Louis Stanhope, hero, or, The boy who disappeared

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Louis Stanhope, hero, or, The boy who disappeared

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Louis Stanhope, hero, or, The boy who disappeared
Series Title:
Brave & Bold
John de Margan
Place of Publication:
New York
Street & Smith
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1 online resource (29 p.) 29 cm.: ;


Subjects / Keywords:
Dime novels. ( rbgenr )
Detective and mystery fiction ( lcsh )
serial ( sobekcm )


Original Version:
Volume 1, Number 42

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Source Institution:
University of South Florida
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University of South Florida
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The University of South Florida Libraries believes that the Item is in the Public Domain under the laws of the United States, but a determination was not made as to its copyright status under the copyright laws of other countries. The Item may not be in the Public Domain under the laws of other countries.
Resource Identifier:
028876054 ( ALEPH )
07224062 ( OCLC )
B15-00031 ( USFLDC DOI )
b15.31 ( USFLDC Handle )

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University of South Florida
Brave and Bold

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r= rv E c:. E N T .s Every inch of rope was used, and the girl was still twenty feet from thl;l ground. A ladder was run up to the wall, and a fireman tried to reach her.


B VE.BOLD .ll Different Complete Story Every Week Iuueti W eekly. By Subscriptio n /:1.50 per year. Entered accordingto Act of Congress in tkeyear IQ03, in tll4 Office of tlze Librarian 11{ Congress. Washing-ton, .D. l: STREET & SMITH 238 Witliam St., N. Y No. 42. NEW Y ORK, O ctobe r 10, 1903. Price Five Cent s. LOUIS STANHOPE, OR, The Boy who D i sappeared. By JOHN D E CHAPTER 1 "SAVE MY DAUGH TER!" "Fir e I :fire I Fire!" The. cry r ang o.ut with awful significance in the stre ets of New Y ork one cold, snowy night in December, 188-. It was an awful night. The snow was drifting in the streets, and as it was blown into the faces of the pedestrians it seemed to cut through the skin. The wind blew forty miles an and sent the snow eddying round t h e corners and into every nook and crevice where it could find a resting place Along Fifth Avenue a boy walked with slow and almost languid steps. Louis Stanhope was as miserable as any boy of fifteen could be. He was alone in the world and not only alone, but wit hout money, and on that particular evening he had an additional cause for feeling miserable, for he had not eaten anything all day. Hunger is a great depressor of the spirits, and Louis Stanhope did not ca r e whether he lived o r died. He was dressed nea:iy, though h is clothes were getting rather s hiny but they testified that he had not always been so poor. "Fire! Fire 1 Fire!" How was it the engines did not rattle along the streets? Why did the people run, calling out the dread an n ouncement ? The pitiles s storm was responsible, for the telegraph wiles were down in many places and the fire alarms would not work. "F i re!" T h e word seemed to stir the boy's blood, and h e join ed the thr ong, runni n g as fast as any, in the excite ment fo r getti n g all about his hunger an

BRA VE AND BOLD. He fiad found his room getting too hot and, after repeated warnings had been given. c nt two holes ln the blanket, put his arms through them, and, clad in this impromptu ulster, walked downstairs, crossed lhe street and another hotel a biock away. The flames followed the smoke through the windows, and soon the whole building was like a funiace. "My daughter! Sa\e my d ughter !" cried a man frantically. "vVhere is she?" asked the chief. The distracted father pointed to a third-floor window. In there! Oh, Heaven! they told me she was out." There was no ladder long enough to reach that wi1ldow, and the flames below had cut off ali access up the stairs. ,; A.re you sure she is there?" "Yes, yes! Save her! Oh, plea se 8a\-e lier!" A hurried consultation was h eld, and all declared that it was impossible tel reach tha1: window. "She is deteritlg hi s hands and face, the snow nearly blinded his eyes, hllt ht! ascended slowly, somctiines slipping and causing the people b elow io utter exclama-tions of dismay. Gradually he rose to the cros s bar, from which the were strung. For a few seconds he 5at astride the bar. re ting. Then he unfastened the rope from about his waist and secured one end to the bar. F.vety one below \'.iondered wl]at he was going to do. Ko one, not even the experienced firnmen, could imagine. He was twenty feet away from the window. The wires passed within ten feet of the front of the hotel, and a littie above the window he wished to reach. Every eye was turned toward him. 'l'he snow blinded the people, but they never wavered m their gaze. The water from the fire-hose fell into the burning building with hissing, sputtering noise. and clouds of steam ros11 up to 1Dlend with the flame and s m o ke. Louis grasped three of the telegraph wires, and dropped from the bar. itOh!" It was almost like a groan which b,urst from the people as they !law hitn drop. But he held firmly with hands, making his way along the thin, but strong, wires, \\'hich sagged and swayed as he mond along. He was opposite the window. With one hand he sup,Orted' his weight, while \\ith \he other he twisted his rope round and round the three wires. It was done quickly a11d well, but to the people it seemed an hour 'since he had left the ctoss-bar. Grasping the rope, he relinquished his hold on the wire and slid down some twelve or more feet. How the wires creak'ed, and cracked, and sagged with his weight! He hung ouspended from th os e wires for a few seconds, and then s\vuhg himself, at fir st slo\vly, Lo and fro. Grndually he increas ed his velocity until h e appeare d to s\ving right across the street. The people saw his object now He had touched the 11 indow sill once, but had been unable to secure a grip. J\ second time he succeeded, and he stoo d updn the sill. A wild shout greeted the achievement of the young hero, and the next instant all felt ashamed of having given vent to their emotions. A silence like that of the dead was on every one. Louis steadied himself an instant, holding on to the frame of the window. One false step, one slight shiver even, might precipitate him to the hard pavement beneath, but he never lo s t his presence of mind. The engines steamed, and snorted, and puffed as they w orked with the power of giants, sending the water into'every part of the burning building. He unfastened the r9pe from his body and secured it to the window. On the north side of the hotel there stood a house, whose roof came within ten feet of the attic windows of the ill-fated building. The firemen had entered the house, and stood on the roof, h olding the hos!'! so that the water would play on the hotel. Jim Fenton. a br.we laddie. was standing on the Yery edge o f the roof as steaciily as though he had bee11.011 th e pavement, sixty feet belo11. Every one marve led at lfr; couragt'. The wind blew the 11ater in every direction. the snow ell about him, blinding him, but hi arm never quiyered, and he stood as rigid as any But there came a shock to his nerves which nearly overcame him. Opposite to him was a dor:ncr window, and in that window there app:'!ared a human face, Jim Fenton saw it. and turned the noule of the hose 111 another direction. He looked at the window, and again saw the face. "Can you not get down tbe stairs?" he cried. but the ,,ind howled and whistled around the chimneys, and the snow made the air so thick that pPrhaps his YoiQe was not carried across the ten feet. "It is a woman!" he thought, "and I must save her. But how?" All this time he had stood in the narrow gutter on the edge of the roof, without perceptible movement. Those below who had been watching him saw him stagger. The hose fell from his hand; he reeled Like a drunken man, had it not been for Rowley Barnes, a brother fireman, he wonld have fallen to the street and been killed. In a moment he recoYered himself, and called to Barnes to get a ladder,' 1 ong enough to ctoss to the windows opposite. I


BRA VE AND BOLD. He picked up the hose, but he was not tbe same steady man he had..been only a few minutes before. He had se.:n somethmg which had completely unnerved him. CHAPTER II. THE MYSTERY OF THE RED HAND. Louis Stanhope secured the rope, and then, with aclmirable sang froid, pushed up the window sash and entered the room. The smoke bilnded him. The heat blistered his face and hands, while he could scarcely breathe Closing his eyes for a moment. he tried to overcome the physi cal inconveniences before he explored the room. If the girl was there, he feared she must be dead or uncon scious, for she had not uttered a sound. The sensation of being in that room was horrible. On all sides-above, below-the crackling of wood as it burned, the hissing of the water, the crashing of glass, the falling of portions of the rnof and the supports of the stairway, all com bined to proc;luce a discord horrible to endure. Although the night was dark, the blazing building lighted up every portion brighter than gas or electricity had ever done befqrc. Loujs shudde red as he thought of the danger he was in. It was the first time he had thought of himself. He opened his eyes and glanced around the smoke-filled room. He saw the bureau, and on it the ornaments which the girl he was trying to save had worn. Once he thought of gathering all up and putting them in his pocket, but life was more valuable than jewels, and he restrained himself. He half staggered across the room to where he saw the bed. On the white-enameled door of the pretty bedroom, one of the choicest in the hotel, he sa\11 something which startled him. It was an impress of a hand, a human hand, blood-red. Some one had a hand, red with blood, upou the white paint, and left the impression there. Could the girl have l;ieen murdered? No; there -he was, lying on the bed, partly dressed. Either he had been overcome before she had entirely disrobed, or else, alarmed by the cry of fire, she had hastened to dress her self and had fallen back on the bed, rendered unconscious by the smoke. Louis spoke to her, but she did not answer him. He shook her. Shi' was breathing, so was not dead. All his efforts failed to arouse her. What could he do? He was not strong enough to carry h r downstairs, even sup po sing the stairs still standing_ He raised her to a sitting posture, and again tried to arouse her dormant faculties. No sign of consciousness was manifest. The heat was getting unbearable. The smoke! made him cough and sneeze until he thought he should die in one of the With a determined effort, he raised her from the bed and stag gered with he.r to the window. How was he to lower her down? The rop e not long enough to reach the street, and, even if it was not strong enough to hold her as she descended. Leaving her by the open window, he rushed out into the hall, but only to be bqaten back by the flames. Retreating into the room, he closed the door tightly, bringing into more prominence the Red Hand. There was something awful in that symbol, and while it fascinated, it also almost frightened him. He looked out of the window, and saw the crowds below. They had given up all hope of seeing him again. A wild cry arose from the people when he appeared at the window. "Have you a long ladder yet?" he shouted. "No. Drop down; we will catch you." "It' s the lady I want to save." "Is she alive?" "Yes." "Tell her to drop. We will catch her ... The chief ordered mattresses to be placed on the pavement, and six stalwart fellows grasped a heavy blanket, ready to receive the girl. Louis tried to arouse her, but again failed. He could not lift her high enough to drop her from the window "No !" he ci'led. "Can't you get to the roof?" "No; the fire has burned away the stairs. Stay there I'll save her or die with her!" The snow glistened in the red glare of the flames, the wind had moderated somewhat. the engines stil.l sent powerful streams of water into tht building, when Louis again fastened the rope arottn

. 4 BRAVE AND BOLD. The boy did so, and, amid shouts of joy, the fireman de scended with his burden All had forgotten Louis. He was up in that room, without rope or ladder, or apparent chance of escape He realized the mistake he had made. The fireman should have unfastened the rope around the girl's shoulders, and so have left it free for Louis to use in his descent. "The boy! The boy 1 Save him !" cried the crowd; but no one could devise a way. The ladders in use by the fire laddies in those days were not up to date. Higher buildings had been erected, and the departnrnnt was in a state of transition. i,ouis turned back into the room. He heard a hammering on the floor above him "\VJ10's there?" he called out. "Any one below?" asked a voice. "Yes." "All right; I'll save you." It was Jim Fenton's voice, and the words were so that banish e d all doubts. He knew he wmild be saved, if hurrw.11 agency could effect it. Cras4 I went the plaster, and Louis could see Fenton's hand. '.'I will save you." With herculean strength, the fireman cut away the flooring an.c1 ceiling, and soon was beside Louis. 'fttpw djd you get hen!-thi is not your room?" "No. I got here to save a young lady." "Where is she?" "Safe, I believe; but they got the rope away from m1t, and-\.Vhat's the matter?" Fenton stood in the middlii of the -room, breathing heavi ly and laboriou sly. He was completely metamorp1wsed. No longer the cool, c.1lm fireman, but a man whose eyes were sta ring and bulging from his head, and whose every action hetokened the madman. 'iThat Loo'k at that! Don't you s.ee it?" he exclaimed, as he pointed to the Red Hand. ''Yes, I 6ee it. What it mean-?" "Mean? Don't you !,<:now? Have yo11 nevtr heard of the Mystery of the Red Hand?" "No." "Then you are not afraid?" "W11y s)wuld be?" "Come, let us get out of this I'v11 the Red Hand before and it nearly killed me." "When? Where? Bow?'' ;i.sked Loui in il breath. "At a wipdow. I saw a girl's face. There was no girl there, but J saw )ler, and as stared at me he h eld up-a red hand. I i s!ioulcl have fallen from the roof." ; Louis thought Fenton had become insane, and urged him to escaJ>e )lefore the flames cut off the r etreat. The fireman drew himself up to the floor above, and then Louis after him. The action was none too soon, for a gust of flame burst through the a\)crture, showing that the room they hacr just left was in flames. Ft:nton dragged Lo1,1is until they' cam e t o the wind0w from' whose sill projected the ladder, wh i ch a to the roof of the house beyond. "Can you walk ?". "No," answered Loi.115. "Then you must crawl. There is no other way." Louis got down on his hands a nd 'knees, and slowly crq.wled across the space to the roof. He dare not think of it, for full sixty feet below was the bard, granite pavement. Fenton was too unnerved to walk a second time, so he too, crawled. Scarcely had he s tood upright, when he turned and saw the face at the window, a11d at the same time heard a cry for help. "Stay t here !T\iss, and I'll you." Once more he crossed the ladder, and succeeded in rescuing the girl wjio had tw i ce appea lecj for help. The first time she thought he had fallen from the roof, maddened by the thougj1t that it was through trying to per, she rushed througlj the burning building, trying to find some way of escape, but finding none, had returned to !{er own roop1. As Fenton h elped her down the stairs from the roof, he caught sight of the front of the white night-robe she wore. On the bosom was the impress of a red hand. "\Vhat f him but the police pushed all ba ck, and awaited the verdict of the ,doctors. "He has fainted,'' one doctor rem arked. "He ought to be taken to a nearby house," was the verdict. o! anot h e r Se,eral who resid d in th e street offered th.e of their homes, for every one recognized how true a hero he ;!.11d som

BRA VE AND BOLD. s Those who were interested with the work found a small medallion, which, suspended from a piece of narrcenes h\\ had in at the fir.e. Tbc a,tteda.nt, who had been sent )>y the doct.pr, left the room for a fe mi:nut.es. Louis took advantage of his absence to open the window a11d crawl out onto tQ.e s.ill. Iti another in. tant, he woulcl h'!"ve fallen and been killed, put lb.e r.eturn of the .11tteHdant sav d his life. The cold air, the biting wind, the sharp, icy !nowflakes-.-for the snow was still falling-did what the hv.d failed to accomplish. by cansing .a eo1mter re.actio n wh,icl1 restor-<'ti hi,ui. suddenly and completely to his senses . -. "You say,ed my life I" he said. "Y.1;$." "I thank you, though I am doubtful it was worth ing. I :am alOflc in the world, and--Bi,it why sjlo]d 'I tell yau?" "I am "Do you think life is worth saving?" "Yes,'' answered the attendant, with earnestness; "all life is worth saving, and our lives are not only our own, but our country's." "I like to hear you talk; it reminds me of my father. He used to quote Shakespeare a great deal, and I was fond of liste ning to him. He u sed to quote often the linf.s : "'Let all the ends thou aims't at be thy country's, Thy God's, and truth.'" CHAPTER IV. WELLS MONl'G.OMER'I!", T}IE DltTE CTl\'E. Clarence Burfield sat in his private parlor at the St. James J-[otel, in thought. He had aged since the night Df the fire, a l thoug!t only twn \lays had elap se d . He had r ece ived a s h oc k from which he felt he should never recover. His bell boy entered, holding ii sm;ill silver salver on which was a card. I-le wishes to se.e you,'' the boy remarked, as he pushed the s11her with the card under ]I.fr. Bu' rfield"s eyes. "Show him up, and w hil e h e i s here see to it that no one attempts to come to my roo m." "All right, sir. I'll be mum." The boy, one of the cheekiest and most impt1d1mt of the ,cla.iS he belonged to, but did not adorn, left the parlor, the richu by a. -dollar. .. I wonder whal it's all about? .. h e soliloquized. '"Think l don't know thU w Montgomery is a detect Is it robbery? No, I gues.s JJQt. .C:m't be div o rce. I'd gi"e this d.oll;1 to fjns:J p;tt, b11l I .gqess J'I)" to the dall4r aqd remain ignorant. He approacl.ied Lhe detec;ti,-e, and him to thi' elev<;il,,or. "Thank you; I'll not trouble you to go up; f'll find the :oom. N. 9 "It is no trouble." "I know it is not, but--" / Montgomery stepped into the 1!levator, and was bt-fon lie ljad time to fa1isb .the .sentence. "G.ood.-cl4y, I sent for you---" "Yes; you are Clarence Burfield, late of ChiC-a;lO, formerly Atlanta, and still earlier of New Orleans.?'" ";ou asJanisb "Wealtl1y, retired sugar plantr,r one, daughter, charming and most fascinating, traveling for pleasure and change, but called tG New York at the worst time 7ear."


