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A.- dot*: CHAPTER I—(Continued The younff hunter’s oarn race grtvt bo gloomy over this remark that Lucy Ferrler laughed aloud. “There, I didn’t mean that,” she said; I “of course, you are a friend now. You must come and see us. Now I must push along, or father won’t trust me with his business any more. Oood-by!” "Good-by," he answered, raising his broad sombrero, and bending over her little hand. She wheeled her mustang round, gave it a cut with her riding- whip, and darted away down the broad road in a rolling cloud of dust. Young Jefferson Hope rode on with his companions, gloomy and taciturn. He and they had been among the Ne vada mountains prospecting for silver, and were returning to Salt Lake City in the hope of raising capital enough to work some lodes which they had discovered. He had been as keen as any of them upon the business until this sudden incident had drawn his thoughts into another channel. The sight of the fair young girl, as frank and wholesome as the Sierra breezes, had stirred his volcanic, untamed heart to its very depths. When she had van ished from his sight, he realized that a crisis had come in his life, and that neither silver speculations nor any other questions could ever be of such importance to him as this new and all- , absorbing one. The love which had sprung up in his heart was not the sud den, changeable fancy of a boy, but rather the wild, fierce passion of a man of strong will and imperious temper, i He had been accustomed to succeed in ; ail that he undertook. He swore in ^ his heart he would not fail in this if j human effort and human perseverance could render him successful. He called on John Kerrierthat night, and many times again until his face was a familiar one at the farmhouse. John, cooped up in the valley, and ab sorbed in his work, had little chance of learning the news of the outside world during the last twelve years. All this Jefferson Hope was able to tell him, and in a style which interested Lucy as well as her father. He had been a pioneer in California, and could nar rate many a strange tale of fortunes made and fortunes lost in those wild, halojron days He had been a scout, too, and a trapper, a silver explorer and a ranchman. Wherever stirring adventures were to be had, Jefferson Hope had been there in search of them. Ho soon became a favorite with the farmer, who spoke eloquently of his virtues. On such occasions Lucy was silent, but her blushing cheek and her bright, happy eyes showed only too clearly that her young heart was no longer her own. Her honest father, may not have observed these symptoms, ! but they were assuredly not thrown ; away upon the man who had won her affeotions. It was a summer evening when he ; came galloping down the road and : pulled up at the gate. She was at the doorway, and came down to meet him. I He threw the bridle over the fence and strode up the pathway. “I am off, Lucy,” he said, taking her two hands in his and gazing tenderly down into her face; “I won't ask you to come with me now, but will you be ready to come when I am here again?” “And when will that be?” she asked, blushing and laughing. “A, couple of months at the outside. I will come and claim you then, my MX WAS BTII.I. SITTISO WITH BOWS OS U1S USEES. darling. There’s no one who can stand between us.” “And how about father?" “He has given his consent, provided we get these mines working all right. 1 have no fear on that head.” “Oh, well, of course, if you and fa ther have arranged it, there’s no more to be said,” she whispered, with her cheek against his broad breast. "Thank OodI” he said, hoarsely, stooping and kissing her. “It is set tled then. The longer I stay, the harder it will be to go. They are wait ing for me at the canyon. Oood-by, my own darling—good-by. In two months you shal) see me.” He tore himself from her as he spoke, and, flinging himself upon his horse, galloped furiously away, never even looking round, as though afraid that his resolution might fail him if he took one glance at what he was leaving. She stood at the gate, gazing after him until he vanished from her sight. Then she walked bock into the house, the happiest girl in all Utah. , CHAPTER III row rzaarza talks with ths raornar. Three weeks had passed since Jeffer son Hope and his comrades had depart ed from Salt Lake City. John Ferrier's heart nas sore within him when he thought of the young man’s return, and of the impending loss of his adopt ed child. Yet her bright and happy face reconciled him to the arrangement more than any argument could have done. He had always determined, deep down in