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le vvis m. grist, proprietor, j $? $nbtptnbtitf Jfamilg ^tcfospaper: Jfor % promotion of % political, Stfrial, ^gritBltaral: aid Commtrrial Interests of l{jt $ontjj. terms?$3.00 a yeah, in advance. ? ... - , VOL. 22. YORKVILLE, S. C.,THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 14, 1876. NO. 37. Jut Original Jfotg. LOST AND FOUND; J . .. OB, THE WHITE FAWN OF THE FOREST. V K , .< . BY MR8. HENRY DEAS. CHAPTER XIV. Mrs. Carleton and her daughters, who were assembled in the family sitting-room, were quite surprised to see Arthur walk in with his unexpected companion. In a few words he related the story of his adventure, and they praised and admired Manitara as much as his heart could desire, while shuddering at the thought of his narrow escape. Mr. Carleton was at home, and consented, oo learning the errand on which the Indian girl had come, to return at once with her to the dwelling of the sick ohief, though it was already nearly dark. While old Whitefoot wasbeing saddled, Mrs. Carleton and the three girls questioned Manitara, much as Arthur had done, and were delighted with her intelligent manner, and the frank simplicity of her replies. She, on her part, was equally charmed with them, and with everything she saw around h9r; and turning to Arthur, she artlessly exclaimed as she pointed at Amy? "You said they were not prettier than me, but I am sure that one is. She has the prettiest face I ever saw in my life." Arthur, somewhat embarrassed, jreddened at this speech, but a general laugh set him at his ease; and Amy said, good-humoredly? "I am not the pretty one, Manitara. My sister Lucia is better-looking. Don't you think so ?" ; Manitara gave Lucia a good look, and candidly replied in the negative. "But," she added, with native grace, "I like you all as much as one another?I like you?all ever so much. May I come again and see you sometimes?" "Yes, my child," said Mrs. Carleton, kindly, "you may come as often as you like. We shall always be glad to have you visit us." "Only Arthur will not be here," said Manitara, regretfully. Mr. Carleton now came in and announced himself as ready. "I leave you, Arthur, to guard the household in my absence," he said. "Come out and lift this little girl up behind me. Whitefoot must carry double, not for the 6ret time in his life." Manitara, however, needed no lifting. She sprang, without assistance, into her designated seat, and as they rode off, looked back smiling and waving her hand to her new friends. "Pretty creature," said Mrs. Carleton. "I hope she will be careful of that gun of hers, and not let it injure either papa or herself." "I fancy she knows how to take care of it," said Arthur. "That must have been a splendid shot of hers, that sent the old grizzly rolling off me?we were both bundled up together, as far as I can recollect?ugh 1 I can feel ?hii rnagh arms nn me mm " ? It was long after nightfall when the missionary and bis companion reached the home of the latter. Remote from the other huts,stood a solitary cabin, where a faint light was burning, and to this the Indian girl directed Mr. Carleton. He rode up to the door, alighted, and they entered it together. All alone, on a pallet of straw, with a coarse -- * i i-1? 1-- .i blanket wrapped around mm, we omm. chief?sick unto death, as it appeared to his visitor, who approached with cautious footBteps, Manitara having run before to announce his arrival. The old Indian looked up at him with deep-set eyes, glittering in their sockets like two expiring lamps, his stern, set face drawn and haggard. He made no movevent, but uttered a low, scarcely audible response to Mr. Carleton's greeting. Mapitara bad cast herself down on the earthen floor, and with one arm thrown caressingly over his neck, stroked with her other hand the gray locks that hung disordered about his hollow cheeks. She was evidently much attached to him, and looked distressed at his condition. "He is more sick," she said, in a subdued tone, looking wistfully into the missionary's face. "He was not so bad when I went away." "What can I do for you?" kindly asked Mr. Carleton, touching the old man's large, wasted hand. "Your daughter said you wished to see me?to speak to me." "You can listen to my words," was the slowly uttered reply. Manitara, leave me with the stranger. I would speak to him alone." With the air of one taught unquestionably to obey, the girl instantly arose, and left the room. There was a rude box or chest near the bed, and on this Mr. Carleton sat down, waiting, as it seemed, for some time in vain, for the chief to speak. "Missionary," at length the latter began, "you good man. I have heard speak of you many times. You will help me now." "I will, if it is in my power," replied the ?l?rovman. What is it that ?ou would have me do ?" "I will tell you a. story pf what happened long time ago. You see Manitara?my beautiful child ?" "Yes?she brought me here, you know." "I know. Well, she is not my child?you know that?" "Yes. She said she had no father or mother, but that you were the same as a father to her." "I killed her father," said the Indian. Mr. Carleton involuntarily drew back. "I killed her father, and her mother was killed at the same time. My people would have killed her too, but I would not let them. I saved her life, and brought her secretly away, and made her my child. She loves me much. She knows not that my bands were ever red with her father's blood." "What could have prompted you to such a deed ?" "Missionary, it was justice?it was done to | fulfill a great oatb. We had sworn to the Great Spirit, and we kept our oath. I will tell you all. Many years ago, I was one of a band of our tribe hired to guide some white men across the plains, to a certain place where they were going to take