6 BRA VE AND BOLD. ''Mr. Montgomery, are you a mind-reader or a witch?" "Nei ther. 1 a.m a detecfre." "Hut how do )OU know my history wc:ll ?" "Because I am a detective. You sr.nt ior me, therefore I tnm to the letter 'B' in my private ledger, and see that Burfield, Clar ence, age-never mind the age-is known to the policC--" "Known to the police! What do you mean, sir?" "By the police, I mean myself." "But how am 1 known lo you?" "Nothing simpler to answer. My method is, perhaps, unique; I do not claim it to be original. It is simply: I see a name in the papers; it may be at a public dinner, or as a snbscriber to a charity. l enter it in my private ledger. It is almost a certainty that the name occurs again; I note down the second event, and so on until I know quite a good deal about the person. Now, in your case---" "Yes, in my case, what have you got about me?" "You sold your sugar plantation to a Frenchman named Jacques Ilona.rd--" "Correct." "There was a quarrel, a challenge, a duel, what about I do not know, but you killed your opponent. It was fair, and according to the code.'' "That was a long time ago.'' "Yes, bventy-one years <1go, or sc>; you were not married then. Yon bought another plantation, and there you married, and the cha:rr.ing girl was "Yo:: seem to know everything." ''No." "What do you lack?" "I will :eil you. You stayed with a friend in Atlanta. The first night you were there the house was forcibly entered; t!1e sei::ond night the house was burned down--" "Welii"' "That is all I know about Atlanta, but at Chicago you were stabbed as you were entering your hotel-the Palmer House-late at nighl Fonunately, some hard substance prevented the dagger from entering your heart, an d only a mere scratch was inflicted. You arriv e d in New York, took a suite of rooms at the --Hotel, and the s e cond night you are there the hotel is burned to the ground These are all strange happenings in one man's life. Kow, have I proved to you that my is reliable?'1 "You have, and it sav es me very considerable time, fo( I should have had to tell you all you have recounted; therefore, so much time is gained. I can rely on your secrecy?" "Mr. Burfield, a detective is like a priest and a doctor-all com munications are sacred." "Then I will intrust you with my entire life, and if you can sol;e the T)lystery which seems to attach itself to me, and can avert the calamity I fear, I shall be pleased to reward you far beyond your expectations, for I am really a rich man.'' "I am all attention." "Have you,' in your account of my life, any reference to a :mysterious sign or warning?" 0No." "Then you do not know about the Red Hand?" "The Red Hand? Do you mean that.. you are to, be a victim of that mysterious band of miscreants known as the League of tbe Red Hand ?" "I know nothing about any league; I can only tell you that, whenever my life has been endangered, the impress of a blood red hand has been found in my room, or somewhere where I should be sure to see it.'' "A11 l Then it was not raving?" "What?" "The boy who saved your daughter--" "vVhat of him? Where is he? I wantto reward him. I have tried to find him" "Poor boy! he was starving. After the fire he was delirious. He was always raving about the Red Hand. It was looked upon. as mere delirium." "His name?'' "Louis Stanhope, he calls himself.h "I will find him, and he shall never regret saving my Elaine's life." "But it was not to find him that you sent for me?" "No. You say there is a band of men called the League of the Red Hand?" "Yes; and though rewards have been offered, and the ablest detectives employed, not one of the members, as far as we know, has been brought to justice.'' "Ilave you been engaged?" "No. 1 I had--" "You would have succeeded?" "Yes-I feel sure of it.'' "Then accept a retainer from me, and hunt down the members with mercilessness. They wage a terril;>le vendetta--" "A vendetta? Tell me your story, and then-to unravel the mystery of the Red Hand. shall be my life work!" CHAPTER V. AT THE FIRE STATION. Louis Stanhope was uneasy in his mind. When the first pangs of hunger had been satisfied, his head ceased to ache, and he fell asleep. But no sooner did Morpheus claim his senses than he began to dream, and in those strange visions, which have never yet been explained, he saw constantly before him a blood-red hand. 'When i1e awoke, he found an attendant ready to administer more liquid food. and at the same time a nerve tonic. Again he slept, and the same experience, with different details, was re-enacted. "A red hand!" he thought, when he awoke. "What can it mean? What is its significance?" Then bis mind recurred to the scene at the fire. He went through every detail of his heroic act, and remem bered how fairly bewitdered he was at the beauty of the girl whose life he had saved. Who was she? He had not asked, neither did he inquire afterward at the hotel. Louis would have acted in just the same way to save the poorest help in the hotel, and he took no special credit to himself for his action. But he did feel an interest in the girl, for her face was win some and bright, and though he had not seen her eyes, he felt sure they were brighter than diamonds and as lovely as the rest of her face. He was greatly worried over the red hand the door, more especially as the fireman had evinced a nervous dread when it had been mentioned. That there was something uncanny and in it he was sure, and that it, in some way, affected the girl he had saved seemed equally certain. r The desire to know its meaning so overwhelmed him that, as soon as he felt strong enough to get up, he 'Watehed an opportunity to escape the vigilance of bis atteudants and leave the hotel.


BRA VE AND BOLD. 7 He fully irilendetl returning, because h6pca to be aole to thank the hofelkeeper, aiid ask Rini. if he eould find 11im work. He timed his escape so well that he passed a11cl the office 1.hmot lted. He wai1ted to find Jilh Fehlon, but dicl not kild1\ to \vliich coh1-pany he Kriowing his name, and he was a fireman, was, however, he thought, sufficient. He asked a policeman \'\ hich was the nearest fire station; a1HI to it he went. "Jim Fenton, did you say?" "Yes; is he n o t here?" "Don't know hirl1." "Where is it likely I can find him?"' "A fireman, is he?" Yes." "To what hou se does he belong?'' "I don't kndw." You knbw him?" "I-that is-I want lo see him; he was at the hotel "Oh! Tom, come here. I tumble now." Then. putling his hand on the boy's shodlder, he half nim into tlie engine house. The great, snorting engine, with steam up, ready to leap fo:'lh as soon as the alarm gong sounded, stood there as bdgEt as s unshine. Ilow affectionate the men looked at it! A s p ec k of dust ciil its bright, polished surface would lnYc be:::n cons id ered a desecration. Through a circular .opening i'i1 the ceiling of ;:he engine-room a man was seen dressing him self. As his na me wa.s called, he threw his suspenders his s h o ulder, and, gripping them between his lceth1 slid down the pole t o the floor beneath. The work of fastening his suspender wa,; engaged ir.. whik he talked . '"So 1 wa< called a1>vay from a nice slee{f for nothing, ell? ' '"Call this nothing, Tom? DoH't you know whe th i s is?" '"Cau t say I do. '"Never saw him before ch?" .. T "Then, Tom Fergus. you're a-1nevaricator. Don't you member the boy what did the trapeze act at the fire?" "\Vhy, bless my soul ancl body! you don't say so!" Tom clasped Louis by the hand, squ.eezing him until the boy thought every bone would be broken. "'Welcome to our engine house! Say, Jack, if you hadn"t cnlled me, I'd have smashed your-let me give you another shake, fny boy." Tom was so enthusiastic that Louis was almost afraid to 1ve him his hand again. A man came up from the basement, and instantly Tom caught hini. "Take off your hat. Bill. off your hat. This is tht fire huo." "Not the poy what---" the telegraph pole--" :And Walked a.Jong tl1e "And swung him eli from a rope into tht ''And re scue d the purtie.st gal l ''Say s aw, Bill, not seen. It g-iYes you aw0:mber of their engine house. CHAPTER VT. LOuIS A HlEND. Ji:n Fcnton rccogn\zed Louis as soon a s he entered th eng i ne hot:se t;lad to you. L -c:cky you were not a n hour latet, for T shouid !Jave been away. tome f1ome with me. It is !J1Y day off." Jim took his young friend through a labyrinth of streets, at last stoppink before a modern monstrosity known as a flat house iarro\\I rooms, long passageway s, dark and unhealthy, but such as modern land owners bnild for tena11ts lra\ini;} moderate incomes. lJp two flights of narrow stairs they picked their way through the darkness. At last, a door was opened, and Jim gave his young friend a cordiai welcome. Leuis found hi1i1self in a co7.y parlor, though so narrov.r that it seemed almost impossible to get full-sized forniture into it. ''Mad11iine, where are you?"' A young woman, clean and healthy-looking, came the parlO;. '"Matlefo1c, this i s the /oung I tGid you about."", Then, he had only ha.if done his du y, he introdn<'cd the lad:; as his si;;tn. "l dtnner .. Jim." ''Thel1 come a!oug, Loa;:i; yo.u will honor us, won t you?" Madeline Fento n ied the way through three rooms, which were


8 BRAVE AND BOLD. so dark that Louis could s.:arcely tell what they were, and then into a comfortahle little dining-room, which had the advantage of a window opening to the pure air, instead of the vitiated phere of an airshaft. Madeline was a good housekeeper, and kept her brother's flat in excellent order. The dinner was plain but wholesome, and Madeline took care that nothing to disturb the harmony should be discussed. \Vhilc she was clearing away the dinner, Jim and Louis sat in the little parlor, and the boy startled his host by asking, abruptly: ''What was the meaning of that red hand a t the fire?" "I wish you had forgotten all about it, Louis; but as you haven't, I will tell you all I know. The R ed Hand means d ea th." "Death?" "Y cs. There are many things about the League of the Red Hand which are a mystery to me, but I know euough to make me shiver when I heai: the name of the league, or see a red hand." "Won't you tell me about it?" "\Veil, yes; it may do you good. When I was a boy, I lived away down South. My father had been a planter before the war. He lost all during that struggle, and because he had remained loyal the Union, when the war was over he was hated and shunned by all Southerners. He tried hard to live comfortably for his children's sake, but it was a hard struggle. when I was about five years old, our family mo ve d farther North, into what r.iig ht be call ed a borC:er State. It was there I was educated and got my first glimpse of the world. "I was fond of reading detective stories." "So ar.i I," Louis interjected. "And so are most boy s, only I found out very early that the sleuths of fiction were very unlike the de tect ives in real life." "In what way?" "Every way; but let me tell my story, or Madeline will be in, and tht'n our talk will be stopped, for I would not like her to hear about the Red Hand." Louis was glad it was daylight, for there seemed something so uncanny about the very mention of the Red Hand that he shuddere d even light as it was. In the dark, he would have been positively frightened "As I was saying, I liked stories about detectives and I read oh e telling of some wonderful secret society which baffled all the skill of the skuths, until a man known as t he Shadow found out all about the society, learned that it had praiseworthy objects, and joined it himself. "Then I began to glory in secret societies. and thought how nice it would be to have some grip, or sign, or password, by which I could detect fello w-members wherever I might meet them. "It was a pleasing thought. I organized a society of boys. We 5wore each other to absolute secrecy. \Ve had our signs and mysterious languag e 'vVe even bad a cipher code, in which we corresponded. ''We played all sorts of practical jokes, and were never found out. "Soon we grew mischievous, and, I am sorry to say, did things for which we ought to have been punished. "Don't ever jom a secret society, Louis, unless it is purely for social and beneficial objects. "One day one of our members was guilty of a very out rageous act, and was found out. To save himself, as he thought, he told all about our society, and gave the names of the members ." "The wretch l" Louis ejaculated Madeline entered the parlor, and the convers a tion turned into quite anoth e r channel. She was a bright, sparkling girl, not more than eighteen, who could play ni ce ly, but not brilliantly, could sing and make herself vexy agreeable. Louis, who had been bereft of f emale society, was charmed, and thought Jim Fenton the most fortunate man on earth. W hen 'household duties a_gain called her away, Jim centinucd his story. "When I was about eighteen, I heard of a secret society whose object was the amelioration of society. I heard a great deal about it and my old love for secret societies revived. I applied for admis3ion." "How jolly! Did they accept you?" "Yes, and I was cured. I never want to belong to such a society again." ''Why?" "The night -came for my initiation. I was left in an anteroom while the preliminaries were gone through. "I was asked if I would swear to secrecy. A skull was placed in my hand as I took the oath never to divulge the ritual or the oa th. "When the investigating committee reported that I had taken the oath, I was led, blindfolded, into the large room. "I felt-for I could not see-that the gas was lowered, so that the room was nearly dark. "Some words were uttered, which I had sworn not to reveal, so must not repeat, and then the bandage was removed from my eyes. "I saw in front of me a large red hand, illuminated so that it showed brightly in the darkness. "At the other end of the room was another red hand, and on the altar, or pill a r, close to where I stood, there was a grinning skull, with flames of fire proce eding from its eyeless sockets and mouth. "I was startled. Not a word was spoken, and those hideous red hands and the fiery skull made the silence awful. "Gradually the was turned on, and I saw thirteen figures, coinpletely robed in black, having masks over their faces, and long. loose robes of black material reaching to their feet. "'Are you ready for the ordeal?' asked one of the men, and I answered in the affirmative. "A coffin was brought in, and I was seized and put into it, the lid b e ing fastened down. 'Swear never to betray your fellow-members,' was uttered over the coffin, and when I agreed to the new oath, the lid was lifted off, and I got out. "The scene had changed. The black robes were thrown aside and white ones took thei r places. "On the breast of each was a blood-red h a nd, the insignia of the society. ''There was a lot more said and done which I am not at liberty to tell you. '"When the masks were removed and the robes thrown off, I recognized some of my most intimate friends. "A supper followed, for which I paid; that was the rule of the society. \Ve sang songs, told stories and recited until early morning, and then, though feeling tired and weary, we had to go to the work of the day." "But what was there horrible about all that?" Louis askeil. "Nothlrtg. For 1 onths I 11ttended the meetings. Never did I hear anything wrong discussed, but I soo n learned that there were goings on about which I knew nothing. "At times one of our members would disappear--" '.'You do not mean he was killed?" "I don't know; we never heard qf him afterward."