his resolute heart, that nothing would ever Induce him to allow his daughter to wed a Mormon. Such a marriage he regarded as no marriage at all, but as a shame and a disgrace. Whatever be might think of the Mormon doctrines, upon that one point he was inflexible. He had to seal his mouth on the subject, however, for to express an orthodox opinion was a dangerous matter in those days in Land of the Saints. Yes, a dangerous matter—so danger ous that even the most saintly dared only whisper their religious opinions with bated breath, lest something which fell from their lips might be misconstrued, and bring down a swift retribution upon them. The victims of persecution had now turned perse cutors on their own account, and per secutors of the most terrible descrip tion. Not the Inquisition of Seville, nor the German Vehmgericht, nor the secret societies of Italy, were ever able to put a more formidable machinery in motion than that which cast a cloud over the territory of Utah. Its invisibility, and the mystery which was attached to it, made this organization doubly terrible. It ap peared to be omniscient and omnipo tent, and yet was neither seen nor heard. The man who held out against the church vanished away, and none knew whither he had gone or what had befallen him. His wife and children awaited him at home, but no father ever returned to tell them how he had fared at the hands of his secret judges. A rash word or a hasty act was fol lowed by annihilation, and yet none knew what the nature might be of this terrible power which was suspended over them. No wonder that men went about in fear and trembling, and that even in the heart of the wilderness they dared not whisper the doubts which oppressed them. At first this vague and terrible power was exercised only upon the recalci trants, who, having embraced the Mormon faith, wished afterward to pervert or to abandon it. Soon, how ever, it took a wider range. The sup ply of adult women was running short, and polygamy, without a female popu lation on which to draw, was a barren doctrine indeed. Strange rumors be gan to be bandied about—rumors of murdered immigrants and rifled camps in regions where Indians had never been seen. Fresh women appeared in the harems of the elders—women who pined and wept, and bore upon their faces the traces of unextinguishable horror. Belated wanderers upon the mountains spoke of gangs of armed men. masked, stealthy, and noiselesa, who flitted by them in the darkness, These tales and rumors took substance and shape, and were corroborated and re-eorroborated until they resolved themselves into a definite name. To this day, in the lonely ranches of the west, the name of the Danite Baud, or the Avenging Angels, is a sinister and ill-omened one. Fuller knowledge of the organiza tion which produced such terrible re sults served to increase rather than to lesson the horror which it inspired in the minds of men. None knew who belonged to this ruthless society. The names of the participators in the deeds of blood and violence, done under the name of religion, were kept profound ly secret. The very friend to whom you communicated your misgivings as to the prophet and his mission might be one of those who would come forth at night with fire and sword to exact a terrible reparation. Hence, every man fcarad his neighbor, and none spoke of tfca things which were nearest his heart. One fine morning, John Ferrier was about to set out to his wheat-fields, when he heard the click of the latch, and, looking through the window, saw a stout, sandy-haired, middle-aged man coming up the pathway. His heart leaped to his mouth, for this was none other than the great Brigham Y'oung himself. Full of trepidation— for he knew that such a visit boded him little good—Ferrier ran to the door to greet the Mormon chief. The latter, however, received his salutation coldly, and followed him with a stern face into the sitting-room. "Brother Ferrier,” he said, taking a seat, and eyeing tAe farmer keenly from under his light-colored eyelashes, “the true believers have lieen good friends to you. We picked you up when you were starving in the desert, we shared our food with you, led you safe to the chosen valley, gave you a goodly share of land, and allowed you to wax rich under our protection. Is not this so?” “It is so,” answered John Ferrier. “In return for all this we asked but one condition; that was that you should ambrace the true faith, and conform in every way to its usages. This you promised to do; and this, if common report says truly, you have neglected.” “And how have I neglected it?” asked Ferrier, throwing out his hands in