The undersind taiks this methed of makkin it none that he has got the best n.i.g.g.e.r HOUNDS in the state, and is always redy to ketch runaway n.i.g.g.e.rs at the best rates.

My hounds is well trained, and I heve hed 15 yeres experience. My rates is 10 dollurs per hed if ketched in the beate where the master lives; 15 dollurs in the c.o.o.nty, and 50 dollurs out of the c.o.o.nty.

DAN MCCOWAN.

N. B.

Planters should taik panes to let me know, while the n.i.g.g.e.rs tracks is fresh, if they want quick work and a good job.

It is scarcely necessary to say that his services were frequently employed to catch and bring back the poor runaways, and more than once had the Harcourt family been awakened in the night by his hounds, as they made the woods echo with their baying. Often had they pictured to themselves the terror of the poor wretches, over whose trail, with unerring scent, swept the monsters, who would tear them limb from limb, and whose only choice was death at their hands or the old life of labor and the lash.

Mr. Harcourt was a strong anti-slavery man. Holding these views, he had ever spoken consistently against slavery. He was also a man of deeds, as well as words, for many a poor fugitive had been a.s.sisted by him on his long and perilous journey northward in search of friends and the freedom he craved.

Owing to these proclivities, and to the fact that he had never taken pains to conceal his views, a mutual antipathy had long existed between Mr. Harcourt and Dan McCowan, the n.i.g.g.e.r-hunter. While the latter had no direct proofs, yet he had long suspected Mr. Harcourt of being a friend to, and a sympathizer with the very runaways whom it was his business to catch and return to the bondage they were endeavoring to escape from.

Notwithstanding his dislike for the father, however, the fellow had conceived a violent attachment for Mary Harcourt, his daughter, and for a year past had greatly annoyed not only the poor girl herself, but the whole family, by his uncouth attentions.

Finally, Mr. Harcourt told him plainly that his attentions to his daughter were extremely distasteful to her, and added a polite, yet firm request, that he cease his troublesome visits.

Mary, who was a young lady of sweet and lovely disposition, possessing both intelligence and refinement, shrank from the fellow as she should from a viper in her path; while his odious attempts to lavish his unsought affections upon her so disgusted and frightened her that she always avoided his presence.

Dan McCowan, however, was just the man, when thwarted in his plans, to at once take steps for revenge. For some time he had kept a close espionage of the house and the movements of its inmates. He had somehow obtained possession of the knowledge that young Harcourt was in the Union army, and he determined to use this in his well-laid plans to persecute the poor girl, who had been so unfortunate as to have been the object of his pa.s.sion.

On the day following the incidents just related, Mary, who had been spending the afternoon with a neighbor's family, towards evening was returning to her home, when she was suddenly and most unexpectedly confronted by Dan McCowan. So startled was she by this unlooked-for meeting, that she involuntarily gave a slight scream, as she recognized who it was that stood before her.

"I see as how I have skeered you right smart now," said the fellow, grinning in her face with a wicked leer. "Your father told me as how he would be much obliged to me if I would stop my visits to his house, which, bein' a gentleman, I was bound to do, and as I had a little something to say to you, I thought this would be the time to say it."

The girl, who had now somewhat recovered her composure, yet fully realizing the character of the man with whom she had to deal, stood quietly looking him full in the face, and said, in a tone that betrayed her contempt, "I suppose I must listen to you, sir, but be brief, as it is getting late, and my folks will be uneasy at my long absence."

"Well, Miss Harcourt," he replied, "I will come to the point at once.

You have a brother, who has been away from home fur some time. Do you know where he is?"

Mary was silent, and he muttered, half to himself, "I thought so; the whole family are traitors. No more than is to be expected from these d--d abolitionists. I can tell you where he is," he continued; "he is on the other side, and fighting against the South."

"And what if he is in the Federal army? He is fighting for the government you and yours are seeking to destroy," answered the spirited girl.

"It don't matter much to me which side he fights on; but suppose I tell it around, that he is fighting with the Yankees, do you think it would matter to you then?"

[Ill.u.s.tration: "_While she was struggling in his grasp, he was startled by a violent clutch upon his collar from behind._" P. 441.]

"My brother is his own man," replied Mary, "and he alone is responsible for his acts; surely they would not harm my father and us for that; and surely you would not tell what you know, to injure us?"

"That depends on you, Miss Mary," the fellow replied, now approaching closer, and attempting to take her hand.

"What do you mean, you scoundrel?" demanded the girl, drawing back, while the fire flashed from her eyes. "Don't offer to touch me, Dan McCowan, or I'll----"

"What would you do, now?" he exclaimed; and, before she was aware of his intentions, he had sprang quickly forward, seized her about the waist, and placed one hand over her mouth, but not until she had given one long and piercing call for help.