possession of lands, in Arizona. I and my men were faithful and ! true, and meant to do the whites no harm. They were sent by the chief at Washington, and were high-up men. At first they were very pleasant and good, but by-and-by they had a quarrel with my men and me." "What W88 the quarrel about?" "Tbey accused us falsely?toey 'told lies. They said we brought them the wrong way, and deceived them on purpose; and when the stormy weather came, and we all nearly perI ished in the ice and snow?we, as well as they?they blamed us for it, because we had i not brought them sooner to their journey's end. They treated us like dogs; we could not but get angry. Yet I tried to pacify my men, i when one of the whites spoke fair words to me, and asked me to forget the wrong they done us. So we made peace among ourselves, and it was agreed that we should carry out the contract, and guide them the rest of the way, and be paid by them according to our i bargain ; for as yet we had received no money from their bands. "Well, we thought no more about it We 5 had given oar word, and meant to abide by it. We traveled'bu a few days more, until we came within a few hours' journey of the place 1 we were going to. We pointed it out to the whites at the setting of the sun, and then lay down to take our rest We feared no evil, ' but went to sleep in peace." The chief paused; the Workidg of strong inward emotion visible in his countenance. He clenched his right hand convulsively, and went on in a low, fierce tone. "Listen, now, what those white men did. 1 While we slept, meaning no harm and afraid ; of none, they came and fell upon us. We were unarmed, and they were more in number 1 than we, and they killed every one of my men. Killed me as they thought; but I only 1 feigned death. The wound I received missed its aim by a hair's breath. They left us lying there, and fled?the devils! the cowards! 1 When I got some strength, I rose up and ' crept away. I sought the people of my . tribe. I told them my story. Then, for a 1 long time, I was as one dead. My wound had not been dressed, and the pain I suffered took my senses away. They nursed me, and 1 I got well. They had waited for that, for me 1 to lead them to revenge. We sought the spot where those murderers should have been, ( but they were gone away. They left no trace ' h?hind them. Then we made a mighty vow I to the Great Spirit, that the innocent blood which they had shed should not go unavenged. Since we could not find Ihem, some ; of their people should suffer for their guilt. For months, for years, we laid in wait, but no 1 white men crossed our path. At last, our 1 scouts brought us notice that an emigrant train ' was coming along. They wanted to hire 1 ainriea and T and Home others went to offer B? ? ? ourselves to them. We were to lead them 1 into an ambush, and be met there by others, ' who would join us in killing them all." "But that was terrible," said the missionary, with a shudder. "Were they not innocent?" "Were toe not innocent? It was just retri- 1 bution?nothing more. Well, we hired our- . selves to these emigrants; and by and by, though my heart was hardened at first against them all, it began to grow soft. There was a little child among them whom I loved, be- { cause it loved me. It would come to my arms when I held them out, and nestle on my J breast, and play with the beads and orna- 1 ments I wore. I swore to myself that I would J not slay thfet child, 1iut save it if fcotlld? even, if it were possible, save its mother also, ' because she was kind and good, and it loved her so much. I turned woman?I almost ' wanted to break my vow. I made a false ex- ' cuse to my own men to leave the company. ' I made them all leave with me. I meant to ' give the company time to reach their jour- 1 ney's end, and thus save them, without getting blamed by my own people, who were 1 a oi?nol tn inin nn. T misled mv 1 naiwug ivi ? oiguv.. ?v j y ( people?I told them an idle tale, bow the company were to rent for many days at a certain place and then go on; all the while 1 thinking that they would surely hasten on 1 their way while we waited. But somehow my words sounded strange to my people. I 1 saw they did not trust me. They seemed to 1 suspect some trick, and they kept watch, and ' sentout scouts continually for tidings. At last the scouts brought ub word that the company were in sight. My people all made ready. What could I do ? I dared not bid them break their oath. I trembled to think ' of breaking mine. I went with them?I was resolved to Bave the little child that I loved. It was all that remained for me to do. I dared 1 not even tell them that that was my resolve. They bid me lead them, and I did. We fell upon the emigrants in the night-time, where ! they had baited to rest, and put them all to j death?all, but the beautiful child, whom I brought away." 1 Exhausted, the old roan paused to take breath. Mr. Carleton was greatly moved by what he had heard. He had little doubt that he had providentially been led to hear this confession, which should be, if he guessed aright, the means of restoring at least one , of the missing relatives of whom Arthur had come in search to her rightful home. He j waited patiently, however, for the conclusion , of the story. "That child," continued the old chief pres- ( ently in a feebler tone, "Is she whom you have seen. I have reared her as a daughter of our race, but tenderly as a flower. She has been loved and caressed all her life. She has never , wanted for a parent's care. She has been , wooed by the best and bravest of the young men of my tribe, and of other tribes, but I would give her to none of them. They have , all given her the name of White Fawn, because she is fairer than the other maidens of the tribe. When I 6rst got her I stained her , hair also, lest its light