expostulation. “Have I not given to the common fund? Have I not at tended at the temple? Have I not—” “Where are your wives?" asked Yonng, looking round him. “Call them in. that I may greet them." “It is true that l have not mr., ried," Ferrier answered. “But women were few, and there were many who had better claims than I. I was not a lone- | ly man; I had my daughter to attend to my wants." “It is of that daughter that I would speak to you,” sai l the leader of the Mormons "She has grown to be the flower of Utah and has found favor in the eyes of many who are high in the land.” John Ferrier groaned internally. “There are stories of her which I would fain disbelieve—stories that she is sealed to some Gentile. This must be the gossip of idle tongues. What is the thirteenth rule in the code of the sainted Joseph Smith? ’Let every maid en of the true faith marry one of the elect; for if she wed a Gentile she oon^ mlts a grievous sin.’ This being so it is impossible that you, who profess the holy creed, should suffer your daughter to violate it," John Ferrier made no answer, but he played nervously with his riding whip. . , “Upon this one point your whole faith shall be tested-so it has been decided in the sacred council of four. The girl la young, and we wguld not have her tfed gfay hairs; neither woum we deprive her of all choice. We elders have many heifers [Heber C. Kimball, in one of his sermons, alludes to his hundred wives under this endearing epithet], but our children must also be provided. Stangerson has a son, and Drebber has a son, and either of them would gladly welcome your daughter to theh- house. Let her choose be tween them. They are young and rich, and of the true faith. What say you to that?” Ferrier remained silent for some little time, with his brows knitted. “You will give us time,” he said, at last. “My daughter is very young— she is scarce of an age to marry." “She shall have a month to choose,” said Young, rising from his seat “At the end of that time she shall give her answer.” He was passing through the door, when he turned, with flushed face and flashing eyes. “It were better foryou, John Ferrier,” he thundered, “that you and she were now lying blanched skel etons upon the Sierra Blanco, than that you should put your weak wills against the orders of the Holy Four!" With a threatening gesture of his hand he turned from the door, and Ferrier heard his heavy step scrunch ing along the shingly path. He was still sitting with his elbows upon his knees, considering how he should broach the matter to his daugh ter, when a soft hand was laid upon his, and looking up he saw her stand ing beside him. One glance at her pale, frightened face showed him that she had heard what had passed. “I could not help it,” she said, in an swer to his look. “Uls voice rang through the house. 0 father, father, what shall we do?” “Don’t you scare yourself,” he an swered, drawing her to him, and pass ing his broad, rough hand caressingly over her chestnut hair. “We’ll fix it up somehow or another. Yon don't And your fancy kind o’ lessening for this chap, do yon?” A sob and a squeeze of his hand were her only answer. “No; of course not. I shouldn't care to hear you say you did. fle's a likely lad, and he's a Christian, which la more than these folk here, in spite o’ all their praying and preachings There's a party starting far Nevada to-morrow, and I 11 manage to aend him a message letting him know the hole we are in. If I know anything o' that young man, he'll be back here with a speed that would whip electro-telegraphs.” Lucy laughed through her tears at her father's description. “When he comes, he will uJvise us for the best. But It is for yon that I am frightened, dear. One hears—one hears such dreadful stories about those who oppose the prophet; something terrible always happens to them." “But we haven't opposed him yet," her father answered. “It will be time to look out for squalls when we do. We have a clear month before us; at the end of that, I guess we had best shin out of Utah.” "Leave Utah?” “That's abont the size of It." “But the farm?” “We will raise as much as we can In money and let the rest go. To tell the truth, Lucy, it isn’t the first time I have thought of doing it. I don’t care about knuckling under to any man, as these folk do to their darned prophet. I'm a free-born American, and it's all new to me. Guess I'm too old to learn. If he comes browsing about this farm, he might chance to run up against a charge of buckshot traveling in the op posite direction.” “But they won't let us leave,” his daugher objected. “Wait till Jefferson comes, and we’ll ■oon manage