ He plays cards for a living5 and on the
river he is known as Flush Fred.

“That man. hey!
him. He has a bi reputation as a gamester.
I would give considerable for a chance to try
him at seven-up.”

“ Do you suppose any man in the world could
beat you at that Harry?”

“ I doubt it. I would like to see the man who
could.”

Before he set out with his cousins for the old
field, Arthur Helmsley wrote a note, and sent it
away by a negro boy.

He was careful to keep that note from the
sight of Elegy Hotspur, as it was directed to
Marshall Fo e.

CHAPTER XXVIIIL
'rnn Iva or ran: racrmu mom.

Sana!" J ACK Bu.wa was ‘ of course
thoroughly ac uainted with the feud between
the Fowlee an the Hellnsleys.

He was also thoroughly disgusted with it,
though it had brought much money to his omce
in the we of fees.

Nature ly he was dis leased at being com-
polled to execute the or or for the removal of
an old fence, which, if it still existed, was of no
earthlly consequence to anybody.

Besdee, hewasasbusy as hecouldbe in
tr ing to find a clsw to the thieves who had
in e committed so many depredations in the

nei borhood.
IIe hated to be bothered with what he
aggléstyled “ infernal foolishn ” and to be
ly forced into a senseless ction fight

between his negh hon.

He hoped— on!!! hefeared that itwae a
hopeless ope—the the dlflculty might be in
some way smoothed over, so that he would be
relieved of his un leasent duty.

Of course he. lied Colonel Fowle’s planta-
tion in the first place, as the order of the court
m in btehe lungs: of: the llle anlc‘ii as ut’hg

t expec , any y won ,
able to find the fence that was to be removed.

Colonel Fowle was rejoiced to see him there
on that errand, iving him with the most
enthusiastic we e and the most lavish hos-
pitalitz.

In t e view of the colonel the order for the
gmloovga‘ll of the fence wasdan impgrttgnt stfipfin

e controversy, an a grea ump or
the Fowlc side.

In the view of his son Marshall it only com-

plicated a question which was already too com- ‘

liccted, and came at an unfortunate juncture,
net at the time when there was a reasonable
chance of making a sensible settlement of the
stu id old trouble.
red Henning, who had opportuner arrivsd
that morning, was strongly inclined to side with
Marshall, but was in no hurry to thrust his
opinion upon the family connci .

Mrs. Fowle and, Ella sympathized with Mar-
shall, though the had little to say. '

The sheriff di not fail to note these signs of
the state of feeling, and was encours ed by
them to a certain extent, though he wel knew
that the colonel’s obstinacy was a match for all
the rest. a .

The colonel was decidedly of the same opinion,
and he also knew that nothin could be done
or tneglected in the matter w thout his con-
sen . ..

“I suppose I must go ahead with this job,”
remarked Jack Bryson, “though I must say
that I have might little taste for it. Don’t
you think, colonel, but it might as Well he left
alone?”

“It is the order of the court,” answered the
colonel, bristling up. “I suppose the court
knew what it was doing.”

Of course I have heard of_

 

“Perhaps so; but I would hate to bet heavy
on that. Do you suppose you can find that
dodrotted fence?”

“ Find it? Of course I can find it. That is, I
know where to look for it. I remember when
it was built. That was what my father and
Jake Helmsley had the fight about.”

“There is likely to be another fight about it,
I reckon, and I don’t like to be mixed up in that
sort of thing. I suppose the Helmsleys will be
on hand."

“ Of course they will, and we will have to go
armed."

“ What sort of a show will that give me.
colonel? A mighty pleasant tion I will
have, between your two fires. think you had
better settle that business, and make an end of

“ I think so, ten,” chimed in Marshall Fowle.

As the Colonel flared up again, his son slipped
out at the front door.

He had caught sight of a colored boy comin
down the road, and recognized him as one 0
Arthur Helmsley’s “ niggers.”

Buspectin that some sort of aconciliatory
messa e ha been sent by Arthur, and knowin
that h s father was not in a mood to treat su'c
a communication politely, he hurried out to in-
tercept the messenger.

There was a note for him, as be guessed, and
its contents proved to be so interesting that
Marshall contrived to call out Fred Henning
and show it to him privateliy.

Fred was also interested ,n the note.‘

“That is a right good point, my boy,” said
he. “ You can rely upon me to act upon it if
there is an sort of a chance.”

When the two goung men returned to the
house they found t 6 family caucus progressing
slowly.

The sheriff was mildly protesti , Colonel
Fowle was loudly grumbling, and e women-
folks were sadly silent.

“ I am ready to go with you, father," said the
young gentleman. ,

“ And I will make one of the party, if there
is no objecticn,” added Fred Henning.

“ You must not forget your weapons,” re-
marked the colonel. .

Marshall took down his rifle from its rack,
and Flush Fred displayed an efficient revol-
ver.

Ella Fowlc stepped forward with tears in her
eyes.

“ Please. Mr. Bryson, don’t let them fight,”
she begged. '

“ How am I to help it, In child?”

“ You are the sher a of t e county, and ought
to be able to do something."

“ I wish I could; but if they take a notion to
fight, I might as well try to stop the Mississippi
from runniu down stream.”

“ Then I wg
do toward k the peace.”

“You will do nothing of the kind," declared
the colonel. “ Those who don’t care about keep-
ing up the di city of the family may sulk as
the please: ut our flag shall never be lcwe
wh lo I livs.” .

The party set out, the colonel and the sherifl
in advance on horseback, Marshall Fowle and
Fred Banning next, and three unwilling colored
men with axes_and spades bringing up the rear
in a farm-wagon.

When they reached the old field all but the
colonel were struck b its cheerless and forlorn
lappearance, aggdatgi. nigg sense-of itswcrth-
essneee rva :- y.

But thgeleader brl halted up and hrlstled u
when he saw it, as it were a paradise whic
life and fortune might well be spent in defend-

in .

zeroes its barren and yellow expanse, seamed
by red gullies, they saw the enemy.

Arthur Helmsley and his three cousins were
there, grouped near the remains of a rotten old
for cc, of which but a few rails here and there
were visible.

After a little conversation with Colonel Fowle
the sheriff walked across the broom-sedge and
joined the Helmsley party.

They received him pleasantly, but at the same
time rather coolly.

“ I suppose you know,” he said, addressing
himself to Arthur Helmsley. “ that I have been
ordered to remove a fence from this field. Is
this the fence?”

" Indeed I don’t know, Mr. Bryson,” answer-
ed Arthur with a smile. a

“If it is, it seems to be hardly worth remov-

in ."

5‘ Such as it is, you are Welcome to do what
you please with it, for all I care."

Jack Bryson smiled.

This seemed to be quite a propitious beginning
of the unpleasant business.

“ No!” exclaimed Harry Botspur, who had
been waiting for this manifestation of “weak-
ness ” on the part of his cousin.

“ There is the fence, Jack Bryson, and there
it will stay. while a bit of the wood remains
above ground. With all respect for you, sir,
and without the least wish to harm you or to
bother you, I say that neither you nor any
other person shall touch that fence.”

“1 was speaking to Arthur Helmslcy, and I '

l

‘1'  ‘ . -  ‘ i .
p“ m.‘ ‘ _ s . 1 -s E

lfo with you, and see what I can \
D 38

Rush...—

 

 

 

 

* 5333‘s,. . _.

" ' Flush Fred, the Mississippi Sport.

21

 

 

believe that he is the man who claims this
land ” mildly suggested the sheriff. '

“ care nothing for what Arthur claims or
don’t claim. This a matter that concerns the
Helmsley family. and that fence is not to be
touched while i live."

“Butl have an order of the court, Harry,
and am bound to obey it.”

“Blank the court! No durned fool court is
going to chisel us out of our rights while we are
able to maintain them. There are the Fowles,
waiting to crow over us, and it will be the last
crow for some of them if this thing goes on.
Go back to them, Jack Bryson, and tell them
that we are ready for them, and let me beg
you, for old friendship’s sake, to keep out of the
way of the fi ht."

“VeryJ we l, Mr. Helmsley,” answered the
‘ sherifl, ristling up in his turn. “If there is

any fight,l shall old you res nsible for it,
and it is you that I will settle w tb.”

Arthur Belmsley had said nothing.“

Perhaps he was of the opinion t t it might
relieve his cousin Barry's mind if he were al.
lowed to do all the talking.

But, as the sherifi turned away, he bestowed
u n that official awink of capacious dimen-

Jhck B without another word, walked
acres the old eld toward the Fowle party.

CHAPTER XXIX.

~ Tn: waosa or 3am

As the sheriff walked from the Helmsiey
faction toward the Fowle faction, it would
seem to an outside a tutor that there was
nothing to revent a b oody fight.

