When Coyote Bill and Jack had disappeared, and a glance in the
direction Henderson had gone showed me that he also had vanished, I
began to think about myself. I was alone on the prairie, but I didn’t
care for that as much as I did for the safety of Bob Davenport and
the men who had gone away with him. I staked out my horse, and while
I was thinking about it, it occurred to me that now was the time to
find Henderson’s revolver. I had taken particular notice of where
it fell; and after half an hour’s looking I had the satisfaction of
securing the weapon which had so nearly been the cause of my death. It
was silver-mounted, of forty-five calibre, just big enough to take the
cartridges intended for his rifle, and on the trigger-guard bore the
name of its luckless owner, Clifford Henderson.
“Good!” said I, taking my steps back toward the ranch. “As often as
I look at it I shall remember him, and if Bob doesn’t want it, I will
always keep it. Let’s see what effect this bullet would have had upon
me.”
Sitting on a tree close by was a robin--I knew that the weather was
getting cold up North, for the birds had already come down to us--and I
tried the bullet on the robin from where I stood, and saw him come down
without his head. If Clifford Henderson was as good a shot as I was, he
could not well have missed me at that distance.
The next thing was to find something to eat, and then came a pipe,
during which I thought the matter over. There was one thing on which I
had long ago made up my mind, even before separating from Coyote Bill,
and that was that Bob Davenport should not be permitted to stay in
that ranch any longer than I could help. Coyote Bill was determined to
have that money or drive him from the country. I gained this much from
the conversation that Bill had had with some of his men, and how was I
to prevent it? I was going to the States, and I was resolved that Bob
should go too. I was getting sick and tired of so much pistol-drawing,
I did not want to see any more of it, and I would get back among
civilized men. There was where I belonged, anyway. And Tom Mason, he
must go along too, and relieve the suspense which I knew his aged
relative would feel at not hearing from him in so long. He did not know
but Tom was dead, and a letter would go far to cheer him up. But how
should I go to work upon Bob and Tom and so get them out on the water,
where I could tell them everything? Well, there was another day coming,
and I would see how it looked after I had slept on it.
The next day passed and still another, and in the meantime I employed
myself in bringing order out of the confusion in the ranch and making
it look as though somebody lived there, and not a sign did I see of the
returning Bob Davenport. I began to think something had happened to
them. I did not dare to go out to look for them, for I might run across
some men belonging to Coyote Bill’s band, who wouldn’t treat me half as
well as their leader did, so I thought I had best stay right where I
was. On the evening of the sixth day, when I had got so worked up that
I didn’t think I could stand it any longer, I was startled out of a
year’s growth by seeing a body of horsemen approaching the ranch.
“Is that Henderson?” I exclaimed, feeling the cold chills creep all
over me. “If it is, he has brought men enough with him to complete his
work. I will give them as good as I have got.”
I rushed into the house, and when I came out my rifle was in my hands
and my revolvers strapped around my waist. The horsemen had by this
time approached near the ranch, and I could make out that one of them
was Bob Davenport. How I cheered and yelled at them! An answering yell
came in response, and in a few minutes I was shaking my friends by the
hand. I never hoped to see them looking so well; there wasn’t one of
them that had been hurt. To repeat the questions that were propounded
to me were impossible, but in a few minutes I gave them to understand
that I had escaped from the enemy all right, that I had seen the place
where Sam Noble had been knocked in the head, and that I had stayed
around outside the ranch for two days before I mustered up courage
enough to return to it. Oh, what a lie that was! But it served my
purpose very well, and besides I told Bill that I wouldn’t repeat what
he said about Bob, where it would do him any harm. When I got him away
I could tell him my story. Did I do wrong in keeping the promise I made
to an outlaw? Remember he was the man who had placed me where I was
that day. If that man had withdrawn his protection from me I would have
died an agonizing death.
“Well, you have had a time of it!” said Bob, who pulled up a chair and
seated himself beside me. “We have been to Austin twice, and Tom got a
letter off to his uncle.”
“Good enough!” said I, feeling that a big load had been removed from my
shoulders. “Tom, you and I will go to the States together.”
“Are you going, too?” exclaimed Bob. “Well, I am going, and that will
make three. Elam, here, thinks he can’t go.”