that. In the meantime, don’t yon fret yourself, my dearie, and don’t get your eyes swelled up, else he'll be walking into me when he aees yoa. There's nothing to be afeard about, and there’s no dangw at all." John Ferrier uttered these consoling remarks in a very confident tone, but she could not help observing that he paid nnusual care to the fastening of the doors that night, and that he care fully cleaned and loaded the rnsty old shotgun which hung upon the wall of his bedroom. CHAPTER IV. A FLIGHT FOB I .ITS On the morning which followed hla Interview with the Mormon prophet, John Ferrier went into Salt Lake City, and having found his acquaintance, who was bound for the Nevada moun tains, he intrusted him with hia mes sage to Jefferson Hope. In it he told the young man of the imminent dan ger which threatened them, and how necessary it was that he should return. Having done thus, he felt easier in his mind, and returned home with a light er heart. As he approached hia farm, he was surprised to see a horse hitched to each of the posts of the gate. Still more surprised was he on entering to find two young men in pcesession of his sitting-room. One, with a long, pale face, was leaning back In the rocking-chair, with hia feet cocked upon the stove. The other, a bull- necked youth with coarse, bloated fea tures, was standing In front of the window with his hands in his pockets, whistling a popular hymn. Both of them nodded to Ferrier as he entered, and the one in the rocking-chair com- menced the conversation. “Maybe you don't know us,” he said. “This here is the son of Elder Drebber, and I'm Joseph Stangeraon, who trav eled with you in the desert when the Lord stretched out His hand and gath ered you into the true fold.” “As He will all the nations in His own good time," said the other, in a nasal voice; “He grindeth slowly but exceeding small.” John Ferrier bowed coldly. He had guessed who his visitors were. "We have come.” continued Stonges son, “at the advice of our fathera, to aolicit the hand of your daughter for whichever of us may seem good to you and to her. As I have but four wives and Brother Drebber here has seven, It appears to me that my claim is the stronger one.” “Nay, nay, Brother Stangeraon," cried the other; "the question is po\ how many wives we have, but how many we can keep. My father has now given over his mills to we, and I am the richer man.” "But my prospects are better,” said the other, warmly. “When the Lord removes my father, I shall have his tanning-yard and his leather factory. Then I am your elder, and am higher In the church." ^ , . ,. „ “It will be for the maiden to decide, rejoined young Drebber, smirking at hla own reflection is Uto "We will leave it all to her decision. - During this dialogue, John Ferrier had stood fuming in the doorway, hardly able to keep hia riding-whip from the backs of his two vial tors. “Look here,” he said at last strid ing up to them, “when my daughter summons you, you can come; but until then, I don't waat to see your faces again.’’ The two young Mormons stared at him in amazement. In their eyes this competition between them for the maiden’e hand was the highest of honors both to her and her father. “There are two ways out of the room,” cried Ferrier: “there is the door, and there is the window. Which do you care to use?" His brown face looked so savage, and his gaunt hands so threatening, that his visitors sprang to their feet and beat a hurried retreat The old farmer followed them to the door. “I^t me know when you have settled which it la to be,” he said sardonically. “THEBE ARE TWO WATS OUT OT THE BOOH,” CRIED FEBKIER. “You shall smart for this!” Stanger- son cried, white with rage. “You have defied the prophet and the coun cil of four. You shall rue It to the end of your days." “The hand of the Lord shall be heavy upon you,” cried young Dreb ber; “He will arise and smite yon!” “Then I’ll start the smiting," ex claimed Ferrier furiously, and would have rushed upstairs for his gun had not Lucy seised him by the arm and restrained him. Before he eculd escape from her, the clatter of horse’s hoofs told him that they were beyond his reach. “The yonng canting rascal.,!" he ex claimed. wiping the perspiration from his forehead. “I would sooner see yon in your grave, my girl, than the wife of either of them.” “And so should I, father,” she an swered. with spirit; “but Jefferson will soon be here.” “Yes. It will not be long before he comes. The sooner the better, for we do not know what their next move may be." It was. indeed, high time that some one capable ef giving advice and help should come to the aid of the