BRAVE AND BOLD. 9 "Did you never ask?" "\\."hat wouid have been the use? I might have been tbe next. Several times I heard of people being found dead, and near them the mark of the Red Hand. Houses would be burned down and some one would remember that, just before the burning, there would be the mysterious Red I-land displayed. People got fright ened. Rewards were offered for information concerning the Red Hand. "Governors of States issued proclamations against the league, but it flourished and became a still greater terror." 00Are you a member now?"' "Yes and no "I-Io\V can you be both?" "Once a m e mber, only death can release you, b11t I ran away I came to New York. I entered the fire department, and have heard nothing about the League of the Red Hand until the hotel fire, and then--" Jim Fenton shuddered as he remembered the events of that night. "You saw it?" "Yes; it was on her gown. Some member of the league is in New York, and has an enmity to her. I wonder who she is ? "I saw the Red Hand on the door of the room of the girl I threw out of the window." Both will die. It was no use our saving them." "Can't we prevent it?" "\Vhat?" "Can't we find out who those girls were, and put them on their gttard ?" "' "No use. The League of the Red Hand is merciless. Wher-ever the sign appears it means death." "I am not a member." "I hope you never will be." "I never shall; but I am going to find out who are members, and I will see if I cannot prevent them commiJ;ting any more crimes." "Where are you living?" Towhere. I haYe no home. I at the Ruthven House, but only because I fainted after the fire.;' Jim Fenton whistled, at first like a bird, then gradually his whistle took the form of a popular song of the day. was, perhaps, unusual, and not very courteous, but was a way he had when he was thinking. Whe n he stopped, he looked earnestly at Louis for a full minute before he commenced a catechism somethin}S like this: "\Vhat is your name?" "Louis Stanhope." "Age?" "Just turned fifteen." "No home?" "No." "Father and mother both dead?" "Yes." "What are you going to do?" "Do not know." "Do you want work?" "\teS." Jim Fenton whistled '!gain, but his warbling did not last as long as before. Perhaps the entrance of Madeline shortened the music. ? "Yes, Jim ''Wbat do you think of Louis Stanhope?" It was a lea ding question, and Mad e line did not know how to answer it. So her brother continued: "Louis is g o ing to board with us for a time, perhaps altogether. You and Aunt Cortwright won't be so lonely nights when I am away. He can have the room next the dining-room; that is, if you would like to have him as a boarder." "I should very much." "That is settled, then. Louis will come at once. His trunk can be sent for later." "I have no trunk. I--" "Yes, I under stand; it is to come later. I'll arrange all that." And before Louis could interpose one word, it was all ar-ranged that he was to b oard with the Fentons, no questions being rai s ed as to whether Mrs. Cortwright, the aunt of the Fentons, would con s ent 'Come along, Louis; I have one or two places to call, and if you want to stretch your l e gs, it will be just the thing." Jim led the way into a street devoted to retail stores, and stopped s udd e nly before a large tailoring establishment. "Louis, that suit looks as though it would fit you?" "Yes." "I'll go in and a s k the price "What for? I h ave no money, Mr. Fenton." "Don't call me mister; say Jim. And as to money-well, I'll lend it. Y o u'll n ever get a situation in those old smoked and burn e d clothes, so come al ong. They ente r e d the sto re, wh e re it was evident th.at Jim was known, and that favor a bly. Two assi s t a n ts s t e pped f9rward to learn his wants. In a loud voice, Jim said he w ante d a good knockabout suit for his friend, the boy hero of the great hotel fire. The proprietor came out of his private office, and was intro duced to Louis. The dipl o m a cy of Fenton secured a good suit of clothes at half price while the proprietor insisted on giving the young hero a good overcoat. When they had left the tailor's, Jim went next door to an out fitter s and secured two suits of underclothing, flannel outer shirts and socks. "Now, Loui .s, when we send for that trunk to-morrow, we shall have some use for it." ''You are too good, Mr.-1 mean Jim." "Good? Not a bit Qf if. You've done me a power ot good; and, besides, are we not going to be a league of two to fight the League of the Red Hand?" "I must go to the Ruthven Hous e "That is just where we are going. You look all the better for a change of clothes; we will thank all parties, leave our ad dress, and then go home to a good cup of tea. Madeline makes good tea, but you must tell me what you think of aunt's coffee?" So they chatted on until the Ruthven House was reached. "There's been a caller for you. He left hi s card, and hoped that he would soon see you," was the clerk's greeting, when Louis entered the office. He looked at the card, and read the name engraved in tine script: "Mn. CLARENCE BtUU'IELD," and penciled m the corner : "St. James Hotel, New York." "Too late to-day, Louis; we must call-at least, you must-tomorrow. Wonder who Cfarence Burfield is? Perhaps a re porter, wanting to interview you for the morning paper. What thing is to be famous l" I


10 e found in the world, from the gentlemanly bai1k cas-hier Lo the sandbagger and highway robber. There was a gla ss-fronted bookcase on one side of the room, but instead of books, the shelves were filled with a strange assort ment of things-pistols, knives, knuckle-dusters, slungshots, old hats, belts, shoes, and, in fact, such a variety of things that space forbids any attempt at cataloguing. Yet everything had a history. Every article recalied som-: s.o:y which redounded to the credit of 'Veils Montgo;nery, the de-tet.iive. Papers and books were th;own on the floor indiscriminately. Ii. would be difficult to find a place more crowded, more untidy or dirtier than the office of the great sleuth. Uptow,1, in one of the most fashionable flats, cm one of the most exclusive streets, we should find luxury, ease and elegance. Costly carpets on the floors, bric-a-brac worth thousands of dollars in cabinets and on mantel shelves, pictures most valuable on the walls, and, in fact, order, tidine ss, luxurious11ess and wealth manifested everywhere. And in these two extremes dwelt vVells Montgomery. Aiter the detective left the presence of Clarence Burfield, !1e jumped on a downto\\'n car and went to his office, wh:ch we have feebly described. He took off his coat and put on a long wrapper, designated a bath robe, which completely covered his person. He turned on the gas and lighted a portable gas the only way he had of warming the room. Then he took two briar-root pipes and a meerschaum, and fiiled all three with an exceedingly mild tobacco. These he placed on his open desk. When these preparations were complete he sat down, lighted the tobacco in the meer schaum, put his feet on his desk, and began to puff at his pipe and think at the same time. Wells Montgomery was an original ; in fact, most people called him eccentric and a crank. If we could see into the inner recesses of his thought facto;y, which is usually called the mind, we should find his thoughts rurt ning disjointedly, it is true, but bearing entirely on the League of the Red Hand. "Clarence Burfield! Not a bad name! A story would sell with such a title if it had, as a second one 'The League of the Red Hanel.' Shall I write it?" Before vVells i\Iont goml ry had got a s far as that in his thoughts, the ro o m was so full of t o ba c co that it wag im possible to see it. He wa a g rea t s m o ker, regardle s s of the delicacy of flavor onl y t o be o bt aine d fr o m gentle inhalation of the fomes of t bacco. A little m o u se, perhaps the only Li.ving thing that ever en tered that offic e ho dared t o tike liberties with anything belonging to the detective, crawled quietly to the top of the desk, and seatii;g himself on a volume of criminal records, Jooked at the great sleuth alm-0 t defiantly :.\1onfgomery looked up, and saw the little animal. He laughed at its courage, and the mouse scampered b ehind some books. The detective paused, in hi s thoughts about the Red Hand, to repeat the lines written by the Srot pOt't, Burns: "Y.,'ee, sleekit, cowrin', tim'rous beastie, Oh, hat a panic's in thy breastie Thou need na start awa sae hasty, \Vi' bick'ring brattle I'm truly sorry man's dominion Has broken nature' social union, And justifies that in opinion, Which mak's thee startle Al me, thy poor earth-born co mpanion, And fellow-mortal!" Perltaps the p ott's sentiment the rnonse. for i t again showed itseli, and the dctecli,e went on \\'ith his and thinking, regardless of the "\\'ee, sma' bcastie." ''Can I write such a book? ot at present. The League of the Red Hand is a mystery to me. Can I solve the mystery? It would be worth. let me see, haw much? Burfield will give ten thousand, perhaps more, and rewards offered nm up to twenty thousand more. Pri,ate individuals, who are, or have been. threatened, another twenty thousand. Yes, I could make fifty thousand, at the very least." The tobacco in the meerschaum was burned out, and Mont gomery laid it aside, took up a b0riar-root pipe, lighted the c o n tents. and puffed away with. scarcely any intermission. "There is a risk. Tom Norton went all the way to Louisiana to expose the league and land the members in jail. He was on the poi11t of success, when he accidentally fell into the Mi sis s ippi and was drowned. The funny part abo\lt it was that the coroner's jury found that he had cut his hand in some way, b e cause on his coa( was the imprint of a human hand, evidently outlined with blood. There were 110 cuts on his hand, but s uch was the decision of the jury ''Then there was Jack he actually declared he kne\\ the names of three of the principal officers; but before he obtain a warrant for their arrest he was stabbed and died from the wound, the secret with him. "So it is dangerous, isn't it, mousie ?" The mouse ran away, not because of the question, but startled by a knock at the door. "Come in!" T11e door opened, and Rowley Barnes, the fireman, entered. "Well?" The fireman looked around the room, as well as the smoke would allow, and trembled. "Well, Mr. Rowley Barnes, what can I do for you?" "Are we alone?" "Yes." "May I speak freely ?" "You may, only I bid you remembc:r that my time is pnwious. A minute is worth a dollar, so take care." "f shall n o t keep you long. I have a companion, a fireman, and he has at time s acted queerly. I Om1ttimes think--" ''Write it d.owu and mail your stateme11t; I really have not time to lis ten to you Good-day." Barnes woul

BRA VE AND BOLD. II Wells Montgomery pushed an office stool across the room, and bnisquely bade Rowley Barnes sit down. "Do you smoke?" "Yes." "Got a pipe?" ''Yes." "Then here is some good tobacco; smoke while you talk." "Then you are interested?" "A little." (The Red Hand was seen at the hotel fire." "I know it." ,:'Three times it was seen." "I am aware of it." "But you don't know who put it there? "Do you?" 'Perhaps." "Tell me what you think." "Tndeed Arc you not aware that there are some pretty b i g rewards to be given to those who discover the dreaded Red Hand miscreants?" "You wish half the reward?" ''Yes." "Tell me what you know." "Not till I have your assurance of a fair divide." "Really Mr. Rowley Barnes, you have placed you rself in the power of the aw, and I have a great mind to have you arrested as an accomplice of the Red Hand Leaguers." "Do not be too sure, Mr. \Velis Montgomery, of your powers. I have not been in the pay of the secret service for so long without learning a few things." Montgomery arose from hjs seat, Open ed the door, and: with the m a nners of a courtier, wished Row ley Barnes good-day. "I wonder what he knows?" 1vas the form of thought which passed through the detective's mind as he resumed his seat at the desk. "Half the rewards! No; that is too much. I might give him a thousand dollars. But suppose he goes to some one else? \,\'hat if he goes to police hea .dquarters! I might lose all. No, I think not. Anyway, IJI take the risk." By the time the third pipe had been smoked,.Montgomery was ready to go to the luxury of his residence, a place in which he was no longer the detective but the private citizen. CHAPTER VIII. TI{E RUNAWAY. Elaine Burfield was a girl worth saving. Not only was she beautiful, but her heart was in the right p;ace, and made her as lovely as her person. She was a healthy girl, and delighted in outdoor sports, and was especially happy when riding or Her father humored her in everything, but often trembled as he thought of her fearlessness when behind or on a horse. After the shock of the fire, she became restless., and. felt that she could not breathe in the hotel. She recovered from the shock far quicker than the doctor thought right or proper. and when Qe called, on the day folloV1ing that of the interview between her father ap.d Wells Montgomery, he was very properly alarmed at the impropriety of her rapid re covery, for he was told she had gone Q ,ut for a drive. Elaine had bt'en taken, by her father, on the day of her arrival in the Empire City, to one of the most tashionable livery stables nding schools, close to Central and the pi:oprietor was -told to supply her with anything in the equine way which she desired and he could guarantee. On the day of the fire she had taken out the fastest horse pos sessed by the liveryman, and had ridden through .Central Park, with snch dash and grace that she had been noted by all, al1d even mentioned in the morning papers. On the day when she so shocked the doctor she had gone to the stable and asked for a pair of she had seen on her last visit. They were out, and, in fact, the only team available was one far too fresh for a lady to drive. But Elaine had her own way, and with some misgiving, the liveryman saw her drive away. He had insisted on a man attending her, and so an experi enced horst'man was mounted on the di-ckey of the phaeton. The animals behaved splendidly. They felt that, although the lines were held by a woman, she was their master. On they sped, passing most horses, but yet keeping within the pace allowed by !aw for the park. Every one admired Elaine,. and a score of young men wished they knew her. The swift cutting through the p11re air, the pleasure of driving, exhilarated her, and she felt tempted to allow the horses to exceeci the pace. Some one had been thrown ahead of her. There was a commotion. People screamed and ran, horsemen quickened their pace. a:1d every one became excited. A mounted policeman galloped toward the scene of the accident. He pass e d Elaine, and her horses chafed at being held back. They wanted to oYertake the policeman. She held t11em well in hand, and the excitement sent the healthy color to her cheeks. Another policeman rode by, faster than the first. The horses tossed their heads. They snorted and fretted at the thought of being held back Elaine let the lines sJacken just a little. Advantage was taken of it. The horses dashed on with fiery speed. In vain Elaine pulied the lines. Her veins were standing out on her face, 'full with arterial blood. Her muscles were strong, but they were strained to their utmo st. She had lost control, and knew the horses were runn'ing away. She had scorned asking a man's aid, but now she was glad there was a man in the dickey. She called out to him: "Help me!" He leaned forward to grasp tile !ind. The off wheel of the phaeton struck a tree root on the road side. The m a n was thrown into the road, and Elaine was alone. Faster and faster fl..ew the horses. Men and women, trees and shrubs, were passed with lightning like speed. Men shouted, women screamed, all ran after tl'le infuriated animals, increasing their fright and making tear ahead without reason or thought of danger. Their eyes were like balls of fire, ;om their nostrils the wind was exhaled until it looked like steam. Faster and faster they flew. Elaine was losing strength. She knew her life was once more in danger. Nothing, save a miracle. could save her.


BRAVE AND BOLD. I2 The horses had rounded the curve and we r e on the homeward road. The danger was increasing, because the nearer h ome, the greater nmnber of vefocles to be pas ed. She held the. lines mechanically; all power to guide the horses was gone. At th.at moment, Louis Stanhope, who bad been sitting watching rhe people pass and r epa s, saw the horses, and knew they were running away. They leaped forward in the road. 'l hey were close upon him. \Yith a sudden spring, he grasped the bridle of the nearest horse. only to be lifled off hi5 feet and borne forwad by the maddened and frightened animal. Bm he held on, while the people shouted, and sc reamed, and begged him to iet go. To do so was almost certain death; to h o ld fast was equally dangerous. Elaine T"{'\'jved SGmrnhat. and pulled the lines tighter, as she leaned back io give hr.r additi o nal strength. The horses turned from the road. They were o n the grass. Right in front of them was ll1e lake. Another minute. and horses a.nd carriage \\'Ould be in the water. But in that minute Louis managed to grasp the other bridle, and the act caused the horses lo d1cck the.ir speed a little. Right on the brink of the lake he swung hirt;lself free from the off horse and the weight falling on the 01her's mouth, made tbe horses .swing around and skjrt the lake, instead of it. CHAPTER IX. "NO ANGEL COULD BE FAIRER." A great point was gained when the horses skirted the Jake, in stead of dashing into it. Louis pulled at the bridle, and as his feet touched the ground he was abi e to check tbe speed of the animals somewhat. Elaine regained h e r presence of mind, and gave a sudden tug a t the lines. This was unexpected by th e horses, whirh had ceased to lo o k for any opposition to their will from that They stopped as suddenly as they had started. A crowd quickly gathered. "You saved her life, my boy i" an old gentleman exclaimed. "You a.re a true hero !" Louis did not hear. The exertion had been too muc.h for him, and he was so dazed that he had no knowledge of anything which transpired. "Are you hurt?" "No," answered Elaine, "not hurt, only frightened." "It must have unnerved you," added ;Ulother. Elaine was the one who attracted all the atiention. Jt .is ever so. Let a young and pretty girl be the he,roine o f an' adventure, and she is the one lo receive exclusive attention, though others may have bee11 equally entitled to a share. "\.Vm yot1 please see that you11g .hero is hurt?" she tl1e people who wer.e pttssing around iber. He i s all right. A boy neYeT takes a11y ht111." "Please do not speak like tbat. Hie s ;rvetl tny Ii'' By thi s time Louis had, to a -gl'cat e.."n:nt, recovc:red him self, and wa s about to leave the spo t, when Elaine ca!Jecl ., He fancied her face was familiar, but oould not recall where he had seen it. "I know not how to thank you--" c 0 1urnenced. "Do not th:mk me, I only did what any one else would have done. I hope you are nQt hurt?" ' No, thank you, I am not hurt in the least. I was frightened. Are you hurt?" "No, miss." "Do you think you could help me drive home?" "011, yes, miss, I can dri,-e; I used-when I was a boy--" Elaine could not help smiling, and Louis joined her. "I mean when I was quite little; wh e n I wa s twelve years old; I am fifteen now-then I u ed to drive. "Then will you sit by me? I will drive, but I s hall feel safer if you are by my side." The horses had quiet. Their long rnn had exhausted them so m ewhat, and perhaps they were ashamed of themselves. Horses are capable of such a feeling. Those who have owned hors es lmow that they are susceptible to praise and blame, and will s ulk or show plea sure as circumstances mo\e them. The writer has a horse which, "hen it has done anything wrong, wiil hang its head an

