Part 2

"That'll do, boys," he said. "There'll be powder marks on that rock for twenty years. Our claim's good now, if any of us ever come back to make it."

The men thought of how rich a mine it was, and each one promised himself that he would come back, whether the rest did or not.

It is not easy to tire out fellows as tough as they were; but Captain Skinner was a "fair boss," as they all knew, and the men who stood sentinel around his camp that night were not the men who had toiled so hard on the mine.

"He doesn't seem to need any sleep himself," remarked one of them to Bill, as they were routed out of their blankets an hour before daylight the next morning.

"You'll have to eat your breakfast on horseback, you three," he said to them. "Strike right for the gap, and if you come across anything that doesn't look right, you can send one of you back to let me know. Sharp, now! We won't be long in following."

Their horses were quickly saddled, and away they rode, each man doing his best, as he went, with a huge piece of cold roast venison. The Captain had remarked to them: "That'll do ye. Your coffee'll be just as hot as ours."

That meant that the cold water of one mountain stream was just about as pleasant to drink as that of another.

Bill and his two comrades were not the men to grumble over a piece of necessary duty like that, and they knew it was "their turn."

The sun was well up before they reached the head of the gap, and a glance showed them that it was all the hunters had prophesied of it. It was in fact a sort of natural highway from that table-land down to the valleys and plains of Arizona.

"This'll do first rate," said Bill, "only I'd like to know what thar is at the lower end of it."

"That's what we're gwine to look for. If ever we come back to work that mine, Bill, what ranches we can lay out on that level beyond the ruins!"

"Best kind. Raise 'most anything up thar."

No doubt of it, but now for some hours their minds and eyes were busier with the pass before them than with either mines or farming.

"Not a sign yet, Bill, and we're getting well down. See them pines?"

"Off to the left?--Hullo! Put for the pines, boys. We'll nab those two. See 'em?"

"Coming right along up. All we've got to do is to 'bush our horses, and let 'em git past us."

"Only two squaws."

The three miners dashed on a minute or so until they could turn aside among the thick-growing covers of the forest.

They rode in a little distance, until they were sure they could not be seen from the pass, then they dismounted, tethered their horses, and slipped cautiously back to crouch among some dense bushes among the rocks within a few yards of the path by which any one coming up the gap must needs ride.

"We'll get 'em."

"Learn all we want to."

"Hullo, Bill, can see 'em. That ain't all--thar's some kind of a brave not fur behind 'em."

"I see. Only one. Well, we kin take him too."

"Take him! Bah! knock him on the head. I don't exactly like to fire a gun just here."

"Old Skinner'd kill ye if ye gave that kind of warnin' to a crowd of red-skins."

"Mebbe there isn't any."

"You don't know. Safe not to make too much noise anyhow."

They might have fired every cartridge they had and not have been heard by the Apaches in the valley, but there was no one to tell them so. At the same time they felt perfectly safe to talk, for they were sure there were no human ears near enough to hear them--so sure, that they talked aloud and recklessly.

Perhaps it would have been as well for them to have imitated Captain Skinner, who hardly ever talked at all.

As it was, they had nothing to do but to wait, for their intended captives were evidently in no sort of hurry, and were laughing merrily as they loitered along the ravine below, picking berries here, and a flower there, and making a capital frolic of their morning ride.

Laughing, talking, thoughtless of all danger, and yet they were riding on into the most terrible kind of a trap.

How could any help reach them if once they should go beyond those treacherous rocks and bushes?

[TO BE CONTINUED.]

AMATEUR INDIANS.

BY JAMES OTIS.

"It's a shame, that's what it is, and I don't think mothers have got any right to make boys eight years old tend little dried-up-looking babies that can't do anything but cry."

Eddie Barnard's voice expressed the sympathy he felt for his cousin, Charley Harnden, when he found him caring for the baby on that particular Saturday afternoon they had counted on for putting the finishing touches to a large kite which it was believed would outsail any other in the village.

