Rainbolt, the Ranger; or, The Aerial Demon of the Mountain

☞ The above books are sold by Newsdealers everywhere, or will be sent, post-paid, to any address, on receipt of price, 10 cents each. BEADLE & ADAMS, Publishers, 98 William Street, New York.

RAINBOLT, THE RANGER: OR, THE AERIAL DEMON OF THE MOUNTAIN.

BY OLL COOMES.

NEW YORK: BEADLE AND ADAMS, PUBLISHERS, No. 98 WILLIAM STREET.

Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1871, by FRANK STARR & CO., In the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.

Two men, evidently waiting for the train, might have been seen pacing to and fro upon the station platform in close conversation.

The eldest of the two was apparently forty years of age. He was of medium hight and build, with steel-gray eyes, sharp and brilliant. His hair, which was cut closely to a well-shaped head, was of a dark brown, as was also his heavy mustache and whiskers. He was dressed in light gray clothes, after the prevailing fashion of the day (1869).

The other individual was a man of some thirty years. He was much taller than his companion, but not so compactly built. His hair was black as the raven’s wing, and hung about his shoulders long and straight. His eyes were black, but small and evil-like. His face was smoothly shaven, and bore the unmistakable evidence of a dissipated character. He was dressed in a suit of dark clothes that fitted him stiffly and made him appear ill at ease.

No one in Omaha knew these two individuals, yet their names were spoken daily in connection with their crimes, for the former was Duval Dungarvon, the notorious robber-captain of the Black Hills, and the latter Blufe Brandon, the renegade Cheyenne chief known as Black Bear.

Having glanced about them to see that no one was near, the robber-chief asked, in a low tone:

“Well, Brandon, have you made up your mind about that matter?”

“Not exactly,” added Brandon, “for, since I have considered that you have oceans of gold stowed away in the ‘Hills,’ I think you can afford to say ten thousand dollars.”

“Ten thousand furies!” replied the robber-captain; “what would such a notorious cutthroat as you are do with ten thousand dollars? You couldn’t spend it among your accursed Indians, and you dare not attempt to spend it among white people. But, however, I suppose I must submit, as the game is in your own hands. But, mind you, the girl has got to be placed in my hands at the Devil’s Tarn, forty miles south of Cheyenne, and if one hair of her head is injured I will not give you one cent!” and the eyes of the robber-captain glowed like living coals of fire.

“How soon will Sanford--I believe that’s what you called him--start for San Francisco?”

“Within the next ten days, I understand; however, I will telegraph you at Julesburg on the morning they start, using, of course, our hotel nom de plumes. Now remember.”

At this juncture the conductor’s call of, “All aboard” ended the two villains’ conversation, and bidding his companion adieu, Blufe Brandon entered the cars, and in another moment he was rolling toward the mountains.

Duval Dungarvon entered an omnibus and ordered the driver to drive him to the Wyoming hotel.

And thus in a few minutes two villains--one a robber and the other a renegade--both from the fastnesses of the Black Hills--had planned and plotted a dark and perhaps bloody crime.