In fact I hadn’t looked toward Elam, but I looked at him now, and his
face was as long as you please. He didn’t like it when his friends were
talking of going away and leaving him.
“And that isn’t all,” continued Bob. “You know that those soldiers
who came by here before you left told us that the savages had made an
attack on the paymaster, and made an attempt to secure the thirty-five
thousand dollars which he was taking to pay off the garrison at Fort
Worth. They tried to shoot the mules, and they got all of them except
one, and he ran most all the way to Austin.”
“Didn’t they catch him?” I asked; and I felt that I was going to hear
something thrilling. Bill’s men had spoken of this a time or two,
and predicted that Tom’s luck would stand him well in hand if he was
disposed to look for this mule, too, but somehow I didn’t pay much
attention to them; but now I knew that Tom had had a finger in this
also. That fellow just beat the world for finding things!
“Has Tom found it?” I continued, so amazed that I could hardly speak.
“Yes, sir! Tom has found it,” said Bob. “We heard about it when we were
in Austin, but we had so many other things to think of that we hardly
thought of it again; but on our way home we ran across the mule in a
little grove of post-oaks.”
“Dead, was he?”
“As dead as a door-nail. But we found the specie all right, and we
took it back to Austin, and gave it to a paymaster there. You see the
paymaster that had charge of the money was killed in the fight. We told
him that we wanted a thousand dollars for giving it up, and he said he
would write on to Washington and see what they said about it.”
“I don’t want anything for it,” said Tom.
“That’s what he tried to say when he was in the presence of the
paymaster,” said Bob. “The United States is worth more than he is, and
I resolved that he should have that amount of money. That was fair,
wasn’t it? We’ll stop and get it when we go back.”
“Of course it was. But, Bob, what put it into your head to go up to the
States?”
“Well, I think I will be safer there than I will anywhere else,”
said Bob. “Those fellows were after my money, I can see that plainly
enough, and I will take it and put it in some bank out of their reach.
Perhaps then they will let me alone. I have given all my cattle to Lem
and Frank to keep for me until I come back. You don’t see many cattle
around here, do you?”
I confessed that I had not seen a head of stock since I came to the
ranch, and that was six days ago. But I knew where they were. Those
that had escaped the clutches of the savages were mixed up with Mr.
Chisholm’s cattle, and it would be a week’s job to get them out.
“I am glad you have decided to go, and I didn’t know how I was going to
talk it into you,” said I. “You will have to see Mr. Chisholm first. He
is your guardian, you know. But what are you going to do with Elam? He
must be provided for.”
“He has hired him out to Lem and me,” said Frank.
I looked at Elam, and he didn’t seem to be at all satisfied with the
change. He sat with his elbows resting on his knees and his eyes
fastened on the floor. Bob got up, moved his chair close to his side,
and threw his arm over Elam’s shoulder.
“If this doesn’t suit you, say the word, and you will go North with
me,” said he. “Our people up there will be glad to see you.”
“No, I can’t do it,” said Elam. “I’d see so many broadcloth fellers
up there that I’d want to get away an’ hide in a belt of post-oaks. I
don’t belong up there, anyway.”
“But, Elam, I am coming back.”
“Well, when you come back, I’ll talk to you. Now, go away an’ let me
alone. I can bear it best by myself.”
To make a long story short--for we lost no time in getting out of
Texas--we made up our minds to start for Mr. Chisholm’s bright and
early the next morning. It would take us two days to get there. Bob had
all my money, as well as the funds belonging to the cowboys, and we
knew that they were safe. I said nothing about my coming back to search
for the hidden valuables in the hope of turning them over to Coyote
Bill, or about Henderson’s attempts to draw a revolver on me, for that
was a part of Bill’s plan to aid me in my escape; and, besides, that
was a secret that was locked in my own breast until we got to sea.
“Poor Sam won’t want his money any more,” said I. “I saw the place
where he lost his life. But the other two cowboys I didn’t see. I hope
they are at Mr. Chisholm’s.”
I never slept so well in that ranch as I did that night, for I looked
upon it as a little short of a miracle that my party had all come back
to me. They had travelled all the way to Austin twice, and had never
seen an Indian. That was better than I did, for I wanted to tell of
the scenes I had witnessed in that camp, but there was no need of it.
