The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, June 9, 1895, Page 18

18 THE SAN FRANCISCO CALL, SUNDAY, JUNE 9, 1895. CHAPTER XVIII. “I have bad no orders on no account to attack,” said he, “and I haven’t time to read all the rot they've wired to Fenton. Watch for the next shots ahead, there,’” he cried to the foremost troopers, ‘‘and sock it to them.” Then it was beautiful to see how even the horses seemed to rouse from their stupor and apathy and something almost like a cheer burst from the lips of the younger men. of water from their canteens and a bite at the comforting plug. Outfrom the sockets come the brown carbines, and a fresh platoon was ordered up to relieve the ad- vance and Lientenant Randolph took Mar- tin’s place at the front. Every little while through the darkness ahead had come a | from the invisible foe. and, as these had been suffered un- avenged, it soon observed that the lurking warriors grew bolder, and that with every shot the distance seemed to decrease. For half an hour past they flash and revort 0Old hands took a “swig”! | ing ceaselessly for the safety of an equally beloved son now riding, for the first time in his brave young life, to prove his worthi- ness to bear the father's name, in head- long fight with a savage and skillful foe. And if ever a young fellow, wearer of the army blue, realized to the full extent the hopes and faith and_fondness centered in | him this night of nights, it was Will Far- rar. Barely arrived by man’s estate, not | yet a year out of the cadet coatee, with his | mother, his sister, his sweetheart, all there | at the old fort so long associated with his | father’s name, with that name to maintain. | and not only that, but with Malcolm Leale’s | old troop as one man looking up to him as their leader, yet competent, down to the very last man, to note the faintest flaw should he fail them, the junior subaltern of the Twelith, the “plebe” lieutenant,as his | elders laughingly spoke of him, found him- | self, as though some special providence had swept from his path every possible barrier todanger and distinction, lifted suddenly to a command that seldom fails to army subalterns to-day even within a score of years, and bidden here and now to win spurs for the honor of the old troop, the honor of the Twelith, the honor of the name his father made famous, and that he must | maintain—or die in doing it. _All this, | and God alone knows how much more be- sides, went thrilling through his very soul, as, on Farwell's left and in utter silence, he rode swiftly onward at the head of the column. Leaving to his own first lieu- tenant the command of the grays, Captain | Farell had told him to follow close in the | tracks of Farrar’s men, and, with only one of the Indian company to aid and no other guide of any kind but his senses and the | stars, had placed himself in the lead and pushed forth into the night. “‘Swing well out to the west,” were Fen- | ton’s last orders, “Keep dark, as you know | how. Head for the hills as soon as you're | sure you're far beyond hearing, and try to | strike those bluffs & couple of miles at least back of the mouth of the canyon. You ought to get there ahead of the village. T PV e e e A MOMENT MORE CGF HARROWING SUSPENSE. had been coming in fsom easy pistol range, and Randolph tooK:the cue. Bidding his men open out and ride several yards apart, vet aligned as miich as was possi- ble, he ordered carbines dropped und re- voivers drawn, and then, frotting along the rear of the dozen, gave hi4 quick caution 1o man after man. ‘“Watch for the flash and let drive at it. Even if we don’t hit, we’ll keep them at respectful distance.” he said, and the words were hardly out of his mouth when a ruddy light leaped over the snow, a shot went zipping past his head, and then, followed by a roar of approval | from the main column, the revolvers of the advance crackled and sputtered their an- swer. The landscape was lit up for an instant; dark forms went pounding and scurrying away from the front, and a mo- ment later there uprose a cheer over at the right and Randolph g{lloped to the spot. An_Indian pony lay kicking, struggling, stiffening in the snow, shot through the body, and the rider had had to run for it. “That's right, Rludolgh,” said the major, spurring to his side. ‘‘Now keep ’em off, but don’t push too hard. Remem- ber, we've got to give Farwell time.” “How far ahead is that confounded canyon, Bat?”’ asked the adjutant