THE SQUAW SPY;
OR,
THE RANGERS OF THE LAVA-BEDS.
BY CAPT. CHAS HOWARD,
AUTHOR OF THE FOLLOWING POCKET NOVELS.
- 45. The Elk King.
- 50. The Wolf Queen.
- 52. The Mad Chief.
- 60. Merciless Mat.
- 64. The Island Trapper.
- 69. The Yellow Hunter.
- 72. Silver Rifle.
- 82. Kenton, The Ranger.
- 87. Phil Hunter.
- 89. The Girl Avenger.
NEW YORK:
BEADLE AND ADAMS, PUBLISHERS,
98 WILLIAM STREET.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1873, by
FRANK STARR & CO.,
In the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.
THE SQUAW SPY;
OR,
THE RANGERS OF THE LAVA-BEDS.
CHAPTER I
LAVA-BED KIT.
“Where’s McKay?”
“Still absent with his Warm Springers. I do not expecthim before midnight.”
“And Artena?”
“Dead or alive, she is somewhere among the Indians. Shepromised to be here against sunset, and see, that hour is withus now.”
The first speaker glanced toward the west, and remainedsilent for a minute.
The handsome military man at his side quietly adjustedhis field-glass, which he brought to bear upon a dark ridgeagainst the horizon.
“General, this has been a bloody day,” said the roughborderman, venturing to disturb the officer in the midst ofhis observations. “We’ve lost as good boys as ever lived.”
Down came the field-glass, and General Gillem sighed ashe turned to his companion.
“A disastrous day for us truly, Kit,” he said. “No noblerfellows than Thomas, Howe and Wright. Now shallthe war be pushed with vigor. This day’s massacre hasheated my blood till it tingles through my veins. The fiendsexpect no quarter, as none they give. By Heavens, nonethey shall have! If we could but get the master-spirit ofthis war—the Napoleon of these red Arabs.”
“Captain Jack, General?”
“Captain Jack or Mouseh, as his people call him. I wantto see the murderer of Canby swing. But, why does notArtena come?”
“Perhaps she has got in trouble,” said the Oregonian. “Ifso—there! somebody is coming now.”
General Gillem raised his field-glass, but could distinguishnothing, for the shadows of night were gathering and thesmoke of savage fires hung heavily over the ground whereso many brave soldiers had lately fallen before three score ofModoc rifles.
“I heard hoofs,” said the ranger. “Tis Artena at last,General.”
As he uttered the last words, the dark figure of a horsecame in view and presently the animal halted before thetwain.
Gillem started forward.
“Artena!” he cried, recognizing the womanish figure seatedon the Indian saddle.
“White war-man good; he wait for Artena,” said thewoman. “But who with him?”
“Kit, A