BRA VE AND BOLD. 13 "Yes?" "That he seemed quite poor." "He was poor." "You know him?" "l mean he must have been poor, from what I heard. But, mis,, we are close to the stables; may l leave you here?" "No, indeed! I want you to escort me to the hotel. I want papa t-0 thank ) ou--" "No, no, no; I don't wish thanks. I am too happy in having been able to serve you.'; "But I will take no excuse; I insist-I--Ali, here is .tbe man who went with me in the dickey. \Vere you hu

14 BRA VE AND BOLD. "Certainly, sir, and from what I have heard I should be very careiui. for they do say that--" "You have not said a word to Elaine?" "No. s ir." "Good! Don't whisper 'anything to her." "?\ o, I would not thmk of alarming her." "):ow, Loui s tell me all you know." "!lfr. Burfield excuse me, Inn l have made a res o lve to find out all about th e R e d Hand, and to bring the rascals to justice." "You have? \Vil! you tell me "Be cause, sir. they ought to be in prison." "Do you know the danger?" "I do." "'v\'i!l you not tell me what you know?" "That would not be fair, unless you tell me why you have been fo!lcwed bv the con spirators." I do not know. I--But here is Elaine; I hear her voice, so not a word more." Elaine was accompanied by her maid, Frances. "Papa, I want to tell you a most _singular thing. You re member I told you that there was the impress of a red hand on my door at the hotel--" "Yt!s, my dear; some unfortunate fireman must have hurt his hand." "Bnt, papa, there is something more than that, for Frances fo1111d just such a hand--" "\1\' here ?" "Un her night wrapper." "Ha. ha, ha' Some practical joke Frances has been playing." "Picase, sir. it was no joke. There was the mark .of a man's hand on my wrapp e r. and it was as red as blood "It is strange; we will see into this, Frances. Don.'t talk about it." The girl was dismissed, and left the room. El a ine, howe v er could not help saying: "It is very strange, papa, and you ought to tell the police Dinner was soon served, and the Red Hand was no more d1scusoed. ";:..onis what are your prospects for the future?" Burfield asked the question abruptly, and Louis was taken unawares. "I do not kn ow, sir. I am looking for employment, but only as a means to the one end I spoke to you about." "You say you would like to be a is that so?". "Yes, sir." "Then if you like l will introduce you to Wells Montgomery. You ha Ye heard of him?" "Oh v's he is the greatest detective in New York." "W you like to know him?" "Very m'.1ch, sir." "T will speak to him about you." Lo11is thanked Mr. Burfi e ld, and the s11b3ect dropped. Elaimwas exceedingly pleasant, and did <\ll she could to make, Louis happy. . He had always liked the compamonsh1p of the opposite sex, bnt had thought girls were inferior to boys in very many ways. His afternoon spent with Elaine made him fee'! that 1f all girls were like her, it was no wonder poets and artists always depicted as belonging to the fair sex. After dinner Burfield had another talk" with Louis aoout the Red Hand mystery, and begged of him to relinquish all ideas of investigation. "It can do no good. You will only. bring misery, perhaps death, on yourself, and when the clearest-he..1Jerience. Good-day." 'I wonder how a boy gets a start?" Louis thought, as he descended the stairs and passed out into the street. 1-Ie had copied all the advertisements from the morning paper which se<>med to offer opportunities. and he applied at several of the places indicated, only to find that the advertisements emanated from an employment agency, and that on payment of a dollar they would tell him of any vacancy. "\.\ l hat can you do?" inquired a merchant who had advertised for an entry clerk. Louis answered by telling how he had passed at school, but the merchant laughed. "I guess you know more about algebra than you do about bookkeeping." "I know a little about bookkeeping." "Oh, you do, eh? Let me see your writing." Lonis wrote a good hand. Th. e merchant seemed "All right, yon'll do. You can start to-morrow mommg. Be here at eight o'clock sharp." ''How much wage s do you pay, please, sir?" "Well I'm blessed! You ought to think yourself lucky that yon are 'allowed to work in an office like this, as you only just left school. Well, I'll give you a dollar a week." "But, sir, I could not Jive on that." "What has that to do with me? I don't go about looking after boys to keep. I'm no philanthropist." "But, please, sir, I have no one to support me, and I must pay for my board." "Very well, just as you like. I'll not pay you more than a dollar." "If I accept that the first week, will you raise my wages if I suit you?" Come in the morning." "You will raise my wages thf' second week, sir?" "Bless my no I After the first year or so I may if you are worth more. As Louis was going out of the office he overheard a conversa tion not intended for his ears. One of the firm was gently upbraiding his partner for only offering one dollar a week. "The boy is worth five or .nothing." "Well, do yol! think I don't know? But he is evidently hard pressed, and he'll come back and agree to take the dollar." "He could not live on that." "That is his lookout. He could get a cheap lodging for ten cents a night--" "And room with thieves, perhaps." "And then he would have thirty cents for food. Three bread rolls a day are nourishing, and they would only cost twenty-one cents then he would have nine for luxuries on Su' nday." before he had been here a month he would be taught to be a thief--" "Well, then, he'd get into the Tombs:" Louis heard every word, and he felt miserable. He had no idea there were such hard-hearted men in the world, but as Fenton told him, so he began to fuink. that it was by such meanness that some men got rich.


BRA VE D. BOLD. Some places were already filled, while others were either unsuitable or no wages worth speaking of were paid. Near the close of the day he bought a late edition of an even ing paper, but found that there were no advertisements. He had wasted his cent. It was with neavy heart that h e returned to Fenton's flat, but the gO<;Jd-hearted fireman tiade him keep up his spirits. .. You know. Louis, Rome wasn't built in a day, <1nd it takes time to get a footing in New York; bttt when you do you will rise u11ti>--well, I wot1ldn't l:>e surprised ii some day Jim Fentgn called at the City Hall to see his honor, l\layor Stanhope." ""If e'er you do, Jim, if e1cr [ became mayor, I'd make y011 president of the fire commissioners.'' 'Then I'll promi3e you my vote at once." Jim started whistling, a habit his sister had tried to get him to relinquish, but without result. He wasn't a goo.cl whistler, out when he did indulge the :une was original, and Louis asked him if he had the whistle with ::t parti(;u]ar object. "v\'hat object could I have?" "Well, you know, in days of old---" "When knights were bold," added Jim. "Yes; in those days whe1ia lady was shut up in some fortress or castle, so that she should not see her lo1er-knight. he would go from place to place and play and sing some particular song only he and she knew. \Vhen heard it she would sing the second ver e, and by that means t.fie knight found his ladylove." 'That"s the only rnng I can sing," said Jim. .. \Veil. don't ing it, Jim, there's a dear, good boy," :\fadeline implored; but Louis asked what song it was, and Jim sang it, !n a voice as hoarse as a foghorn, and as much out of rune as a street band: "Gayly the troubadour Sang, oh! kaioo;ia lum, As he wa_<; hastening Horne from Jerus aiem, Sa;(ng from Hither I come, Ladylove! Ladylove! Rum, tum, tum! "Loudly the troubadour Sang, oh ,kafoozalum, To all the persons Coming from J ernsa:em; People from Palestine Looked iathet glum WhCTI they heard his wsurd Rnn1, tum, tum! "Dailv the troubadour Sang, oh! kafoozalum, Till he became As old as Methusalum. Then on a bank he sank Quilt. overcome: Autograph, ep.itaph. Rum, tum, tum!" "Do you think my ladylove wliluld know me if I sang that?" asked Jim, iaughingly. "I pity your ladylove, if ever you get one. I don't know which is the worst. your snoring, which I can hear in the room, or youir singing," Madeline cruelly remarked. "If ever I hear that s back to the engine house, but Madeline will. " vVill you go, Miss Fenton?" "Not if you call me miss. 1f l cannot be called .Madeline, or better, Madge, I'll stay at home." CHAPTER XII. UNGAl\.LANT .:ONDUGT. "So vou feel dispirited because yon iid not get a situation to day:"' .. Yes, ..\J.adge, I do." "If y ou are despondent you'll never get a position. No one wants to engage a 111!serab!e-!aced boy. Cheer up an be a performanee of ''Il 'frovalore" at the Metrop o litan Opera House, then ) u s t ope ned, and some of the most dis tinguished singers in the world were to take part. To Madeline Fen.ton it was a treat to st.and 011 the sidewalk and watch the people enter the building. She seemed to know all the wealthy boxholders, just through the glimpse she got of them as they crossed from their carriages to 1 he entrance. ''Sec, Louis, that is t!1e Goelet carriage." The ladies were each ide!ltified by Madeline, and their cos t umes criticised. after carriage deposited on the sidewalk the leading members of New York fashionable society. The Asters, Van Vanderbilts, Hamiltons and other! fo!i,1wed in quick succession, and Louis watched them as eagerly as did his cwmpanron. J nst be I\ ind him were two men, who pushed their way to the front a9 11mch as possible, and stretched their necks to catch a giil11f)se of the opera goers. Louis had thought them very rude to push as they did, but took no further notice until heheard one say: "Stay$ at the St. James, eh? Well, they won't stay long." Louis hecame interested, for to him it seetned that only the Burfields stayed at that hotel, and the remarks must apply to them. He was more than ever convinced when the other said: "Pretty g!rl, that daughter. Must she go, too?" "Yes; the whole kit of them." "I don't see why." "\Ve have nothing t0 do with that. We have to obey orders." "Will they be here to-night?" "Don't krrow ; we m't1St \Vatch." Then the cooversation ceased. The 'crowd criticised the costumes, and commented on the beauty of the ladies. A modest coach stopped at the It was a hired coiich. The people did not feel muc.h inte-rest in its occupants. Louis saw Clarence Burfield and his daughte r step from the coach and pass into the opera house. "Thought so! NGw to tell the boys. Our may be made." Louis rooked around and saw the two men ftlot'e away fron; the entrance. He forgot all about Madeline. Only one thought filled his mind. These men mustc be the R ed Hand conspirators.


16 BRA VE AND BOLD. He followed them. Down Broadway they walkecl quickly, without looking back. When they reached Twenty-fourth Street they turm:d toward Sixth Avenue. At the comer they looked around. An exclamation broke irom one: "vVe'rc followed!" Lo0uis heard it and crossed the street. He looked into a saloon window ancl read a playbill, but man aged to glance across :he sweet a t the two men. Vv'hen they h ad got some little distance down the street he followed. They turned up Sixth Avenue, and walked quickly, but Louis kept t hem in sight. Down Twenty-ninth Stteet as far as Seventh Avenue, and then they stopped. Louis stopped also. The men began to run; so did he. They went up one street and down anothe r, doubling some times, but Louis kept up with them until they entered a street which had long been a notorious one in the Tenderloin. lost sight of them. The str eet was dark. He felt that they had gained on him, and he walked faster than Scarcely a respectable person lived in the street, though Louis was unaware of the fact. He was angry to think he had los track .of the men, and was hesitating whether to return to the opera house and watch for the exit of Burfield. or go to the St. James and wait there. While he was hesitating he felt some one behind him. He only half turned, but in that instant he recognized one of the men he had been following. A coat was thrown over his head; a s i ckening odor seemed to, overpower his senses, and he lost all control of his voice. He kicked vigorously, but it was of no avail. He was hustled along, and finally carried into -a house and thrown on the floor. "You'll follow your betters again, won't you, my hearty?" claimed one of the men, sarcastically, as he closed and locked the door and pass ed out into the street. CHAPTER XIII. "TAKE CARE YOU DO NOT GET CAUGHT IN YOUR OWN TRAP." For some minutes Madeline Fenton stood entranced by the sight 'ilf the go1geous costumes worn. by the ladies who entered the opera house, and did not miss her escort. In fact, she had forgotten all about him, which was only natural, for what does a boy know about ladies' costumes? \Vhat interest had he m gorgeo us apparel? Madeline was a romantic girl; she read many of those stories whose plots all turn on poor girls marrying very wealtqy men, an