When morning came, and we started on our way, I kept a close watch of
the prairie almost in fear of seeing some of Bill’s band, but they
had taken their eight hundred cattle away to be slaughtered, and I
never saw them again. Eight hundred cattle, did I say? I believed they
had more than that. By separating his band after the attack on the
paymaster was made, the chief had been able to attack half a dozen
ranches almost at the same moment, and got away with some cattle at
each place. I thought that eight thousand head of stock would more
nearly fill his bill. In due time we pulled up at Mr. Chisholm’s ranch
just at supper time, and there I saw something that made me feel
good--a couple of fellows sitting in chairs, who were evidently too
badly hurt to move about. The one had an arrow through his foot, the
other had something the matter with his arm; but the way they greeted
us proved that there was nothing the trouble with their lungs. They
were the two cowboys who had been out with Sam Noble herding stock. But
they had not seen me when I was captured, they were miles away by that
time, and so I breathed easy.
“Well, by gum! if you fellows aint here yet,” said Mr. Chisholm. “Where
did you leave the Indians?”
“Didn’t see any while we were gone,” said Bob, who ran up the stairs
to the porch and fairly hugged the wounded cowboys. “How do you do,
anyway? You have seen some Indians, haven’t you? How did you boys
manage to escape?”
It was a story that was soon told. The Indians got after them down at
the gully--how well I remembered where it was!--and killed Sam and his
horse dead at the first fire. The others threw themselves behind their
horses, Indian fashion, and got safely off, if we except the two arrows
that went through them.
“But my money is what troubles me,” said the one who did the talking.
“My money is what bothers me, dog-gone ’em! They went to our ranch an’
got everything we had.”
“How do you know?” asked Bob. “I slept at the ranch last night, and
found something.”
“I guess you dug it up before you went away, didn’t you?” said the
cowboy, who was overjoyed to hear that his money was safe. “I can rest
easy now. That’s what comes of having a friend.”
That night, after supper, the money which Bob had taken the precaution
to carry with him, when running from the Indians, was again paid out to
the men with the exception of the thousand dollars due Sam Noble. This
was paid to Mr. Chisholm in the hope that some of his heirs might claim
it, when it was to be given to them. Then our errand was broached--that
we were going to the States--and it threw a damper on all of them,
all except Mr. Chisholm. He had been thinking about it ever since the
attack was made upon the paymaster, and to our surprise and delight he
said:
“Boys, it is the best thing you can do, and the sooner you get about it
the better you will suit me. If you were my own boys who were going off
I couldn’t feel worse about it. But you don’t say anything about Elam.”
“He doesn’t want to go,” said Bob. “But we are coming back here again,
or at least to Denver, and if he will buy some cattle and get back
there by next summer, we will see him.”
“I can’t go,” said Elam. “I don’t belong in that country anyway.”
The next thing was to arrange it so that Elam could work for some of
the cowboys during the winter, and so be on hand to buy the cattle
when spring opened up. Finding the two wounded cowboys there with
Mr. Chisholm slightly interfered with our plans, for now we were
compelled to divide the stock into four instead of two equal parts;
but the cowboys were all in favor of it, and each one agreed to take
Elam as long as he was willing to stay with them. But Elam was already
satisfied with the arrangements he had made with Lem and Frank, and
concluded he would stay with them. When he made this decision he got up
and went out of doors. I could see that Bob didn’t like it a bit. He
wished he could prevail upon Elam to go North with him.
“It isn’t any use,” said Mr. Chisholm. “He belongs down here, and here
he is going to stay. Now let’s go to bed, all of us. In the morning I
will have you up at the first peep of day.”
The next morning we ate breakfast by the aid of the light thrown out
by the camp fire on the hearth, and before we were fairly done we
received the order “catch up.” I tell you it was hard work to part from
those wounded cowboys, for we had known them longer than we had anybody
else. The one who had the arrow through his arm insisted that he would
go to Austin with us, but Mr. Chisholm, like Uncle Ezra in a similar
case, “put his foot down,” and said he should stay right there on the
ranch and never go out of it until he came back. We waved our hats to
them as long as we remained in sight, and when the neighboring swells
hid them from view, we felt that we had parted from some of our best
friends. In due time we reached Austin and put up at the same hotel we
stopped at before, only Lem and Frank didn’t receive orders to sit on
the porch and look out for Henderson. We all put away our horses and
bent our steps toward the bank. The cashier was there, and he said Mr.