at the moment. ‘‘Not more than two mile now. I hunt buffalo all over here when I was a boy,” was the answer. ‘“‘BigjRoad’s people all there by this time, I'm "fraid.”” “Then you think that the got there first—that they’ve got the bluffs? “'Fraid so. Big Road no fool. He wouldn’t let his village drive into a guich and not guard the bluffs. If the captain ot there first they’'d have found it out by this time and signaled for help. The rea- son I believe they think they're all safe is ;:h" S0 many Indians hang around us out ere. And just then came a grunt of disgust from La Bonte. The corporal at his side said “Hell!” and an excitable young trooper called out, “Look there! What's that?” for, over at the northwest, all on a suaden, a brilliant column of flame had burst throngh the blackness of the night and sent a broad glare streaming over the snow-clad surface of the rolling prairie, “They're on to us, by the Eternal!” cried the adjutant, who loved the Jackson- ian form of expletive. ‘Listen!” But no one listened more than an instant. Even uu-oufih the muffling coverlet of snow, the rumble and rush of a hundred pony hoofs, like low, distant thunder, told of "the in- stant flight of Big Road’s braves in answer to the signal. ‘ayne was ablaze in a sec- cond. “Close uE on the head of column!” he shouted to the troop leaders. ‘“Come on, now, men, for all you’re worth. There isn’t a second to spare.” 5 And as the amazed and wearied horses ave answer to the spur and broke into umbering gallop, far over at the west the rocks began to ring to the crackle of mus- ketry. 'arwell and the Sioux had clinched on the bluffs to the south of the cgfinp. and were fighting in the dark for the right of way. e Ten miles away at Allison’s ranch, wearied with the sleepless toil of twenty- four hours, too weary to be kept awake even by the exasperating sense of his wrongs, the colonel was just rolling into his blankets for a much-needed rest before setting forth with the rising sun on his homeward road. Fifty milesaway over the white expanse of praire, under the cold and glittering skies, Marjorie Farrar sat by the bedside of her beloved daughter pray- | Halt4t with a few men down in the gorge, but hold your main body on the bluffs. ‘We'll keep Big Road busy.” Luckily the stars were brilliant in the | wintry sky and the constellations out in all their glory. The pole star glowed high aloft and held them to their course. Out in the adyvance, lashing his horse with Indian whip to keep him to his speed, rode Brave Bear, a corporal of the Ogallalla company, side by side with Sergeant Brem- mer. Whenever the drifts were deep in the ravines one of them would halt and warn the column to swerve to the right or left. Only a yard or two behind the two officers Farwelf, grizzled and stout, Farrar, fair and slender, came loping or trotting the leading four, and, though it was not his accustomed place, there rode Terry Rorke, where, as he had explained to the satisfac- tion of the sergeant, he could be close to “Masther Will.” The prairie was broad and open and fairly level. There was no need of diminishing front. A platoon could have ridden abreast and found no serious obstacle, except the snowdriits in the deep coulees. Two miles to the west they sped, moving cautiously at first so as to give no inkling of their intent, and, for the first mile, almost doubling on their tracks, so asto keep well away from the Indian rear guard. Then in long curve Farwell led them toward the low, rolling hills, now dimly visible against the firma- ment, and presently the ravines began to grow deeper but further apart, theslopes moreabrupt, and the westward hillsloomed closer in their path, and still the snow: expanse showed unbroken, and Bear bend- ing low over his pony’s neck and watch- ing for sign, declared thst no Indian had crossed as yet into the hills and that the entrance to Elk Gulch was now not more than a mile to the north. And here the hills rolled higher, both to their front and toward the west, but Farwell led on up a gradual ascent until the slope began to grow steep; then dismounting led the way afoot, the whole column rolling out of saddle and towing its hores in his track Up, up, they clim until, breathing hare now, but pushing relentlessly on, the cap- tain reached the crest and faint and dim in the starlight, dotted here and there with little clumps of spruce and cedar, the roll- ing billowy surface lay before him shrouded