color should betray |, me; for I knew ray people would not love tne , child, and might seek to do her harm. But ; as she grew older her hair darkened of itself, , and the sun and the wind tanned her white skin ; so that I needed not to dye it any more ; and none have supposed her to be other than one of our own race, only far more beautiful , than all the rest. I dressed her as became j the daughter of a chief. I made up a tale j about her father, a great warrior, killed in | battle, and said that I would be her father. I I lived apart from my people who had known , me best, that I might more easily carry out |, my plan, and take better care of ray little White Fawn?my beautiful child. Missiona*! ry, I swear to you that I have loved her truly, j I would give ray heart's blood sooner than do ;, her any wrong." "I am rejoiced," said Mr. Carleton, "that you have done at least thus much to atone for j tbe great wrong you committed." "Wrong!" echoed the Indian, with a flash i of impatience in his eyes. "It was no wrong! i I tell you it was jnst revenge. You forget i the wrong that had been done to us?all my party murdered in cold blood, and without any cause! Blood for blood?there was no injustice in that." "I will talk to you about that presently," i 3aid Mr. Carleton, "and you roust listen to i what I say, for you know I am a minister sent \ by our Great Spirit in the Bky to speak words ] of truth to all men who will receive them. I will teach you what you can do, to judge right- i ly of all the acts of your life, and make atone- 1 ment for whatever you have done wrong ; for 1 we all do wrong sometimes, even the best of i us. But first I wish to ask you a question i about this child. Do you know what is her ] name?" < "Yes," said the Indian, "it is that I would ? tell you, for it may be that you know her peo- i pie,or can find them, to give her back, if there < be any of them living. Her name is a soft 1 one, softer than those of the children of our l race?it is Leila." < "Leila?but her other, her last name. Do i you know that also ?" 1 ' Si l*iti T katfA Irani 1 "1 UU UUL rtJUieiJJUCl lb , UUb l ume nvjjii .V . it is written down, in a trinket she bad upon her neck. Will you fetch me my pouch that hangs yonder on the wall ?" Mr. Carleton complied with the request, and the Indian, fumbling with weak handB at the article in question, presently drew from its interior a little gold locket, much tarnished with age, attached to a slender gold chain. "Open it," he said, handing it to the missionary, "and read inside." Mr. Carleton eagerly touched the spring. The locket opened, and disclosed on one side a mingled braid of hair, black and light brown?the hair of Edward Graham and his wife?and on the other, clearly inscribed, a name and date?"Leila Graham, Oct. 5th, 18 ?." "This is, indeed, tangible proof!" cried the clergyman with unwonted excitement in his usually calm tones. "What will you say when I tell you that I do know one of this child's owu people?her cousin, who has lately come to this part of the world to try and get some tidings of her, and of the party who brought her out?" "Is that truly bo?" said the Indian, with a keen glance. "Well?so much the better. When I die, she will be cared for?she will be taught, too," he added with a touch of inexnrpanihlfl hutflrneas. "to forget Oconosh. and all be has done for her, and to despise the people of his race." "That I am sure ?he will not," said Mr. Carleton, gently, "and even if she were, her awn good heart will keep her affection for your memory warm." To this the old chief made no reply, but burning his face to the wall he lay for some moments quite still, with his hand over his eyes. Mr. Carleton would not disturb him, but watched him in pitying silence, until at length, of his own accord, he spoke again. "Will you call Manitara to me now? I would speak a few words to her, and bless her ere the Great Spirit calls me away." "I will call her for you, directly," replied Mr. Carleton, "but first listen to me, while I make a prayer to the Great Spirit for you, ind for her too. We will ask Him to bless uer. and all-uf US, that WI1011 WB UNj lilay ~ ill meet and be happy in another world." He knelt beside the dying man, and in sim- ] pie and fervent language offered a petition mitable to his comprehension?such a petition 1 is he was in the habit of uttering aloud by < many a deathbed clouded with the shades of iguorance and superstition. OconoBh inter- ] rupted it by no movement. He lay with his < syes steadfastly fixed on the opposite wall, < and stirred not a finger until it was ended. Then he said?not impatiently, but rather < with a resumption of the stolid composure of 1 manner which his late conversation with the missionary had shaken? J "I shall not be here long now. My heart e is growing cold, and my pulse beats slower * and slower yet. Call Manitara for me, that I may look upon her face once more." The missionary saw that his last hour was indeed at band ; and he hastily left the room 1 to seek the young girl, whom he supposed to > be waiting outside. To his surprise, however, < she was no where to be seen ; and although i he called her several times by name, and ? ouon ippntunmfl distance from the cabin to ( search for her, he was forced to abandon his quest, and to return without her to the dying nan, whom he was unwilling to leave longer * alone. Already, when he resumed his post i by the bedside, the him of death was creeping f over the eyes of the Indian, and his senses < appeared to be sinking into a torpor from t which it was not likely they would ever ] awaken again. f CHAPTER XV. t Manitara was gone. The amazed mission- g ary, after closing the eyes of Oconosh, who, ' ?.1 J i u:? WltQOUE speaaing anoiner wuru, ureutueu mo last, extended hia search for her throughout i the