Wallace was in his private office. He was busy with his papers,--in
fact he always seemed to be busy,--but he laid them down when we came
in.
“Hello, Chisholm,” said he. “What’s up?”
“These boys here have made up their minds to go to the States, and I
want to sign Bob’s papers,” said he. “Get ’em all out so’t I can have
them off’n my mind.”
“Ah, yes! sit down,” said the banker. “Bob, how are you? You see, you
didn’t go through any forms the last time you were here, and I must
have some now. If this boy is going to take his money away from me and
deposit it in some Northern bank, I must have a paper which authorizes
me to give up the money. It was all right before, but it has got to be
changed now,” he added, when he saw Mr. Chisholm double up his huge
fist and move it up and down over the table. “Sit down, and I’ll send
for a lawyer to come right here.”
It was all very easy for the banker to say “sit down,” but Mr. Chisholm
preferred to stand, seeing that none of his men could be seated at the
same time. Mr. Wallace sent for a lawyer, giving some instructions
which I did not understand, and in a few minutes the gentleman made
his appearance with a roll of papers in his hand. He received some
orders from Mr. Wallace, and in less time than it takes to tell it
the document was ready for his signature. Mr. Chisholm protested, but
he signed his name, and then the money was ready for Bob; the banker
presenting him with the box which contained his stocks and bonds, and
with a check drawn on a bank on New Orleans for the rest of his funds.
“Now, Bob, good-by,” said the banker, rising to his feet and extending
his hand. “I hope you will get through with your money safe. Don’t let
anybody steal it from you.”
“Steal it?” echoed Bob.
“Certainly. You will find plenty of people on the road who will gladly
relieve you of that box. Put it in your trunk, and stand guard over it
day and night.”
“By George! I never thought of that,” said Bob, looking distressed.
“Elam, you come with me. Mr. Chisholm and Tom will have to go with the
rest to call upon that paymaster.”
Tom Mason knew where to find the paymaster’s office, and with the
distinct understanding that he was to ask for one thousand dollars
for returning that money, we left the banker, and Bob pursued his way
to his hotel. We found the paymaster there, and he recognized Tom the
moment he came in.
“You’re back already, aint you?” said he. “Well, I haven’t heard from
Washington yet, but I tell you plainly that I don’t think you will
receive more than one-tenth of the sum you returned to us. Five hundred
dollars will more than pay you for that.”
“These boys have made up their minds to go to the States,” said Mr.
Chisholm.
“Very well. You have a power of attorney, I suppose?”
“No, I haven’t got that,” said Mr. Chisholm, wondering what new “form”
he would have to go through.
“You will have to go to an attorney to get it,” said the paymaster. “Of
course, if he is going away, I shall have to have authority to pay the
money to somebody.”
“By gum! Bring on the paper,” said Mr. Chisholm, looking around for a
chair in which to seat himself.
“But I haven’t got the paper here. You will have to go to a lawyer to
get it.”
Mr. Chisholm slowly went out of the paymaster’s office, and we all
followed him. He kept on without saying a word, and finally he stopped
in the office of the surrogate--the same man who had looked into his
pistol when he was here before. In a few words he made known to him the
situation.
“Why, certainly; you must have a power of attorney if you want to
get the money,” said the surrogate. “I will make you out one in five
minutes. But, mind you, you needn’t show it until you see a chance of
getting the money.”
This new “form” was complied with, and Mr. Chisholm paid the surrogate
the sum of ten dollars for his paper. In fact, I noticed that he didn’t
charge less than ten dollars for anything. On the way back to the hotel
Tom offered him the money, but Mr. Chisholm waved it aside.
“I am willing to pay ten dollars to have my eyes opened,” said he. “If
anybody ever gets me to sign any papers again, I want to know it. I am
done probating wills.”