BRAVE AND BOLD. 17 'Suiting the action to the word, and t h e word to the action !' as the poet says,'' Jim mutte.red as he saw Madeline start for home. Rowley Barnes agreed to do duty for Jim that evening. As Fenton was l ea vin g, Rowley managed to whisper to him: "Beware the Red Hand!" Jim staggered b ack. The words were a s hock. He wonde r e d what Rowley meant, and yet for a moment he dared not ask him. "'v\lhat's the matter, Jim? Aren't you well?" asked R ow ley. "Y cs-no-at lea s t I had a giddy feeling just then. What did you m ean about the Red Hand?" "Nothino-" "But yot'.;'' mu qt have meant something. \.Vhat w as it?" "I don't know; only 1 heard you talk in your sleep once." ''Talk i n my s l eep'?" "Yes." ''What did I say?" "Nothi ng much." \ \"hat did I say ;r repeated Jim, almost angrily. "You needn't get mad. You only sai d the only thing you ever feared a red hand I d on't know 11hat you meant." ''Oh, that was after the fire, when we both saw how some one had slap)Je d a bl eeding hand aga in st the door." "No; it was before the fire. I wonder what it meant?" "\<\'hat?" "\\' lw. the hand. :if course ." ' Ro\vle)(. if I didn't know that you were a temperance man, I sho11ld S?.Y you had been drinking." "Ha, ha, ha !" J im wondered whic h way to go to searc h for Louis. l-1 e did not like the way the boy l eft Madeline, and was sure <;0mething unusual had been the cause of it. He went to the hotel and asked< if any inquiries had been made for Mr. Burfield and finding that no one had be e n there he determined to go to the opera hou s e and find Burfield and warn him. A s a fire man h e would have no difficulty in entering. and he was su r e the name of Burfield would b e known at the box office. But ;tgain he was doomed to s uffer d isappointment, for the wealthy S outherner had modestly purchased two s eats, and so had not given his name. Jim was leaving the ope ra house when he was tapped on the shoulder by Wells :viomgomery. H ell o, Fenton! On duty here?" ''No, Mr. lviontgomery." "Oh. t;:iking in the show, eh? I hear you are fond of singin1r." l may be and I may he not, but I was only l ooking for a g;1tleman, whose name I kno w. but whom I could not recogni ze.'' '\Nh o is it? I may help ylilu." "Mr. C:farence Burfield." "Yes, I can help you. I was speaking with him a few mom ents ago." "Will you tell me how I can re ac h him?" dear iellow, you cannot do anything of the kind. Your is not quite correct for the s t alls, and you would caus e as much excitement as a policeman in uniform." "Then what am I to do?" "Call at his hotel to-morrow." "That will be too late." "Vv hy ?" "I have rea son to believe that some danger threatens him/ "Danger?" "Yes.'' what do you know about it?" only a suspici o n." Wells Montgo m e ry bent hi s head forward until his face was very close to that of Fireman Fenton. ''A suspi cion that the League of the Red Hand is at it s old work eh?" '\Vhat. do you know a bout it?" "A m e r e nothing, o nly there is such a league, is there not?" r have heard so." "So have I, and I am1going t o startle the world by unmasking the rascals. I fancy so m e of the members will be found wearing official uniforms." "I hope you v.ill succeed, sir. From my heart I do." "I'll give Burfi eld your message, if yo u like "Please do so. Tell him to be careful." 'All I hear 1he music commencing again, and the opera is my pet weaknes s By-by, fireman." CHAPTER XIV. "REMEMBER YOUR OATH!" In a large roo m on the second floor of a house in a street famous or notorious for the number of crimes committe d in its vicinity, a man walked to and fro uneasily. He wore a long r obe, which completely cover e d his clothes and hi s face was m asked. 'I am tired of it!" he muttered. "Heartily tired of it. I wi s h I co uld break away, but that is impossible. I must go through with it now, though I know the prison ur the gallows is at the end." The ro om was nearly dark. only a very ieeble light was emitted from the gas burner, and the window s wer e draped with h eavy black fell. Before the members could enter the large room they had to pas s through two smaller ones. To the fir s t they were admitted after g iving a password, which w as eas y enough to remember, though through its frequent change was absolutely safe to use. From that room they passed into another, again giving a pass word which diff e red from the one which was the open sesame of the first room. In that second room. into which only one was admitted at a time, the initia t d put on the black robe and mask which de stroyed all chance o f recognition. Even then a third password was nec essa ry before the masked m ember of the society .c.ould enter the large room. T h e re was a peculiarity abo ut the societ y of which we are writing-no conversation was all o wed betwe e n the m e mbers. Everything w as s tated openly in the meeting, and when the proceed ings were over. the memb e rs left singly, and with as much ceremony as they had gone through on entering. On this particular evening. a large number of members attended. ,\t one end of the room thirtee n chairs were arranged, while at the o th e r en d seve n were placed, and o n eac h si de five There wa s a method in this strange arrangement of t he room. There were thirteen apostles selected to found the Christian reli gio n, and there are thirteen lunar m onths in 1.he year. The seve n was typica l of the seve n ages of man and the seven wonders of the w orld. whil e the five chairs represente d he five r aces into whic h mankind is didded, iz., the Caucasian, the Ethiopian the :\lfongo lian 1 he :VIalay and the Indian; and, second aril y, the five fingers of each hand. To the initiated a lesson was conveyed which, briefly translated, wduld mean that the five fingers arc nece ssa ry to the perfect work of man, and that labor i s the bond which unites the entire mankind in one family; it w as by labor that the seven wonders of the world were created, and th e labor must continue through the seve n ages of man during the thirtee n lunar months o f every year. The thirteen was also to teach that the times and seasons were regulated by that mysterious power which was more intelligently explained by the Christ, who sent the thirteen to preach His doctrines. As the m embers entered, each to ok a sea t which had been al lotted to h im. T he center C'hnir of the thirtee n was placed a few inches in advance of the others. .,, Its occupant aro !!, and in a few words called the meeting to order. "The time has come when th e R e d Hand must strike." he said. "The general order went forth against No. 99 and hi s family, but the ge n e r a l order failed. It now becomes our duty to invoke the power of the special order. 'It is my duty to tell you, as I have done b efo re, what the special order is. "On e of us will be selected, and to th a t one particulars will be given as to the identity of the offending party. "It will be t h e duty of that one to us e what weapons he pleases, bu t he must rid the ea r t h of one o r more menti o n e d in <.he order. "It will be impossible to escape the cons e quences if t he brother fails. "He will be watch ed, and at the very moment his time expires


18 BRA VE AND BOLD. for the commission of the act of retribution, h' will cease to live if he hasfailed. "It will be equally dangerous to betray the society, for the vengeance of the Red Hand bas never failed to fall upon traitors." The speaker did not raise his vGice, but uttered the words monotonous ly, jus t loud enough to be heard by all present. Thirty slips of paper were procured, and en one of them was stamped a red hand, all the rest being perfectly blank. The papers were then folded and plate d in a box, covered with a black cloth. Under this cloth ea-ch member in tum placed his hand and drew forth one of the pieces of paper. Not one opened ihe folded ballot until a ll had drawn, and the presiding officer gave the word. One of the s e ven at the end opposite the presiding officer had the paper on which the Red Hand was stamped. He stepped into the center of the room, gave the usual sign for recognition, and handed the paper to the pres ident. "You will receive your instructions later, brotber." "I would like to ask, is there no way of escaping from this w ork?" ''Why does the brolher ask?" "My soul loathes it. I joined the league believing its mission was one of truth, j ustice1 morality charity. 1 find it--" "Your oath! Have you forgotten it?" "No, or I should not be here.'' "Then you are not a free agent. You are bound by your oath to obey the orders of the leagu e." "But I did not know that mv oath would make me a--" "You are indiscreet. You know not what you are saving. Brother, if you are not prepared to obey the orders o{ the league--" "I will obey." "Of course you will; but ri:!mernber, also that we each took an equal chance. The lot might have bei'n drawn by me "I wish it had; you always egcapc "Do you imply anything unfair?" "No, only your good luck never leaves you The member stepped back. and another to o k his ple.ce. "In ptu-suance of orders, No. 99 entered the :.Ietropolitan Opera House to-night. \Ve .have to believe that he has some one to protect him. A boy listened to our talk; he heard nothing which would betray us, but he followed us for half an hour. His presence meant danger. It was only by a sudden co1t/J that we saved ourselves." "Where is he?" the house of a brother." "Good!" "What is to become of him?" "I will see him." The member wrote an address on a slip of p:Iper, and gaYc it to the pre. tdent. Other teports were made, and the business was One by one the members filed out, only one being allowed m the disrobing-room or in the anteroom at a time. The member who had drawn the Red Hand ballot stooipient of such tributes than Queen of England." '"Well, my dear. rnntent yourself wifh knowing you will neve. r ha\'e the chance of being queen, and yet that is as likely as you ever being an success." The music had commenced again. when \Velis Montgomery passed through the aisle, and occupied a seat at Burfield's right. AIJ through the act, Well. Montgomery endeavored to Lo Burfield, but the Southerner was so charmed with the mu ic that he would not allow any interruption. l\Iontgomery' s se:it was se\eral rows fart her back, but he was so well known that the ushers never thought of interfering with him . When the act was over, h e whispered: "Do you know a fireman named Fenton?" "I have heard of him. He is the friend of that bra1e boy--" ''Yes, yes, T kno w all thar 1 Fenton has been here--" ''At the opera?" 'l'"es." "Why not? inside. "For me?" 1'{es. I would have sent him seats if l had thought--" I saw him meandering around, looking for you." \\'hat does he want?'' "Don't laup,h 11 hen i tell you. He has got an idea that 1 o u ari! in danger. 1 trapped him. r think he knows something abont the League of the Red Hand." "\Vhat makes you thmk so;" "Yly dear sir. l never tell any ont' why I think a certain thing. I rc;ison out every litUe thing, and, in fact, get quite a credit for prophecy." Elaine leaned forward. and exclaimed; "You are a min Lotso cash. and he will marrv her before Easter." "How do you know' Did he meet bcr on' the other ide ?" "No; he newr saw h er before. You 1\ant t(} !mow how I find out >uch things, so does your papa, so I wiH tell you. He is Eng lish. because no other nationality p ossesses such a color and well polished skin; tl1rn his clothes-even the re;tnlation clawhammer c oat-show he is English; it t:loes not fit him, and is baggy, like all English coats." But what made you think he landed to-day?" '"Beca11se, since he has been in the opera house he has noticed that he has on an English tic, tied in English fashion. If he had been here a day 01 two, he would not have fallen into that mistake; it has made him quite uneasy." '"\Vell reasoned, Montgomery; but 1 am as curious to hear all your deductions as Elaine, so tell us why you think he will marry Gwendolin Lotsocash ?" "That is easy. He looked around the house, and asked hi friends who the pretty girls were. I think he asked which was the ri chest, far he wished to be introduced to the Lotsocash fami ly, and so I guess he is looking for a rich wife. She wants 'an English hu. band. and as 'there's many a slip 'twixt cup artd lip,' he will propose and be accepted a quickly as decorum allows." The music; again commenced, and Elaine devoted her time to the stage. ''Be ?.11 your guard, Burfield; I am inclined to think there is danger. \\/J'Jat would you advise?" you going back to the hotel?" "Yes." "Refuse to see any one to-night."


BRAVE AND BOLD. 19 "I will." "I wish you were not returning, but if you take care, you will be all right, and I may have some news for you in the m orning." Jim Fenton was no: easy in his mind. He did not like the absence of Louis, aqd he was afraid some danger threatened Clarence Burfield. Fenton never trusted Montgomery; for some reason he did not like him. If he had been asked the r easo n, he would have had to say he did not know, or he might have answered, in t he words of the poet : "'I do not like thee, Dr. Fell; The rea son why, I cannot tell.'" So, having a distrust of the great dcte.ctive, Fenton thought he would see :\Iiss Burfield's maid, and lea,e a message with her. He returned to the hotel, only to be told that Frances had been given an evening out. The girl had an aunt living in New York, and to her house she went to spend the evening. Elaine had been considerate, and told her that she need not return until morning if she liked to stay with her aunt. lt was getting late when Mrs. Camp, the aunt, heard a ring at the bell. "I wonder who it can be?" "Shall I go, aunt?" "Lor' ble s s you, no, child; you don't know this city as well as I do. You might be knocked down and killed before you could say Jack Robinson.' Worthy :Mrs. Camp did n ot say what connectio n there was be tween Jack Rcbinson and getting killed, or how the uttering of that mysterious person's name would help the girl. "Perhaps it's Uncle Joe." "No. Frances, your uncle won be home before midnight. Won't he be surprised?" Mrs. Camp went downstairs to see who it was ringing the bell. She occupied tbe upper part cf a small house up in Harlem. Frances heard the sudden exclamation: "Oh. George, what a start you've given me! Well, this is a great surprise. Go right on up; there is another surprise up there." The manaddressed as George, a fine-looking, tall man, entered the parlor. "Father!" "Frankie!" The girl h ad thrown herself into her father's arms, just as much surprised at seeing him as he was to meet her. It was. indeed. George :'.Vleredith, Mrs. Camp's brother and the father of Frances. "When did you come, father?" "Early this morning. I had some business, and shall be away again to-morrow, but hO\ll is it I find you in New York?" "\!fy young lady is here." "Ohl'' "She is such a dear, good creature, and I am going all over the world with her." "I don't understand. I thonght Mrs. Weathersfield objected to traveling." "So she does, but I left her three months ago, and went back to Miss Burfield.'' "\Vhat do you say-what name was that?" George asked, ex-citedly. "I wrote you at t he time, father, but you never answered." "I never got the letter. vVho are you with?" "l\fiss Burfield.'' "What is her first name("" "Elaine." "Her' father's first name?" "Clarence ." George Meredith jumped off the his eyes seemed to be starti .ng from his head, his face was alternately white and red. "You are with Clarence Burfield?" he asked. ''V'litih his d:tughter, yes. But what is the matter, father? Do you know him?" "No, no; I am agitated. I heard he was in the hotel that was burned. Were you there. a lso?" "Yes; a fireman saved me ." "I-I am glad. What ihould I have done if you had b een injured?" "You are ill, father?" "It is nothing. Your aunt is getting me a cup of coffee-I'll be bet te r then. Fetch me a glass of water, quick, mv dear ." Frances left the room to get the water. Her father groaned with mental anguish. "Great Heayen I have condemned my own child to d eat h l What shall I do? Oh, curs e the Red H:md My daughter--my daughter! And I ordered it! I-I am her -murderer!" CHAPTER XVI. A GUILTY CONSClENCE. George Meredith had given the strictest orders to the member of the League of the Red Hand. There was no equivocation. The order was to "remove" the three persons who had received the warning of the Red Hand ar the burning of the hotel. And one of th ose persons was his own daughter! He did not know it when the order was given, but as a man he ought to have thought that the maid was some other man's daughter, and under the circumstances, enti rely innocent of any attempt to injure the members of the league. Secret societies like th e Ku-Klux, the White Caps and the Red Hand never act from the plane of humanity. They strike, and their blow often falls on the head of the innocent. George :Yleredith was like a crazy man when he h eard Frances say s he was Elaine Burfield's maid. Frances returned w ith ;i glass of water, cold as ice, but none too col for her father's parched throat. "Ar e you better, father'" she asked, as his trembling hand took the glass. "Y es-no--1 am ill. I must go home." "But you are not well enough to travel; at least, you must not go out again to-night." "To-night? No; there is a train at three-forty; we must catch that." "Vve?" "Yes, you must go with me.'' "Bnt, father. I cannot." ''Cannot?" "No; I must return to :'.Vliss Burfield in the morning." "You' must go with me. I am your father, and--" "I shall not break my word to Miss Burfield. Here is aunt; sh e will tell you that I am comfortable." 'There was something so wild-looking abo George Meredith that his sister was positively frightened. He raved like a maniac; he pa ced the floor deliriously, and his eyes seemed as though they were starting from his head. "What i s the matter, George?" "I am ill; I must go h ome, and Frances must go witb ne.'' "You had better get to bed." "No, no; I will stay here until it 1s time for the train to start.'' Mrs. Camp slipped out of the room just in time to meet her husband on the stairs. ''Go for the doctor, Joe.'' "What is the matter?" "George is here, and I think h e has gone mad. He talks about killin g some one, and raves awfully." "Drunk 1 "For shame, Joe! George was never drunk i n his life. He is sick; d o go for a d octor, a good dear, Joe." Joe Camp was only human. and as he loved his wife as much as the day he married h e r, some years ago, he made no further demur, but turned back, late as it was, to fetch the doctor in whose skill 11is wife had so much confidence. The follower of JEsculapius gave Meredith an opiate, which quickly sent him to sleep. It was morning when he awoke, and Frances was delighted to find that he was calmer. ''Are you better, father?" "Yes, my girl. \\That day is this?" "Tuesday." "Ah! so it is. I have been thinking I won't go South. But I have a great surprise for you." 11-::J.r me?" ... '.t es; we will go to Europe to-morrow. You shall stay with


20 BRA VE AND BOLD. me tmtil then, and we will go across the ocean. and there com mence a ne\v life together." "\Vhat has come over you, father?" "What do you mean?" "Just what I say. Why do you talk so strangely?" "My dear, you need a change. I am going to take you to Europe." r cannot go." "You must." AH the strong will power possessed by Frances was aroused. She looked at her father almost defiantly as she, with emphasis, replied: "I will not!" "Remember, you are my daughter, and it .is your place to obey." "Father, listen to me. Four years ago. when mother died, you forgot I was your daughter; you 1\cglected me, and 1 had to go out and work for a liYing I had a hard struggle, but at length I won my way. I went to Mrs. Weathe rsfield; s he treated me well. I stal!fd ;vith her unti1 recently, when, at her desire. I left her to go with the sweetest girl that ever lived. irow you come fonvard and tell me I mtist obey you. I would be plea s ed to do so, fa\her, but duty forbids." "Dnty You forget that your fir st duty i s to me. but I forgive that. 1 must go to Europe to-day-at least, to-morrow; no later -and you shall not go back to Burfield 's." "Shall not(" "l said so." "And, father. I say that I mus t go back; I w onJd not have my name so smirched." "You shall change your name, and I will change mine." Frances started back, and looked at her fat her.