whole reservation, but without success. In that brief space of time, which had been f occupied by his interview with her adopted father, the girl had strangely and mysterious- t ly disappeared. It seemed most improbable e that she should, of her own free will, have de- 1 serted the old chief in his last hour. Such f conduct would have been simply unnatural, j and out of keeping with the whole tenor of j her previous behavior. Besides, where could t she have betaken herself to at that time of t night? For the dawn was even now but just ] beginning to tinge, with a faint gray light, the i distant hills, and some time had elapsed since i the commencement of his search. On the ( other hand, was it reasonable to suppose that any catastrophe could have befallen her?that ] she had fallen into a neighboring pool, for instauce, or been spirited away by some ene- ] my, opportunely or inopportunely, just at i this hour, and finding her unprotected and ( alone?" < This last idea, if it suggested itself at all to Mr. Carleton's mind, flitted instantly away, t leaving no impression behind it. Yet it was, s after all, the least improbable of any that had c occurred to him. Perplexed and disappoint- t ed, he finally abandoned his efforts to diBcov- ( er her whereabouts, and mounting Whitefoot, s who, hungry and disconsolate, bad been wait- t ing for him, like Patience on a monument, out in the cold, turned his face in the direc- 1 tion of Panther Joe's cabin, intending to ask \ for a breakfast there, both for himself and c for his horse. 1 To his surprise, he found the cabin-door f closed and locked?a most unusual circum- i stance; for Joe, even when abroad, seldom took s such precautions for the security of his prop- r erty. The clergyman was sufficiently at home on the premises, however, to help Whitefoot b to some corn and fodder from Joe's supply of b those articles, which was stacked under a ii rough shed to protect it from the weather; ind seeing the faithful animal provided for, : vas fain to go hungry himself without complaint until he should reach home. i It occurred to him, as he rode along, that ] Manitara might possibly have returned to his i icuse, where she had been so kindly enterained on the previous day. Perhaps a child- < sb fear of witnessing the old chiefs death, vhich she guessed was near at hand, or the 1 Drevalence of some superstition in her mind, i jonnected with the event, had impelled her to i *nane from her own home, and seek comfort 1 n the society of those who she might fancy < jould beat protect her. It would be a curious ! hing for her to do, certainly; but then, he i reflected, one could not look for very rational )r conventional behavior in a girl brought up ! is she had been. Dwelling on this idea, be i tad almost persuaded himself by the time he i reached his house that he should find her i iwaiting him there?but only to meet with lisappointment. His family, as well as Ar- 1 hur, listened^ with surprise to his announceooent of her disappearance?but the latter mddenly offered a Solution of the mystery, by : exclaiming, as he started with an excited face 'rora his seat? "It's Panther Joe who has carried her off! Mr. Carleton I'll wager a thousand dollars hat it's he. Don't you know he had set his jeart on marrying her ?" " 77** / wan it. h?r nf whom be snoke to ne?" ' " "Of course it was?don't yon see it must iave been ? Didn't he describe her beauty? ind the difference between her and the oth?rs?and the sick chief she was taking care )f, and everything? It's as plain as dayight?he has stolen her away." "Heaven forbid!" exclaimed the missioniry, in a tone of such evident dismay that all syes were turned on him in astonishment 'Arthur, my dear boy," he continued, hurriedly, as he laid bis hand pn the young man's shoulder, "if there is indeed any danger of lis compelling her to marry him, we must lose no time to prevent him from taking such i step. This young girl is your own cousin !" "Mn nnnoin rroaruart Arf.hlir, JW1J VWUOlM * . "Yes, your cousin,'Leila Graham?your incle's grandchild, so long supposed to be lead." "There was a wondering outcry. He went >n rapidly to give a sketch of the confession Dconosh had made him, and to show the proof tie had received from his hands of Leila's identity, Arthur listening with inexpressible imazement, which would have been incredulity had the marvellous tale been transmitted to him through any less reliable medium. As toon as his confused mind grasped the facts if the case, his excitement became intense, ind his eagerness to take prompt action knew no bounds. "We must set off now?this very instant; it least I must," he exclaimed. "You have lone enough riding, sir, in the last twentyV?nr hrtura " Ha was running out to saddle w ? # ilia horse, wheD the missionary detainedt?Tm. "I shall ga wltl^yyq, uf COuise," he saM. 'I am as much interested in the matter as pou are." "But I must ride fast?I must ride like the ivind ; and your horse is all fagged out," said Arthur, in a fever to be gone at once. "That is true; Whitefoot has traveled far, >oor creature, and needs some rest, I should inly be keeping you back. Well, go alone, inly promise me to do nothing rash?" Arthur heard only the 6rst words of the including sentence. He was off like an ar- 1 ow from a bow. i In an incredibly short space of time he ; eached Joe's hut, and found it, as the mis* lionary said, closed and locked. He knocked it the door, and loudly called Joe's name, i rhere was no reply. At last he shouted, I "Is any one in here *" I He listened, and thought he heard a rust* i ing sound, but still received no answer. He i eoeated the Question, with the same result ; 1 md baffled and impatient, was about turning iway, in despair of attaining his object, when I suddenly a clear voice exclaimed, in accents >f unmistakable