Bob was considerably disappointed when he found that Tom wasn’t going
to get his money, but of course he saw that it was all right. The next
day we spent in buying clothes, and devoted the next to the purchase of
souvenirs to remind Tom of his cattle life in Texas. On the next day
Tom’s letter came. Some parts of it were brief and to the point, and
ran as follows:
You had better come home now, and forget all about that five thousand
dollars. You didn’t take it anyway, and why should the matter be laid
to you? Your uncle walks with a cane, and was so excited over your
letter that he brought it to me to reply to it. Come home and see him
at any rate.
Tom Mason was in dead earnest to go home after receiving that letter.
He never expected to receive a letter like that from Joe Coleman, but
then Joe wasn’t down on him any more than the rest of “Our Fellows”
were. The very next day we brought our trunks down, all ready to take
the stage to Houston by way of Clinton, six miles from the sea. Mr.
Chisholm was there as well as the cowboys, but I couldn’t see anything
of Elam. I had already given him my horse, and the way he received it
told me that he considered that a good-by.
“Well, boys, if I don’t see you again, hallo,” said Mr. Chisholm,
hastily drawing his hand across his eyes. “You are going far away, and
there’s no knowing what will happen to you. So-long.”
We got aboard, the driver cracked his whip, and we were whirled away
from some of the best friends a man ever had. Bob was very lonely after
that, and it was only when he reached Clinton and saw the steamer that
was to carry him across the Gulf to New Orleans, that he recovered his
usual spirits. Tom Mason now assumed charge--he was more at home in
that line of business than we were--and in less than half an hour after
we reached Clinton we were aboard the ship, our passage paid, and we
were sitting on the deck watching the stevedores at their labor. This I
thought to be a good time for my story, and I brought out the revolver
with Clifford Henderson’s name on the trigger guard, and for an hour
those fellows scarcely interrupted me. They listened spellbound. When I
was through they drew a long breath of relief.
“You have kept your word, if it was made to an outlaw,” said Bob. “Now,
what do you suppose his object was? He has always seen something about
you that took his eye.”
“I am as much in the dark as you are,” I replied. “I only know that he
saved me from death.”
For a long time after this Coyote Bill was our principal subject of
conversation, until the steamer got under way, and then we had other
topics to talk about. In due time we arrived in New Orleans and there
we spent just one day, in order to deposit our money in the bank.
We did not know how long we should remain at Tom Mason’s home, and
we thought that would be the best place for it. At four o’clock we
took passage on a steamer from which we were not to get off until we
reached Tom’s destination. The torches were lighted when we drew up to
the landing, but we saw there a carriage and an old gray-headed man
leaning on a cane. I knew it was General Mason before Tom spoke.
“There’s my uncle!” he exclaimed, almost wild with delight. “My
goodness, how he has changed!”
Tom ran down to the forecastle and cleared the long jump of ten feet to
reach the bank, and hastened up to where the old man stood. We turned
away, for we did not care to see that meeting between uncle and nephew,
and when we got our luggage ashore, and the steamer was backing out
to continue her journey up the river, Tom came down to us. It was the
first time I had seen him cry, but he blew his nose with a blast like a
trumpet.
“These are the boys who stood up for me when I was friendless and
alone,” said he. “Bob Davenport and Carlos Burnett. I really wish Elam
was here, so that you could shake him by the hand, for he is the one
who took me up when I was starving.”
“Where is he?” ejaculated the old gentleman, who tried not to show how
delighted he was. “Go and get him. I want to see him.”
As it was somewhere near a thousand miles to the place where we had
left Elam, we didn’t say anything about going after him. We passed it
off in some way, and followed the old man into the carriage. We didn’t
go to sleep at all that night, for the general was anxious to hear
where we had been, and what we had been doing, since Tom went away.
When day broke I went on the porch and looked around. There was a
splendid plantation; everything was in apple-pie order, and a host of
servants ready to do his bidding, and what Tom could make by running
away from a home like that, I didn’t see. I expressed as much to him
when he came out there later.
“Because I was a fool,” said he. “Nobody could make anything by
running away from a home like this, but I tell you it has opened my
eyes. I feel as if I had got among friends from whom I have long been
separated.”
That day I made the acquaintance of “Our Fellows,” who rode down to see
us, and I tell you I found them good fellows, every one. Tom Mason was
getting up on a par with Sandy Todd now, for with this exception he was
head and shoulders above every one of them. His sleeping in the open
air for almost a year had done wonders for him.