"Boys wasn't made to sit 'round holdin' babies, and I just wish Doctor Abbott hadn't brought this one, 'cause it's just done nothing but plague me ever since it come;" and Charley almost shook his little baby brother, who was sucking his thumb as contentedly as if he hadn't an idea how sadly he was in the way.

"I'll tell you what we might do, and then babies wouldn't bother us anymore," said Eddie, as he jumped to his feet suddenly. "We might turn Injuns, like two I read of in a book Sam Basset lent me. We could be reg'lar Injun chiefs, an' go out to Chickcommon woods to live."

At first Charley was delighted with the idea, and he danced around at great risk of upsetting the baby entirely, but a sudden thought clouded his joy.

"Injuns have wigwams, an' squaws, and ponies, an' we can't get any of them."

"Yes we can; we can catch Tom Downey's old blind horse an' play it was a pony, an' you ain't smart if you don't know where to catch a squaw."

"Where?" asked Charley, breathlessly.

"Ain't there your sister Nellie? Can't we get a lot of grasshoppers an' coax her out behind the meetin'-house to see them? An' then can't we catch her an' tie her, an' drag her by the arms up to the woods, just like any Injuns do?"

"Of course. An' we could get some bed-quilts for a camp."

"Yes, an' we'll name you Biting Tiger, an' I'll be Big Thunder, an' Nellie can be Moon-face, just as it was in the book."

For some moments the boys sat in silent bliss. Then after a time a serious doubt crept into Biting Tiger's heart, and he asked,

"But what will we do for things to eat?"

"Things to eat?" echoed Eddie. "Chiefs don't bother about such things; they just send the squaws out to get it, 'cause that's what squaws are for."

"My! but won't mother be scared when she finds out that she got an Injun to hold the baby?" said Charley, thinking with delight that in his mother's fear he should be more than repaid for all the trouble the little fellow had caused him. "But then she won't be so awfully frightened, for he ain't got anything to scalp if you wanted to do it."

"We can wait till he grows, an' then scalp him 'most every day," said Eddie, consolingly.

Then came the question of how they were to get away, for, valiant chiefs as they were, they could hardly drop the baby on the floor and run.

"I'll tell you what we can do," said Eddie. "I'll go home an' get some ropes to tie Nellie with, an' then I'll go for the grasshoppers. When you hear me holler you send Nellie over, an' put the baby in the cradle, and come over lickety-split, so's to hold the squaw's mouth if she sets up a yell."

Big Thunder started for his mother's clothes-line and some grasshoppers, while Biting Tiger sat holding the baby as quietly as if he had never thought of being an Indian.

Surely there never were two chiefs on the eve of starting in the Indian business so fortunate as these two were, for in a short time after Big Thunder's departure Mrs. Harnden took the baby, and Nellie seated herself on the door-step to play with her doll.

Charley told her of the captive grasshoppers she would see if she went with him; and, clasping her doll firmly in her arms, she started for the meeting-house near by, while Charley followed, ready to spring upon her as soon as he should see his brother chief.

Eddie was prepared for the first act in his new life. He had armed himself with a long carving-knife and fully ten yards of clothes-line, so that he was ready for any desperate attempt at escape the squaw might make.

All unsuspecting the horrible fate that awaited her, Nellie approached the fatal spot, when Big Thunder sprang out, winding the rope around her body a dozen times.

"Why don't you cry, an' screech, an' kick?" asked Charley, thoroughly disappointed because their captive had submitted so quietly.

"What for?" asked Nellie, in surprise.

"Why, 'cause we're Injuns an' you're a squaw we've caught, an' now we're goin' to drag you off to the woods," replied Eddie, brandishing his knife.

"I don't want to be a squaw;" and Nellie now showed signs of making as much of an outcry as the boys could have wished for.

"But you must, and that's all there is about it," said Eddie, sternly; and then he took hold of the ends of the rope, as he shouted to Charley, "Hold your hands over her mouth, while I pull her along."