in’its mantle of lg istening snow. Leading on until the whole command had time to reach the top he motioned Will to halt, while he with Bear and Sergeant Bremmer pushed a few yards further on. The column took a breathing spell and waited. Far out to the eastward and below them an ‘occasional flash as of rifle or revolyer sparkled through the night, and the faint report was preuntlg borne to their listen- ing ears. Big Road was still barring the way of the column then, and that meant that all the village was not vet safely with- in the grim walls of the caggon. orth- ward the snowy slopes rolled higher still, but it was northwestward among the clumps of trees that the leaders had gone. The steam from the horses’ nostrils ana from their heaving flanks rose on the keen air and the blood raced and tingled in the veins of the men. Not a whisper of moun- tain breeze was astir. The night was as still as the voiceless skies. Three, four, minutes, with beating hearts, the little command watched and waited, and drew longer breath, and then a dark shape came jogging back trom the front, and Farwell's Voice said, “Mount and come on.” Then came fifteen minutes’ trot, wind- ing snakelike and in long, extended col- umn of twos, now among the stunted trees, and then Farwell ordered “Walk,” for once more a dark form loomed up in their path, and Bremmer wheeled his horse about and rode by the captain’s side, eagerly explaining in low tone. Will caught the words, “Right ahead. Youcan hear them distinctly, sir,” and_for the life of him could not quite control the fiutter of his heart. “Halt! Dismount and wait here,” were the next orders, almost whis- ered, and again Farwell pushed out to he front nndfiaguin the column swung out of saddle, watched and waited, and pres- ently men began to stamp about in the snow and thrash their stiffening fingers. ‘‘Are we close to ’em now, Masther Will?” asked old Terry, unrebuked. “Right ahead, they say, corporal. But this, remember, is only the women and chllddren, with a few of the old men.” “Ah, it’s yer father's son ye are, sorr— God rest hissoul! If it was daytime ye could almost see from here the breaks of the Mini Pusa, where we struck these In- dians three years ago this cruel winter.” “I know,” said Will briefly, “and if—if it comes to fighting here, Rorke, remember father’s last order. It may be harder than ever to tell buck from squaw in so dim a light, but I want the men to heed it.” “They will, sorr, as they would if the captain himself was at their head, and, Masther Will, for the love of heaven, wherever ye have to go this night let me be wan of thim that go wid ye, if ye only take wan,” and there was a break in the old fellow’s voice as he began his plea. ‘‘Hush, Rorke. We'll see to that,” said Farrar. “Here comes the captain back.” And Tarwell came with speed. “Mr. Farrar,’”’ he said, an unmistakable tremor in his tone, ‘‘there’s not a moment to be lost. They are passing through the canyon now. We can hear them plainly, but they have flankers out along the bluif. Two bucks rode by not a moment ago, and Bear says the whole outfit is pushing for the racetrack. I've got to head them off further up the gulch. Bear says we can get down in single by an old game-trail there, and I want you to dismount right here, line this slope with your men, send at least a dozen down into the ravine and stand off Big Road and his fellows while we corral that whole village and start it for home. They can’t tell how few you are in number, and Fenton will be close at their heels. Between you they ought to be forced to the north side, while I'm driving the village out to the south. You under- stand, do you? It’sa fight in the dark, and they’re afraid of it, anyhow. You've ot & splendid troop, lad, and they won’t ail you. Don’t be ashamed to ask your ?l«lilsergeums for advice. You understand ully “Ido,” said Will, stoutly, though his young heart was hammering in his breast. *We'll do our best, sir. Form fours, ser- geant, and link—lively,” he added, then rasped the captain’s hand one instant be- fore the latter turned away. Silently, quickly, the men linked horses, and, leav~ ing number four of each set in saddle, came running up to the front, unslinging carbines on the way. Farwell and his fel- lows went trotting off among the clumps of pine as the last man fell i on the lelt. Then, quickly dividing off a dozen troop- ers from that flank, Will placed the first sergeant in charge and bade