AND BOLD. Although he shouted out: "Loudly the troubadour Sang, oh! kafoozalum, To all the persons Coming from Jerusalem; People from Pille tine l..k'd rather glum When they heard. His absurd rum tum. t lllll !" And the ords echoed from wall to wall of hi s SQ1al1 prison h ouse, but there \\"as no resp onsiye answer from the out iSil1i h.ii so n, for his mind was so aotive that \:QJ1 tant working: ould enable it to !llilint.ain its balance. About mldnight-i1 seemed to him a good, long day since six lw<1rd a voic e sino-in.g softly the troubi!dor's sgng, and hi s heart began to beat faster. There IV,ilS \\ grating sound at the door; he felt rather tha11 saw it open, and he knew so m e o ne l1ad en\!!recl. The J'o." "If you were lo be released, you would go straight to t'he polic'e ndanger his liberty. '\\fill you not promise me ne.\ e r to re\"eal the locality of thi s h ol!se ?" '"For your s weet sake I w o uld do much, and promise much but I do not think I could pronttse that." "Then I am afraid I cannet you." "I aJn sorfy, for -I \Vllt The girl for a few h .er i.;ii:e 'r;i.4ually cloui;! mg, as the d1fficult1es prcsentad thmusrlves to -mi.l'ld. "Yell see, .an injl)ry to .arty ou.e in this house would be an inju"I')' to me." ::That I should rCret If I ca.u release you, will you walk three or four blocks blillP folded? I will lead you." "And you never to look, or alt.empt to look, until l lqve you?" "Yeo, vill d o tb.at." "Then, in an hour or so I will return, ii can." She left the little room. bolting the door behi11d her. Louis saw scmeth.i;1g on the .f!..oor. He picked it up. It wa s .a handkl.'.rd1j,d. Gallan.tly, be p1essed to hi s inh.aling tbe s1ron" perfume. ''J will keep this eyer a s a remembrance of h e r," he as he again pre,sed it to his lips. The perfume was pO\\erful. so much so tli.q.t it the odor of the strongest known lo He ank back, half dazed. The dOOt" Me just enough co.nsciousuess to 5et t w.p but hoe coujf -AOt all out or uiake .any resistance.


22 BRA VE AND BOLD. The elder female held a sponge to hi s face, and he q1,1i ckly succumbed. "I don t think he will tell any one the number of the house or the street," the elder woman said, wi t h a smile. "No, but I am really s orry. I WDuld like to have s poken with him again." You are too soft-hearted, Elmina; I never knew you so beft>re." "No, m other; I never felt such interest in any one before. He is onl:Y a boy, t>ut, o h! so brave !" N ever mmd that now W e have muc h t o do befor e--" "Yes, and w e a re l a te. M o ther, c a n nothi n g be d o ne to sa v e father fr o m th ose horrib le m e n H e is so go o d, so noble, exc ept" when he h a s to do wha t the y orde,o "I am afra id n o t N ow Elmina, let us hurry, or we shall faiL" The two women mother and daughte r lif ted h i m up and car ried him out of th e h o u se pla cing him in an expre s s wago n whi ch was standing by the c urb "Same place?" as ke d t h e e xpress m an. Yes ; I hope it will be the last t i me we shall have to ask yo u to help us." "I hope so ; I wi s h the m e n would give up." do 1. Goo d-ni g ht "Good-night, and Heav en guard you aunt." The wagon drove away and t he w ome n r e ente r e d the h o u se They so arranged the room in wh i ch L o u i s h a d been imp ris oned that it a pp eare d as though he h a d for ce d his body thro u g h the little w indo w They locked and b olt ed the d o or, an

BRA VE AND B O LD. only the mos t imperative necessity would make me stoop to so ungentlemaruy an intru&ion." "'What is it you wish?" Ji;laine was innocent of the snares and traps of a big city, a n d b e lieved in the man's honesty. H e handed her a note, which purported to come from Louis Stanhope." "Come to me at once; I am injured, perhaps fatally. Do not delay, my good lady, for I wish to see you." '"But L o ui s knew my address." Yes, but he became insensible before he conld tell us, ao lif e so s h e sai d." The man talked lo him sel f all the time. Jt was a habit l"Le had a cqnired. It seemed like having company; be s ides, it had once prevented him from being ''held up," for he distinctly heard a inan say: "'It ain't safe; there's two of 'e m." \ Vhen 1he man r eached so me crossroads, he halte d his horse and got down, professe dly to light his pipe but really to rook aronnd. Being sa ti sfie d that no one was withi\l hearing distal'lce, he 1ifte d Louis out of the wagon and laid him by the roadside. T he boy was still uncon s cious, and the expressman looked at him for a m oment to make on! he wa 9 still ali ve. Then he diove away. '"Hope he will be all right but i t is a nasty night. Aunt has saved four n ow; the last, poor chap. uc1e r w o ke np. \Vhat a fogs the papers made about it! Another m yste ry, they sai no light coming from it. so he imagined its inmates \l"('r(' in her!. J l e would kn ock al the door, howncr, and sec if he could a rm: se them. The dim light harl magnified t h e size of the hou se, and he. was di ,;appoi n te d ll"hen h e go t clo se \0 it. 'Do n't th-ink there 11ill be 11111ch of a welcome here, he thouglit: '"it l oo k to m e like a p owder magazine." r 1 r {91111cl a side where be could be from the wind and bei n g 1cry tire d, he sat down, with his back ro t h e wall. He was .i u.,st a Iii.tie frightened, and he bega n to \vhistle S o mehow. whistling did not give him the courage he wanted and he thoqgbt the sound of his v0ice would be better, so he Jim J:i'enton's song: the troubadott r sang, oh! kafoozalum !" He did not sing the wo r ds. Some voice had repeated them. His heart stood still. He dared not move; ht scarcely dare He listened, and h e heard a voice a.sking, wl10 he was. .. Where are yon ?" he cried, in broken, nervous accents '"T 11 this wretched house; I am a prisoner. 'Nill not the trou b a d ou r me tc, esca,pc ?., ,\pri soner? What have you done?" ":'fothing. T s eem tn kn ow your vo.ice. \Viii y o u not ten nfc who you are?" Louis Stanhope .. "Am I m a d, or a m l dreaming? T am Elaine Burfield "Great Scott! How came vou in there?" '"I cannot t ell yo\l n<1>1v? Where we?" I d on"t kn ow. T don't kn o w whe1her we are 111 Nffl Y.ork or---? vVe are in N ew J e r s ey, bnt the location. is slrang@ tQ ni.-. 1 want to get o nt.


24 BRAVE AND BOLD. She explained to him how strong the door was, and how hea\ ily the window was barred. 'I have tried every way to escape, but failed. I have but one chance more--" ''And that is?" "I might climb up the chimney; it seems large, and there is a big, open fireplace in the room." "Wait a bit; I will climb to the roof, if I can, and look down..''. ''You may hurt yourself." "No, I won't_ I can do it, I am sure." Louis found it easier than he had expected, even though it was so dark. V,l h e n he reached the chimney, he called down. Elaine answered "Stand away; I am coming d o wn." Before Elaine could say anything to prevent him, he had started on his downward journey. Pressing his and his back against the sides of the chimney, he w a s able to get down easily, for, fortunately, the colonials believed in building good, large flues. Had there been any light Elaine would not have been charmed with her young friend's appearance, for he was well covered with soot, cobwebs and dirt. She told her story-how s he had been inveigled into a carriage, onder the pretext that she wa s to see him, and taken there a pris oner-and he told his \\'hen he had finished she added: "I was not frightened until I saw a red hand on the wall." "A red hand?" '"Yes." "Then I am afraid we will ha,e a hard 'fight, but when morning comes. we will try anti e-s cape, and if we cannot, we will fight for our liberties and our lives." "Spoken )ike a real knight! I have every confidence in y ou, Lon is." "I will save you, Miss Burfield "I think you are my good an gel--" "No, no! You are an angel, and for such an angei I would give my life, if ne e d be." CHAPTER xxr: NO ONE CAN AID YOU." "I don't want you to give your life for me, but I am afraid you have got into further trouble. How did you find me?" Elaine Burfield was sitting on the floor, very close to Louis Stanhope, whose sooty hand she held in hers. It was very cold, and the two sat very close together in the commtmionship of misery. Somehow, it die! not seeln so horrible to Loui to be in a prison, so long as he was sharing it with Elaine, who was to him a superior being. "How did you get ht>re ?" he asked, and she told him her story. "And irwas to see me that you followed that man?" "Of course.'' "\Vhy?" "Had you not twice saved my life?" "That was nothing." "Nothing? Thank you, Louis; I thought my life was of'some "I did not mean that; I meant that saving it was--" "Noble, heroic, sublime; and when I heard you were injured, what else could I do but try and see .you?" "I wish you had not." "Thank you, but I could not help it I am afraid that there are some evil persons watching us.'' "Now?" "No, you silly boy, I don't mean now, of course, but they want to trap us." Louis knew that his hand shook as she spoke, but be did not think she noticrd it. "You are trembling. Are you afraid?" "Not for myself "For whom, then?" "For you, Miss Burfield, and for your father ... ''Why?" He did not know what to say, for he )lad been very guarded and did not want her to know or suspect anything about the Red Hand. She saw his hesitation. and tried to help him out. "Do you think the Red Hand h2s anything to do with it?" "The Red Hafld What do you mean?" "In that awful fire there was a mark of a red hand on the door, and in this room there is a similar mark." "In this place?'! "Yes. On the ston( wall. I saw it, and I became frightened." "As well you might be. It is a painful coincidence." "A coincidence! Is it nothing more?" "No, I think not." "Tell me of yourself, Louis; I would like to know more about you Your father, was he---" She paused, scarcely knowing whether she had trespassed on some forbidden subject. "He was an artist, and, oh! so clever; but, alas! he was always sick and poor.' Mamma had a ll she could do to support us, but she was brave, and he was s o kind and considerate." "V/as ur mamma an artist, to o?" s he paint<;d on china, and such lovely things; you would have liked to see them." "I am sure I should; but had she no friends, no relatives, who would ha.ve helped her to bear her troubles?" "I do not know ; I have heard her say-only to me; never to any one else-that her family was a wealthy one in the South, and that her father died while she was quite young. She had an elder brother. who was kind to her, and loved her greatly until she married my father, and lhen she was disinherited, cast out, she said, and her brother forbade her ever speaking or writing to him again." "\Vhat was his name?" "I do not know. Mamma said it would be far better if I re mained in ignorance of his name, for then I should never stand in danger of being s nubbed by him -or her other relatives." "That was pride "Yes; and I am glad she h a d pride enough to act as she did The two young people talked so interestingjy that they forgot all about their troubles and danger, and the time passed so rap idly that the sun was shining in the morning before they realized the fact. The little rays of light entered the room through the window, and Elaine burst into a merry laugh. "You do look so comical. I do wish you could see yourself." Louis looked at his hands and clothes, and saw now they were covered with soot. "Is my face very black?" "It is black in streaks, and brown and white, and, oh, so funny; I do wish I had a mirror." Louis laughed just as heartily as did Elaine, though it was only because her description of his appearance was comical. "Now that the sun is shining, I think we ought to get out of tpis place." "So do I, but how?" "You thought of trying the chimney?" "And I should look just like yoi.1; what a funny couple we should be. and how the people would laugh." "Miss Burfield, will you try the chimney, or shall we wait here and confront your abductor?" "The chimney, by all means:" "Very well; I will go first, and you can pull on my hand, and so help yourself up." "I should pull you down.'1 "Then will you go first? And I will push you up.'' "No, no; I will follow you. I think I can climb." Louis started up the chimney, and Elaine followed. They got up thret: or four feet very nicely, but a sharp piece of mortar pricked Elaine's hand. She forgot her critical position, and relaxed J;ier hold with her knees; the result was, she fell to the bottom, and had to start over again. She had ascended a little distance, when Louis called to her: "Go back; we cannot get out. The top of the chimney has fallen in." She descended, and a few minutes later Louis was by her side. As he re-entered the old fortress-for such it was entitled to be called-his eyes fell on the red hand, as though he was to be re minded that he was in the p(i)wer of that terrible society. "Miss Burfield--" "Call me Elaine; I ask of you the favor, for you shall be my brother. Papa will insist, so call me Elaine."


BRA VE AN:P BOLD. Louis looked at the hand s ome girl whose clothes were soiled with th e soot and dirt, and whose hand l,,,as bleeding, and softly whispered the w o rds : Si ster I Elaine!" T hat is right. Now, what were you about to say?" "We must be brave when our enemie s and will you act as I d esire?" I will. Hark! wasn't that some one at the door?" "Yes Keep silent; I will hide in the chimney." L o ui s h a d o nly t i me to g e t into the o p ening above the fireplace before t he d oo r opened, a nd th e man, B e nd e r1 who had kidnaped Elaine on pre t e n s e of taking her t o se e Louis in a hospital, appeared. / "Have y ou decided?" he asked "I have." "And you will send the orde r to your fat\ler to pay me the money?" No." The man stepped back, startled by t he vigor of the reply. "The n wh a t do you intend doing?" "Nothing ." Y o u know the alternative?" "No, I do not. And, if I did, I should still defy you." "Defy me? Girl, you are fooli s h. You are in my power, and not a s oul o n earth can aid you." "You lie! shouted Louis, emerging from the chimney and rushing upon B ender with such force t hat the villain fell to the floor, and Louis sat down on his prostrate body. CHAPTER XXII. "on! KAFOOZALUM. Jim Fenton had obtained a week's vacation, and he spent tw enty-four hours parading the streets, whistling, in his own pe culiar manner, or singing his absurd s o ng. He was in the Tende rlo i n district, singing, "Oh 1 Kafoo z alum," when a young girl ran out and called: Lo.uis, is that you?" He turned, and she blushed s she apologized for callini after him. "What Louis do you mean?" he asked; "for I am seeking a tall bor, called by that name." 'A fri e nd of fl,line, Lo u i s Mann "Oh, my friend w as n a m e d Stanhope." "And you have lost him? e Yes. I would give all I possess to find him." The girl hes itated a moment and then s he said : "That was a funny song y ou were singing. My cousin heard a boy s inging it in H o bok e n last ni g ht. and he remembered some of t h e words C a n I buy it anywh ere?" "I don't know; what part of H o boken was it?" "He did n o t say. h e i s an express man, and drives out about four mi les beyond Hoboken." "Thank you. "Excus e me for my boldness. I am sure you will think me very forward. Elmina Van Ness-for it was the daughter of the Red Hand member-ran down the s t reet as though ashamed of having s poken to Jim. Fen to n wa s too mnch of a gentl eman to follow her, but he would dearl y liked to have had another conversation with her. H e reason e d out the s ituation: That g i rl kn o w s L o uis. He sang "Kafoo z alum ;" he has been s pirited a way t o Hoboken. I'll go right through to the village s he 5 p o ke of. It c a n do no harm, and I m a y find Louis ." He lost no time in reaching the ferry, and was very impatient at the sli ght delay in getting the boat and crossing. H e bought a copy of an extra special which the boys were calling out for sale. H e did not know what prq mpted him to purcha s e a paper so e arly in the day seeing t h.at he h a d read the morning paper But he inve s ted his c ent and s aw th e announcem e nt, in large, displayed t y pe, of the finding of the body of an Italian floating in the East Rh-er. The, body showc;d a distinct woundmade by some instrument in the back. a stab sufficient to cau s e death The doctor who wa.s call e d to see the body declared that it was a case of murder, for the man must have been dead when thrown into the water. What made the affair m o re sen s a t ional was the fact that on the man's shirt there was an impres& of a red hand, with the words underneath : "So perish all traitors I" The body was almost immediately identified as that of an Ita lian n a med Galliani. There was a short expression of opinion by the writer that Gal liani had been the victim of the Mafia, or some other secret so ciety popular among his compatriots. Jim Fenton trembled as he read the account, for he knew the Italian himself. "Poor Galliani He has been killed to close his mouth. Fool that I was ever to join such murderers I" While Fenton was brooding over the tragedy, Louis Stanhope and h i s companion, Elaine Burfield, were nearly exhausted through want of food, and almost hopeless. "What shall we do?" asked Elaine. "I am afraid we shall die here," was the despairing answer. Early that morning, when B ender had entered the prison chamber, and had declared that Elaine was entirely in bis power, we know Louis had rushed out from his hiding place in the chimney, and by the impetuosity of his onslaught knocked Bender down. But the man had much to lose, and he struggled with the two, his strength being more than a match for theirs. Elaine scratched his face and Louis pulled his hair, struck him and kicked with a vigor worthy of a football captain. But Bender was a powerful and athletic man. He struck right and l e ft, and knocked Elaine down with a sav age blow, and almost b e fore she fell Louis was sprawling on the floor ignominiously. Bender saw his opportunity, and left the place, taking c are to lock the door after him. vVhen once outsid e he s hook his fis t at the place. "Ne ithe r of you leave there alive! If nothing else will answer a little giant powder will do the work. You fool s To lose yoli; lives rather than sacrifice half old Burfi e ld's wea l th." But as he cooled a lit t le, he thou ght he would leave them to starve to death, or get out if they could. "I have done my du ty; why should I risk my life any more? Old Burfield I can eas ily settle There was s om e thing contemptibl e about thi s man, B e nd e r. a s there is ab9ut e v ery crimi n al. There i s no t h ing heroic in crime. The boy or m a n who s trive s to b e notoriou s as a l a w-b r e ak e r lead s the most wretched life, h a s ne v e r an e as y m o m e n t. the execrati o n o f all mank i nd There is nothing in all the univer s e more l oa thsom e n d c-on temp ii ble th a n th e s neaking crimi n al who c o mmit s murde r o r r o bb e ry on what h e call s h e roic line s El a ine was cry ing with th e pain. Her cheek wa s badly bruisl!cP. bnt when she sa w L o u i s hurt also. she forgot her own mise ry and rend e d t o him lik e a t ru e woman. The y soo thed e ac h o ther Loui s proud that he h a d pr evemed in spme measur e greai er illtreatment o f E la i ne, whil e s h e w as upbraiding her s elf for lead i n g him into the new troubl e The hour s passed o n a nd t h e y had cri e d t o g e th e r. then l a u g he