Harry otspur and his brothers were evi-
dently of that o nion, as they examined their

carefully: t Harry was as cool as his
cousin Arthur, if not as indifferent

“Someboodiy is oing to get hurt, I reckon,”
he remark . “ ack Bryson is as mild as a
lamb; but he is chuck-full of fight when he gets
waksd up."

“He is too good a man for the oonntyto
lose.” quietly answered Arthur. »

Then there was a change in the scene.

Just a all ht change.

Only a rl, mounted on a fine sorrel horse,
~ who rode up within si ht of them all, but at a
reasonable distance rom both parties, and
halted on a knoll near a bit of woods at the
southward. ,

Hardly had she taken her station there, when
another girl rode up, mounted on a beautiful
bay. and joined the other.

After a brief hesitation they greeted each
other aflectionately, and stationed themselves
on the knoll, their horses’ heads turned toward
the belligerents.

The first arrival was Kate Helmsley, and the
second Was Ella Fowle.

Each of them had been actuated by the same
impulse—to endeavor to keep the peace between
the plfislble combatants.

Their appearance created quitea sensation,
but not a noisy one.

“ is that your sister there, on the sorrel nag?"
asked Barry Hotspur.

“ Yes, that seems to be Kate.”

“ What in thunder is ‘she doinfirtherel *Hellol
there isanother. Is that Tom owle’s daugh-

tart”

“ Yes, that is Ella Fowle.”

“ Creation! ’What has brought them here!”

. “Their horses, I judge," quietly answered
Arthur. '
“ Arthur, this is no time for nonsense.” I

Barr Hotspur, however, laid down his rifle
where t would be out of sight of the girls, and
his brothers fo lowed his example.

The sheriff, in the meantime, had reached the
Fowle forty, and there was a brief confab on
that at e.

“ Who is that tall dark-complexioned man
over onderl" asked Harry Hotspur.

“ hat is Fred Henning,” answered Arthnrbv-

- “ the man you know of as Flush Fred.”

“The man who gave your sister that sorrel
mare!” ‘

“ Yes; and I would be glad to meet him.”

“So would 1. at some other time and place.
Relic! what is he doing?”

Flush had separated from the Fowle

party. and was riding slowly toward the Helms-

ewide.

bet: he reached them he dismounted, calmly
and nonchalantly, and shook hands with Arr
thur, who introduced him to his cousins.

They received hlm pleasantly, but at the
same time somewhat coldly, just as they had
received the sherifi'.

As he was not a Fowle he could hardly be
regarded as an enemy, and the presence or the

 

girls, though at a distance, operated a ‘ ,9. l

straint upon- warlike tendencies.

“You swem to be enjoying a neighborhood
difi‘ll-ull here,” remar e'i Fred in his usual
cheerf , way. " i understand that there is
some sort of a fence that gives some sort of
oflense.”

The atrocious pun was well received, not-
withstanding the proverbial inabilit of Ten-
nesseeans to take a ?oke, and Fred fo owed up
the slices by produc ng a d it bottle.

 

“I have here,” he said, “about the purest
and oldest and oiliest article in the way of
whisky that you are likely to find as you jour—
ney th ough this world of sin and sorrow, and

it.

The “article " was duly sampled and highly 5

approved.

“ Of course none of you could be expected to .

straddle the fence,” continued Fred. “1 sup-
pose it would be hard to find enough of it to
straddle. So the only way to settle the diffi-
culty is a fight.”

Harry Hotspur assented to this proposition at '

once.

“Of course you would not want to kill the
sheriff, who would gladly be out of the scrape,
or me, as I am an outsider. Suppose, now, you
should agree to settle this whole business by
single combat."

“That suits me exactly,” Harry instantly
declared. “ If Tom Fow e or his son is willing
to meet me or my cousin Arthur, with rifles or

pistols or knives, we are read right now.”
“That is not just the kin of combat I was
thinking of,” observed Flush Fred.

“Indeed! What then!”

“I understand that Harry Helmsley—I be-
lieve that is you, sir—”

Herr Hotspur nodded.

“ is e charts on seven-up player of thh part
of Tennessee. think you ought to be as I
have often heard of you, on the river an else-
where, and your play has been highly spoken
of by the best judges. '

Harry Hotspur actually blushed.

No hi her compliment could be paid him,
in his nion, than that which he had just re-
ceived.

It exalted him immensel in his own estima-
tion and in that of his brot err.

“ I belieiylehl do play a pretty good country

game an e.

“ Y‘ou are too modest, Mr. Belmsley,” replied
Fred. “ I know that you have the reputation
of playing a splendid game. 1 make some pre-
tensions to seven-up, too, and my friends brag
on me. But I have never come across such a
player as you are said to be, and I have longed

or a chance to tackle on.”

“I ould be right g ad to meet you on such a

field, r. Henning. But what has that to do
With this fence business?" '
. “ it is the style of sin le combat I was thin!:-
ing of. Suppose you an 1 pin a rub of sewn-
up, With the old field for a ate 0, the games to
Settle which side shall have it.”

Harry Hotspur hesitated.

The roposition struck him singularly, but
not an avorably.

While those girls were looking on there could
hard] he a satisfactory fight; but something
woul have to be done. -

The high compliments paid him had put him
on his mettle, and it would non be easy to re-
fuse a challenge to play his favorite game, no
matter at what stake.

If he should refuse, there were some who
might say that he was afraid, and he would
rat er be taunted with cowardice as a fighter
than as a gamester.

Yet it would not do to make an
yielding, and therefore the roposit on must
clearl come from the other side.

Art or said nothing.

show of

. He was well uainted with Harry’s dispo-
sition, knowing hat the compliments had
touched him m a soft spot, and that he would

naturall want to secept Fred Hennin ’s ofler.

There are he let his cousin do the ing and
mane the matter to suit himself.

“ d the Fowles send you Nor here to make
that 08er, Mr. Kenning!” i uired Harry.

“ Not exactly. Indeed, dflwdy sent me but
myself. It occurred to me when I heard that
you were he and I merely said that I would
run across an try to get up a game with you.”

“ Suppose you go and find out whether they
will stand' to what you ssyl While eEon are
gone, I will ask my people what they ink of
I 3

“All right; but I am sure that the folks over
:3”?! will agree to it,” replied Fred, as he start-
0 .

 

CHAPTER XXX.
m OLD FEUD 8317131).

It was quite true, as Fred Henning said, that
nobody had sent him but himself.

But he had consulted with Marshall Fowle
before they left the house, and was merely car-
rying out the plan that he and that young gen-
tleman had agreed upon.

It was then necessary to gain the consent of
Colonel Fowle to the seven-up style of settling
the difficulty. ,

That was not an eas thing to do; but Fred
Henning and the sherifl’yand his son all set upon
him at once, and sneeeeded in placing the mat-
ter before him in a favorable light.

“Harry Helmsley wants to fix it that way,”
said Marshall “ and you know, father, that Mr.
Kenning can host him.”

” He can do it if an
colonel; “ but that sea swag over there, they
tell me, is a master hand at seven-up.”

yo‘u wtl greatly oblige me if you will sample 3

' ground, facing each other. their judges
' them, and the umpire at the side.

man can," replied the.

l Flush Fred expressed entire confidence in his

ability to win. and the colonel declared that he
i would be willing to give “ quite a pile ” to see
them play.

“ You can see it for nothing, and make money
. by the sight," remarktd the sheriff. '
0n the other side the discussion was\less ani-
, mated, and was sooner brought to an end.

Harry Hotspur‘s brothers, who believed in
him implicitly, were ready enough to assent to
whatever he thought proper to do.

‘, But Arthur, when his opinion was asked, hesi-
5 tated a little.

“ If I thought you could win—” said he.

I - “ Win?” exclaimed Barr . “ Of course I can
i win. I would like to see t e man who can beat
‘ me at seven-up.”

“ All right, if you say so. Go in and win.”

Jack Bryson came up from the other side to
say that the Fowles were ready for the combat,
and then the Helmsle faction moved down to
the middle of the old old, where they were met
by their op nents.

The mee g was evidently a ful one,
and it‘attracted the two girls, who, after alittle
hesitation. rode forward gradually until' they
reached the grou

But their relat ves and friends were then so
absorbed in an afl’air of innuenee importance,
that the nee of Kate and Ella was almost
nnnot

As for cards, Flush Fred and his antagonist
were both supplied with those weapons of war-
fare; but it was a that they should we
Henning’s Rot which was entirely new.

Colonel wie was the judge for his friend
and Arthur Helmsley for theother side, a
Sherifl Bryson was unanimously chosen as um-

re.
piIt was also a that the “short rub "
should be played, y which theoolstest would be
settled within three games.