him find the way down the steep incline to the bottom of the gorge, which, there, was not more than 250 feet below, giving him instructions to be ready to sweep it with their fire when the warriors came, as come they speedily must. Next, facing eastward, he deployed his men, causing them to stand or kneel in the shelter of the little trees, but to keep vigilant lookout. Another little squad was strung out down the face of the bluff, to keeg connection with the men descending to the depthsof the canyon, and these prep- arations were barely completed, when, riding at nfiid gait, two horsemen came lashing up the eastward slope. The pant- ing of the ponies could be heard bafore anything could be seen, but the instant the vague shapes appeared, two sudden shots rang out on the night, and then a dozen— a spluttering volley—flashed from the line. Down went one pony, struggling and roll- ing in the snow. Away sped the other back into the blackness of the night. Then a dark objectseemed to disengage itself from the struggling pony-and go crouching and limpingaway. Two or three excited young soldiers banged their carbines with the faintest aim. Then it seemed as though the hillsides woke to a wild revel of battle, for, behind them, far up the canyon, there rose a wail of terror from the fleeing squaws and shouts of the few old braves left to guard them, resounding war whoops of youngsr Indians somewhere, anywhere, everywhere, down the slopes to the east. ‘Then 2 bright column of flame shot high in air Hver among the rocks to the north of theigate, and afar out over the eastward prairie Big Road and his braves came dash- ing, driving, thundering to the rescug. “‘They’ll not try the gulch, gorr,” shouted Rorke, in his ear. ““Only a few will push in there. Most of em will come this way and get around us to our right.” “‘Open out, men! Push out southward there as far as you can,” shouted Will, as he ran bounding through the snow toward the ri(';ht of his invisible line. “Watch for them! They’'ll come with a rush when they comeat alll” And Rorke, whose business it was to re- main with his comrades in battle where first he was posted near the brow of the steep, went running after his young com- mander as hard as he could go, with no man to stop him. In the excitement and darkness, in the thrill of the moment, some ‘of the men seemed disposed to huddle together rather than to increase their intervals, for plainly now could be heard a dull thunder of hoofs—the roar of the coming storm. Then, too, shadowy specters of horsemen could be dimly seen darting into partial view and out again like the flash that greeted them. But far up the gorge, behind Farrar’s line, the sound of battle grew fiercerand londer. Then down from the depths of the canyon there came sudden clamor of shot and cheer and challenge and yells of rage and defiance; and then, all in a sudden, out from amongu;he stunted trees, with pant- ing, strugg F’ bounding ponies, “with lashing, bending, yelling braves, there burst upon them the main body of the In- dians—three-score warriors at least—and, despite the ring of shots, on and through and over they rushed, the slim and ex- tended skirmish line, and Will Farrar, springing for the shelter of a little cedar, was struck full in the breast by a muscular shoulder and knocked backward into the snow. He struggled to his feet, groping for his revolver, just in time to meet the dash of half a dozen racing braves, all yell- ing like fiends. Bomething crashed upon his skull and struck a million sparks or stars, and everything whiried out of sight and sound and’ sense as the cvooung officer went down, face foremost, into the drifts. CHAPTER XIX. “The Battle of the Ghosts"—so Big Road’s peopie called it, long months after —fought late.at night and far up the slopes of the Elk Range, was reported at Fort Frayne before the rising of another sun. The mysterious system of signaling which enabled the Indians of the reservations in Nebraska to know the details of the Custer massacre before they could be wired from Bismarck was here in use again, and strag- Elers from the band as far back as Trooper reek, and even the cowboys and ranch- men carousing about Bunko Jim’s in honor of the triuniFh of their plans, knew all about Farwell’s overtaking the village, of Farrar’s desperate stand and Wayne’s lon, P to their support before the first tid- ings were whispered within the silent walls across the nml\zi or even guessed at