relief and delight? I "Oh Arthur, Arthur I Is that you ?" "Manitara!" he cried, looking eagerly iround, in every direction, to see whence the ; roice proceeded. At last he raised his eyes, i md saw White Fawn's face, flushed and ; ;ager, peering out of an opening just under he low roof?a sort of air-hole which Joe had i jurposely cut there. I "Arthur, have you come for me ? I am so ] jlad ?" she exclaimed. * i "Yes, I have come for you. Come out I juickly, and I will take you home to the mis- i lionary's house." I "Jtsut i am tastenea in?i can doc gei out. i "Fastened in I who has dared to fasten you < n?" 1 "The big Indian man who brought me here. Stay. I will try and find some way." 1 Her face disappeared from the opening, ind Arthur beard her rapid movements in- i lide the cabin. Presently came the sound of < )lows with a hatchet or axe, and the sound of ailing wood?she was cutting away the shin- i jles from the roof where it sloped down at the I owestpart in the rear. Arthur ran round in ,irae to see her now laughing dark eyes 1 hrougb the fresh aperture thus made, which 1 aoidlv grew larger under her skillfully-di ected blows; still the wood was tough and esisted her efforts, and her hand presently 1 Iropped tired at her side. I "Give me the hatchet," cried Arthur, "and 1 ['11 soon break in the door." "No, the door is the strongest part of all. i He made that so secure that it can't be broken j n. This is the best place; I can scramble i )ut easily enough if once the hole is large jnough." I Arthur worked with a will, but it seemed | o him that the result of his efforts was very ilow, for he was in momentary apprehension i >f Joe's return, and was anxious to get Mani- ! ara as quickly as possible out of his reach, i )nce at the mission try's house, she would be i afe; but there was a chance that they might { >e overtaken before they got there. At lenzth. however, his task was done, and e tfanitara's lithe figure slipped itself out, and 1 rith Arthur's help she found herself safely i in the ground. She laughed joyously at this c lappy release from her captivity ; but Arthur f elt that his enterprise was not yet divested of 1 ts difficulties, and he hurried her to his horse, c aying, "Come, Manitara, there is not a mo- c nent to be lost." .. j "I am free?free 1" she cried, eiultingly, as c ie mounted in front of her, and set spurs to \ lis horse. "But where are you going? This s i uot the way to my father-chiefs house." I c "No, I am taking you to the valley. Your father-chief is dead, Manitara." "Dead 1?and I was not there. Oh! woe," cried the girl, in tones of grief. "I should like to kill that wicked man that forced roe away." "How did he find you? Were you outside r\f ()io hmiAA when he went there ?" "Yes, I bad gone oat but a moment, and was in front of the door, waiting to be called in again, when I saw something like a shadow rash out of the darknees toward me. I thought it was a spirit, come to fetch my father-chief away, and I could not move or scream, [n a minute I was caught up and carried off, and he put me on bis horse and galloped here with me: It was the big Indian. He had been there once before. He wanted me to marry him, and I would not He said he meant that I should be his wife, and it was no use for me to refuse. I began to fear that it might, indeed, be so, since I was alone and helpless. It was a joy to me'when I heard four Voice." "But bad you had not tried to escape, before I came ?" "I had, but I could not I never saw that hatchet, for it was hidden up on a shelf, and it was only by chance that I climbed up to look out through that bole, that my eyes fell upon it If I had seen it before I might have let myself out, but I am glad now I waited until you came." "And where has Joe gone now V' "To prepare for our wedding. He said he nhnnld hrinc his friends. and have a feast, be 0 ? cause I ahoald not be married like a common girl; and be said he wouid bring me a beautiful present; but I did not want his present I felt very unhappy, and wanted to get away. He thought he had me secure, and I thought so too. He said my bands were too weak to anfasten the door; and he never thought I could get out any other way. I felt so frightened, shut up in there alone!" "Well, you are safe now," said Arthnr. Neither of them said anything more just then. They were riding at too furious a pace to admit of his entering upon any explanation of the real condition of affairs, which must be deferred until they reached their destination. All bis energies were concentrated upon accomplishing this in safety, and he continued to urge his horse faster and faster, every moment fancying he heard the sound of pursuit in the distance behind them. ? - ? ? . il.:. They bad accompusnea anout nan tiieir journey, when he was forced to draw rein, for his horse was giving out, and it was necessary to take a breathing-spell. "We will rest here in the shade awhile," he said to his companion, as they halted beneath a tree. "Look at the poor beast, how he pants! He has done hard work to-day. I think we are safe, now we have come thus far;" "Do you fear the big Indian will follow us ?" asked Maoitara. "Yes?is it not likely?" "If he returna soon?yee; but he may not come back until we have got to the missions^' ry'a house. You will not let. him tftke me away from there, will you ?" "No, indeed 1 He dare not attempt it" "And if he should follow us, and overtake as before we get there ?" "I shall fight for you, you may depend upon that." "Ah I but he is so large and strong; he might kill you, and carry me off." "I don't think he will do that, Manitara; be was very good to me once?he took care of me when I was hurt. He. might try to get you away from me, but I think I could prevent him." "I am weary of riding," said Manitara, as she leaned her head languidly