Acoatwasabouttobe spread nponthe 1-
low broom-serge to serva as a table, when to
lielnisley pulled oi! her shawl and threw it into
t e r ng.

Flush Fred looked up at her and smiled.

He had perceived that she was riding the
horse which he had sent her, and it was quite
natural that he should feel in fine feather.

l The combatants seated themselves on the

behind
he others
were compelled to stand around at a respectful
distance.

Fred Kenning won the deal, and the‘ we
proceeded amid intense silence, not a wo he-
lng spoken except the few remarks that the
pin ers were compelled to make.

The jud es and the umpire had nothing to do
but keep e account, which was a very simple
matter. .

Both the combatants were so skillml, and at
the same time so wary, that no dispute could
arise between them.

The only advantage—considering the chance
of cheating as an advantage—was in the deal,
and if one “ put up” the cards to suit himself, .
the other had the same privilege.

In that art, which was not re rded as cheat-
ing, both were skilled, and neit er objected to
the operations of the other.

Harry Hot spur won the first game by a close
shave, and his face brightened; and his brothers
were highly encouraged, while Colonel Fowle '
looked viz lum.

But Fl d' won the second game quite
easily, and the cruntenanoes changed.

/ The third and decisive game was watched with v v
the most absorbing interest, and the mentor. . \
encroached without ob tion upon limib N
that had been allowed em. , '3 .

Harry Hotepnr was' obviously anxious and
excited. -

Fred Kenning was calm and apparently in-
different. ,

When three hands had been played, the soon
stood six and six.

‘Eeeh had one point to make, and it was
Helmsley’s deal.

Of course there was an advantage in the
“ ,” which Fred Kenning hid: butthere was
the cal-and oh! what an advantage a *lllful
gamester can find in the deal!

If Hotspur should turn ‘up a jack, the
game would at once be his. '

It was fully expected, and it was doubtless
his intention, that he should tum up a jack‘
and his supporters had aoonfident look whi
Colonel Fowle was decidedly down in the ,

mouth.
He had dealt three cards apiece, when his op.‘
ponent made a casual remark. .

Fred, “is the jack of clubs.”
This was a stunner in its way. .
If the dealer was to turn up a jack surrepti—

tiously, and was not allowed to steal it from the

bottom, where would he find it? ‘
That sort of thing would upset the calculations
of the best seven-up sharp.
Harry Hotspnr’s faceiurned red, and he gave .

a quick glance at his opponent, who evidently

knew what he was talking about.

Then be dealt the remaining three cards / ' ‘

apiece, and turned up a trump, which I'll

 

“The bottom card of that pack,"mid Flush - I

-V .1 a. u..

 w‘ ,H.

.V.
‘l.

‘

 

-‘.»

 

;  i V spoon ted
iteng

A
|
r

/

  ufmno

I“ h hid at the bank up the river.

. -___.._-... ..

 

22'- 

._———..V.,..

not the jack of clubs, but the nine of that
suit.

“ I am out,” said Fred Henning, laying down
his hand, which contained the ace of clubs.

Nothing remained to be said or done.

There were those who would have liked to be
told how Fred knew the position of that jack of
clubs, but none of them cared to inquire too
closely into the fine points of such a game as

a .
Kate Helmsley clapped her hands.
i H“ Are you glad we lost?" demanded her cousin
arry.
“I would have arplauded just the same if you
had won,” she repl ed. “I am so glad that there
is an end of the old horror."
Arthur declared that nobody could be gladder
than he was.
"I believe I am glad it is settled, too," said
. “ Colonel Fowle, you are welcome to
that mangy old field.”
“ I am sure that I don’t want it," replied the
colonel.
“ There is nobody in this country who is
poor enough to take it as a gift,” remarked his

son.
“What will become of it, thenl” inquired

 . ' "
‘ “ u ," named Fred Heuning, “ you
leave a court df chancery in full possession of

,it, with all its income and profits."
“ Ah! that’s where the trouble comes in. We
. have settled the difficulty among ourselves. but
how are we going to get out of the court of
chanceryf"
“ If you will quit payin the lawyers, Mr.
Kamaey, I think they will at you out after a
w

 

CHAPTER XXII.
m canvas or m sultan.
“Snaxousnv, gentlemseéla" said Flush Fred
a pas

, “it is a good thing fouou and for the
hborhood that his business h been settled, as
on a chance to work i ther in a matter
that is 0 far fixater im ortance.

“ What let i" ask Harry Helmsley.

“The robberies and thefts and eggs-lee that have
more or less annoyed nearly every y about here.
I haven story to tell you about them, which may as
well be told l ht here, while we are out in the open,
with no lb a spice in sight.“

Oolone Fowle and his son were pretty well ac.
gnalnted with that story' Arthur Hemlsle had got

old of rtions of it, an Sheriff Bryson been
given a int f it.

‘ ntall were eager to hearit fully and in detail,

Fred Henni told itto them, from the first dis-
coveries to the la

Jack Bryson was more than surprisedto learn
that such a criminal as John Munford had been liv-
ing among them, nagging on his nefarious opera-

tbereandelsew re,quiteuns byany
of his neigbors.
All of t m were of the opinion that the thanks of

the neighberhood, and much more than thanks,
were due to the stranger who had prosecuted the in.
vestigations at his own expense and risk and had
brought them so near to a successful conclusion.

was for-immediate action to break
the Munford gang, and this was of
course t a general sentiment.

The only question was ,as to the course to be pur-

su .
Flush Fred was naturally looked to for advice on
this int, and he gave it unhesitatingly and clearly.
“ he little steamboat of which I spoke." said be,
She is partly load-
edwith louder, and the expect to put more on
her to-ngrht and leave he c0untr . I can't say
whether they mean to strike a part g' blow or not;
but they should be anticipated, whatever their inten.
tion may be. There are enough of you now that
arennited, to capture that craft and the Mun-
ord gang and all their plunder, and the only thing
is for the sherifl' to pick‘out the men he

necemary
. ' wants and take command of them.’

was discussed andlsettlod
eld, and when they separ-
new exactly what he was expectedto do.
night that followed wasunusually dark.
There was no moon, and the sky was completely

obscured by heavy
At the moutho Bull Slough Branch, as a sluggish
, stream in aswampy district was styled, the lit-
ateamboat Sunset lay well bid by the high bank
overhangl bus on and vines.
was a stern—w color. and those whohad to do
herwere what to say that she could be run with
“as $3.? the :35 built)? if. “m lull legit.
' s on e way 0
business. .3! concealed from view on the land
her crew consisted of one engineer, one
one deck hand.

and /
seated on the orward part of the boat
at their cob-pipes, to the great
of musketoea that were
for their blood

it 'bout time them folks was comin’ along!"
the firemen. whom Nature had made quite
“Reg: '5: l2! when tots.er l.
on ' , a n
mamwhoseem to have no ood
are to the musketoes.
glad to git away from yer, fur
Tennessee ’skeeters is de wu'st I know

sin (is ribber '
“Boltlgl' eatlees and drink more, Clem, and mebbe
won't bother er.”

d. ’
“Pleat me.
mun-1%..

lano scam
12?: theod

E

r5

i.

 E ‘3; 3'?

i

i

ii

startin' up de nah 'bout new!" ,
It‘saseas to.g'.t steam up as to
Wait till e hoescomes and gives

now,” said the deckhand, ahighlr
vidual, who also officiated as cook.

3
3
s

skeetere den do 1
II

when a
around and favorably inc ?

and ‘

 

 

' make no noise, and they were tied an

 

"—7.... ._._...._.- .._._....._..._.. _

“How do you know that?" gl'ut'lly ucllllill..l ti .Ll
en neer.

‘ Don‘t you bash the steps in de brush 2“

There was such a noise; but it was dinicult to say
whether it was caused by men or minks.

#rlnsn no, the: phantom Sport. 

“They don‘t come that way," remarked the en- "

user with the air of one whose say-so is sufficient

sett a point.

" it’s sumiin‘. dough. Dar ‘tis ag‘in.“

The Sunset lay close against the bank, the top of
which was some ten feet above her boiler deck; but
at the how there was a slope that had been used for
ellisykaccees, leading down to her narrow gaug-
p an .

The noises that had been heard were not in the di— ’

rection of the slope but near the edge of the bank.

“ 'Tis somebod , fur shuah." said the. fireman.

Among the fa iage that bordered the bank. the
dag] form of a man was for a moment dimly
v 9. ~

" ho‘s that?" demanded the engineer.

“ All l‘lght," answered a grim voice.

“That you, boas?"