by | ki the grim old dier, arousing irom his sleep barely ten miles from the seat of action, The first news to reach the garri- son came from ‘“Jimtown,” and was laughed to scorn by members of the guard. T:ag next words went fearfully g:llong amon;{ the kitchens of Officers’ Row, and speedily reached the ears of the anxious wives and children of the soldiers in the field, and still the surgeon left in charge at Frayne refused to believe the rumors and hastened to forbid that any one should speak of them where they could reach the ears of the household of Farrar, for the croakers told of fell disasterand of the death of the last soldier of that honored name. ; But bad news travels fast, and the dire- tul tidings reached Lucretia Fenton's ears while Kitty slept the sleep of the goung, the innocent and uusnsfaicmuu, and what Lucretia knew she could never couceal. The morning gun had failed to wake ‘Will’s dainty ladylove; the trumpets rung no reveille, for there was no garrison to Touse and only one trumpeter remained to sound the calls, but people were up and astir and hurrying from house to house long before the usual hour, and Marjorie Farrar, watching at the bedside of her stricken daughter, heard with straining ears the excited tones of the servants at the back doors, and but for Helen Daun- ton’s vigilance would herself have gone to ascertain the cause. Stipulating that her friend should not go downstairs Helen had hastened forth, finding their own kitchen deserted, and as the colonel’s house was but a few rods away and Lu- cretia was there at the gate in vehement recitative with Mrs. Amory, and certain of the younger belles of the garrison as listeners, Helen hastened thither, only to see the party scatter at her approach. This in itself was ominous, but it was no time for hesitation. Some of the party were evidently in tears. The old chaplain ‘was rapidly approaching from his quarters on the westward side. The doctor, field glass in hand, was studying the snowy ex- panse to the north from the edge of the buff. With him stood the sergeant of the guard, and another non-commissioned officer was hastening toward him up the sentry post of No. 5. It was to them she appealed, and in their faces she read the first intimation of ill news. The doctor turned, as though he had been expecting her, and held forth his hand. “I'am glad you are here,” he said, ‘‘for I have reason to disbelieve the news that has been frittering in ever since dawn, but I wish it kept from Mrs. Farrar as long as possible.” Helen’s face had turned white as the snow. He saw it, and drew her arm with- in his own. ‘*‘Stragglers from Big Road’s band say—those that were left at Trooper Creek, at least—that there was a fight last night. Part of the village was captured, out whether there was a tight in the hills— whether Colonel Fenton is still at Alli- son’s, and get any authentic news he can, and send it here at once.” £ And even as Kurtz began clicking his memfle there was some sudden check, an eager EM shot into his face, an expres- sion of keen, intense interest. He closed his key and sat listening to the quick beat- ing of the tiny hammer of the instrument, then seized a pencil and began to write just as a faltering step was heard on the creaking woodwork of the piazza. The door_burst osen, and in, with wild eyes and disheveled hair, a heavy cloak thrown about her, but without overshoes, without loves, all oblivious to the bitter cold, m_'fl'orie Farrar rushed in upon them. *‘Tell me instantly,” she began, but the doctor, an inspiration seizing him_as he read the operator’s face, turned with up- lifted hand, with reassuring smile, as Helen opened her arms to receive her friend. ere was a moment more of breathless, harrowing suspense, of swift clicking at the table, of swift skimming pencil, and then Kurtz sprang to his feet and p\nced in Mrs. Farrar’s trembling hand the yellow- brown sheet. With eyes that seemed start- ing from their sockets, she read. Then, with one glad cry, “Thank God! Oh, thank Go\fl” threw herself on Helen’s breast. The doctor seized the flutterin, paper ere it reached the fioor and rea aloud: My congratulations on Will's gallant bearing in his maiden fight. He merits the name he bears. Expect us home to-morrow night very hungry. FENTON. But that was only part of the story. What Leale said was true enough. The Indians would not fight in the dark except at long range, but that did not prevent their taking