BRAVE A.ND 130LD. 11Whb sing$?" Jih1 FC6t6n. was the answer. "'-''here are you?" Louis explained, and Jiln Fehton cried Ollt: "'Heaven be praised! I've follnd you, anll, b} thUlidet i'll tan you out in a jiffy!" CHAPTER XXIII. JIM Tb THE RtSCUE. ''!'11 have you out in a jiff)!" 'Vlfat welcoh1e worl:ls for tlie two prlsonets to hear! ''How did yon get in?" Jim "Down the cbirimt'v" answeri:d Luui "bul it i blocked up now." ..., "Did you lry to gel bttl thal 1\'ay ?" "Yes, anti a stJot) tne:-s we made of it." "Just you keep calm; tlun'l get scared if I fail firsl lime. Now I kno'y where yol1 are, I 'll have yolt out even if 1 have lo put sotnc dynatnite undd tlit! \\'all:; nnd b\o,\ them 11p." _,-\nd wottld fall down on the top of us," said Louis, think-ing Jim va:; speaki11g 1 1,\1:.n was in such g:ood that he could aifotd to i<;ike. ou must not mind a trifle !tke that," l!-e answere,d, .Jocosely; "I w!ll get yotl olt t, sound in lvind and lirhb, if I can ; but, if nbtwhy, you will comej ust the same." Jim Had not a firemah for so long without k11owi11g how to get into a building, ev h if it vi as as st!'ong as a fortress. He wished hr had his ax with him. but wishes would not ma terialize in the form of a useful irnj:llement. He searched around for a good, strnng stick, which would act as a crowbar. It \Vas some time before he fonnd a11ything Which even looked strong enough. but finally, with_ a young tree-'-fdr such it washe tried to force out the bats of the window, but they were too firmly i1tioedcleu in the stone He next experimented on the dodr with his foot, giving it such flatfqoted tliat it shook and trembled, but was still fi'rmly closed. "Vlell, l'm hlessed if ever I sa" such a place!' he ejaculated, as, wiill the perspiration pouring from nery pare, he sat down lo rest awhile. He was too hdt to whistle a11d too excited to sipg. To liberate the young people was harder than he had thought, but he was still positive he would get them 0111. ''T'.m going to try the chimney," he shouted. "Yott cannot get down." 'Tl! try. Keep away from it, for down come the stones, if I can't get ill any other \Vay." Jim climbed i.o the roof and looked carefl1lly at the constt'nction of the chimney. He saw that it was strongly built. and. while small at the top, gradually enlarged until it ope1,ed in a good-sized One of the topmo t ;;tdnes had become loosened. and had fallen into the narrowest part of the d1imney, wedging itself in so firmly tlnrt it seemed impossible to dislodge it. Usirig his strong stick as a lever, Jim fried to hoist out the stone. It resisted his efforts for a Jeng time, but perseverance ever wins its reward, and he was rejoiced to se@ the S't011e arise an inch or so. If only his stick did not break all would be \\ell. Fenton had forgotten that a Je,er is no use without a fu rum, and while his ]eyer did not break, his fulcrum did. The stoflc 'vhich had formed the fulc'rum for his lever became loosened and caused q1e stick to slip. Instead of falling out, as it ougf1t to have done, it fell inward al')d helped to wedge the other stone s till firmer. Jim walked around the chimney to find another fulcrum, but failed. He then began tearing off lhe shingles and encountered a good (\.f the e){cellet1t work by oui,forefathers The great aim of builders in the present day is to get the work done as quickly as possible and at the least expense. A century ago the rnatra was, "Do e,ver:t:thing well," and the result was that buildings \yere erecttild substantially. Jim !!'rew impatient at tfie sl61\'1'1t>Ss witi1 \'Vhich he was able to J:ip off the s hir:gles. ... Under them he found ;i. strong sheathing which the teaiing off of 11alf the roof before an eiltrancc could be effected. Twice he left the shingles and returned to the chimney, only to find himself baffled. Again he tried the roof, and at last managed to make a small opening just large enOL\gh for hjm to see through. Louis shouted a liiud "Hurra 1 !" at the sight of his friend's face. Jim's eyes fell direcfly on me \vall opposite, and he there saw the red hahd. A few words burst from him which were scarcely such as 01ie would wish lo sec in print. He felt deeply a1;d the words were the outcome of his feeling He. worked Hard on th e n ;idf, nnd managed to make a hole large enough to allow of hi s body passing through. He dropped into t.l1e room and sat down on the floor to rest. "You clear, ootl m a n 1 am snre w e hxplanation of the spee!!h. ''Detectives fail flener than they \Vhy, J uSt he.cause they form an opinion before they sta rl, and they to make the facts fit into the ruts they've made. v\fhen dctecthes sHcceed, the work is generally done for them by newspaper 111e11 or others, and the credit and dollars go to the men who didn't vVhat opinion did \Veils ).fontgomery form about me?" asked Elaine. "That I cannot say, but I will tell you what he thought about Louis ." "About me?" '"Yes; didn't T go to Mr. Burfield, ;lnd didn't he send rne to the great detective \Yith message: 'Flnd the boy. and I'IJ pa.y the bill.' \T\T ell, I went, he at ohce said: 'The boy is a bad lot--'" 'Thank you for telling me.'' "Don"t interrupt. bad lot, he said, 'and you'll sec him again. Do not bother about him; he is not Worth it.'" ''Then I aru sure he l1ad no good opinien of me, and I shall tell pa(}a not to trust him again. "1 o, Jlfiss Burfield. detectives are very necessary, thougli they do not ah\'ars succeed. They stimulate others, and so the work gets done." Jim had bee11 looking at the stone 011 which the red hand was printed all the while he was talking. It had a fascimttion for him. and when he 1vas a little rested, he crossed to it. He hammered it with his hand. "J1tst as I thoughf. It isn't stone at all. There's something behind all this. Here goes." The fast words wete accompanied by a terrific blow on the imitation stone with a piec of stone which had fallen do\Vn the chimney


( BRAVE AND BOLD. 27 There was a crash the wood was splintered into fragments, and a small closet, only a few inches square. was disclosed. In the clos et were a few old newspapers and two or three sc raps of paper on which were c e rtain hiero gl yphics and sign writ i ng. "If we had the !" e x claimed Jim. "I will find one," answered Louis. "I didn't mean of the l ock." "No, neith e r did I. I referred to the cipher writing." "We had better get away from here as soon as po ssible. If any of those double-dyed villains come and find that door smashed, they will serve our head s in the sa me manner. There se e med to be no 'way but the roof, and it was no easy work. By dint o f hard work Jim made the opening larger, and enabled Louis to reach the roof. Then, bidding L ouis lie down on the roof so that he could help Elaine. Jim ra i se d the girl in hi s arms and lifted her up, but he was not tall eno\l gh "Climb up on my shoulders." Elaine tri e d several times before she was able to perform the acrobatic feat: Louis caught her hands and dragged her up to the roof She was g iddy when she saw the slo ping roof, but nel'Yed herself and stood as steadily as did Loui s Jim clambered up, and all three descended to the ground in safety. They had not left the shadow of the house when they heard some one operr the d oo r and ente r. They heard hi s exrlamation as he saw that the prisoners had escaped, and trembled to think how 1!ear he was to them. CHAPTER XXIV. BENDER'S FAILURES. They had cause to tremble, for Bender was one of the most desperate men when in a bad temper. And he was in an exceedingly bad one when he returned to the little prison house. He had failed most miserably. He h a d gone to the 'St. James Hotel to see Clarence Burfield, and met W e lls Montgom e ry in the hall. He knew the detective, but was not sure that Mon t gomery knew h i m but it was risky to defy the detective. Howeyer, he had asked for Bu rfiel d .and Bender was not the man to fnnk. Burfi e ld received him very cordially "You cam e, as I bt>lieve, about my daughter?" 1'Yes, Mr. Burfield,} saw yout m the Herald, and I came to see you. "Do you know where my daughter is?" "Before I answer that let me explain. I am a poor man; I want money: if I can get enough I wg.nt to go lo Europe to vi s it my father's family. What reward will you give?" "Tt will be liberal." "I think I can tru&t you. J do not know where your cj.aughter is, but I overheard two men talking about per. They ha ve her somewhere, and I know them." "V/ ell?" "If I have a good reward promis e d I can purchase their secret--" "Ohl Go 0\1." "And I am sure your daughter will be returned home safely, if they are satisfied." "How much will they want?" "Ten thou sand "Ami you?" "I should want more than that, because the work entails danger. Should I be suspected of havin g anything to do with you, I should most likely be killed." "Killed?" "Yes. Y ou have read about the finding of the bqdy of an Italian in the river?" "No.n "vVell, one has been found, and he had the red 11and on him." Clare nce Burfield started at the menti o n pf the horrid S!Jecter. "What has that to do with me?" "How can I say? I only know that the men who have your daughter spoke of the red hand." "\Ven, name your figure "If you will give m e t went y-fi v e thousand dollars I will see the men a nd get the secret fr o m them--" "Do n t go int o details. The money shall be yours. Go and see Wells Mo11tgomery; he has the matter in hand. I will give you a n ote to him." Bender knew not what to ,Po. He dare not see the detective, and y et, unl ess he consented to do so, he was afraid Burfield might have him watched and perhaps arrested "I d o not like with detectives; tbey get all the glory and m ost of the doll a rs, B en d e r remarked. "Just as you like I hav'e placed the matter in his hands, and have promised to se nd ev e ry one who a nswers the advertisement to him." "GiYe me a n o te to him." "There i s n o re ason why you s hould hesitate. I will give you all you ask if by your age ncy my daughter is returned to me uninjured." "I will trust y ou." Burfield todk a card and merely wrote on the back the words: "Introdvcing the bearer to Wells Montgomery." As Bender passed through the office he saw Laster, a wellknown detective, Montgomery's assistant, watching him closely "I am being shadowed." he thought; and his heart beat faster. In r eality it was his guilty conscience which made him believe he was watched. Montgomery and Laster were both looking for some one else, and had no real suspicion of the man whose conscience accu s ed him. Bender walked to the nearest elevated station and took the. car for South F e rry. It was one of the best places in the city for the ev asion of the detectives He passed d ow n the ste ps l eading into the Staten Island Ferry, and cut into the street. He entered the Soutb Ferry hou se, came out and went u p the elevated stairs agai n. When he took hi s seat in a Third Avenue car he felt free, for he knew h e wa s no l onge r followed. He opened the evening paper, the first edition of which was then on sale, and saw the scare h ea dlin es about the finding of the bod y of the Italian. Although h e had read abo.ut it in ooe of the oth e r paperg h alf an hour before, he was sta r t led when the pi cture of a hJnd confronted him. "Poor 'fellow! He won't tell any tales, will he?" The s p ea ker sat \Hl Bender's right, awl as Bender looked at him he r e cogniz ed R uskov ich a Russian memb e r of th e Red Hand League. The two fellow-c o n spi rators ta1kcd on nearly every subject save that of the murde r. By implied consent they were mute on that topic B e nd er was very mu c h gratified when Rnskovich got ont at Gra nd Street, for he th ought the Ru ssia n was shadowing h i m in the interest of the Red Hand. Everything that day ended in failure. and h e was n early nfad with ra ge when he started to Hoboken to try and make ter m s with Elaine. When he arrived there and found that his pri so ners had es cap e d he swo r e in terms far from polite and c erta inly unfit for r epetition. He saw that the closet had been broken into, and that wbrried him. In his pocket ile carried a little bra ss tub e about six Inches l ong. . It was sealed at both ends, but on the one end was a string rolled up, and which, unrolled, might measure five or six ya,rds. He unfastened th e string, and then placed the brass tube in the hole ,vhich had been the secret hiding place o f Red Hand documents. This d one, b'.e .struck a match ,and lighted the cord whi<;h was reall y a fuse. . . Jim saw him do this, for the fireman had. V{Otked. his way aroqnd to the door and watched the co : nsj:>irator -, ._ Fenlon knew then that t he plac e was to be tip,_. and Elaine a nd Louis were close to it and in great danger He might shou t to them to run, or try and extinguish the fuse.


BRA VE AND BOLD. \\'ith a sudden spring he was on Bender's back, forcing him to the ground. Th.c men foqght; they wrestled and over and over, both, for tile time, forgetting the fu;:e. fts sputtering attracted Jim's attention, and, 'breaking loose fr.om Bender's grasp. h"' tried to se i ze the fuse, but his foot slipped and he fajleH in one of hi s leg,;. He did i10l stop to tii1d out what was the matter. but when he was ahle to exam'ne hl saw that a Jillie hole had been b o r e d tJ1e part of bi s rnlf. and that he had h:id a nar ro11 escape from serious inj nry. A few minutes m e re and the tl11 ee entered [ loflokcn At the nearcf t hotel Jirn e n gy the enemies who had deprived )1im of liperty. He Sltw a man watching tth:e windows of the hotel, aad wondered where he had seen him before.