" The boss is coming right slang.“

Things looked susp clous. e voice was not re-
cognized and none of the gang had ever before ap-
proache the boat in that style. '

The engineer got up and knocked the ashes out of

is pipe.

As he did so a man jumped from the bank to the
deck at his side.
. Another and another followed. and then several
High; came down the slope and over the gang-
p n .

The crew made no attem at resistance, but im-
plicitly obeyed the orders t t were given them to

placed under

guard.

“ That was an easy job," said Harry Hclnlsley,
who had been the first to ‘ump aboard.

J “Ehall We make a lig t and‘search the boat,

ac ' i"

“ Not yet," replied the sharia. “,We must lie
low alnd keep quiet until we can catch the main
crowr ."

A‘;?uppme we go and hunt them, then i" suggested

r lur.

“I think not. Fred Kenning said that we had
betver wait here while he went up the slough to
100k for them."

“I hope
Fowle. " The night is very dark, and
here isbadly cut up.“

" He is retty well able to take care of himself, I
rackon. it told me not to stir unless I heard a
s ot." -

" Hark! there's a shot!" exclaimed Marsh.

“ Yes. and another!" shouted Arthur Helmsley,
and he leaped to the shore, followed by most of his
comrades.

 

CHAPTER xx'xn.
raven man's nmar banana.
Jon Montana was at his house, preparing for his

demure.
e dark night favoredLhis purposes, and all his
arrangements worked we '

His son and Dave Hertsey were with him, and so
were his other coufederates.

In fact, the entire Tennessee contingent, eight in
number, not co ting the colored servants, were
present and res for action.

It was the intention of the "boss" to leave the
State temporarily, and to make a cruise on the river
which should combine business with pleasure.

He would thus dispose of the plunder that had
been acquired in that neighborhood. and remove all

traces by which his complicity in the recent depreda- .

tlons could possibly be proved.

The prospect was a pleasln one to all present,
with one exception, and Preasfiey Munford was the
exception.

He was downcast and evidently distressed.

“Cheer up, Press," said his father. “It ought
notto’worry you to be left along here for a little
w l .'

“ It is not that," replied the young man. “I had
hoped that I would have before now a wife to keep
me co pany; but all our plans to catch her have
fallen t rough so far, and when on go away I am
afraid that my last chance goes w th you.“

“ Don‘t be so chicken-hearted, boy. There is noth-
ing to fret about in that uarter. Tom Fowle will
never let his girl marry l feller Helmsley and
she won‘t marry anybody else. I won‘t be ion
aw , and when I come back it will be queer if
don ‘stra hten up things to suit you. All you
have to do to stay here and kee uiet and take
care of the plantation,~with Dave y to advise
and help you."

The plunder that remained to be. taken to the
Sunset consisted of the lighter and more valuable
articles that had been secured by the careful cei-
lectors of the " association."

It was easy to carry. and the greater part of it
was cited n a wagon drawn by two mules, the
rem nder being stowed away upon the persons of
John Munford and his confederates. I
in fizz-knees and silence the mule team set forth,
esco .by all the members of the hand there
present, except Pressley Hunford.

The seven men were, well armed, and were all
ready for any desperate emergency, though there
was not the slightest reason to apprehend any sort

6

of an interru ion.
Shortly af leavilg the house they struck off
into a little lane that i into the dense w

code. Share
the heavy foliage made the darkness so doe that
the mllles' heads were scarcely visible to the men
who walked at their sides.
From the lane‘thegefouud their way into a wagon
trail that could not called a road.
It woundlthrough a forest of cy rose and
more recs, eeand dry oughl. at
t as touching the go ofaswamp, and a times
taking them into a bed of mud.
e routewas so diacult and tbedarknesewas
so intense, that the tee care was necessary to
etheteamthroug its intricacies and revent
entire outfit from being lost or swam .

Oonsequeat their was:siowaad
and before they rm river, thoum

I

he won’t get into trouble "said Marsh ‘
the land about I

 

were then not far from it, the wagon got stuck in a
slough. and they were obliged to stop and rest.

A lantern was lighted, and they looked about
to make sure that they had not got out of their
course. '

The slough was narrow and deep, but was nearly
dry. only a little mud being left at the bottom, in
which the team had stalled.

Immense trees overshadowed it, and from one
side the nearl horizoan branch ofagiant syca-
more stretch across it.

Though the lantern made the darkness more evi-
dent, it enabled the men to perceive that they were

. in no serious {difficult , and they merely stopped to

 

 

i

l

 

give themselves and t e mules rest.

\éVhile:i ttbe illlevitabl'vlzi1 lflaslahs‘ were being brou ht
ou au este(,some edtht ta
both the men and the mulgs. ppen a s n ed

A portion of the moist and friable bank at the
hi“ tine way, and came tumbling down into the
s on . .

Th e was a small matter; but it was not all.

The earth did not fall of its own accord, and some-
;ié’ilng else happened Just then that showed-whyit

A man came tumbling down with it.

Be rolled down the crumbling to mm
bottom of the slough. and stop nearly at file
feet of the mules. . ‘

They started forward and pulled the wagon out of
its ants, and the men started to investigate thein

ru er.

He scrambled to his feet as soon as possible and
endeavored to defend himself; but they seized him
before he could draw a weapon, and held him firmly
while they insKected him. “ , ‘

He was a ta and le~looking man, neatly dressed
although his clothes ad thered some 0 the mud
a!) the slough. and he gared defiantly at his cap-

rs.
“ Who are you, and what are you doing here!"
reggth demanded Dave Hertsey.
e stranger said nothing.
Being who and what he was, and finding himself

\

«in the power of that gang, there was nothing he

could gain by speaking.

Ast le‘lantem was held so that its light fell on his
face, John Munford uttered one of his most fearful
lmprrcutlolls

‘~ That infernal scoundrel!" he shouted. "Boys,
do on know who this scamp is?“

ere was one who know.

That one was Charley Schramm; bllt it was clearly
best for his friends e as Well as his own that he
should hold his to e.

The others gave no sign of recognition, and John
Munford answered for them.

" It is Fred Kenning. known on the river as Flush
Fred, a man I have sworn to kill. What were you
spying about here for, on scoundreli"

‘ I am no scoundre . I was wandering‘in the ‘
woods, and lost my we in the darkness.“

,“You lie, you dog! on have been caught sneak-
ing and ying the spy."

Have it 80. if you choose," coolly answered
Fred. who knew that be had no mercy to expect at
:2: hands of John Munford under any -

noes. . .

“I have sworn that I would kill you,” declared‘
his ancient foe. ‘ '

“ Very well. I have no ‘doubt that you would be
coward enough to kill an unarmed man."

“ You may bet our last dollar that I am man
enou h to do it. ’hen I last saw you I said that!
wouk wait to see you hung, and the time has come
sooner than I expected.“

“ What time?"

" The time for your han lug curse you! Are you
fool enou h to suppose i la lam going to let you
get away rom here alive?"

"i suppose you will do the worst you dare to ‘

“ Then I dare. to string you up right here, and that
is what I mean to do, \\ hat do you say. bost
Here is a s 3'. There is no more doubt that he is n
s y thnnt at we are sinndillg here. Not counting
tl etggulifie I lmggdagalnstglim,,don‘t he l:ieservo
(on . asan' awor to,ety alnst
him here and ngwl‘"y , h as mm

Nobody uttered a word of objection to that frog
sition~not even Char ey Sobramm, who kept 1:
background and eyed is friend wistfully.

There w indeed, a general murmur of assent to
thgfiro t on, as if a hangin was the one thing
he u to (five the arty a good send-off.

“Han e be sh be. thenl" shouted 'John lun-
ford. “ ave, bring me that rope out of the wagon."

The rope that Dave brou ht was a stout clothes-
line, admirably suited to t e purpose for which it
was wanted.

A little too admirably. the captive may have
thought. ‘

There can he no doubt that he bitterly re tted
the mistake he had made in the darkness, wire: he
ate tote; amt; the  of thpnbabxolk. in his

e re g ag ewo epart t slough
and was tumbled down amonghfimny '

Whatever his. feelings may ve been, he gave no
am of any feeling whatever, except that in the
t' at light of the lantern his face seemed tobe pale
an as

His captors went to work in a speedy and business-

“mm. ha all behind hi .
’ y s n s beck, knotted a
noose which they placed around his  .

The end of the they threw over sycamore
branch that stnetc ed across the and.tbe
prisoner was placed under it.

“ What have ou t to for 0U
miserable wretghi"godeman.::d Jog Murier
“ What sort of a hand can you play no" You “1101‘

nal swindler?" ,
“I can at least die likes whége‘man. When your

time comes ouwill likes .
le17" d“ '

It I will,

th‘l‘ fies. and your time is nearer-at hand than you ,
n ."

