Beadle's Half Dime Library No. 162 — page 2: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

7 a ; ‘ ma a Will Wildfire in the Woods; Camp Life in the Alleghanies, BY CHARLES MORRIS, AUTHOR OF ‘‘MIKE MERRY,” ‘“‘ BLACK BESS,” “* WILL WILDFIRE,” ‘‘ HANDSOME HARRY,” ‘‘ DETECTIVE DICK,’’ ETC., ETC. CHAPTER 1. AN ARCHERY MATCH. THe sun shone warmly down upon the broad East Meadows, as the wide grassy mead was called, so brilliant now with the gay multitude gathered upon its verdant surface. On either side a stretch of woodland walled in the scene, declining on the south to a hawthorn hedge, and on the north to a shallow brawling creek, beyond which a thicket of oak and hazel closed the prospect. It was, indeed, a charming silvan retreat, shut in with green walls from ths outer world, and with the beams of an Octobersun pouring the genial warmth of the Indian summer weather upon its verdant confines. The sound of loud and merry voices filled the air, from the gayly-dressed throng of ladies and gentle- men who occupied this green recess of nature. The rattling of quivers, hung with silken scarfs from their shoulders, and the sharp twang of bow-strings, revealed the fact that this was a meeting for the ex- ercise of the old and honorable art of archery. The same fact was evidenced by the broad target, which stood near the eastern forest, with an arrow still quivering just inside the outermost of its concentric circles. The archers were gathered on a smooth spot near the creek, and were warmly criticising the effect of this last shot. **Who is next?’ cried one, a bright-haired, blue- eyed maiden, with a face like « peach blossom. “That shot will never carry away the honors.”’ “Harry Waters,” was the reply, as a light-built, handsome young man stepped actively up to the e. He had thrown back his cap, and the ruffled hair tlustered over his forehead. He tried his bow,which elded the clear twang of a harp-string. Dropping e end of the curved wood to the ground, he com- menced to select an arrow with great care. ‘‘Ts he a good shot?’ whispered the young lady who had before spoken. “That I could not say,’’ returned her friend. ‘I have never seen him draw a bow.”’ “Well, at any rate, he has not much to beat,’’ with a suggestive shrug. Adjusting the arrow to the string, the contestant slowly bent the strong bow, taking careful and de- liberate aim, his eye fixed with a keen glance on the distant target. A sharp twang. The arrow had sped. Eve ne followed the winged missile, that shot through the air like a line of light, and buried its iron point in the surface of the target. ** A bull’s-eye!”’ cried one, hastily. “A bull’s-eye? Where do you keep your eyes?” sarcastically asked a second, a tall, eiweutic framed person, whose looks were keenly xed upon the nivering arrow. ‘‘ Why, it’s outside the inner cir- e, a good six inches from the center. Come, come, Harry, you will have to do better than that, if you want to carry off the honors.” “Maybe you can beat it,’’ retorted Harry, a little nettled. **Me? Why I haven’t tried a bow and arrow since T used to have a boy’s fun, shooting at ground squir- rels in my native Buck’s county woods. Besides, it’s the ladies’ turn. I would not rob the fair Clara of her chance for a kingdom.”’ The young lady who had now taken Harry Waters’s place, turned with a smile toward the cea re- vealing a beautiful face, bright with youth and clear with hope. “Tam much obliged to Mr. Browning, I am sure,” came in musical tones from ber lips. “ His polite- ness is really delightful, under the circumstances. But he can ey much-desired opportunity after I get through. No, no!”’ returned the laughing giant hastily. “‘T won't steal your honors. There are others ahead of me. Goon. Iam satisfied to repose on my old laurels.”’ “I should fancy you would not sleep easily on them,” retorted the fair contestant. ‘‘They must be dreadfully faded. It would be best to add some fresh ones to the mass.”’ Her bow seemed rather firm and stout for her delicate hands. It was stained of a bluish tint, and stretched with a @rd of crimson silk. Carefully selecting an ep feathers of the same tint of blue, she fitted it Tothe cord, standing erect with a supple pp that was a picture to behold. 3 at Clara Moreland,” cried the blue-eyed nymph who had spoken before, ‘“Isn’t she hand- some and graceful? AndIam told she is the best shot in the Robin Hood Club.” ‘‘T have never seen her shoot,”’ was the reply. “She is a wonderful rider, though. Why, I eve she would not be afraid to dash down a precipice on her black horse, Selim. “They say she is engaged to be married to Will Wildfire,” continued thenymph, “ But, where is he? _ It is not often he lets any sport escape him.” “I should fancy this business to be out of his will / J ; **No, indeed, itis not! They practiced archery at Yale, and I am told he was as good with the bow as with the oar.” ‘** Hush! she is going to shoot!” The whole assembly was stilled in intense ex- pectation as the graceful archer stood, with her left side presented to the target, and the the Jevel of her eyes, drawn with a strength and skill that could hardly have been expected from her delicate hands. Her eye glanced quickly along the leveled arrow. An instant, and the released string twanged with a sharp, keen sound. The arrow flew across the level lain, and struck the target with a clear thud, near its center. A simultaneous outburst of applause came from the admiring throng, **Good!” “Fine!” ‘The best shot to-day!’ ‘‘Is it a bull’s-eye?” ‘No.’ “Not an inch from the center, anyway!’’ were some of the admiring com- ments on the shot, while a perfect medley of excited remarks arose in the crowd surrounding the archers. Clara stood a little aside, her face flushed with pardonable pride, while these flattering comments on her skill met her ear. ** How is it?” was the cry shot returned with the victorious arrow. touched the bull’s-eye? Is it a center?” ‘* Just outside the bull’s-eye,’’ was the announce- ment, “about two and a half inches from the center. The best shot to-day by a good three inches.”’ Clara was instantly surrounded by her friends, who vied with each other in warm congratulations. Several other contestants followed, with varied success. Finally the pretty young lady, who had been so free in her comments on the previous com- tena stepped forward, bearing a slender, delicate ow, that seemed but a toy as compared with those used by some of the others. Her blue eyes glittered with excitement as she took her stand, while she —— back the wealth of golden hair, that seemed ent on getting into her eyes. ‘“*Come, come, Miss Darling!’ exclaimed the huge fellow who had before spoken, while a mischievous smile played around his lips. ‘“‘Itis hardly fair to the rest for you to enter. There will not be a ghost of a chance with one who shoots two ways, with an arrow from your bow at the target, and a twin pair of arrows from your eyes at the hearts of the poor men.” “*T would par like to try a center shot at your heart,” she saucily replied. ‘I would not care to have my arrows blunted.” ‘“*Me? Why Iam as soft-hearted as ababy. You have shot me through and through before now,”’ “You don’t dare to match me at the target, at any rate,’’ she retorted, in a tone of slight vexation. “T would advise you not to be too sure of that. I never refuse a fair challenge.” ‘** Very well, then,” quickly replied the lady. “* You can shoot afterme. We will see what right you have to come here and criticise us.” ‘*Beware, misguided female,”’ returned her op- ponent. ‘* Beware how you invite defeat.” “fT do not fear your skill,’’ was her laughing re- sponse, as she quickly drew her light bow, and shot the arrow seemingly without aim. ‘*A pair of gloves against a kiss it does not touch the target,” challenged the laughing giant. ‘** Done!” cried the blue-eyed archer, with a saucy look. ‘* Mind, sir, I shall hold you to your wager.” ‘** And mind, miss, I shall hold you.” The arrow, at this instant, reached the target, and buried its point in its outer edge, almost missing it. ‘The gloves are mine,’’ she cried gayly. *But, oh! how desperately near you were to be- ing kissed,”’ he maliciously rejoined. ‘No matter. It is your turn now.” “ But I have no bow.” ‘*Borrow one then. , as the measurers of the “Has it You shall not escape so easily.” With a an of affected dismay, Mr. Brownin turned, and borrowed a bow and arrow from one o his friends. “Prepare now, ladies and gentlemen,” he an- nounced, ‘‘to see a display of skill that will put to the blush the celebrated Locksley of the amet Pre- are to crown Pierce Browning, the modern Robi ‘‘A gilk purse to a necktie you don’t touch the . exclaimed Miss Darling. *“Done!” cried the archer. ‘‘ You have robbed me be pair of gloves. I am good for a purse in their e bb] The carelessness of his shot even exceeded hers. The arrow flew without any apparent aim. ‘A center!’’ he exclaimed. ‘‘ Yes, the center of the woods,” she retorted, while a loud laugh of amusement arose as it became evident that the arrow had flown wide of the target. ‘Tt has gone clear through,” he sturdily decl “ Look, and you will find the hole it has made.” ““A pretty broad hole, through that clump of oak timber,” suggested a voice. ‘You can add t necktie to the gloves, friend Pierce.” Miss Darling turned quickly at the voice. ‘‘Ah! here is the missing archer now. They have been waiting for you, Mr. Wildfire.” “ Better late than never,” replied the new-comer, as he stepped forward. He was a handsome, athletic, well-built youth, with a smooth face except for a budding mustache, and a is? frank and engaging expression of counte- nance. There was something eovcg.! his clear and genial eye, while his whole fa instinct with honor, courage and gayety. “ Will Wildfire!” exclaimed a dozen voices. ‘ What has kept you? Your name was called a half an hour taking in ce seemed ago. | ‘ Business,"’ he sententiously replied. ‘‘ You will Wildfire in the Woods, st” ow, lifted to | | | ' and bent the flexible bow, with the full have to excuse me. Iam not fn the beat of humor for shooting to-day.”’ “No, sir,’’ reto Pierce Browning. ‘‘ You must take your chance. You didn’t find me back down when 1 was called upon.”’ ‘* You couldn't very well help yourself,’ rejoined Will, with a glance at the anita face of Miss Dar- ling. ‘Lend me a bow, then. I will go through the motions.” : While they were procuring him a bow he turned to Pierce Browning, and whispered in his ear: ‘There is some fun afloat, my boy. The devil is unchained,”’ ** What?—Mark—”’ “‘Hush! It’s a fact though. Pardoned out!" A grimace passed over Pierce’s expressive coun- tenance, while Will turned, with an unchanged look and took the bow which the master of the field had obtained for him, ** 1 presume I may as well be beaten as any one,” he laughingly remarked. ‘‘ Who stands best now?” ‘* Miss Clara Moreland,’’ was the a. ‘“Ah!’’ said Will, looking around, and catching an expressive glance from the young lady in questlon, while he answered with a warm smile. “It would be unfair to beat the lady,”’ he remark- ed, fitting the arrow to the string. A pause of expectation followed. None there had seen the new archer shoot, but his well known skill in other sports gave them hope of marked ability in this, and every eye was fixed upon his tall and rae - ful figure, as he drew himself up to his full hight, ower of a strong hand. Thestring touched his right ear; an in- stant he glanced along the arrow; every breath was held in expectation. But at this instant a sharp report, as of a rifle- shot, came from the thicket, and the archer’s h struck by the bullet, was torn from his head, an dashed to the ground, twenty feet away. A closer setting of the lips wasthe only evidenoe of emotion in Will Wildfire’s face, as he quick wheeled around upon his heel, with the bow st bent to its utmost stretch. A faint puff of smoke was rising above a spot in the center of the thicket. A sharp twang announced that the arrow had fled, aimed with instant but steady aim at the spot which sheltered this secret assassin. And quick as a flash Will had followed his arrow, - across the stony creek and into the thicket. “Follow me, Pierce!’ he cried, “The devil is loose, in good earnest !”’ CHAPTER Il. WILL WILDFIRE’S BAREBACK FEAT. FRONTING on Fairmount avenue, Philadelphia, at a int West of Twentieth street, stands a gloomy and sing edifice, whose massive turreted tov: and crenulated walls give it the - Bignhon + Fs a Norman castle, of those old times when might ruled go over the fair domains of England and France, ts object, however, is widely different from that of the castellated structures of the past. They wero built to keep people out; this to keep them in; for it is what is locally known as Cherry Hill prison, or to give it its formal title, the Eastern Penitentiary of Pennsylvania. Tn a cell ip the interior of this edifice, sits a small framed, rather handsome man, though with some- thing in his glance that is not of the most prepos- sessing character. The cell he fg is clean and neat, but very sparsely furnished. It opens in the rear upon a small garden plot, lee large enough to give a breath of fresh air, and a scant opportunity for exercise to the weary prisoner. He has, however, an opening for exercise of another character, in the bench, ls and materials of a shoemaker, which sit at one side of his cell, and with which he is required to employ himself, for the performance of a certain task. Just now he is seated on the edge of his cot, usf his shoemaker’s knife in idly cutting thin strips of leather from a ge which he holds in his hand; while an expression of bitter malignity plays upon his features. ‘“T will be even with him yet,’ he hoarsely re- marks. ‘‘ They cannot oe me here, with all the influence I have brought to bear upon the Pardon- ing Board. Once let me out of this infernal cell, and I will make him feel what revenge means in the heart of Mark n. He has had his day. Mine will come yet.”’ ‘ He sat brooding in sullen silence for some min- utes, aig 8 the leather with a peculiar savage energy, as if he fancied it the heart of his foe. His expression grew more bitter and malignant, ** Robbed of my fortune first,’’ he muttered, “ Of my bride next, and then of my liberty. Besides all the minor favors which I owe to his generosity, Let him take heed. He has sown a deep harvest of revenge, which he shall yet reap. I swear it, as I am a living man!” Furiously flinging down the implements which he held in his hands, he sprung to his feet and walked briskly along the narrow confines of the cell, his lips working with inaudible sentences. : ‘*When will I get out of this cell?’ he furiously exclaimed. ‘‘ When will I get at my mortal foe? Oh! that I could tear down these accursed walls, and break again into the light of day and of liberty!” He paused in his furieus walk. The sound had reached his ears of steps advancing along the prison aisles, and stopping opposite his door, Voices were next hea ‘* Ts this the cell?” “Yes, Number 79. Here is the name, you mee. Mark Preston.”’ : ‘“Yes, yes. That seems right. Open the door,” j cS Eomichboo (E(o)