We haven’t been to the plains yet to settle up with Uncle Ezra and to
see Elam, but we are going as soon as spring opens. After that Tom will
settle down as he used to be before, only he will have the management
of the plantation. I have been hunting on several occasions with “Our
Fellows,” and if you could see Tom when he was toasting his shins in
front of our camp-fire and telling his stories, you would say that none
of his adventures ever had so great an effect on him as those that
befell him in Texas.
THE END.
* * * * *
FAMOUS STANDARD JUVENILE LIBRARIES.
ANY VOLUME SOLD SEPARATELY AT $1.00 PER VOLUME
(Except the Sportsman’s Club Series, Frank Nelson Series and Jack
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Each Volume Illustrated. 12mo. Cloth.
* * * * *
HORATIO ALGER, JR.
The enormous sales of the books of Horatio Alger, Jr., show the
greatness of his popularity among the boys, and prove that he is one
of their most favored writers. I am told that more than half a million
copies altogether have been sold, and that all the large circulating
libraries in the country have several complete sets, of which only two
or three volumes are ever on the shelves at one time. If this is true,
what thousands and thousands of boys have read and are reading Mr.
Alger’s books! His peculiar style of stories, often imitated but never
equaled, have taken a hold upon the young people, and, despite their
similarity, are eagerly read as soon as they appear.
Mr. Alger became famous with the publication of that undying book,
“Ragged Dick, or Street Life in New York.” It was his first book for
young people, and its success was so great that he immediately devoted
himself to that kind of writing. It was a new and fertile field for a
writer then, and Mr. Alger’s treatment of it at once caught the fancy
of the boys. “Ragged Dick” first appeared in 1868, and ever since then
it has been selling steadily, until now it is estimated that about
200,000 copies of the series have been sold.
--_Pleasant Hours for Boys and Girls._
A writer for boys should have an abundant sympathy with them. He should
be able to enter into their plans, hopes, and aspirations. He should
learn to look upon life as they do. Boys object to be written down to.
A boy’s heart opens to the man or writer who understands him.
--From _Writing Stories for Boys_, by Horatio Alger, Jr.
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* * * * *
HARRY CASTLEMON.
HOW I CAME TO WRITE MY FIRST BOOK.
When I was sixteen years old I belonged to a composition class. It was
our custom to go on the recitation seat every day with clean slates,
and we were allowed ten minutes to write seventy words on any subject
the teacher thought suited to our capacity. One day he gave out “What a
Man Would See if He Went to Greenland.” My heart was in the matter, and
before the ten minutes were up I had one side of my slate filled. The
teacher listened to the reading of our compositions, and when they were
all over he simply said: “Some of you will make your living by writing
one of these days.” That gave me something to ponder upon. I did not
say so out loud, but I knew that my composition was as good as the best
of them. By the way, there was another thing that came in my way just
then. I was reading at that time one of Mayne Reid’s works which I had
drawn from the library, and I pondered upon it as much as I did upon
what the teacher said to me. In introducing Swartboy to his readers
he made use of this expression: “No visible change was observable in
Swartboy’s countenance.” Now, it occurred to me that if a man of his
education could make such a blunder as that and still write a book, I
ought to be able to do it, too. I went home that very day and began a
story, “The Old Guide’s Narrative,” which was sent to the _New York
Weekly_, and came back, respectfully declined. It was written on both
sides of the sheets but I didn’t know that this was against the rules.
Nothing abashed, I began another, and receiving some instruction, from
a friend of mine who was a clerk in a book store, I wrote it on only
one side of the paper. But mind you, he didn’t know what I was doing.
Nobody knew it; but one day, after a hard Saturday’s work--the other
boys had been out skating on the brick-pond--I shyly broached the
subject to my mother. I felt the need of some sympathy. She listened
in amazement, and then said: “Why, do you think you could write a book
like that?” That settled the matter, and from that day no one knew what
I was up to until I sent the first four volumes of Gunboat Series to
my father. Was it work? Well, yes; it was hard work, but each week I
had the satisfaction of seeing the manuscript grow until the “Young
Naturalist” was all complete.
--_Harry Castlemon in the Writer._
GUNBOAT SERIES.