advantage of the dark for a sudden rush that would enable them to burst through what they well knew could only be a thin and wldely dispersed line. It was easier to do it in the dark, as the warriors well knew, than in broad day- light, and so, learning from their vigllant scouts about where Farrar's men were deployed, they rode forward in noiseless array until close upon them, then at given signal, and with 2ull understanding that no one was to stop for anything, they dashed forward over the snow at head- long speed. The few shots fired whizzed by their ears without checking them in the least, though- two Sioux saddles, by great good Tuck, were emptied, and when the pony of one low-bending warrior collided ~ with Farrar and | keeled him over, others following behind | raced through just as he was scrambling to IN TIME TO MEET THE RUSH OF HALF A DOZEN BRAVES. i (Al \ and part of the band broke through and | ot away. The Indians claim to have illed several of our people, but they are the biggest boasters on the face of the globe. The cowboys over yonder believe it because they hate Fenton and. the Twelith, and wouldn’t be sorry to have them worsted, because that would bring on a big war and lots of troops. We would have heard it by this time in come way had there been serious disaster.” ‘‘But, doctor, Miss Fenton and others with her hastened away when they saw me coming, and they were in tears.” “Oh, they’ve got hold of some silly story that the servants have been gabbling, and that Dve tried to test, that Farrar is among the injured. It all comes from that vile To0st over there,” said he, scowling malig- nantly at “Jimtown.” ‘‘No!don’t you be- gin to give way, Mrs. Daunton,” he con- tinued, asshe seemed to shiver and trem- ble. “I shall need all your strength if there be trouble wminf' at, if my opin- ion is not sufficient, let me tell you what Captain Leale thinks. He says the Indians wouldn’t fight in the dark except at long range, and the story is that Will was toma- hawked. Keep everything from her, there- fore, for the present. Colonel Fenton will be here by noon.” ‘‘Keep ‘everything from her, doctor! A mother reads faces as you do books. No one can conceal from Mrs. Farrar that ill news is in the air, and that it is of her boy. Is there no way we can find the truth? Anything, almost, would be bettér than suspensel” she cried, with breaking voice. “I know of none, my poor friend,” he gently answered. ‘‘All over there at the settlement is riot and confusion. They be- lieve everything and know nothing. It may be hours before we can get details, for the Indians say the fight took place away in among the hills through Elk Springs Canyon, over fifty miles north of us, and the telegraph line from Laramie to the old post follows the stage road from Fetterman far to the east. If any reports, however, had gone in by way of Laramie they would surely have been repeated up here for our benefit.” And just then a man came hurrying to them from the line of officers’ quarters. It was Leale’sattendant. ‘‘The captain says, gir. that he thinks if you wire through Laramie they will be having news by this gme at Bu%nlo or McKinney stage sta- ons. “That was like Leale,” thought the doctor, “‘and he must have heard she was here with me.” “It’s worth trying.” he said aloud. “Will you go with meto the office?” “Imust, I cannot return to her—with such news as I have heard.” And so, to- gether they hastened over the snowy E'aonde. and Marjorie Farrar, watching m the dormer window of Ellis’s little Troom, saw them and read the motive of their going, Ten minutes later & dramatic scene oc- curred in that shabby little office—one that Frayne has not yet ceased to tell of, and willlong remember. Kurtz, the operator, was clicking awa; his instrument as the doctor entered, ‘‘I've got Laramie, sir, now,” he answered, in response to the first question asked him, “and he says Buffalo nOWS nothing yet. The first news ought to come through the stage station near Al- lison's ranch.” Colonel Fenton was over there last night, but nothing has been heuq_thia morning. The operator is there now. “Wire to him, then! Urge him to find his feet, and one of the riders had struck wildly with his war club at the dark object and fowned it again. The whole band was out of sight in less time than it takes to tell it. The crash and sputter of hoofs | could be heard as theY thundered away to | the wesi, and then the loud crackling of rifle and