Charley hardly had time to reply before Big Thunder, with the clothes-line drawn taut over his shoulder, started ahead with a force that threatened to overthrow both captive and captor.

For five minutes there was a thrilling and exciting scene as the chief dashed along, dragging behind him the squaw, who was only half gagged by Biting Tiger.

At the expiration of that time Big Thunder tumbled over a log, striking the ground with a force that caused his nose to bleed, while Nellie, being so suddenly released, fell backward, carrying Biting Tiger with her.

Big Thunder began to cry, but realizing that Indians should not be so particular about a little thump on the nose, urged his companion to "come on," while he forced the captive ahead again.

By the time they reached the first growth of trees that marked the border of the woods the newly made Indians were feeling very warm, and decidedly uncomfortable as to what their mothers might be able to do in the way of capturing them.

Poor Moon-face was crying as if her little heart was breaking, but it was not noisy grief, and it made her captors look at each other very guiltily, since it showed how much suffering they were causing.

The first halt was made when they reached what they supposed to be the very heart of the forest, and Nellie was tied to a fence that had evidently been placed there for the accommodation of Indians with captives. She had recovered from her grief at being dragged from home, and now played contentedly with her doll while the boys tried to make a wigwam. But it was not long before they learned how difficult it was to cut down trees with a carving knife, and by the time they had succeeded in getting about a dozen small branches together they were decidedly hungry.

"We've got to look 'round and find something to eat," said Eddie, after he had withstood the pangs of hunger as long as possible.

"I thought the squaw had to do that;" and Charley looked up in surprise that they were obliged to do any work, after all the trouble of finding and catching a squaw.

"So they do, after they get broke in, but I don't s'pose Nellie could do much toward killing bears and deers until after she gets kind of used to it."

It was sad to think they had a squaw who was not accustomed to the business, and with a sigh Charley released the captive, that all might go in search of food.

It was a long, weary tramp which they had, and it seemed that it must be nearly supper-time, when they suddenly heard a fearful noise among the bushes, as if some enormous animal was coming directly toward them. Then both the Indians turned pale with terror; for what could they do in the way of fighting a bear, with only one carving-knife between them?

Only for a moment did they face the terrible danger, and then both Big Thunder and Biting Tiger started for home as fast as their legs could carry them, while their late captive ran behind, imploring not to be left alone. It was a cowardly flight for two Indians with a captive to make, but the ferocious animal appeared to be pursuing, and they could do no less.

When they reached Charley's home, where Mrs. Harnden could be seen in the sitting-room with the baby in her arms, Eddie's clothes were covered with dirt and the blood that had fallen from his nose; Charley was quite as dirty, although not as bloody as his brother chief, and Nellie's once clean white dress was completely ruined.

The ferocious animal followed them up to the very door of the house, and then it looked more like Benny Cushing's pet calf than it did like a bear.

That night, after the two Indians had settled matters with their respective mothers, both Big Thunder and Biting Tiger wisely concluded that the Indian business was too painful ever to be indulged in again.

SPITZBERGEN.

BY BARNET PHILLIPS.

The Norsemen were once the most famous of all sailors, and in the olden times they just laughed at the dangers of the sea. Not very long ago, by great good luck, there was found on the coast of Norway a small vessel which was hundreds and hundreds of years old, and by looking at the way it was built by the shipwrights of that time we learn that they were first-class mechanics, and knew all about clinker-built vessels.

Away off in the cold seas of the Arctic Ocean, about half way between the coasts of Norway and Greenland, there is a small archipelago, the best-known island of which is called Spitzbergen. Now the very name of this dreary spot suggests a chill and a shiver, for people say, when the fire in the house is out in winter, "It is as cold as Spitzbergen."

When the Norsemen first found this island nobody knows exactly; but it is highly probable that when they went over to Iceland, some seven hundred or eight hundred years ago, they came across it in their track. What is very certain, however, is that Barentz, one of the bravest and kindest of the old Dutch sailors and explorers, landed there in 1596; and what is quite as interesting is the fact that Henry Hudson went to Spitzbergen in 1607.