6 vols. BY HARRY CASTLEMON. $6.00
Frank the Young Naturalist.
Frank on a Gunboat.
Frank in the Woods.
Frank before Vicksburg.
Frank on the Lower Mississippi.
Frank on the Prairie.
ROCKY MOUNTAIN SERIES.
3 vols. BY HARRY CASTLEMON. $3.00
Frank Among the Rancheros.
Frank in the Mountains.
Frank at Don Carlos’ Rancho.
SPORTSMAN’S CLUB SERIES.
3 vols. BY HARRY CASTLEMON. $3.75
The Sportsman’s Club in the Saddle.
The Sportsman’s Club Afloat.
The Sportsman’s Club Among the Trappers.
FRANK NELSON SERIES.
3 vols. BY HARRY CASTLEMON. $3.75
Snowed up.
Frank in the Forecastle.
The Boy Traders.
BOY TRAPPER SERIES.
3 vols. BY HARRY CASTLEMON. $3.00
The Buried Treasure.
The Boy Trapper.
The Mail Carrier.
ROUGHING IT SERIES.
3 vols. BY HARRY CASTLEMON. $3.00
George in Camp.
George at the Fort.
George at the Wheel.
ROD AND GUN SERIES.
3 vols. BY HARRY CASTLEMON. $3.00
Don Gordon’s Shooting Box.
The Young Wild Fowlers.
Rod and Gun Club.
GO-AHEAD SERIES.
3 vols. BY HARRY CASTLEMON. $3.00
Tom Newcombe.
Go-Ahead.
No Moss.
WAR SERIES.
6 vols. BY HARRY CASTLEMON. $6.00
True to His Colors.
Rodney the Partisan.
Rodney the Overseer.
Marcy the Blockade-Runner.
Marcy the Refugee.
Sailor Jack the Trader.
HOUSEBOAT SERIES.
3 vols. BY HARRY CASTLEMON. $3.00
The Houseboat Boys.
The Mystery of Lost River Cañon.
The Young Game Warden.
AFLOAT AND ASHORE SERIES.
3 vols. BY HARRY CASTLEMON. $3.00
Rebellion in Dixie.
A Sailor in Spite of Himself.
The Ten-Ton Cutter.
THE PONY EXPRESS SERIES.
3 vols. BY HARRY CASTLEMON. $3.00
The Pony Express Rider.
The White Beaver.
Carl, The Trailer.
* * * * *
EDWARD S. ELLIS.
Edward S. Ellis, the popular writer of boys’ books, is a native of
Ohio, where he was born somewhat more than a half-century ago. His
father was a famous hunter and rifle shot, and it was doubtless his
exploits and those of his associates, with their tales of adventure
which gave the son his taste for the breezy backwoods and for depicting
the stirring life of the early settlers on the frontier.
Mr. Ellis began writing at an early age and his work was acceptable
from the first. His parents removed to New Jersey while he was a boy
and he was graduated from the State Normal School and became a member
of the faculty while still in his teens. He was afterward principal of
the Trenton High School, a trustee and then superintendent of schools.
By that time his services as a writer had become so pronounced that
he gave his entire attention to literature. He was an exceptionally
successful teacher and wrote a number of text-books for schools, all of
which met with high favor. For these and his historical productions,
Princeton College conferred upon him the degree of Master of Arts.
The high moral character, the clean, manly tendencies and the admirable
literary style of Mr. Ellis’ stories have made him as popular on the
other side of the Atlantic as in this country. A leading paper remarked
some time since, that no mother need hesitate to place in the hands of
her boy any book written by Mr. Ellis. They are found in the leading
Sunday-school libraries, where, as may well be believed, they are in
wide demand and do much good by their sound, wholesome lessons which
render them as acceptable to parents as to their children. All of his
books published by Henry T. Coates & Co. are re-issued in London, and
many have been translated into other languages. Mr. Ellis is a writer
of varied accomplishments, and, in addition to his stories, is the
author of historical works, of a number of pieces of popular music
and has made several valuable inventions. Mr. Ellis is in the prime
of his mental and physical powers, and great as have been the merits
of his past achievements, there is reason to look for more brilliant
productions from his pen in the near future.
DEERFOOT SERIES.