sturdy old farmer and his adopted daughter. In the whole history of the settlement there had never been such a case of rank disobedience to the authority of the elders. If minor errors were pun ished so sternly, what would be the fate of this arch rebel? Ferrier knew that hia wealth and position would be of no avail to him. Others as well known and as rich as himself had been spirited away before now, and their goods given over to the church. He was s brave man, but he trembled at the vague, shadowy terrors which hung over him. Any known danger he could face with a firm lip, bnt this sus pense was unnerving. He concealed his fears from his daughter, however, and affected to make light of the whole matter, though she, with the keen eye of love, saw plainly that he was ill at ease. He expected that he would receive some message or remonstrance from Young as to bis conduct, and he was not mistaken, though it came In an unlooked-for manner. Upon rising next morning he found, to his sur prise. a small square of paper pinned on to the coverlet of hia bed, just over his chest. On it was printed in bold, straggling letters: “TWK.NTV-HIRE DAT* ABE OIVEM TOU WOK AMENDMENT, AND THEN—” The dash was more fear-inspiring than any threat could have been. How this warning came into hia room puzzled John Ferrier sorely, for his servants slapt in an outhouse, and the doors and windows had all been se cured. He crumpled the paper up and said nothing to his daughter, but the incident struck a chill into his heart. The twenty-nine days were evidently the balance of the month which Young had promised. What strength or cour age could avail against an enemy armed with such mysterious powers? The hand which fastened that pin might have struck him to the heart, and he could never have known who had slain him. Still more shaken was he next morn ing. They had sat down to their breakfast when Lucy, with a cry of surprise, pointed upward. In the cen ter of the ceiling was scrawled, with a burned stick, apparently, the number 38. To hla daughter it was unin telligible, and he did not enlighten her. That night be sat up with his gun and kept watch and ward. He saw and heard nothing, and yet in the morning a great 37 had been painted upon the outside of his door. Thus day followed day; and as sure as morning came he found that his un seen enemies had kept their register, and had marked np in some conspicu ous position how many days were still left to him out of the month of grace. Sometimes the fatal numbers appeared upon the walls, sometimes upon the floors; occasionally they were on small placards stuck upon the garden-gate or the railings. With all his vigilance John Feijier could not discover whence these daily warnings proceeded. A horror, which was almost supersti tious, came upon him at the sight of them. He became haggard and rest less, and hla eyes had the troubled look of some haunted creature. He had but one hope In life now, and that was for the arrival of the young hunter from Nevada. Twenty had changed to fifteen, and fifteen tq ten; hut there wea no news of the absentee. One by one the num bers dwindled down, and still there came no sign at him. Whenever n horseman clattered down the road or a driver shouted at hla team, the old farmer hurried to the gate, thinking that help had arrived at last. At last, when he saw five give way to four and that again to three, he lost heart, and abandoned all hope of escape. Single- handed, and with hia limited klowledge of the mountains which surrounded the settlement, he knew that he was pow- leis. The more frequented roads ware etriettr watched and guarded, and none eould pass along tnem wunont an order from the counciL Turn which way he would, there appeared to be no avoiding the blow which hung over him. Yet the old man never wavered in his resolution to pert with life Itaelf before he consented to whet he re garded as his daughter's dishonor. He was sitting alone one evening pondering deeply over his troubles, and tearchlng vainly for some way oift of them. That morning had shown the figure 3 upon the wall of his house, and the next day would be the last of the allotted timq. What was to happen then? All manner of vague and terrible fancies filled his imagina tion. And his daughter—what was to become of her after he was gone? Was there no escape from the invisi ble network which was drawn all round them? He sank his head upon the table and sobbed at the thought of his own impotence. What was that? In the silence he heard a gentle scratching sound—low, but very distinct, in the quiet of the night. It came from the door of the house. Ferrier crept into the