back against the tree, under which they had sat down to rest, while the tired horse cropped the scanty herbage near by. "It is so pleasant to sit here in the cool shade. If the big Indian re* turns and finds me gone, he will not come this way ; be will go to our reservation and seek for me there." "He will seek the horse's tracks," said Arthur, shaking bis head ; "they will tell him which way to follow you." "That is true," thoughtfully rejoined the young girl. "Well, it may be that he will stay away until evening; that will give us plenty of time." In any case, Arthur felt that it was impossible to proceed juBt yet; and he stretched himself on the grass at Manitara's feet, to profit as fully as possible by this interval of snforced repose. Looking up into her beautiful, girlish face, now wearing a thoughtful and pre-occupied expression, he revolved in bis mind the strange circumstances of their , mutual relation, and took the sudden resolve af telling her the facts of the case then and there. "Mauitara!" he said, abruptly. She turned ber lustrous eyes upon him with a smile. "Tell me," he said, taking her slender band in his own, "are you fond of me ? I mean, < jo you like me very much?" i "Yes," she frankly answered. "Now that 1 my father-chief is no more, I like you better j than any one in the world." "You would be willing to go back to my ; borne with me, if I wanted you, would you f aot?" i Manitara hesitated before replying. "I do not know," she slowly answered, at length. "Your great oity is far away?and there are no forests there, no rivers, no deer to bunt?are there ?" "There is a river there, and there are woods aear by?beautiful woods, where you could 50 sometimes. Though, of course, there are lone in the city, itself." "I would like better that you should stay bere," said Manitara. "Then I could be bapay." "But I could not stay, Manitara. My uncle s old, and wants me with him. Iam obliged :o return. If I went without you, I would lot come back again, and you would not see ne any more. Would you not be willing to jo too ?" He wanted a prompt and unqualified aslent, iiut this she was not prepared to give. 3e was unreasonable enough to overlook the act that their mutual acquaintanceship only Inttyl kns.tr aa Can OQ *kn nrflvinllfl dftV. And tfl lotcu uavA w mi ao vuv u* v ???.? _ " g brget that he could not expect her to be wil- s ing to abandon the life she had led from a shildhood, and the wild freedom of the for- j sets and the hills that were dear to her, sim- ? )ly for his sake, at a moment's warning. His * iwn enthusiastic nature was so stirred and vrougbt upon by the romantio circumstances ? ittendant upon the beginning of their inter- f source, as to be capable of going to almost o any length. He already believed himself to be in love with this beautiful child of nature, and his recently acquired knowledge of her real parentage, in casting down the social barrier that otherwise would have existed between them, seemed to open an easy way for the fulfillment of his wishes. But Manitara said again, "I do not know," and then sat looking dreamily away, all unconscious of his impatient, dissatisfied feelings, which he was forced to restrain. The words, "My home is rightfully yours, Mani? ?? -Li: j .. i. tara, and yon win soon oe ouugeu w gu w it, whether you will or no," had risen to bis lips, and he was on the point of uttering them, when ehe started up from her indolent position, and listened eagerly, with head bent forward and finger uplifted in token of warning. "Let us mount again," she exclaimed an instant after. "Quick, Arthur, quick?we are pursued!" [To be Continued.] fjpscrilanestt* fteadmg. BAYONETS AND THE BALLOT BOX* Washington, September 4.?The following instructions have been referred to Gen. Sherman for his guidance by the secretary of war and transmitted to the United States marshals for their government: Sir : The laws of the United States having made it my duty to exercise general direction over the marshals in the manner of discharging their duties, I have prepared for their use this circular letter of instructions as to the coming elections, intending the same also as a reply, once for all, to numberless applications in like connection from private citizens in various States. In the present condition of legislation, the United States occupy a position towards voters and voting, which varies according as the election is for State and other local officers only,or for members of Congress and Presidential electors. In elections at which members of the House of Representatives are chosen, which by law include also elections at which the electors for President and Vice-President are appointed, the United States secures voters against whatever in general hinders or prevents them from a free exercise of the elective franchise, extending the same care alike to the registered lists and acts of voting, and the personal freedom and security of theSroter at all times, as well against violence on account of any vote that he may intend to give, as against conspiracy because of any that he may already have given. The peace of the United States, therefore, which you are to preserve, and who&e violation you are to suppress, protects, among others, the rights specified in the last paragraph; and any person who, by force, violates those rights breaks that peace and renders it your duty to arrest bim and to suppress any riots incident or that threaten the integrity of the registration or election, to the end that the will of the people in such election may be ascertained and take effect, and that offenders may be brought before the courts for punishment Notorious events in several States, which recently, and in an unusual manner, have been publicly reprobated, render it a grave dutv of all marshals who have cause to apprehend