3 vols. BY EDWARD S. ELLIS. $3.00
Hunters of the Ozark.
The Last War Trail.
Camp in the Mountains.
LOG CABIN SERIES.
3 vols. BY EDWARD S. ELLIS. $3.00
Lost Trail.
Footprints in the Forest.
Camp-Fire and Wigwam.
BOY PIONEER SERIES.
3 vols. BY EDWARD S. ELLIS. $3.00
Ned in the Block-House.
Ned on the River.
Ned in the Woods.
THE NORTHWEST SERIES.
3 vols. BY EDWARD S. ELLIS. $3.00
Two Boys in Wyoming.
Cowmen and Rustlers.
A Strange Craft and its Wonderful Voyage.
BOONE AND KENTON SERIES.
3 vols. BY EDWARD S. ELLIS. $3.00
Shod with Silence.
In the Days of the Pioneers.
Phantom of the River.
IRON HEART, WAR CHIEF OF THE IROQUOIS.
1 vol. BY EDWARD S. ELLIS. $1.00
THE SECRET OF COFFIN ISLAND.
1 vol. BY EDWARD S. ELLIS. $1.00
THE BLAZING ARROW.
1 vol. BY EDWARD S. ELLIS. $1.00
* * * * *
J. T. TROWBRIDGE.
Neither as a writer does he stand apart from the great currents of life
and select some exceptional phase or odd combination of circumstances.
He stands on the common level and appeals to the universal heart, and
all that he suggests or achieves is on the plane and in the line of
march of the great body of humanity.
The Jack Hazard series of stories, published in the late _Our Young
Folks_, and continued in the first volume of _St. Nicholas_, under the
title of “Fast Friends,” is no doubt destined to hold a high place
in this class of literature. The delight of the boys in them (and of
their seniors, too) is well founded. They go to the right spot every
time. Trowbridge knows the heart of a boy like a book, and the heart
of a man, too, and he has laid them both open in these books in a most
successful manner. Apart from the qualities that render the series so
attractive to all young readers, they have great value on account of
their portraitures of American country life and character. The drawing
is wonderfully accurate, and as spirited as it is true. The constable,
Sellick, is an original character, and as minor figures where will
we find anything better than Miss Wansey, and Mr. P. Pipkin, Esq.
The picture of Mr. Dink’s school, too, is capital, and where else in
fiction is there a better nick-name than that the boys gave to poor
little Stephen Treadwell, “Step Hen,” as he himself pronounced his name
in an unfortunate moment when he saw it in print for the first time in
his lesson in school.
On the whole, these books are very satisfactory, and afford the
critical reader the rare pleasure of the works that are just adequate,
that easily fulfill themselves and accomplish all they set out to
do.--_Scribner’s Monthly._
JACK HAZARD SERIES.
6 vols. BY J. T. TROWBRIDGE. $7.25
Jack Hazard and His Fortunes.
The Young Surveyor.
Fast Friends.
Doing His Best.
A Chance for Himself.
Lawrence’s Adventures.
* * * * *
ROUNDABOUT LIBRARY.
For Boys and Girls.
(97 Volumes.) 75c. per Volume.
The attention of Librarians and Bookbuyers generally is called to HENRY
T. COATES & CO.’S ROUNDABOUT LIBRARY, by the popular authors.
EDWARD S. ELLIS,
HORATIO ALGER, JR.,
C. A. STEPHENS,
MARGARET VANDEGRIFT,
HARRY CASTLEMON,
G. A. HENTY,
LUCY C. LILLIE and others.
No authors of the present day are greater favorites with boys and girls.
Every book is sure to meet with a hearty reception by young readers.
Librarians will find them to be among the most popular books on their
lists.
_Complete lists and net prices furnished on application._
HENRY T. COATES & CO.
1222 CHESTNUT STREET
PHILADELPHIA
* * * * *
Transcriber’s Notes:
Harry Castlemon is a pseudonym for Charles Austin Fosdick.
Illustrations have been moved to paragraph breaks near where they are
mentioned.
Punctuation has been made consistent.
Variations in spelling and hyphenation were retained as they appear in
the original publication, except that obvious typographical errors have
been corrected.
End of Project Gutenberg's The Missing Pocket-Book, by Harry Castlemon