hall and listened Intently. There was a pause for a few moments, and then the low, insidious sound was repeated. Some one was evidently topping very gently upon one of the panels of the door. Was it some midnight assassin who had come to rarry out the murderous order of the secret tribunal? Or was it some agent who was marking uf) that the last day of grace had arrived? John Ferrier felt that instant death would be better than the suspense which shook his nerves and chilled his hesrt. Springing forward, he drew the bolt and threw the door open. Outside all was calm and quiet. The night was fine, and the stars were twinkling brightly overhead. The little front garden lay before the farmer's eyes, bounded by the fence and gate; hut neither there nor on the road was any human being to be seen. With a sigh of relief Ferrier looked to right and to left, until happening to glance straight down at his own feet he saw to his astonishment a man lylrg flat upon his face upon the ground, with arms and legs sill asprawL So unnerved was he at the sight that he Isaned up against the wall with his hand to his throat to stifle his in clination to call out. His first thought was that the prostrate figure was that of some wounded or dying man, but as he watched it he saw it writhe along the grouml and into the halt with the rapidity and noiselessness of a serpent. Once within the house the man sprang to his feet, closed the door and re vealed to the astonished farmer the fierce and resolute expression of Jeffer son Hope. “Good God!" gasped John Ferrier. “How yon scared me! Whatever made you come in like that?” “Give me food,” the other said, hoarsely. “1 have had no time for bite or sup for eight-and-forty hours." He flung himself upon the cold meat and bread which were still lying upon the table from his host's supper, and de voured it voraciously. “Does Lucy bear up well?" he asked, when he had satisfied his hunger. “Yes. She does not know the dan ger,” her father answered. “That is well. The house is watched on every side. That is why I crawled my way up to It. They may he darned sharp, but they're not quite sharp enough to catch a Washoe hunter." John Ferrier felt a different man now that he realized that he had a de voted ally. He seized the young man's leathery hand aad wrung it cordially. “You’re a man to be proud of,” he said. “There are not many who would come, to share eur danger and our troubles.” “You've hit it there, pard,” the young hunter answered. “I have a respect for you, but if you were alone in this business I'd think twice before I put my head into such a hornets’ neat. It's Lucy that brings me here, and be fore harm comes on her I guess there will be one less o’ the Hop* family in Utah." “What are we to do?” “To-morrow is your last day, and un less you act to-night you are lost. I have a mule and two horses waiting In the Eagle ravine. How much money have you?” “Two thousand dollars in gold, and five in notes.” "Thatwilldo. I have as mnch more to add to It. We must push for Carson City through the mountains. Yon had best wake Lucy. It is as well that the serv ants do not sleep in the house.” While Ferrier was absent preparing his daughter for the approaching jour ney, Jefferson Hope packed all the eat ables that he could find into a small parcel, and filled a stoneware ]ar with water, for he knew by experience that the mountain wells were few and far between. He had hardly completed his arrangements before the farmer re turned with his daughter all dressed and ready for a start. The greeting between the lovers was warm but brief, for minutes were precious, and there was much to be done. “Wa must make onr start at once,” said Jefferson Hope, speaking in a low but resolute voice, like one who realises the greatness of the peril, but has steeled hla heart to meet It. "The front and back entrances are watched, but with cantioa we may get away through the aide window and across the fields. Once on the rood, we are only two miles from the ravine where the horses are waiting. By daybreak we should be half way through the mountains.” “What If we are stopped?” asked Ferrier. Hope slapped the revolver butt which protruded from the front of his tunic. “If they are too many for us we shall take two or three of them with us,” he said with a sinister smile. The lights inside the house had all been extinguished, and from the dark ened window Ferrier peered over the fields which had been his own, and which he was now about to aban don forever. He had long nerved him self to the sacrifice, however, and the thought of the honor and happiness of his daughter outweighed any regret »t hia