Says I: "as our laws are at present no woman can marry unless she has a man to marry to. And if the man is obstinate and hangs back what is she to do?"

He begun to look a little sheepish and tried to kinder turn off the subject onto religion.

But no steamboat ever sailed onward under the power of biled water steam more grandly than did Samantha Allen's words under the steam of bilein' principle. I fixed my eyes upon him with seemin❜ly an arrow in each one of 'em, and says I:

"Which had you rather do, Elder, let Betsey Bobbet vote, or cling to you? She is fairly achin' to make a runnin' vine of herself," and says I, in slow, deep, awful tones, "are you willin' to be a tree?"

Again he weakly murmured somethin' on the subject of religion, but I asked him again in slower, awfuler tones:

"Are you willin' to be a tree?"

He turned to Josiah, and says he: "I guess I will go out to the barn and bring in my saddle bags. He had come to stay all night. And that man went to the barn smit and conscience struck, and haint opened his head to me sense about wimmin's not havin' a right.

Adolphus Washington Greely.

BORN in Newburyport, Mass., 1844.

THE DEATH OF A HERO.

[Three Years of Arctic Service. 1886.]

EAR midnight of April 6th, Sergeant Rice and Private Frederick

of the hundred pounds of English beef which had been abandoned in November, 1883. Such abandonment, it will be remembered, was necessary to save the life of Sergeant Elison, then dangerously frost-bitten. The journey had been proposed by the two men about the middle of March, but I had persistently objected to it, foreseeing the great chances of a fatal result. The men, however, represented to me the desperate straits to which we were reduced, the value of the meat if obtained, their confidence in their ability to find the cache, and the certainty of their strength being sufficient for the journey. They asked but one favor, that they be permitted to make the attempt on the same ration as that issued to the general party-four ounces of meat and four ounces of bread daily. In such case they said no injury could result to the party in the event of failure. The provisions might be increased, they could not be diminished.

At first I refused to countenance the attempt, but as the days passed and the strength of the party waned, and death to some seemed imminent, I felt

the necessity of yielding. I accordingly decided on the trip, and fixed April 1st as the day of departure, provided the weather was good and our prospects not improved. The success of our hunters, Long and Jens, in obtaining birds, on March 27th, awakened hopes that the journey would not be necessary, and the departure was consequently postponed. Early April brought no relief, and game again failed. Christiansen's death decided me. I no longer hesitated, but gave the final orders. The orders were verbal. Detailed instructions to such men on such an errand would have been unwise, if not culpable. Rice was regarded naturally as the leader of the forlorn hope, and to him the orders were given simply to go and do the best he could. I, however, cautioned him particularly against over-exertion, knowing his great ambition and fearing for his strength. He had not been well on Thursday, and I had asked him to be fair and candid, so that I might not send a sick and unfit man on so trying and dangerous a journey. I told him that Sergeant Brainard, ever willing and anxious to serve us all, had expressed more than willingness to go in his stead. He on Sunday noon came into my sleeping-bag, and had a long talk over the situation. Rice declared that he had recovered entirely from his indisposition, insisted that he was as strong as Brainard, and that the duty should come to him, not only as the originator, but on account of his knowledge of the locality and his familiarity with the appearance of the ice as gained from two trips to Isabella.

In order to avoid the long detour through Rice Strait, he decided to go direct across Bedford Pim Island.

The sledge, loaded in the morning, was hauled during the day to the crest of the island by Lieutenant Kislingbury, Brainard, Ellis, and Whisler. They returned about 6 P. M., thoroughly exhausted by their labors. Whisler was much bruised from frequent falls on the glacier by which they had descended.

After a final consultation with me, Rice, in default of other sleeping-place, his bag being with the sledge, crept in with his comrade, Lynn, who had just died. He slept for a short time with the dead, unconscious that in a few hours he, too, would pass away.

When Rice and Frederick started, our hearts were almost too full for utterance, but we managed to send after them a feeble cheer, that they might know our prayers and Godspeed were with them on their perilous journey. Their outfit, though our best, was simple: A rough, common sledge (the one brought back by the rescuing squadron), a two-man sleeping-bag, a rifle, an axe, an alcohol-lamp, and a small cooking-pot. No tent was available; nor had there been, would their enfeebled condition have permitted them to haul it. For food, very much against their inclination, I increased the daily ration to six ounces of bread and six of pemmican, with a small allowance of tea. A cooking-ration of five ounces daily of alcohol was granted, and for medicinal purposes, if needed, a small quantity of rum and spirits of ammonia and a few pills were added.