“ What do fin mean by that?"

“I mean tyou havecometo theend of your
rope. Yourrasoal deeds are known. andyunwill
soon have to the penalty of your crl "

forethat ppenethe bunardawilmk your

horsemen. Swing him up. Davel"

l

2

 

y

 

 

. an“: ‘-.d,‘

c-q w.

xiv-'1')" AL. ' 3.4

 

 

 

he MissiSSi'ppi  A 1 ‘23

e

1‘] i ' , y ' - Fltis"1 Fred,

 

 

 

 

 

John Munfv  (‘1?th cran with assion, rushed I One died before they started, and his body. with BEADLE AND ADAMS’
tothe ripe. and limit 1r mi of it with ave Hcrtscy. i that of Dave Hertsey, was left for subsequent re-

Chal‘lcy Si_‘..l"llllil, who had been in the back- movul.

33,, “R‘B‘S‘dftfi‘ép‘igrfi‘iwéfi‘i ‘i‘fifi'inncnnwr. “Don‘t i “334233533 ili‘lviES‘K; zigi'idél‘lfid?’ii&2}h€if§ STANDARD DIME PUBLICATIONS.
' ) —_-

dare to hang that maul Dropthe rope, or you will direction of Fred Hennin e party picked their

 

 

2‘ get hum" i way through the forest to ohn Munford 3 house.
“Hello!” exclaimed John Munford. “ What jack- ' Bred directed the. main body with the w on to S k
“doodle is this who is firing to jump in and step the i halt at a little distance, while he went forw with P93 9"-
show? Knock him in t a head, there, some of youi ‘ Sheriff Bryson and another. ' ' , ,
Run this scamp up, Dave!“ 1 There he hailed Pressley Munford, and shortly the Each vomme contains 100 large We“. Printed
Dave Hertseymtlérew his weightlnpon the lilnvl, bll’lt youlngthan threw up a z)wnfidoijd , “ h h from clear, open type, comprising the best collim-
tell forward on face as a pinto «not start et t e i " s at you. rson " e as . " ' ere ave -
echoes of the forest. 5 you come ironw'Pa . tion of DmiogueS. Dramas and Recitation.
Charley Schramm stood there with a smoking re- “ We have all come back; that is, most of us have. e Dime Speakers embrace twenty-four vohunes.
volver in his hand, trembling with excitement. We of. into trouble.“ \ m . '
\ Men rushed upon him; but a bullet was the first “ hat is the matter? Where is father?" '
reach him. ~ ‘ " Out here in the wagon. He has been badly 1. American Speaker. I 13. School Speaker.
John Munford had fired immediately after the fall hurt." . 2 Nationfl Speaker. 14. ludicrous er.
, I ’d his friend, and his shot was fatal. "is it possible? What has happened?“ 8. Patriotic Speaker. I 15. Komikal Speaker.
‘ This tragic incident, so entirely unexpected, upset “ Come down and see.” 4. Comic Speaker. 16. Youth's 8 .
the quiet party in the slough. Pressley Munford came down) to the front doorim- 5. Elocutionist. l 17. Elmuent er.
. Death had struck in among them like lightning. mediately. and was placed under arrest. 8. Humorous Speaker. 18. H Colon: m
:P The hunchback was dead. The_wrath of John Mumford when he was carried 7- Standard Speaker. er. r '~
r John Munford‘s bullet had entered his brain, and into his own house and laidbn his own bed was be- 8. Stump S or. 19. Serb-Conic Speck.
 he gave no sign of life after he touched the ground. yond his power of ex ression. 9. Juvenile pool-er. 20. Select er.
‘ ’ Dave Hertsey expired after a few convulsive He could onl lie here and grit his teeth, and 10. Spread-Ffile Speaker 21. Rmny .
88898. even the sight 0 Fred Henning‘failed to force him 11- Dlme De ef- . JOE 9% <
BiJohn Munford.h of clgiliyrse, flew into a fearful pas- to 19 n hifitlIéOlll/hl.‘ t m ‘ h ’ l2. Exhibition Speaker. t .
on and swore on . . e nex a t e news 0 e n t s work was .
“They must have been ners, those two,“ be spread far an wide through the 8country, and it 24' Dune B°°k °t mm‘mn‘ “W
said, u be kickedthecorpseo rChal-le '. "Say, . produced a pnlar commotion. These books are replete with chm piece. for “ i

I j ‘
,' ho what do on reckon has ome of the par- The aston shment at the discove of‘ the crimi—
v yrs" I . . _ V nals was as {feat as the oy caused by their capture sei‘ml'mom' the mmmon’ f°r Rom“ m n “
“Here he is. John Munford!" answered Flush , and the hrea ing up of t e aug. 100 Declamations and Recitatlomin cookbook.
Fred, whohad been given no chance to escape in I Crowds flocked to John unford‘s house, to tthe

:. the excitement. . scene of the stru rie in the slough. and to the li tie ~
1 An idea had came into his head that mi ht si- steamboat at theg ver under ihe~bank. - Dulow" .
,  Y my load to his salvation, and it was wort w le to As the recovered plunder was collected and ldenti- _ The DI e Dialogim‘ mh v0, In 100 “I

v, . endeavm' to gain 8 “me time. fled, the people were permitted to carry away what
‘4 '_;;’.. A pistol-shot had been named by him as a signal belonged to them, and near] eve'ryth ng that had brace thirty hooks, viz: ,
13’ ,1 for his friends. mid there had been two shots. lately been lost in the neig borhood was found, D.“ N on "a, ‘ N ‘ - . K ‘-
, “Here he is John Munfordi“ be repeated. “I am i with theexccption of the stolen horses, which had D! 3”“ N°- Tw°~ alum“ 1333*”! ‘ i
.l . ' probably been run oil into Mississippi and Arkansas. DialUm‘“ No- Th 0' 08““ Ng' Guam »
1. . « Are you speaking the truth? ‘ demanded Muse The prisoners were taken to jail, and in the course Dr‘fgm‘ V”‘ F “9" Dmogues V ' Nmbm'
. ' i.  ford wh was uite bewildered by this shock. of time were tried and convicted of robbery, as no valogue“. ico- n?”- D. kg- winem-
‘ "The 3 mlle 351‘“er truth. As you are bound ' more serious charge could be fastened upon them. Diafiguei‘ ;\.°-  Dames N - fizz?-
to kill me. 1 am g ng to give you the solid facts, so ‘ John Munford and his son and two others Were Dar gues, ‘V0' 80 ' muffle. N°' m 33"
“I” 1°“ “1‘ beau“ “13" You have Something to sentenced to long terms of imprisonment, getting D. log“‘*  mvgn‘ Dialogues N3“ “filing;
kill me for. joined your cursed sing for the pur- the extent of the law in every case. Dis ogues N - V.“ t” 03"“ N T‘enty‘f
\ of finding out your secrets nu. exposing them, 1 Fred Henning was obliged to spend a considerable Dfiog'ws wo' .‘rme' games No' T en "3"”
' ‘ and 1 have done so. and your race is run, you black~ part of his time in that part of Tennessee. as his Dialog'ms i‘ro' if"; m 1°83? No’  a":
hearted villain!" evidence was absolutely necessary in the criminal D,- logues No‘ T“? fn' D-8 0g“ SN 031;“, e 3'
“You lie!“ roared Munford. “ I don‘ behave a and civil trials. . ‘ . Dfilogue" N°- me 'e- i “mes NO- Reggie":—
word youws’g- 33:13:;"509 8 proof. Te me one of i'i'be platters. Appreciatgiighth: value of his ser- Diuggg Ng' Fou‘mt‘ewé iwnmgg: Ng‘ M w, r
‘, a - voes.meuaursewcte .to .- - ' , ' .
I 5 . .m “getaway suited 1rer naming“ purpose of p p y “fired 9" Dial use No. Fifteen. Dialogues No.

the Rev. Samuel Sawtell, at your service...