a violation of the peace of the United States connected, as above, with the elections to be herdnrpoiTThe"Toesday after the first Monday in November nextt to_he nrenared to preserve ana to restore sucn peace, as me chief executive officer of the United States in your district you will be held responsible for all breaches of the peace of the United States which diligence on your part might have prevented, and for the arrest and securing of all persons who violate that peace in any of the points above enumerated. Diligence in these matters requires, of course, that you be and continue present in person or by deputy at all places of registration or election at which you have reason to suspect that the peace is threatened, and that, whenever an embodiment of ths posse ecmitatiu is required to enforce the law,~such embodiment be effected. You will observe that the "special" deputies mentioned in Section 2,021 of the Revised Statutes have peculiar duties assigned to them, duties which otherwise do not belong to deputy marshals. Such special deputies can be appointed only in cities of 20,000 inhabitants or upwards. But the duties assigned to marshals and their deputies by Section 2,022 or other like statutes belong to all duly appointed deputies, whether they be general or be special, within the meaning of that and the preceding section. Deputies to discbarge this latter class of duties may be appointed to any number whatever, according to the discretion of the marshal, in all States in which sheriffs have a similar power. Section 30 has no practical bearing upon this point in States where no limit is imposed upon the appointment of deputies by sheriffs; because in such States the laws of the United States, prior to the 10th of June, 1872, left marshals also unlimited as to the number of their deputies. In discharging the duties above mentioned, you will doubtless reoeive the countenance and Bupportof all the good citizens of the United States in your respective districts. It is necessary to say that it is upon such countenance and support that the United States mainly rely in their endeavor to enforce the right to vote, which they have given or have secured. The present instructions are intended only to L IL.A 1 mHAnnltAorln/l. counteract turn pirum ujoiivo, wauu^uuiuvuoeu or inoonsiderateness which sometimes triumphs at critical moments over the conservative, and, in general, prevailing forces of society, and to which the present and passing condition of the country gives more than ordinary strength, and, therefore, requires the government particularly to observe and provide against. In this connection I advise that you and each of your deputies, general and "special," have a right to summon to your assistance, in preventing and quelling disorder, every person in the district above 15 years of age, whatever may be their occupation, whether civilians or not, and including the military of all denominations?militia, soldiers and marines. All of the above are alike bound to obey you. The fact that they are organized as military bodies, whether of the State or of the United States, under the immediate command of their officers, does not in any wise affect their legal character. They are still the posse comitatus. I prefer to quote the above statement of law upon this point from an opinion by my predecessor, Attorney-General Cushing, because it thus appears to have been well settled for many years. Six opinions, 466, May 27, 1854. I need hardly add that there can be no State law or State nfficial in this country who has jurisdiction to 1 jppose you in discharging your official duties I m/lnsi lflwa of the United States. If such I > nterference shall take place, a thing not anticipated, you are to disregard it entirely. The aws of the United States are supreme, and i 10 consequently is the action of officials of ] ,he United States in enforcing them. There i 8, as virtually you have already been told, < io officer of the State whom you may not 1 amnion and embody into your own poese; 1 ind any State posse already embodied by a < beriff will, with such sheriff, be obliged upon < 'our summons to become a part of a United [ States posse, and obey you or your deputy, icting virtute effieii. The responsibility which levolves upon an officer, clothed with such i towers, and required to guard the highest c igbt of citizens, corresponds in degree with i bose powers and rightsv and exacts of dtoch e fficer consideration, intelligence and cqnjage. c . .. ' It is proper to advise you that in preparing this circular, I have considered recent important judgments given by the Supreme Court of the United States, upon the acts of Congress, which regulate this general topic. I have founded the above instructions upon those acts, as affected by such judgments, and I need in this place add no more than that these judgments do not concern elections for Federal offices. You will find appended in * ?? * ?l : mil, or oy reiereuce, suuu suiiuiurjr pruvioivuo as it seems important that yon and your deputies shall in this connection read and consider. In matters of doubt you are of course entitled to the advice of the United States attorneys for your district These instructions have been submitted to the President, and have his approval. Very respectfully, your obedient servant Alphonbo Taft, Attorney General. Secretaries Cameron, Robeson and Chandler, Attorney-General Taft'and Gen. Sherman were in consultation to-day, it is supposed, over the order to the marshals. After the conference they gave a hearing to Senator Patterson and Governor Chamberlain of South Carolina, who represented that there are eight or ten counties in the State in which Republicans are intimidated and apprehensions are expressed that many of them will be prevented from voting. A GEORGIA DARKEY'S