The details of the journey, told us in simple, touching words by Frederick on his return, were substantially as follows:

The temperature was 8 (22.2° C.) when they started. On reaching

the bank Wayne is squatting, watch in one hand, pistol in the other. Near by lie the wounded, still as their comrades just beyond-the dead. All around among the trees and in the sand-pits up- and down-stream, fourscore men are listening to the beating of their own hearts. In the distance, once in a while, is heard the yelp of coyote or the neigh of Indian pony. In the distance, too, are the gleams of Indian fires, but they are far beyond the positions occupied by the besieging warriors. Darkness shrouds them. Far aloft the stars are twinkling through the cool and breezeless air. With wind, or storm, or tempest, the gallant fellow whom all hearts are following would have something to favor, something to aid; but in this almost cruel stillness nothing under God can help him-nothing but darkness and his own brave spirit.

"If I get through this scrape in safety," mutters Wayne between his set teeth, "the-th shall never hear the last of this work of Ray's.'

"If I get through this night," mutters Ray to himself, far out on the prairie now, where he can hear tramping hoofs and guttural voices, "it will be the best run ever made for the Sanford blue, though I do make it."

Nearly five minutes have passed, and the silence has been unbroken by shot or shout. The suspense is becoming unbearable in the bivouac, where every man is listening, hardly daring to draw breath. At last Hunter, rising to his knees, which are all a-tremble with excitement, mutters to Sergeant Roach, who is still crouching beside him:

"By heaven! I believe he'll slip through without being seen.

Hardly has he spoken when far, far out to the southwest two bright flashes leap through the darkness. Before the report can reach them there comes another, not so brilliant. Then, the ringing bang, bang, of two rifles-the answering crack of a revolver.

"Quick, men. Go!" yells Hunter, and darts headlong through the timber back to the stream. There is a sudden burst of shots and yells and soldier cheers; a mighty crash and sputter and thunder of hoofs up the streambed; a foot-dash, yelling like demons, of the men at the west end in support of the mounted charge in the bed of the stream. For a minute or two the welkin rings with shouts, shots (mainly those of the startled Indians), then there is as sudden a rush back to cover, without a man or horse hurt or missing. In the excitement and darkness the Cheyennes could only fire wild, but now the night-air resounds with taunts and yells and triumphant warwhoops. For full five minutes there is a jubilee over the belief that they have penned in the white soldiers after their dash for liberty. Then, little by little, the yells and taunts subside. Something has happened to create discussion in the Cheyenne camps, for the crouching soldiers can hear the liveliest kind of a pow-wow far up-stream. What does it mean? Has Ray slipped through, or-have they caught him?

Despite pain and weakness, Wayne hobbles out to where Sergeant Roach is still watching, and asks for tidings.

"I can't be sure, captain; one thing's certain, the lieutenant rode like a gale. I could follow the shots a full half-mile up the valley, where they seemed to grow thicker, and then stop all of a sudden in the midst of the row

that was made down here. They've either given it up and have a big party out in chase, or else they've got him. God knows which. If they've got him, there'll be a scalp-dance over there in a few minutes, curse them!" And the sergeant choked.

Wayne watched some ten minutes without avail. Nothing further was seen or heard that night to indicate what had happened to Ray except once. Far up the valley he saw a couple of flashes among the bluffs; so did Roach, and that gave him hope that Dandy had carried his master in safety that far at least.

He crept back to the bank and cheered the wounded with the news of what he had seen. Then another word came in ere long. An old sergeant had crawled out to the front, and could hear something of the shouting and talking of the Indians. He could understand few words only, though he had lived among the Cheyennes nearly five years. They can barely understand one another in the dark, and use incessant gesticulation to interpret their own speech; but the sergeant gathered that they were upbraiding somebody for not guarding a coulée, and inferred that some one had slipped past their pickets, or they wouldn't be making such a row.

That the Cheyennes did not propose to let the besieged derive much comfort from their hopes was soon apparent. Out from the timber up the stream came sonorous voices shouting taunt and challenge, intermingled with the vilest expletives they had picked up from their cowboy neighbors, and all the frontier slang in the Cheyenne vocabulary.