ruined fortunes. All looked sc peaceful and happy, the rustling trees and the broad, silent stretch of grain- land, that it was difficult to realize that the spirit of murder lurked through It all. Yet the white face and set expression of the young hnatei showed that in his approach to the house he had seen enough to satisfy him upon that head. Ferrier carried the bag of gold and Botes. Jefferson Hope had the scanty provisions and water, while Lucy had the small bundle containing a few of her more valued possessions. Opening the window very slowly and carefully,, they waited until a dark cloud had eomewhaA obeeured the alghU end then one by one peseefl through into the llttlu garden. With bated breath and crouching figures they stumbled across it and gained the shelter of the hedge, which they skirted until they came to the gap which opened Into the cornfield. They had just reached this point when the young man seized his two companions and dragged them down into the shadow, where they lay silent and trembling. It was as well that his prairie train ing had given Jefferson Hope the ears ot a lynx. Me and his friends hsc hardly crouched down before the mel ancholy hooting of a mountain owl was heanl within a few yards of them, which was immediately answered by another hoot at a small distance. At the same moment a vague, shadowy figure emerged from the gap for which they had lieen making, and uttered the plaintive signal cry again, on which a second man appeared out of the ob scurity. “To-morrow at raidnight," said the first, who appeared to be in authority. "When the whippoorwill calls three times.” “It is well.” returned the other. “Shall l tell Brother Drebber?” “Fass it on to him, and from him to the others. Nino to seven!” "Seven to five!" repeated the other, and the two figures flitted away in different directions. Their concluding words had evidently been some form ol sign and countersign. The instant that their footsteps had died away in the distance, Jefferson Hope sprang to his feet, and, helping his companions through the gap, led the way across tke fields at full speed, supporting and half-carrying the girl when her strength appeared to fail her. “Hurry on! hurry on!" he gasped from time to time. "We are through the line of sentinels. Everything de pends on speed. Hurry on!” Once on the high-road they made rapid progress. Only once did they meet anyone, and then they managed to slip into a field and so avoid recogni tion. Before reaching the town the hunter branched away into a ragged and narrow footpath which led to the mountains. Two dark, jagged peaks loomed abevc them through the dark ness. and the defile which led between them was the Eagle canyon in which the horses were awaiting them. With unerring instinct Jefferson Hope picked his way among the great bowlders and along the bud of a dried- up vater-course, until he came to the retired corner, screened with rocks, where ths faithful animals had been picketed. The girl was placed upon the mule, and old Ferrier upon one of the horses, with his money-bag, while Jefferson Hope led the other along the precipitous and dangerous paths. It was a bewildering route for any one who was not accustomed to face Nature in her wildest moods. On the one side a great crag towered up a thousand feet or more, black, stern and menacing, with long basaltic columns upon its rugged surface like the ribs of some petrified monster. On the other hand a wild chaos of bowlders and debris ma le all advance impossi ble. Between the two ran the irregu lar track, so narrow in places that they had to travel in Indian file, and sc rougli that only practiced riders could have traversed it at all. Yet, in spite of all dangersundjlitllculties,the hearts of the fugitives were light within them, for every step increased the distance between them and the terrible despot ism from which thev were flying. [TO BE CONTINUED.] pHARLESTON, SUMTER AND NORTHERN RAILROAD CHARLES E. KIMBALL Receiver XU NORTH. acuk O nu. SOUTH. 