Y1EWS. The Savannah New gives the following as an old darkey's political views, elieited recently by an interview with a Custom-house official:' "It is the same old fight to be fought over again," said a Custom-house Radical to a respectable looking old darkey on Bay street yesterday. "The same old fight. If the re bel Democracy come into power, good-bye to the rights of your colored people. The slave driver will crack his whip as of old." "Whatteryou givio' uv me now?" responded the old man in a slightly sarcastic tone. "It is the solemn troth. The colored people will be compelled in self-defence to vote for Hayes and Wheeler, for Norcross and Bryant." "You think you'er givin' uv me taffy, does yon t Well, dat'e jes' what you aint a-doin', honey. De long sweetenin' in dat wouldn't reech roun' my eye-toof, an de ho'-houn' taste is monstrous strong. I'm?I'm a Georgy nigger, I is. I ain't no 'Geechee coon." "But, my friend, you are intelligent enough to perceive that with the Democrats in power the down-trodden negro will have no rights whatever." "De Democrats got Georgy now, ain't de ?" said the old darkey, insinuatingly. "They have, unfortunately." "Well, ain't I got some rights? Don't I breeve my bref, an' eat my wittles, an' break my back in de cotton patch jes' like when Bullock wuz a rarin' round an' savin' niggers' soul^r; "But you must remember?" "Oh! I'm a 'memberin', boss, an* I'm gwine ter 'member. I knows all 'bout dem Kadikels. I done bin dar. I bin skirmisbin' round votin' for Giner'l Grant an' dem fellers purty nigb all de time sence freedom come about, an' hit's played out." "It can't be possible that?" -x "Whar's my muel, boss, and wbar's my '"??? oWo?o 9 WVior'o mo litf.lA rlnl. IVI ft J UI?ViD4 If mm* v mmmj ..?V?V ?... lare what I lef oberdar wid Mister Brinkerhoff in de Bank, and what's de entrust on it? Hit's jea' like I tell yon,, boss; I'm a middle Pnnmgy mlgg.m, .i.' T I i m mamm g?i ? his ban's in my britches pocket I dunno outtin' 'tall 'bout yo' Hayes an' yo' Wheelers ; but I bin a knowin' Mara Alf Colquitt sence he wuz so high, an' I'm gwine fer ter fling him in one squar wote ef de Lord spare me. When you see a middle Georgy nigger, what wus brung up by de big bugs, you Tern 'lone. I ain't got no time fer ter 'spute wid you, bees, but I jes' thunk I'd stop long nuff to pass de time uv day. In regards to Mister Bryant, I ain't techin him wid a ten foot pole. I'm larnin' bow ter chaw my terbacker on de odder side uv my jaw." A WlDVTVA AflATVHT TJTE PrTHflTTIT OF Office-seeking by young Men.?The Hod. Albert G. Brown, of Mississippi, recently wrote a letter to a young friend, in which he laments that he ever made a political speech or held an office. Ex-Governor Brown was for thirty-three years, previous to 1865, continually in high official and political station, and would, therefore, seem to have had as extensive and favorable an experience as any of his con temporaries and associates. We quote as follows: "True, as you say, I have held many offices. Indeed, I may say that I never knew defeat in any of my aspirations; and it is just because I had success which people call wonderful, that I feel competent to administer a word of 'caution* to the young men of this generation. "My young friend, do not be deceived by the glitter of office. I am now past my threescore years, and am fast traveling into the ten. I have held almost every office in the aift of the neonle. and I can trulv say. with 0 { 1 1 ? m w ' the preacher, "it is all vanity and vexation of spirit.' "Looking back over a long, and I hope not unsuccessful life, I can say, with a clear conscience, my greatest regret is that I ever made a political speech or held an office. "There is a fascination in office which beguiles men, but be assured, my young friend* it is the fascination of a serpent, or, to change the figure it is the ignis fatwu which coaxes you on to inevitable ruin, "I speak of that which I do know. If my young friends will be governed by my advice, 1 have this to say, after all my success as a public man, now, when my head is blossoming for the grave, I feel that it would have been better for me if I bad followed the occupation of my father, and been a farmer. "The mechanic arts are all honorable. To be a blacksmith, a carpenter, or an artisan of ? ? ? ?x ^ 4a Ann man UIJJT Burt IS UU UIOUCUK HI auj UIMI> juivwvi that than be a jack-leg lawyer, a quack doctor, a counter-hopper, or, worse still, a wretched seeker after office. "Of all pursuits in life that of a farmer is the most respectable. It may have its trials and disappointments, so do all others. The mechanic may lose the wages of his labor, the professional man his fees, the editor may weep over delinquent subscribers, but the honest, industrious farmer is morally certain of a fair return for his labor. "True, 'Paul may plant, and Apollos water, but God must give the increase.' But where is the faithful cultivator of the soil, God's heritage to man, who ever suffered for bread ? "Allow me again to 'caution' my young friends against the beguiling influence of office, and to advise them most earnestly to stick to mother earth." . ? Colds.?Hot lemonade is one of the best remedies in the world for a cold. It acts ' promptly and effectively and has no unpleasint after effects. One lemon properly squeezed, :ut in slices, put with sugar, and covered with lalt a pint or boning water, jlhimc just nebre going to bed and do not expose yourself >n the following day. This remedy Will ward >ff an attack of the chills and met if used >roperly. T! ; * '*. * . . * Mj^Children reduced to almost the last teges of cholera infantum, when they are tnable to hold any other food on their stomachs, will greedily take strong beef tea, sal t4 and made palatable?and will oft^n- reover on that treatment,