revolver, as the band reached the descent to the canyon further to the west and found Farwell’s led horse on the bluff. It was then that the sergeants were raising Will, stunned and bleeding to his feet; then they realized that notan instant must be lost in hastening - to Farwell’s aid, and while one batheg with snow the aching, bewildered head, and another gave the young officer water from his canteen, a thirdfi]elped é)lsce the boy in saddle and gave the word to the men to follow. An- other minute and Leale’s men, led by their lieutenant, grasping at the pommel all the time, to steady himself in his seat, went charging through the wooded highland and tumbled in on Farwell’s assailants just in the nick of time. With every minute Will was reviving and pulling himself together again, and by the time %Vayne and his fel- lows ' came "riding in to_their support through the fire-spitting clumps of ever- green, the boy was shouting hisorders and cheering his men as thouev no blow had ever downed him. But Wayne's coming relieved him of all responsibility on that side, secured Farwell in his grasp on the village, and when at last Big Road’s sullen, beaten braves slunk away through the timber, leaving the greater part of the village, women, children, old folks and a few disgusted warriors in the hands of the troops, Will’d frantically aebln‘f head re- minded him that he was in need’ of atten- tion, and then it was discoyered that he wuhtenlly bathed in blood, and it was time for him to faint from loss of it. Heavens! what a to-do there was at Frayne when that boy was brought home with the setting of the second sun there- after, his head bandaged and his shoulder sore and his hurts severe, and yet with the record that, despite it all, he” had fought his troop like a—veteran—'‘like a Farrar.” Fenton handed him over to his mother, after their long ride in the ambulance sent out to meet them, and wen! on by first train to comply with his orders, and’ Mar- jorie took her by to her rejoicing arms, for- getful for the moment of Fenton, of Kitty, of all else in the world. And then, in a few days more, came the major back with his_squadron and his re- captured village, and more than half the recalcitrant braves, tired of their midwin- ter spree, and quite ready to be taken back to Abraham’s bosom, to be forgiven, and, what was more to the purpose, feasted. And by this time Will was well enough to be out again and to ride to meet them, and to welcome Wayne with especial enthusi- asm, for the major had re-enforced his ragged line just in time to save him from another rush such as had burst it and downed him on the slopes a mile to the east, and Kitty, no longer imperious sweet- heart, but devoted love, bad found it high time to take no her chances, and so had named the day, and had amazed the dmmiemlor by her declaration that she would be married only where Uncle Fen- ton could give her Aw‘w. and Major Wayne, who had ‘‘saved her Willy,” could be best man. There was one blissful epoch, there- fore, in that sad and somber winter. But so far as our friends, the Farrars, Wwere concerned, it was about tne only one, Not until the day atter honest Fenton had wone did it occur to Mrs. Farror to inauire how and why it was the colonel left the command and spent that night at Allison’s ranch, and then, as the story was unfolded by Will, her sympathy and indignation knew no bounds. Even at such a time when wounded and maligned, when robbeci of his command at the very moment when it was dearest to him and when he must have been burning with eagerness to face and confound his accusers, Fenton had turned back to learn the truth about the fight at Elk Canyon and wire to her—to her—the glad news of her boy’s safety, the proud news of his spirited and soldierly behavior. If Fenton could have seen her emotion when from Wayne and Will she learned the whole story, he would have found his trials easier to bear. He had gone, however, to depart- ment headquarters, and there his accusers were missing; not one remained to face him, and when called upon to substantiate their statements, as they had eagerly de- clared their readiness to do, oneand all, they had business elsewhere. The chief conspirators had achieved in part at least the ends for which they were striving—a row with Big Road’s band_that would en- able them to get square with White Wolf, Pretty Bear and other reputed assailants of Pete Bolan, replenish their stock of Sonies and