THE HUNTER HERCULES,
OR,
THE CHAMPION RIDER OF THE PLAINS.
A ROMANCE OF THE PRAIRIES.
BY HARRY ST. GEORGE.
NEW YORK.
BEADLE AND ADAMS, PUBLISHERS,
98 WILLIAM STREET.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1872, by
FRANK STARR & CO.,
In the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.
CONTENTS
I The Young Hunter’s First Prize 9
II The Knight and the “Ladie Fair.” 11
III The Comanches’ Prize 14
IV The Two Wizards 18
V Two Queer Men 22
VI The Circus-Rider Magician 27
VII A Trial of Speed for Scalps 31
VIII The Manitou Must be Obeyed 35
IX The White Wizard Drugs the Guard 39
X A Wild Race for Life 44
XI Muzzle to Muzzle, and Who Will Win? 48
XII Chased by the Flames 52
XIII Fighting Fire with Fire 57
XIV A Brilliant Exploit With an Umbrella 61
XV Why Ralph Was Called the “Hunter Hercules.” 66
XVI Donna Iola Meets the Trailers 70
XVII A Stern Chase is Generally a Long One 74
XVIII Red Buffalo Meets His Fate 77
XIX Hilt to Hilt and Face to Face 82
XX Winding up the Tale 86
THE HUNTER HERCULES;
OR,
THE CHAMPION RIDER OF THE PLAINS.
CHAPTER I.
THE YOUNG HUNTER’S FIRST PRIZE.
It was a beautiful scene. Not a cloud marred the vast blue dome of
heaven. Autumn reigned supreme in the Lone Star State, where brave
Houston fought, and valiant Bowie fell at the Alamo. Near the Comanche
ground on the far north-western border of the State we would bring the
reader on this bright, cheerful morning in October.
The prairie which, a month or two before, had presented a beautiful
aspect of flowers and green grass, had been literally baked to a rich
brown color, and now, moved by the breeze that was blowing the long, dry
grass, looked for all the world like the waves of the ocean or an inland
sea.
Riding leisurely across the prairie was a young man of about twenty-two
or three. He wore a complete suit of fine buck-skin, which, it was
plainly apparent, had been made by a “regular” tailor, for it bore none
of the marks which almost always distinguish the clothes of the old
trapper.
The suit was beautifully made and ornamented, and truly became the fine
form of the owner. The head-covering of the young equestrian was a large
felt, which kept the sun from his face and might prove almost as
effective as an umbrella, in case of a shower.
The face underneath the hat was a resolute one.
The eyes were gray and piercing; the nose, rather large and slightly
inclined to the Roman, but was perfect for all that; the cheek-bones
high and the mouth firm.
On his upper lip, the rider sported a fine mustache, and taken
altogether, he was a very “good-looking fellow.”
The form of the young hunter was not large, but there appeared to be a
vast amount of strength in that well-knit frame.
The horse upon which he was seated was a large bay, the exquisite shape
of whose limbs proved that it was a good runner. The horse had indeed
been selected on account of its speed, and could show a clean pair of
heels to ninety-nine out of a hundred of its fellows.
The arms of the young man consisted of a light rifle which he carried
across the pommel of his saddle, a pair of revolvers in his belt, and,
keeping them company, was a sharp, two-edged hunting knife. Although a
stranger on the plains of the Great West, Chauncy Branrare was no novice
in the art of hunting. He could bring down a deer as well as the most
experienced hunter. His hand was steady and his eye quick and sure.
He was the only son of a wealthy citizen of New York, and had made this
trip to the South-west in a spirit of adventure. Chauncy had traveled
over Europe; had hunted in Asia, Africa and South America, and was now
to satisfy his love of the wild excitements of the chase by a season in
the South-west.
Chauncy had intended to secure an old hunter for a guide, who was an old
friend of his father’s. Many years before, the two had fought in the
Mexican war, side by side, and the hunter’s life had been saved by his
comrade in arms, which made them good friends. After the war Chauncy’s
father returned to his home in the North, and several times received
scrawling letters from the old hunter, but the two had never seen each
other since their parting.
Disappointed in meeting the old Texan, Chauncy had started out alone,
determined that he would not wait in the little border town for the old
ranger’s return.
He had a mission to accomplish if possible, for he had not come out for
the hunting alone. An uncle had died and left two-thirds of his estate,
which was large, to an adopted son and the other third to Chauncy. This
adopted son having had a quarrel with the uncle had gone “out West.” No
one had heard of him for years, and it was not an unlikely thing for him
to be dead.
Mr. Branrare was to institute a search for him, and if he was not found
at the end of a year, then the former was to assume possession of the
fortune bequeathed to the missing man.
The horse of the young man was approaching one of the numerous “mottes”
of trees which spot the prairies of Texas. Suddenly he started and
looked around.
It was a sound which, in any place, would have awakened all that was
chivalrous in his nature. It was a cry for help, and it was a woman’s
voice!
It came from the trees, not once but twice—thrice, and without
hesitation the young hunter dashed his spurs into the sides of his
horse, when, like a flash, the noble animal darted forward and in a
moment reached the trees.
Throwing himself from his horse, Chauncy rushed in among the undergrowth
rifle in hand. He reached the edge of a small glade with a few bounds,
and a thrilling sight was before him.
On the limb of a tree opposite to him was a large panther flattened out
for a leap. Not five yards from the tree was a young girl, her face
blanched with terror!