The island, though it abounds in the grandest scenery, is one of the coldest places on earth during the winter. Great mountains extend along the coast, divided by huge glaciers. Nobody has ever yet tried to travel into the interior, but it is known that there is a plateau or plain there some two thousand feet in height.

In summer you can get to the islands, because the Gulf Stream pours its warm water along a part of the coast, but in winter no ship can approach Spitzbergen; it is all iron-bound. Every year a few small vessels leave the extreme northern ports of Norway, Hammerfest and Tromsö, and go to Spitzbergen to catch whales, seals, and walrus.

Quite lately a United States steam-ship, the _Alliance_, went to Spitzbergen, and the reason why she sailed for that cold place was because she hoped she might find there some of the brave officers and the gallant crew of the _Jeannette_, a steam-vessel that sailed on a voyage of discovery in these arctic waters some time ago. The _Jeannette_ had, however, gone into the polar seas by Behring Strait, which is between the American continent and Asia.

Now there was some hope that if even the _Jeannette_ had been lost, a great many of the men might be still alive, who, by working their way slowly along the coast of Siberia and Russia, might have made their way to Spitzbergen. This would not have been so remarkable, for a great Northern explorer, Nordenskjöld, has done this within the last two years, only he worked his way from east to west. But the officers of the United States ship _Alliance_ did not find out anything about the _Jeannette_ at Spitzbergen.

The engravings on the preceding page, taken by an officer on the vessel, show how Spitzbergen looked a couple of months ago. All the vessels seen here have come to fish or to kill seals and walrus.

Many readers might hardly credit it, but a great part of the rocks which abound in Spitzbergen show evidences of volcanic origin, and what is now the coldest place in the world in winter was once probably as hot as Africa is to-day.

When the _Alliance_ went to Iceland, the people there, who are very affectionate, honest, and simple-hearted, were very courteous and polite to her officers. One of these gentlemen having seen a nice Icelandic girl, had her photograph taken, which picture is engraved in this number of YOUNG PEOPLE. The girl is in her summer dress, but in the winter when she goes out she will just put on a coat of fur, in order to keep comfortable, otherwise she would freeze to death.

Though the people are very poor, and have to work hard to keep themselves from starving, the climate being so cold that hardly anything will grow, yet they are very intelligent. Almost all the Icelanders know how to read and write, and during the long sunless days and nights of their dreary winter they love to pass away the time with books in their hands.

A GAME OF FOOT-BALL.

BY SHERWOOD RYSE.

It is five minutes before three on a bright November afternoon--the place no matter where, for good foot-ball is played all over the country, though some of the Eastern colleges claim that they alone play the game with the skill and spirit it deserves. A brisk west wind is blowing, with just a flavor of north about it to make good its claim to be a "bracing" air, and before the afternoon is over, twenty-two good men and true will want all the "bracing" the air can give them, for foot-ball is a hard game.

In a large open space fenced off by stout ropes from the crowds of men and boys--ay, and ladies and young girls too, all eager for the success of brother, son, or friend--are twenty-two finely built, wiry young fellows. Eleven of them are dressed in red jerseys and stockings and white knee-breeches, and the other eleven wear blue where their opponents wear red. The lads seem in excellent spirits, for they laugh and joke one another, play leap-frog, and generally behave like boys just let out of school, which, indeed, between you and me, they really are.

Here is a picture of the ground. At each end, some little distance from the ropes, are a pair of poles (marked G G in the diagram) about eleven feet high and eighteen and a half feet apart, and the two poles are connected by a bar ten feet above the ground. The distance between one goal and the other is not less than 330 feet.

In the diagram are two lines marked A A, A A, and two side lines marked B B, B B. The former are the "goal lines," and the latter the "touch lines." They are real and not imaginary lines on the field, for they are cut in the turf, and then whitened with lime. The distance between the "touch lines" is 160 feet.