other spoils of Indian war and ouble the price of forage, and though the alleged murderers escaped them and the village in great part fell into the hands of the Twelith, and Fenton came back from headquarters a vindicated man, still they had given him and his regiment far more trouble than_ the regiment had ever caused them, so honors were more than easy. “We've larned the old man not to monkey with the cowboys again.” There was a sweet, womanly, grateful note awaiting the colonel when, after an absence of a fortnight; he returned to Frayne, but the Farrars were gone. The doctor_had said they could not too soon move Ellis, once she could be moved at all, to Southern California, and with a month’s leave in his pocket thither had Will es- corted them, Kitty going too, as a matter of course. Jack Ormsby came West once more to meet Malcolm Leale and to ten- derly conduct him, sightless and suffering, to New York, and Fenton felt that venge- ance indeed had_ been wrought by Thorpe and that the Lord had been with the Phil- istines across the stream, for the light had gone out of his life, and smiles and sun- shine seemed to have vanished from Fort Frayne. Will came back in February and threw himself enthusiastically into his duties with his troop, and Wayne went mooning night after night to the colonel’s fireside, and Terry Rorke, cris led with a rheumatic twinge about an old bullet hole, was limping and growling about the post, and Fenton prayed for the coming of spring and sunshine and June and roses, for Kitty had had still another freak—she would be married only from under the shadow of the flag and Uncle Fenton's roof. With Ellis better, but still not well, the Farrars and Kitty had taken the “‘Sunset Route’’ from Monterey to New Orleans the end of March and reached Gotham just as the buds were opening in the park, and Wayne, East on leave on some mysterious mission, called to ‘welcome them home and [t‘o say that Orms- by was to sail at once with Malcolm Leale, who was to go to Germany to consult an eminent oculist, and Ellis lost the color which was fluttering in her cheeks when they hove in sight of the familiar land- marks of the beautiful harbor, ana Helen Daunton strove to conquer her own disap- pointment thatshe might comfort the poor girl, who, since the tragic night of her brother’s death, had neither seen nor heard from the lover she had rebuffed and wronged, even though here and now she had written, admitting her sin against him and humbly vet confidently asking his for- giveness. That was Thursday night, and there was ample time, but he sailed on Saturday with never a word. Copyright, 1895. [T be continued.] A CLOWN'S LUCK. Stranded in Africa He Becomes a Multi- Millionaire. Paris has a king within its walls to-day, one whose subjects do him homage throughout the world of business, for the monarch is none other than Barnato, the king of the mines, who at the lowest com- putation is worth 600,000,000 of francs, $120,- 000,000 Twenty years ago a circus, which had traveled, goodness knows how, from Eng- land to South Africa, arrived at Kimberly. It was not a big circus, in fact it was only composed of the manager, the manager’s wife, a clown and two trained mules. At thav epoch, says the Boston Globe, Kimberly was not the diamond town that it has become since. The circus did poor | business and one morning the director and the directress fled, leaving the clown with the two mules and thirty shillings in nis pocket, which is not much in Europe, but which is still less at the Cape of Good Hope. D‘:xringn ride in the outskirts of Kim- berly he found in the fields traces of dia- monds; he took some stones, showed them to a miner, and entering into & partnership with him went to sell them in the towi. Then, without divulging his discovery, he bought the field where he had made his find, took out only a very few stones, for fear of arousing_ suspicion, bought other fields, and found himself at last a large landholder. It was with these fields that the famous society of Beers was created, of which Mr. Barnato is now Governor, with Sir Cecil Rhodes and another; each of these three gentlemen now receives an annual salary of $125,000 from the company. hen the first gold mines were discov- ered at Johannesburg, Mr. Barnato rushed there, bought as much land as he could find, organized societies on the London market and became king of the mines. 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