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

senttohitnasa o sati f
I flaming time. unitihhfhproceedeid resilietch his $3,128“ but be refined as J33“ it. on or hi, 10“ 0‘ “me' ‘ w 25 Dialogues "d Dramas m “ch m
. ’ nnectionwi e gang n r ansas am on Harry otspur was , ted to "fix thl .“an 
.v neocnoee. clclirsling his account with the episode of .the his 5nd another ingeiglgépli‘lred into a game% pokes. mm.  Rem ,1
",0 , a e 0 one o w c , '
. ,' mg‘fid'sgssrcarstic menttlioln of 11111:; gfiala drove his C lssion. e purse Mmmd “no me 1“ 12"“) m“ 20 an.“
I ~ old gnemyto renzy, an e ms. ort e rope. o onel Fowlo had no difficulty in provin the For schools Perkins Entertainmentsand theAn-
1 " hat is not all the story," said the ca tive, who swindles and thefts that had bee t ' '
‘ 'would have been willingtogaina littlemrg‘e time. on him, and recovered the amogni’e ail-damage mm. m oompfis‘m 0W MN m ‘
A “It‘s enough you sneaking spy! If it was the last in a civil suit while John Munford lay in prison. coined!“ Fm D4“! 3003‘ Humm W ' .- -,
q‘ of a litreépéwggyigls'tring you up for that. Lay “lawfgrg‘tsmprrsgpertf aim was t“good to; the iudmeilih and Burlesque, by mud writers: and Radiation ' ‘
‘ i. o o e co 0
i o'l'hroe men tooh hold ofthe ro with the "boss." debt to Fred Kenning. n M n and Wm new ‘nd W ‘0‘ me new '
and it tightened suddenly, and red Kenning was The last lace Flush Fred stopped at when the celebrltvcndintorest- EditodbyMLl-M
run it _into the air. legal proceei ngs were at an end, was Arthur Helm.
lake the ne fast, boys," shouted Muuford. sley‘s houfie, alndt he; ]was unusfiially rave and de- .
____' preosedw en e on eaveofte aml there. ‘
CHAPTER xxxnx. “The horse you sent me is a bean y, Mr. Hen-   a if, ‘
CONCLUSION: hing." said Kate; “but I know that I ought not to __ ‘ '
I nndwafiohe'"  tag: it h h d we? tfinger“: risent'vhn ' it I nt t l n.1,: cop do.
twasro souc: t ttemanwo a “u ayou soce .wa oeave ' .
v. bacon drawn 3p cameqdownyogi a run. and fell upon “mailing?” 0“  P8me -|‘ “1‘95?” Yo P 1° . 8° ‘ - .-
{ otroun an unconsc ous ea . " 0"0 n0 681‘ / WOW "07 orse 011-" i '. m‘ m,- ‘
‘4 . in“. cmdfige in the programmg was caused l) the “I want to be honest. Miss Helmsiey. {ins not 3m“ 3 DH": Hm “‘8 mn Y “' , 9
~. ' lipidan of a number of rifle and [stol-s on: your brother told you the stor 7 I stole your pet Cover 8 Wide "1189 Of 8“me “4 I” w '
j ’ .  of which were aimed at the men who had hold mare, and of course i should re ace her. You must adapted to their end. /
a \‘ ‘  gm. . either take the sorrel, or sen me to the peniten- , ' '
\ ‘I‘ , ‘  moment  mp“ ’um down nary."  Letter-Writer. 300k  ,3]!
_. Into aough. and were quickly fol owed by it was at last agreed that Kate should keep the 09”“ utter'wmr- F°MD?‘T°n"' > . ’.
' “hm - ' mare; but Fred's leave-taking was none the less sad 300k 0‘ Enqum Love" Gun"  ' .« -.
The three who were first on the ,3 t were Han-y . and sombet Book of Verses. Ball-room Comm v 3
and Arthur Helmsley. and Mambalmowle. ' Arthur Helmsle drove him to the station. and 9‘00“ 0‘ m B°°k 0‘ 3”“ ' " " 5‘
Harry Hots )lll‘ ran at John Munford, tiring at him when they parted red took his friend by both his - ‘
., “he ran. an clinched him as soon as he reached hands. End-Books of m ‘ ' V
4 him. “I may never see you again, Helmsley," he sor- ’ i , " 3“
.i ,brfigfggotrhgwo ran to the man who lay wide; the for“!!! said. Handbook of simmer Sports. ~ ‘ "
c we 5;?!"de Sycamore. and; raised his head rom than? olrigtl; 8.1.1.:er you will come to visit us. and Book of Mme, I  and Rowing, K
I. “ gs ti" shouted Arthur Helmsley. “If Fred shook h head sad] . i 1,101; W W T 
- 3111:)I’olll‘a‘léfi‘kil ed him, every scoundrel of them shall tyhy got. I says“ V;’hntydo you mean by this?" gmdedmfimw 800‘ at v . “I
. ‘ on now w mean, Arthur. oil know 3.1mm into: 51.. m V 5
The stnlggie that ensued after the irruptlon of that I could not be near our sister without wanting k or 8’0 Bk  . .
eriff Bryson and his posse could hardly be called her. iind she is a onus of a highl rec ble ' 3 -*
a ht. ’ Fr Pee“ . ,
a 1% rating, while. I am nothing but Flush red.‘ mm ‘0' M" '  ‘
, ere were but five of Munford's men left, inclnd- A ur could make no proper answer to this state .1  ‘
. himself. and more than one or thenr had been ment; but. when he was married to Ella Fowle he i. CookBook. 4. Familym ‘ . ' - ' ’
hit by the scattering volley that was fired and others felt that the festivities were not what I. Bears Book. - i W III! .-
n into the slou h. they ought to be. owing to the absence of Fred Ben- 8. Housekeeper’s Guide- line". i
, Who rem could out endeavor to es- ning. : ~ 2
and one of them succeeded in running up to was no. é———-—-—- .‘ , - a";
‘ i . of tho sloughandgetting out of the '  v 
lathe darkness. ‘ ' - Lives of Gust W V i
nd John Motif". “mm” “d mm" W“““’ THE . . . ‘ rs:
a v. 0 was one of those who were taken l.—Georgo Washington. VIL—Davil m  ‘ {'Ji
. Ii.- —John Paul Jones. VIII—inset Mann. . '

 

 

"‘ziiit‘fiizmn 33.21333: .33; ,gg Sunnyside Library garner” n35?”

' was
{'03: gentlom w hour}: been severely bandied

 

 

 

ers had not come my, __, - ' _‘ 
'thAfg‘i’; gugslh'edad' 2',"me :gmk his stars 1 UL“ ROOKB- By ThOmas Moore ..... . ... . .. 10c VL_Dm m m UV.” 3 Gnot. g r V
e . O i a. '
', Chin‘s: Schmmin's shot fora the, You“ “4"” 2 Don Juan. By Lord Byron . . . . . . . . . . . .  we , ‘ x  
36,”, “£3,153 firffirlmu‘gfdhfi Ind succeeded in 3 9mm Lon. rydohn Milton ......  10c 30-! Boob. . on:
m Ihhflbmchgigd ontofhiln.‘and no ‘TnILanror'rss Laxl. sow-1mm... ioo mm‘lbmfimmlioutoatmng .1»;
V... ' 'h‘h?  Aggur  “d b  a W  OWOD  i . . . . . . . . . . . o - - - -  e   M“ d  m ‘V '  
‘x ' .  fifirggh’ “d won I" 'u 9" ‘° 3“ 0 mum“: 03. TB! Wash-Brian. From the mnebdfidodu. Pin-i1: and Words. , ' ‘7
g,mmmhemm?e$wo,mmfld Gmofflfiedeflchbeuuomronwm J h
gan- a wpimovhth'tne r3?" m" For me by an newsdealers, or sent. pout-so paid. ° 3”“ ‘
unissued that the body of the hunchhack should on receipt of twelve cents for single numbers, Pocket Joke Book- Jim Crow Jena nook.
bag“ care: :03 and his wiggmeaesmsgé doubt. mm “gawk,” mm 1 Paddy WhackJoke Book. ‘ ‘ -' A
on ' and leg's bddy was loaded - Anus. vicros a 00.. Pam fi‘wfimm “a.” b! O" M 
III.“ John lunfordyni not or wounded man. . ” WW m” I. Y. an,“ a “W mo," n. mm.-

i

   

 

l
i
i
l
.
l
.
l
.
;
l
,

.1

r r

‘10 V’idofiq, the

fibuflfifihhfififih $3“ uuaaaauu

GMQVO‘G‘CIW

Q00“ OOOOWODJQQQQ
€904 amawnueomqa

 

 

l A Hard Crou'd. I}? Philip S. Warne.
2 The Dare-Devil. y (10L P. In raham.
3 Kit Carson, Jr. Bv Buckskin .
4 The Kldna per. By Phili s. Warne.
5 The Fire-F ends. yA. Morris.

By Edward L. Wheeler.