"Goodness!" exclaims some one; "is that the ball?" And well may the question be asked, for, except for its brown color, it looks as much like a water-melon as anything else. But that is a "Rugby foot-ball," and the scientific game of foot-ball played in this country is the same game that our old friend Tom Brown used to play, except that the rules have been considerably altered of late years.

And now the two Captains are arranging their forces, for the red Captain has won the choice of goals, and he has chosen to kick off toward the east, so as to have the advantage of the wind on his back. After playing forty-five minutes, the sides will change goals, and then the wind will be against him; but the red Captain knows that the wind is likely to fall away as the sun gets lower, so he takes the chances.

Standing in the centre of the ground, and in the middle of the line of his own "forwards," or "rushers," the red Captain calls "Ready?" and sends the ball with a well-directed kick toward blue's goal. No such luck, however, as a "touch down" behind the goal line this time. Down near the goal is a big fellow whose special duty it is to protect the goal; he is called a "back"; a little in advance of him are two more fellows, called "half-backs"; and in advance of them again is another, called "three-quarter back." It was a blue half-back that caught the ball the red Captain kicked off, and almost before it reached his hands the red rushers were upon him like an avalanche. He has no time for hesitation. Dropping the ball, he receives it on the instep of his foot, and sends it high up in the air. The reds turn suddenly; but their Captain has already secured the ball, and is making for blue's goal like a steam-engine, the ball held close to his chest. A blue forward sees an opportunity to distinguish himself, and charges the Captain; but it is of no use. See! a blue is coming across the field a little ahead of the red Captain. The latter swerves to one side; but the blue is prepared for him, and with a spring like that of a lion, he throws both arms round the Captain's neck. The other players are upon them, and the Captain, as his men gather behind him, throws the ball backward--for he must not throw it _forward_--and the reds and blues pounce down upon it, and a loose "scrimmage" takes place over it.

Suddenly the excitement ceases. The ball has crossed the "touch line" B B, and so is "out of play." It may be brought into play again either by being placed on the line, and a scrimmage formed over it, or it may be thrown out between the two parties, and then they fight for it.

But what is a "scrimmage"? Well, I have been waiting for a real good, hard-and-fast scrimmage to take place, and here we have it. For the reds have forced the ball down toward blues' goal line, but have been unable to take it into the middle of the field; and so the ball is again touched down, and this time near the corner where the goal line and touch line meet.

The ball is placed upon the line, and a "scrimmage" formed over it. All the forward players of each side surround the ball, the reds forming a solid mass to push one way, and the blues to push the other way. The half-backs hover round outside the scrimmage, and watch the ball so as to be ready for it if it should get pushed through on their side. The umpires are close at hand, and they, too, are peering into the forest of red and blue stockings. The mass heaves and pants and groans, the poor ball looks as if all the air must surely be squeezed out of it, and the spectators are breathless with excitement.

"Hold on there!--man down!" cries a blue, and red faces and rough heads are raised for a second or two, while the unlucky blue with difficulty rises to his feet. No sooner, however, has he done so than the scrimmage forms again, and the reds, being the heavier lot, gradually but surely force their opponents down to their goal line, and get a "touch down in goal." This is a great advantage for the reds, for now they have a fair kick at their opponents' goal. Digging his heel into the spot where the ball crossed the line, the red Captain carries the ball at right angles to the goal line, and makes ready for his kick off. It is not a straight kick, and so not an easy one; and if he misses, a blue is pretty certain to make a "touch down for safety"; that is, touch the ball down on their own goal line, and so earn a kick off. And this is just what happens. The umpires have gone up to the goal posts to judge whether it is a goal or not. But there is no doubt about it. The ball flies away to the right hand of the further goal post, and a blue has touched it down "for safety."

The blue Captain makes a splendid kick. It is against the wind, but what of that? It only gives the blues more time to follow it up, and this they do bravely. The red back has received the ball, and tries to "punt" it back over the heads of the advancing blues, but his effort is a failure. The ball rebounds from a blue jersey and crosses reds' goal line, where a blue, who has been carried forward by the rush, touches it down.