BRA VE AND BOLD. A fortunate chancti threw a ray of light on the man s face, and Louis at once recognized Bender. There was d:mger to them if their enemy knew where they were staying, and Louis wanted to be rnre Elaine was safe He knocked at her door. "May I come in?" She had looked the door, b.ut n ow unfastened it to admit her young friend ''I am afraid we are discovered. "What causes you to think so?" f "Bender i s watching the house." "Then we are lost." "Perhaps not." ''\Vhat are we to do?" ''You stay h ere until I can find some way of escape I will n o t b e long." ''Be c;:treful, Loui s,, for my "l will be very careful." Louis heard her l oc k the door before he went downstairs. He was n o t afrs1id of Be11der r ecognizing him. and would not have h esitate d in p1ssing close to the 111an, but it was necessary, for Elain e's sake, that he should be i:auticus. He found that there was a re;ir enfrance to the hotel from a side street, and h e left by that door. He walked around t o where Be ncjer was standing, and saw for the first t ime t)iat a little distance aw;iy was another who w as commanicating with Bender by ;;igns and oc dsion ally b y speech. "We !Jaye them trapped," h e heard Bender say. "Yes, ancl when they leave we nab then1 all." "Of course. That firema1i has gone to fetch the old man, so we get all three." Louis felt ala r med. for he did not know how many confedera tes Bender might have gathered in the interval. He wa s reli eved when, a minute later, he heard his arch enemy in\'ite the ot h e r into a saloo1) lo have .a drinl):. "They can t get aw2y without u s seei ng, he said, "and we shall not act until the old man arrives." The two men entered a sa l oon nearly opposite the hotel, and Loui s hurried back to tell Elaine whilt he had heard. She de c ided that it would be well to leave at ouc,e, and, as we k11ow, s h e left her ring as a ple dge of payment for the bill inc .urred as shethad lost her pocketbook. Leaving the h ote l by the rear door, they walked some little distance befon: they dared to s peak. They were not followed, of that they were sure, so they felt safe to disc4ss their future ac ti o n. "Have you any money, Louis?" "Not a cent." "Nei ther ba, e I." "I made a cqrrected Louis; "I have a nickle, just enough for you to r eac h t)le ferry." "And you?" \Vill walk." "No; we will b qt h walk. Besides. I \\'C will need the nicl

30 BRA VE AND BOLD. Jim, however. told them how his singing had found the heiress and his own young friend. a nd how t he father of Elaine was so grateful that he pressed him to accept the check. And while Jim was singing at th e e1 gine house and showing his check for a thous and dollars. Louis was trying to decipher the wrjtings he had found in the mystet"ious hole in the wall of his recent pr'ison house. He was still de irous of bringing the Red Hand conspirators to justice, but the clew t o their identity was as difficult to find as ever. Clarence Burfield had wanted Louis to live with him and be come hi s ado pted son "l\o, sir I have a work to do; let me do it in my own way." "But, my hoy. you are wasting your youth. Let us go to Europe and ther<' b e gin a life which cannot he interfered \\ith by the Red Hand or any other body of miscreants." "Give me a little time, sir." '"How long do you want?" "Until March." "Two month s?"' "Yes, sir: that is not long." "You will allow me to p rovimiled but again thanked them both. Then he drew nearer to them and in a whisper he said: ''All is known. Mr. Van ess is liable to be arrested at any moment--" "What for?" asked the wife. "\\'hat i1as father done?" inquired the daughter. "The Red Hand--" ''Don't mention it, please. :\Iy husband is perhaps dying. He is injured. it may be fat2lly, all through obeying the orders--" don't exaggerate. Papa is in bed with a broken leg, but he will recover, the doctor says." '':VJ ay I see him?" "No." "Then tell him all the books of the society are i'n our hands. We know the members. Tell him--" ''What?" A masculine voice had uttered the word, and after a pause, shouted: "Come here and to my face say all you have to say." Louis was taken into the back parlor, where he found Jacob Van !'\ ess lying on a cot, his leg held in a cradle suspended from the ceili ng. ''What books are. you talking ab out?" he a sked. "The archives of the R e d Hand." "No one can read them."


BRA VE AND BOLD. 31 "Yes, I cafi." ''Ho,v?" "1 have the key." "Wliere rjid you .get it?" Louis looked at the man and saw on his face a look of honesty \1hich did not accord with his conn ec ti o n with the Red Hand soci e ty. :You know George Meredith--" A of pain \vas visible on the sick mao's face as Louis Ftn:;d the random shot. "i-tas he-l-mea\1-have you tht key?" "I have." "then the jigis up Elmina, tny dear, I never meant for you to be ashamed of vour father. I was l'ed into it, alld-but I'll make no :1 suppose I will end my days !n prison." 'r.Ir, Van Ness, I havn an offer lo make.' You are one of the toulicil of the League. C all the other members together. Tell them that the.y q111 the L eague, or end their days in jail." )lf the Red Hand i,; disbanded?" ''.Tl1en all will go fr ee ." "Bt t Su}:lpbse the disbanding was not real?" "I know whal you mean. Each o ne will have to sig n a con fe,sion of guilt. If Red Ha1id heard oi again the c9nf e s ion \\'ill be used. and, no matter where the rn'embus may be, they cart be exlratlited." "You say they are all known?" "Not aH; btlt most." Louis saw he had scored a point, and he contintled: 'I will give you until to-morrow si:.; o'clock. to decide. Every bne known to belong to the lte d Hand is shadowed. Escape is impossible. Consent to my terms, and nothing will ever be said agai n st you; refu se and all will have to answer for their crimes. Escape frti m jail i imoossible." Van 'css and Meredith had long lo break away from the Leagne, am\ ai1 oppo rllttlity was now offered. L ouis had done what the p olice of a dozen States had faited to acco111pli8h. Before a week had passed he had received the confessions of all the council members. S ome were more guilty than others, but as far as the confessions werit, those who had actually com mitted the murder5 were dead o r in foteiirn lands. Louis had the hearty apprO\ a l of Burfield, and eve1i Wells i\Tcntgomery praised him for his diplomacy. The Red Hand \Yas disbanded. By the a1!nouncement was made all lhtol1gh the State$ a l\d accepted by the members. CHAPTER xxvm. BON VOYAGE. Fenton rece ive d a check from Clarence Burfield because he had assisted Louis in unraYeling the myste rie s ot the Red Hand. A tnonth was spent YeQ' pleasantly in the Empire City by the happy fan1ily, Burfield had legally.adopted Louis as his son, and by deed of gift placed a hundred thousand dollars to his credit. The papers 111e11tioned the millionaire's generosity and won cderet:l at the poor boy's gteat I uck. They did not know how a dangerous bant! of criminals had been scattered and rendered powerless for the future. '.)n the day before the Burfields sailed for Europe, Van Ness called on Clarence Burfield and told him a strange story. He was reminded of a tluel he had fought years before, and which duel was the primary cause of the Red Hand ,-endetta ''Jacques Bonard was killed by you," said Van Ness. "His brother was one of the founders of the Red Hand. A vendetta was swem against you. A cousin of Bo11ard married y'Our sister--" "It is lrue." "The vendetta \Vas relaxed, but you cast off your sister. You knew sj1c was poor, you knew her husband was sick most of the time. Still you would n o t reicnt. Then the Red Hand took up the vendetta again, bltt you were not killed. ft was hoped you would repeht. Your sister wrote you sayirlf het husbahd was dead. You made no answer--" "I rtl!vet received the I sweat I \'lid." "Tl\eh Hie order \ve1it forth that you afid all belonging to you must die. That drder has failed. You are tree. The vendetta has ended, and you have been saved by your sister's child." "I-don't understand." "Your sister "Frank Craven." "Yes, Frank Louis Starthope Craven. When you cast off your i ster he d111>pped his first given name and his surname and lived and died Louis Stanhope." "then Louis--" ''Is your h e phew. I have come into possession of all the facts, and this miniature--" Lollis entered the robm just as Van Ness was handing a pectlliar 111!11!att1re t6 Burfield. "Where did you get that?" he asked, 1'Who is it, Louis? To whom does it belong?" "It is !nine. It Is my 'tt1ot\1er's portrait. I did not I had lost it. I have not lost it! See, I have one Just like it." He produced his own The medallion was of a woman's face shaded by angel's wings, and was an exact replica of the one linnded to Burfield by Van Ness. "My son, my Louis You little krte'v what you did when you swung from the telegraph wire to save my daughter. You saved your own cousin. I am 1 ; eally your uncle. You have performed wonders, for you killed a vendetta which has lasted twerity one years. My boy, I am proud of you. I hope your mother in heaven is able to look do wn and see how I have suffeted through my treatment of her, and how rejoited I am to embrace her son. Elaine, come here, my dear. Louis is really your cousin." Van Ness was \Veil paid for the proofs he had secured, and on the following day a happy party left New the Old World. There wa s no fear ld haunt Burfield The Hand would only be 1 memory with them, and Elailie declared that if it l1ad not been for the Red Hand vendetta would never have known her cousin Frances Meredith accompanied Elaine as maid, her father staying in New York to commence a n'ew life of liohor qnd use fulness. As the steamer left the dock a sealed envelope was given to Louis, who found its contents to be merely the words: "Shun polititl!.l secret societies, and never allow yourself to consent to a crl1ne." 1here was no signature, but in its place was the seal of the Red Hand, and under it. the words: "Nevermore will the seal be used. The Red Hand has been overcome." tHE E::O. Next week's issue No. 43. will contain, "Aatt. the Fugitive; or, the Witch Doctors Prophecy." The story deals with t. boy who had some of the strangest aclventurcs that ever fell to the lot of man. Joining a gypsy band and becoming a fugitive fto.m just.ice, he wandered about i;1 the wild lands near New Orieans. He slept one nigh t on his own tombstone. If you want lo find out how tha't happened, read the story. Then there is an old Creole witch doctor-a voodoo prophet. Did his j:Jropi1ecies come true? \e11, again tell you to read the story.


STREET & SMITH'S POPULAR 5c. LIBRARIES I 383. 384. 385. 386. 38T. 388. LARGES T CIRCULATION IN AMERICA. TIP TOP WEEKLY The ideal publication for the American youth. C on ta i n B stones of the adventures of Frank merriwell, the famous Yale athlete, and Dick, his younger brothe r, who is the pride of Fardale Academy. There are competitions con .. tinually running in its columns, whereb the successful teams may win complete outfits, in cluding uniforms. The following is a list of the latest numbers: Dick Merrlwel/ Surprised; or, Cap'n Wiiey's 'Wind Jammers. Prank Merrlwell's Quick Move; or, Coolin!( Off Cap'n Wiiey. Dick Merrlwell's Red Friend; or, Old Joe Crowfoot to the Front. Frank Merrlwell's Nomads; or, Cap'n Wiley's Clever Work. Dick Merrlwell's Distrust; or, Meeting the Masked Champions. Prank Merrlwoll's Orand Finish; or, The Independent Champions of A.mer/ca. .. A Different Complete St.ory Every Week. BRAVE AND BOLD This line is sure to please every boy who likes variety. The stories are long, and detail the adventures of an entirely new set cf pharacters each week. The authe>rs are the best known, a.nd have made reputa .. tions by their highly interesting and original stories. Boys, if you want a treat, get this library every week. The following is a list of the latest numbers: 33. Upright and Honest; or, Harry Hale'!fo Stroggle to Success. By Heary Harrison Haines 34. Two Young Inventors; or, Tho Treasure of Threo Plae Mountain. B y B eanett 3$. Tho Life of the School ; or, Out for Pun and Fortune. By Author of "Bicycle Boys of Bluevllle." 36. Tom Hamlin, Mesmer/st; or, Tho Boy Wltb tbe Iron Wiii. B y Matt Royal 3T. Tbe Puzzle of Panther's Run; or, Leon Oalo's Triump h By Fraak etlrle 38. A. Olrl Crusoe; or, The Wonder of tbe Isle of Oaomes. 52. $3. $4. $$. $6. ST. By Cornelius Shea l\Iot"e Reading Matter Than Any Five-Cent Detective Library Published. Youn[ Broaanrim WBBKiy Young Broadbrim is the shrewdest and most clever boy detective that ever lived. His rn:.i.rvelous strength and wonderful nerve enables him to pene trate where most men would fear to go. AU the tales of bis adventures are absolutely new. The following is a list of the : atest numbers written espec ially for this line: Young Rroadbrlm, the Boy Detix:t/ve; or, The Old Quaker's Palthfu Ally. Young Broadbrlm in Kansas Cltv; or, lVbat Was Fouacl In the Flood Young Broadbrim on an Aerial Trail; oi:. The Terrible Ordeal of Fire Young Broadbrlm and Company; or, Solving tho Mysteries of Rock wood. Young Broadbrlm Trl11mr.!1ant; or, The Olrl Cracksmaa. Young Broadbr/m Fighting an Unknown Power; or, A Scientific 1 Greatest Detective Alive. NicK Carter. No detective stories published can compare with those published in this library. Nick Carter has had innumerable thrilling adventures jn which he was assisted bv Chick and.Patsy, two fine, inteliigent young fel lows. Boys1 yuu ought to buy this publication every week and read about Nick"s wonderful escapes and captures The following is a list oI the la test n um hers : 346. Nick Carler On and O" tbo Scent ; or, Tbo Mysterious Tragedy at Herald Square. 34T. Nick Carter on a Parisian Trail; or, Th(. Death Trap of the" Sl!encers" 348. Nick Carter's Battle Against Odds ; Ol'r Tile Mystery of the Detroit Pawnbroker. 349. Nick Carter ou His Metal. or, The Trapping of Cool Kate. 350. Nick Car1er's Life Chase; or, The Shot From Ambush. 351 Nic k Carter's Ch ain of Oullt: or, The Robbery of Express No. 6. STORIES OF THE FAR WEST. / Diam ona Dick Weekly These are stories about tho great Diamond Dick and his son, Bertie. Every boy will be more than satisfie d with these t les, because they a r e drawn true to life, and are extremely interesting. Diamond Dkk is a dead shot, and never allows a desperado to get he drop on him. The following js a list of the latest numbers: 359 Diamond Dick's Boy Perds; or, The Boarding House Puzzle. 360 Diamond Dick and the Safe Crackers; or, Two Spot's Level Best. 361. Diamond Dick's Last Call; or, Run Down on the Ferry. 362. Diamond Dick's Four Hand' s Round; or, A Game of Keeps In tho Catskills. 363. Diamond D ick's Line Uo; or, The Young Sport's Banner Play. 364. Diamond Dick's Web Foot Pard; or, Queer Work on the Hurricane Deck. ;TALES OF FRONTIER; ADVENTURE. Buff ala Bill Stories Every boy ought to read the adventures of Buffil.lo Bpi, as de.tailed in this library. They are fu!l of lively adventure, and just thekind that thrills the heart of every tru<. boy. The following is a li;t of the latest numbers: 'IZO. Buffalo B/TT's Dis co very; or, The Mystery of t h e Gold Treasure. Ul. Buffalo Bil/'s Clean-Up; or, Routing the Rascals of YeJJow Dust 122. Pards of the Plains; or, The Dead Shot Four. 123. Buffa lo Biii's ftelplnf( Hand i or, The Secret of Kid Glove Kato. 1 21. Buffalo Bill's Boy Pard; or, Captain H vena nad ffls Red Angel .. 12,t;. o -. Waneta, the Indian Queen.


NICK CARTER WEEKLY of Fascinating Detective Stor.ies 32 Large Sized Pages Clear Type 5c. Handsome Colored Covers THERE is a subtle charm about a really good detective story which makes the reader feel that he is intimately concerned in the incidents related. No detective stories published can compare, in this respect, with those published in the Nick Carter Library. The many hair-breadth escapes and thrilling adventures, experienced by Nick Carter, the hero of the tales, make the stories of exceptional interest. His assistants, Chick and Patsy, are both intelligent young fellows, well :fitted to aid this King of Detectives to run down desperate criminals. Boys, you ought to take this publication every week and read about the many remarkable happenings that befall Nick, while in the pursuit of his vocation. There is also a competition now running in the columns of this paper in which the 50 winners are awarded many :fine books for boys. Send a two-cent stamp for a colored cover catalogue of all our :five-cent publications The lollowing is a list of the latest issues of the Nick Carter Weekly: 333. Nick Carter and the Red Masks ; or, The Mystery of Cab 21. 334. Nick Carter's Crooked Trail ; or, The Plot for the Glassford Millions. 335. Nick Carter's Ft&lse Clew; ... or, Playing the Dupe for Big Game. 336. Nick Carter's Drag Net; or, Forcing the Hands of the Secret Six. 337. Nick Carter' s Death Photo; or, Revealed by a Camera. 338. Nick Carter and the Will Forgers; or, Playing for a Fortune. Current a.nd preceding issues ma.y be purchased a.t fi'Ve cent s per copy from a.ll tiecwsaea.lers, or will be sent, postpa.i


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