7 Death-Notch. B on Coomea.

8 The Headless orseman. A strange
story of Texas. By Captain Mayne Reid.

9 Handy Andy. BK Samuel Lover.

renc Police Spy. Written by

Himse .

i i Midshipman Easy. By Ca tain Marryat.
12 The DealiivShot. By ‘  Mayne Reid.
13 Pathaway. By Dr. . H. binson.
ii Thayendanc ca. B Ned Buntllne.
15 The Ti cross a 'er. yGustave Aimard.
10 The W ite W zard. By Ned Buntline.
17 Nightshade. By Dr. J. H. Robinson.
18 The Sea Bandit. ByNed Buntllne.
9 Ned Cedar. By ustave Almard.
ay. By Gustave Aimard.
'i‘hc Trapper’s Daughter. By G. Aimard.
Whitelaw. By Dr. J. H. Robinson.
he lied Warrior. By Nod hurtline.
‘ho rairio- Flower. By G. Aimard.
he ‘oid Guide. By Frauds Johnson.
e Death-Track. By Francis Johnson.
e Spotter Detective. By A. W. Aiken.
ree-Fingered Jack. By J. E. Badger.
er ID‘ifk, FgoJ . Bid P. S. Yarns.
“I” eorge. y 08. or 1'.
use New York Shar . By A‘.W. Aiken.
ho s of Yale. By .D.Vose.
ver nd Kit. By Albert W. Aiken.
oeky Mountains Bob. B A. W. Aiken.
enmck, the Sport. ‘vaA
n‘lun Dick. B Albert . Aiken.

r1 the flunc back. By Dr. J. 13. Rob-

lnson.

By Albert W. Aiken.
The Russian Spy. By Fred. Whittaker.
The Lon Haired ‘Pards.’ By Joseph

Gold Dan. By Alhert W. Aiken.

The California Detective. By Aiken.

‘kota Dan. By Oll Coomes.

- Old Dan Itackback. By Oll Coomes.
Old Bull’s Eye. By Joe. E. Badger, Jr.

«vie-Knife u n. B 01] Coomes.

Paciilc Pete. Bv Josep E. Badger, Jr.

By Oll Coomes.

9 The \Voli‘ Demon. B Albert W. Aiken.

0 Jack Rabbit. By Jos. . Badger, Jr.

i lied Rob. B ' Oll Coomes.

)2 The Death railer. By Buffalo Bill.

3 silver Sam. By COLDelle Sara.

-i AIWuys On "and. By Phili S. Warne.

5 The Scalp Hunters. By Cap .Ma ne Reid.

6 The Indian Mazeppa. By A. . Aiken.

7 The Silent Hunter. ByIPercg' B. St. John.

8 Silver Knife. By Dr. J. .110 luson.

9 The Nlan From Texas. By A.W. Aiken.

60 Wide Awake. By Frank Burnout.

61 Captain Seawall. By Ned Buntline.

62 Loyal Heart. B Gustave Aimard.

63 The Win ed W ale. By A. W. Aiken.

61 Double- ht. By J05. E. Badger. Jr.

65 The Re a ah. By Cagt. F. Whittaker.

66 The H ccter arque. y Ma ne Reid.

67 The oy Jockey. By Joe. E. edger. Jr.

68 The Fighting Trapper. By CaptainJ.

. C. Adams.

69 The Irish (fa t in. B Ca t. F.\Vhittaker.

70. ilydrabad. y r. J l . “0 Miami.

7 l (‘aptuin Cool-Blade. By Jon. E. Badger.

72 The Phantom "and. By A. W. Aiken.

73 The Knight of the ited Cross. By Dr.

J. H. Robinson.

74 i‘aptain oi‘ the Rifles. By Mayne Reid.

5 Gentleman Georgie. By A. W. Aiken.
The ueeu’a Musketeers. By G. Albany.
The resh of Frisco. By A. W. Aiken.
The ysterious Spy. By A. M. Grainger.
Joe P enix, Police Sny. y A. W. Aiken.
A Man of Nerve. By PhilipS Warns.
The Human Tiger. Albert W. Aiken.
Iron Wrist. B Col. '1‘. .Monste .

e (old Dul et Sport. 13' Bu alo Bill.

llaated Down. By Albert . Aiken.

rho Cretan Borer. B Col. P. In nham.

l'he  Hunter. By t wenthor 0 “Silent

: r.

l‘he Scarlet Captain. By Col. Delle Sara.

Dix George. II}; Jos. B. Bedsier Jr.

The Pirate P nce. By 00. P.1ngraham.

Wild Will. By Buokskifiam.

91 The Winning Oar. By .W. Aiken.

Daifaio Dill. gyiiajor Dangerfield Burr.

93 Captain Dick aibot. By A. W. Aiken.

94 Freelance. the Buccaneer. By P.

93 Aaho , the Axman. By A. P. Morris.

9 Daub e-Death. By Capt. Fred. Whittaker.

97 Dron Jack. By Albert W. Aiken.

oek Rider. « By Capt. F. Whittaker.

.9 The Giant Bitieman. By Oil Coomes.
00 The French Spy. By A. P. Morris.

1 Th: Man From New York. By Albert

1
10
W. lken. .
102 The Masked Band. By Geo. L. Aiken.
103 «tie, the Mutinecr. By Col. raham.
104 onte uma, the Merciless. Col.
Prentiss ncraham. o
105 Dan Brown of Denver. By Joseph E.

ger. r.
106 Shamus O’Brien. B Col. Delle Sara.
107 fighard Talbot 0 Cinnabar. By

s-s s
3'
"g‘
3
5:
E

.‘Dflflh’ufifllwfl
q .
.E?

n—oemqaaaao—e
E I'll°gifi;

4

Q

N

i

s

B

9'

n-wto— can «and.»

data
I

A

 

Airing
S

3
fl

rt W. Aiken.
108 The Duke of Diamonds. By Captain
Frederick Whittaker.
109 Captain Kyd. By Col. Prentiss lngraham.

l

 

mmeéflfiamlunriesssflt

The Silent Rifle-man. By ii. W. Herbert.

The Sinuggicr i aptnin. ly N. Buntline.
Joe Phenlx, this ‘i'i\'..lw D‘tcctivc. By
Albert W. Aiken.

The Seam ippor. ii .i. ll. inurnham.
The Gentleman: From Pike. By P.
S. Wame.

The Severed Head. B Capt. Whittaker.
Black Plume. By (‘01. entiss lngraham.
Dashing Dandy. By Dangerfield Burr.
'l‘he Burglar Captain. By Prof. J. H.
In raham.
A abama Joe. By Jos. E. Badger, Jr.
The Texan Spy. By N. M. Curtis.
The Sea Cadet. B Col. P.1ngraham.
Saul Sauhenia '. y Ned Buntline.
Aiapaha, the uaw.» By F. Johnson.
Assowaum, the Avenger; or, The
Doom of the Destroyer. By Francis Johnson.
The Blacksmith Outlaw; or, Merry
England. By Harrison Ainsworth.
The Demon Duelist. By Col. Monetary.
Sol Scott. B Joe. E. Badger, Jr.
The Chevai er Corsair. By the author
of " Merle. the Mutineer."
Mississip i Mose. By Edward Willett.
Captain olcano. B A. W. Aiken.
Buckskin Sam. By Vol. P. lngrsham.
oi‘ the Tramps. By Capt.
Frederick Wh ttaker.
Body the Rover. B W. Carleton.
Dark 0 Dan. By Col. .Inzraham.
The Bush Ranger. By F. Johnson.
The Outlaw-Hunter. By F. Johnson.
Long Beard. By 011 Coomes.
The Border Bandits. B F. Johnson.
Fire-Eye. By Col. Prentiss ngraham.
The Three Spaniards. By Geo. Walker.
Equinox Tom. By Joe. E. Badger, Jr.
Captain Crimson. Dan er eld Burr.
The Czar’s Spy. By 1. T. . Monstery.
The [lunch sell: of NotreeDame.
B Victor Hu .
I‘Yistoi Par s. By Wm. R. Eyster.
The Doctor Detective. B G. Lemuel.
Gold Spur. By Col. Prentiss ngraham.
One-Armed Ali‘. By Oil Coomes.
The Border Rifles. BéOGustave Aimard.
E1 Bublo Bravo. By I. Monstery.
The Freebooters. B Gustave Aimard.
Captain lronnerve. yMarmaduke Boy.
The “’hite Scai er. By Gustave Aimard.
Joaquin, theSad eKlng. B J. E. Badger.
The Corsair Queen. Bv Col. In raham.
Velvet Face. Flay Major Dangerfle d Burr.
Mon rad, the ameluke. By Colonel
Thomas Hoyer Monstery.
The Doomed Dozen. B Dr. F. Po ell.
Red Rudiger. By Cagt. red. Whitt er.
Soit “arid, Sharp. Wm. B. Eyster.
The ‘Volves of New ork. By Aiken.
The Mad Mariner.  Col. lngraham.
Den Brion. By Dr. J . . Robinson.
The King’s Fool. By C. Dunnin Clark.
. Joaquin, the Terrible. By J. E. Bat ger, Jr.
Owlet, the Robber Prince. Ely S. R. _Urban.
The Man oi'Stct-l. By A. .Morris.
Wild 8111. By Col. Prentiss In raham.
(‘orporai i‘annon. By ('01. onstery.
Sweet \Villiam. By Jos. E. Bad er. Jr.
Tiger Dick, the Man of the Iron 1 cart. By
Philip S. Warne.
The Black Pirate. By Col. P.1ngrahnm.
('alii‘ornla John. By Albert W. Aiken.
- Phantom Knights. B‘s! Ca )t.Whittnker.
' Wild Bill’s Trump Tar . By Major
Dan erfleld Burr.
ha y J aguar. By (‘a tain Mark Wilton.
Don Diablo. By Col. ntisslngraham.
Dark Dnshwood. By Major Sam S. Hall.
I‘onrud. the (‘onvit-t. By Prof. Stewart,
Gililersleeve, LL. I).
Old ’49. By Joe. E. Badger Jr.
The Scarlet Schooner. By P. Ingraham.
' Hands l' 1 . Bv Wm. B. Eyster.
Gilbert, t to Guide. By l. D. Clark.
The Ocean Vam pire. By Col. Inge-sham.
The Man 8 ider. B A. P Morris
The Black ravo. Buckskin Sam.
7 The Death». Head 1 irassiers. By
Ca tain Frederick Whittaker.
e Phantom Mazeppa. By Major
Dan rilcld Burr.
9 Wifsei Bill’s Gold Trail. By ingraham.
0 The Three Guardsmen. By Alex. Dumas
i The Terrible Tonkaway. By Buckskin