"Hullo! sogers; come out some more times. We no shoot. Stay there: we come plenty quick. Hullo! white chief, come fight fair; soger heap 'fraid! Come, have scalp-dance plenty quick. Catch white soger; eat him heart bime by."

"Ah, go to your grandmother, the ould witch in hell, ye musthardsthriped convict!" sings out some irrepressible Paddy in reply; and Wayne, who is disposed to serious thoughts, would order silence, but it occurs to him. that Mulligan's crude sallies have a tendency to keep the men lively. "I can't believe they've got him," he whispers to the doctor. "If they had they would soon recognize him as an officer and come bawling out their triumph at bagging a chief. His watch, his shoes, his spurs, his underclothing, would all betray that he was an officer, though he hasn't a vestige of uniform. Pray God he is safe!"

Will you follow Ray and see? Curiosity is what lures the fleetest deer to death, and a more dangerous path than that which Ray has taken one rarely follows. Will you try it, reader?-just you and I? Come on, then. We'll see what our Kentucky boy "got in the draw," as he would put it.

Ray's footfall is soft as a kitten's as he creeps out upon the prairie; Dandy stepping gingerly after him, wondering but obedient. For over a hundred yards he goes, until both upand down-stream he can almost see the faint fires of the Indians in the timber. Farther out he can hear hoof-beats and voices, so he edges along westward until he comes suddenly to a depression, a little winding "cooley" across the prairie, through which in the early spring the snows are carried off from some ravine among the bluffs. Into

this he noiselessly feels his way and Dandy follows. He creeps along to his left and finds that its general course is from the southwest. He knows well that the best way to watch for objects in the darkness is to lie flat on low ground so that everything approaching may be thrown against the sky. His plainscraft tells him that by keeping in the water-course he will be less apt to be seen, but will surely come across some lurking Indians. That he expects. The thing is to get as far through them as possible before being seen or heard, then mount and away. After another two minutes' creeping he peers over the western bank. Now the fires up-stream can be seen in the timber, and dim, shadowy forms pass and repass. Then close at hand come voices and hoof-beats. Dandy pricks up his ears and wants to neigh, but Ray grips his nostrils like a vice, and Dandy desists. At rapid lope, within twenty yards, a party of half a dozen warriors go bounding past on their way down the valley, and no sooner have they crossed the gully than he rises and rapidly pushes on up the dry sandy bed. Thank heaven! there are no stones. A minute more and he is crawling again, for the hoof-beats no longer drown the faint sound of Dandy's movements. A few seconds more and right in front of him, not a stone's throw away, he hears the deep tones of Indian voices in conversation. Whoever they may be they are in the "cooley" and watching the prairie. They can see nothing of him, nor he of them. Pass them in the ten-foot-wide ravine he cannot. He must go back a short distance, make a sweep to the east, so as not to go between those watchers and the guiding fires, then trust to luck. Turning stealthily he brings Dandy around, leads back down the ravine some thirty yards, then turns to his horse, pats him gently one minute, "Do your prettiest for your colors, my boy," he whispers ; springs lightly, noiselessly, to his back, and at cautious walk comes up on the level prairie, with the timber behind him three hundred yards away. Southward he can see the dim outline of the bluffs. Westward-once that little arroya is crossed, he knows the prairie to be level and unimpeded, fit for a race; but he needs to make a detour to pass the Indians guarding it, get way beyond them, cross it to the west far behind them, and then look out for stray parties. Dandy ambles lightly along, eager for fun and little appreciating the danger. Ray bends down on his neck, intent with eye and ear. He feels that he has got well out east of the Indian picket unchallenged, when suddenly voices and hoofs come bounding up the valley from below. He must cross their front, reach the ravine before them, and strike the prairie beyond. "Go, Dandy!" he mutters with gentle pressure of leg; and the sorrel bounds lightly away, circling southwestward under the guiding rein. Another minute and he is at the arroya and cautiously descending, then scrambling up the west bank; and then from the darkness comes savage challenge, a sputter of pony hoofs. Ray bends low and gives Dandy one vigorous prod with the spur, and with muttered prayer and clinched teeth and fists he leaps into the wildest race for his life.

Bang bang! go two shots close behind him. Crack! goes his pistol at a dusky form closing in on his right. Then come yells, shots, the uproar of hoofs, the distant cheer and charge at camp, a breathless dash for and close along under the bluffs where his form is best concealed, a whirl to the left