1 2 AM. P.M. Lv 7.80 Charleston 8.45 ArJI 8.40 Pregnall’s 7.27 10.47 Sumter 5.27 12.05 Darlington 4.12 12 56 Bennettsville 8.21 1.20 Gibson 2.57 1.47 Hamlet 2.80 Ar 6.00 Raleigh 10.15 Lv P.M. P.M. No. 1 connnects with Seaboard Air Line at Hamlet for Raleigh Wilmington, Charlotte, Shel by, Routherfordton ;aiul at Charlotte with R. & D. Vestibule Limited for Washington and New York. I’asseu- gers can take sleepers at Charlotte at 8 :39 p. m. No. 3 passengers by this train have through Sleepers. New York to Char lotte, connects with 8. A. L. at Ham let from Charlotte, Raleigh and North, and from Wilmington, con nects with 8. C. Rv. at Pregualls for Charleston, Columbia, Augusta aud the West. Dinner at Hamlet. C. MILLARD, Superintendent. C & D. and C. Si 8. RAILROADS. . In effect Dec 8, 1893. Through Passenger Train. Leave Wadesboro 4.30 a m Bennett's 4.51am Morven’s 5.04 a in McFarland 5 17 a m Cheraw 6.00 a in Cash's 6.13 a m Society Hill 6.26 a m Dove's 6.44 a m Floyd’s 6.49 a m Darlington 7.00 a m Palmetto 7.11 a ra Arrive Florence 7.35 a m Leave Florence 7.15 p in Palmetto 7.38 p in Darlington 7.38 p in Floyd’s 7.50 p m Dove's 7 55 p m Society Hill 8 13 p m Cash’s 8.37 p m Cheraw 8.50 p tu McFarland 9.18 p in' Morven’s 9.39 p m Bennett’s 9.54 p m Arrive Wadesboro 10.15 p m Freight Train. Leave Florence 7.30 a m Darlington 8.40 a m Arrive Cheiaw 11.30 a m Leave Cheraw 1.00 p m Darlington 4.00 p m Arrive Florence 6.00 p m A. F. RAVENEL, President. N ORTHEASTERN RAILROAD. In effect Jan. 11, 1894. Bucklen's Arnica Salve. The Best Salve in the world for Cuts, Bruises, Sores. Ulcers, Salt Rheum, Fever Sores, Tetter, Chapped Hands Chilblains, Corns, and all Skin Eruptions, and positively cures Piles, or no pay required. It is guaranteed to give perfect satisfaction, or money refunded. Price 25 cents per box. For sale at Willcox & Go’s drugstore. SOUTH BOUND. No. 61 Leave Florence 7.45 a m Kingstree Lanes 9.20 a m Arrive Charleston No. 85. Leave Florence 3.37 a m Lanes 4.52 a m Arrive Charleston 6.50 a m No. 28. Leave Florence Kingstree 8.37 p m lanes 9.00 p m Arrive Charleston .11.00 p m No. 53. Leave lanes 7.05 p m Arrive Charleston 8.45 p m Train on C. A D. R. R. connects at Florence with No. 61 Train. NORTH BOUND. No. 78. Leave Charleston . 3.35 a m Lanes 5.30 a m Kingstree 5 52 a m Arrive Florence 7.10 a m No. 60 Leave Charleston . 5.00 p m Lanes Kingstree 7.25 p w Arrive Florence No. 14. Leave Charleston 8.80 p m Lanes 5.29 p m Kingstree 5.45 p m Arrive Florence 6.45 p m No. 52. Leave Charleston 7.00 a m Arrive Lanes Every Man A Capitalist. * You can become a capitalist at once by laying by a small part ol your yearly income and invest- ing it in a Tontine policy of the Equitable Life For $20 you can instantly se cure a capital of $i ,ooo (or for $200 a capital of $io,ooo), thus acquiring an estate which you may leave to your heirs, or re tain as a fund for yonr own support in old age, if your life be prolonged. Such a step will prompt you to save, wili strengthen your credit, will increase your con fidence, will preserve you from care and will give you lasting satisfaction. The Plan U Simple. The Security Absolute. It is the perfect development of the Lfe policy. To-day is the right time to get facts and figures. Address W. J. RODDEY, Manager, Por the Carolines. ROCK HILL. 5. C. XT ARTSY ILLE RAILROAD. In effect Dec 8, 1893. DAILY MIXID TRAIN Leave H&rtavil! - 6.00 a m Jovann 6.20 a m Floyd’s 6.85 a m ArriveDarlington 7.30 a m Leave Darlington - 6.30 p m Floyd’s 8.00 p m Jovann 8.30 p m Arrrlve Hartsvtlle 8.40 p m J. F. DIVINE, Oen. Sopt. No. 52 runs through to Columbia via Central R. R. of S. C. No. 78 runs solid to Wilming ton, N. C., making close connection with W. & W. R. R. for all points North. Train No. 14 runs via Wilson and Fayetteville—Short Line—and makes close connection for all points North. J. F. DIVINE. Gen. Supt. amriLMINGTON, COLUMBIA & TV AUGUSTA RALROAD. In effect Dec. 3, 1893. SOUTH BOUND. No. 55. Leave Wilmington 3-20 p m Marion 6.11 p m Arrive Florence 6.50 p m No. 50. Leave Florence 7.10 p m Sumter 8.28 p m Arrive Columbia 10.00 p m No. 68. Leave Florence 7.45 a m Arrive Sumter 9 20 a m No. 52. Leave Sumter 9.53 a m Arrive Colombia 11.06 a m No. 52 runs through from Charles ton via Central Railroad; leaving Lanes 8-40 a m, Manning 9 18 a m. NORTH BOUND. No. 51. Leave Colnmbia 4.30 a m Sumter 5-57 a m Arrive Florence 7.15 a m No. 56. Leave Florence 7.40 a m Marlon 8.23 a m Arrive Wilmington 11.10 a m No. 53. Leave Columbia 4.20 p m Arrive Sumter 5.35 p m No. 59. Leave Columbia— Sumter 5.45 p m Arrive Florence— 6.55 p m No. 53 rnns thiounu so cuarleston via central Railroad, arriving Man ning 6.15 p m. Lanes 7.00 p m, Charleston8.45 pm. Trains on Manchester and Augusta B. R-, leave Sumter dally except Sun day, 10.50 a. m., arrive Rimini 11:59 a. m. Returning leave Rimini 1.00 p. m.. arrive Sumter 2:10 p. m. Trains on Wilmington, Chadbourm and Conway Railroad leave Chad- bourn at 10 10 a m, arrive at Conway 12.30 p m, returning leave Conway at 2:00 p. m., arrive Chad bourn 4:50 p. m. Leave Chadbourn 7.00 a m and 5.15 p m, arrive at Hub 7 45 a m aud 8.00 p m. Returning leave Hub 8.15 a m and 6-30 p in, arrive at Chadbonru 9.00 a m ana 7.15 p m. Dally exeept Sunday. JOHN F, DIVINE. Gen’l Supt,