Sam.
2 The I izhtnlng Sport. By W. R. Evster.
3 The Plan in lied. Bv Capt. Whittaker.
4 Don Sombrero. By Ca t. Mark Wilton.
5 The Lone Star Gamh er. By Buckskin

Se .
6 1.;n flaring-ct, the Detective Queen. By
Albert . A en.
1 cr nob. B Jos.E.Ba r Jr.
gg‘hveos‘hclctgn Sc ooner. fibolonel
Pr list! in am.
9 ngmolld ck. By Buckskin Sam.
00 The [title Bangers. By Captain Mayne

Reid.
20] The PiraJte orthe Pincers. By Joseph
.. Badger. r.
202 Cactus Jack. By Capt. Mark Wilton.
203 The Double Detective. By A. W. Aiken.
204 Bi Foot Wallace. Bv Bu‘ckskin Sam.
205 Thg Gambler Pirate. Byacol. In ham.
200 One Eye, the Cannoneer. y F. W ittnker.
207 Old Hard Head. By Philip S. Warne. .
208 The. White. (thief. By Capt. Mayne Bond.

209 Duck Farley. By Edward Willett.

q 444-: aaaoaaaaaaaamo‘ o-mmmmouonm-au-s-sbb aohaswawawsm wastes not: to antenna- mum- ~—
thw bOfiIdfidvbWflflQGD «amateur-coman *W$~¢°W~IQG“-W N~°° O‘la M fiwn-‘OQ MQGQV I593 

N—Q can:

omen:

ta
'1

bat-I usu— i-i tut-suns inn-Int all H—HH-HHH Inn-:—
9 a: 0 $039 ‘33 D mamwmamm and

 

‘-_ _.—...

 

210 Buccaneer Bess. By Col. P. lngraham.
211 The Unknown Sport. B F.Whittaker.
212 The Brazos Ti rers. By uckskin Sam.
213 The “’ar Trai . By Capt. Ma ne Reid.
21 «i The Two (‘001 Sports. By .R. Eyster.
215 Parson Jim. By Captain P. Whittaker.
216 The Corsair ianter. By P. lngraham.
217 'Sl‘ahe Serpent or El Paso. By Buckskin

m.
218  “'ild llantress. By Capt. Mayne

l .

219 The Scor ion Brothers.

220 9113?). XVilton‘.’ Y By cap“.

1c ‘pecter acht. B Col. lngraham.

221 Desperate Duke. By Bgckskin 8am.

222 Bill, the Blizzard. B Edward Wiliett.

223 Canyon Dave.

224 Black Beard. By 001. Prentiss

225 Rock

226 The ad flussars. By t. Whittakc.

227 Buckshot Ben. lzyCapt.

228 The Maroon. By apt. MyneReid

229 (‘aptain Cuts-sleeve. By m.R. r.

230 The Flying Dutchman of 188 . By
Ca t. Frederick Whittaker.

231 T e Kid Glove Miner or,The Magic
Doctor of Golden Gulch. By l. P. Them.

232 Orson Oxx the Man of iron. y Isaac
Hawks, Ex-Deiective.

233 gm: lgirl I‘lligoy or Tolgbgtgne; or.

age as eonsCand. . .Badger.
234 The Hunters’ Feast. ByBs

235 Red 1. htnin the Manor Chance.
Colonel P‘rgentiss I m m 3’

8 .

236 (‘ham ion Sam. ByCol. T. H. Monetary.
237 Long— aired Max or Thech League
of the Coast. B Capta n k Wilton.

238 flank lloun , the New Orleans Detective.

By A. P. Morris.

239 he Terrible Trio. By Buckskin Sam.

240 A Cool Head; or. Orson Oxxin Peril. By
Isaac Hawks, Ex-Detective.

2-11 Epitiire Saul King or the Bustiers. By

os. .Badger. r.

242 The Fog Devil: or, The Skipper of the
Flas . By Capt. Fred. \\ hittaker.

243 The Pilgrim shar or, The Soldier‘s
Sweetheart. Iiv Buiialo ll.

2-14 Merciless Mart, the Man-Tiger of Mis-
souri. By Buckskin Sam.

245 Barranca Bill, the Revolver Champion.
By Captain Mark \Vilton.

246 Queen Helen, the Amazon of the Over—
in B Prentiss

n . yCol. . ~
247 Alligator Ike; 0 The Secret of the
Everglades. By Ca Fred. Whittaker.
248 Montana Not Edward Willett

249'Elephant Torn, of range; or. Your
Gold-Dust or Your Life. J. E. Ba , Jr.

250 The Rough' Riders; or Sharp- ye, the
Seminole Scourge. Bucks in Sam.

251 Tiger Dick vs.

‘ Every Man Has His Match. By P. S. Warn .

252 The Wall Street Bloodfi or Tick Tick.
the Telegraph Detective. By A bert W. Aiken.

253 A Yankee- Cossack‘ or The Queen of
the Nihilists. By Capt. F’rederick Whittaker.

25-! Giant Jake the Patrol of the Mountain.
By Newton M. Curtis.

25 5 The Pirate Priest. By (‘01. P. Ingraham.

256 glilouble Dan, the Dastard. By Buckskin
.‘ m.

257 Death-Trap Diggings; or. A Hard Man
from ‘Way Back. By Jos. E. Badger, Jr.

258 Bullet Head the Colorado Bravo. By
Captain Mark Wi ton.

259 (‘utlass and Cross; or. The Ghouls of
the Sea lly Col. Prentiss lngraham.

260 The Masked Military; or, The Black
Crescent. By A. P. orris.

261 Black Sam, the Prairie Thunderbolt. By
Col. Jo Yards. ("Virginia Jo")

262 Fightin Tom; or The Terror of the
Toughs. y 001. T. H. Monstery.

263 Iron-A rmed Abe, the Huncnoack De-
stroyer. By Ca t. Mark Wilton. .

264 The Crooke Three. By Buckskin Sun.

265 Old Double-Sword; or,PilotsandPirstcs.
By Captain Fred. Whittaker.

266 Leo ard Luke the Klngoi Horse-Thieves,
By. CSpt. Mark W! ton.

267 gill: White Squaw. By Capt. Mayne
e .
288 Magic Mike. the Man or Frills. By
Wm. B. Eyster.

269' m Bayou nrnvo. By Buckskin sin.
270 Andros, the Free flower; or, ThePii-ste‘s
Daughter. By Ned Buntiine.

t eilst of Bi Nu et Bend.
5m 8.3a... Mai-k wuer “ 'B’

2 Seth Slocum Railroad Serve or; or.
2" The Secret of Sitting Bull. By Capt. or.

273 Mountain Mose; or, The Gorge Outlaw.
By Buckskin Sam. r

214 Flash Fred. Bylildward Willett.

275 The Smuggler Cutter. By J. D. Conroy.

276 Tiger Lily. By Captain Mark Wilton.
.4 new issue every week.

Beadle’s Dime Library is for sale by .11
Newsdealers, ten cents per copy. or sent by man on
receipt of twelve cents each. BEADLE & ADAMS.
Publishers 98 William Street. New York.

ron Despard; or.
e .



’