The fellow's base designs were evident, and that he would have been successful there is no doubt; but help, fortunately, was at hand. While he was yet struggling with the girl, he felt a violent clutch on his collar, from behind, and before he could see from whence it came he was thrown violently to the ground, and was writhing under the well-directed kicks, which were most lavishly bestowed upon him by the new-comer, who was no less a personage than my operative George Curtis.

The girl had sank to the ground almost fainting from fright, but so enraged was Curtis at the scene he had witnessed, that he continued to shower his kicks on the miserable wretch, who roared and begged for mercy, until the girl interposed, and begged him, for her sake, not to kill him, but to desist, and let him go.

At this my operative ceased, more, however, from mere lack of breath than from a feeling that the fellow had been sufficiently punished, and allowed him to regain his feet. "You contemptible, cowardly brute," he exclaimed, as McCowan arose; "I have a mind to finish you, while I have my hand in. Miss," he continued, turning to the girl, "I am happy to have arrived in time to be of service to you. I do not know anything about this difficulty, but from what I saw, I concluded that I had not time to make any inquiries."

"I am very grateful to you, sir, for what you have done in saving me from that villain. Look out!" she exclaimed, "he has a pistol."

Curtis turned his head in time to see the fellow in the act of drawing a revolver. Quicker than a flash, his own weapon was in his hands, and covering the man, he said, coolly:

"Drop your hands, you h.e.l.l-hound, or I will blow you to atoms in a second."

The fellow saw that he was foiled, and dropped his hands at his sides.

Curtis advanced and disarmed him; then, stepping back a pace, he said:

"Go now while I am in the humor to let you; another move like that, and I will shoot you as I would a dog."

McCowan reluctantly obeyed, and slunk away muttering threats of vengeance.

My operative, however, paid no attention to him now, but turned to the young lady who proceeded to relate the circ.u.mstance of her meeting with McCowan, from which his timely interference had saved her, and ended by a cordial invitation, blushingly given, that he would accompany her home, and spend the night under her father's roof. As he was anxious to find a lodging-place for the night, at any rate, the detective gratefully accepted the invitation, feeling such an interest in this really beautiful girl that he could not resist the desire to cultivate further the acquaintance, so strangely begun. He hastily brought his horse from where he had left him by the roadside, and leading him by the bridle, walked by the side of his companion until they reached the house. As they strolled along, Mary frankly told him the secret of McCowan's attack, and proceeded to explain the man's character, and the detestable nature of the business in which he was engaged.

By this time, they had reached her father's house, where they were met at the gate by the old gentleman himself, who was alarmed and anxious at his daughter's absence so far beyond her usual time for return.

"Father," said the girl, "this is"--here she paused, visibly embarra.s.sed, and gazed timidly into the face of the detective.

"Pardon me," said Curtis hastily, seeing the cause of her confusion; "my name is George Curtis; we have been so busy talking that I had not thought of names."

She then introduced them, and briefly related to her father the cause of her detention, and her adventure with McCowan, not forgetting to mention the part my operative had played in her timely rescue from the villain's hands.

The old man thanked him again and again, and so profusely, that Curtis begged that he would not mention it, as he had done nothing more than any gentleman, under the same circ.u.mstances, would have done, gone to the lady's rescue at her call for help.

His horse was ordered to be taken to the barn, and he himself was soon seated in the house, receiving the tearful thanks of good Mrs. Harcourt, and the object of the admiring gaze of Mary's younger brother and sister, who regarded him as a hero, and a person who had no small claim on their affection and esteem.

CHAPTER x.x.x.

_Curtis Again on his Travels.--A Loving Episode.--Dan McCowan Again Turns Up.--The Capture of Curtis.--A Fight For Life, and Escape.--A Bit of Matrimony._

The next day, my operative took his leave of the Harcourt family, and continued on his way to Richmond. He, however, gave them his promise, that he would visit them again before long, a promise he was in no wise loath to keep, as Mary had joined her request to that of her father, that he should not fail to give them a call, when he was in their vicinity.

The truth was my operative, who was a very excellent young man, and, notwithstanding his calling, susceptible to the charms of the fair s.e.x, was not a little smitten by the fair Mary, whom he had met under circ.u.mstances that would have caused even a less romantic person than himself to have fallen in love with her at once.

On the other hand, the girl's feelings of grat.i.tude and admiration for the young man, who had rescued her from McCowan's clutches, were those almost akin to love; but with true maidenly modesty, she simply treated him with that delicate courtesy that, while it showed plainly her high regard for him, yet it in no way overstepped the bounds of strict propriety. It was evident, however, that she regarded him as one who certainly had strong claims upon her friendship and esteem.

Bidding them good-bye, then, Curtis took leave of the family, whom he had known but a single night, yet who, in that brief s.p.a.ce, had grown to be like old acquaintances; and his regret on leaving them, was very much like that in parting from old and intimate friends.

Taking the route by Glendale, he, towards evening, arrived at Richmond, without any event worthy of notice, and put up at Miller's Hotel.