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lights came coasting around the island. A half dozen knots away it cast anchor, for it was the American guardian at hand at an opportune hour. The ill-omened ward was in danger again. The Trafican lowered a boat in which Wag Benton and eight stout sailors rowed away toward the American for information and help. The night was so dark that the boatmen did not see a dark ship at their bow until they were hailed in Spanish, and a small search light turned upon them. Unheeding the challenge they darted away amid a shower of balls from the watch on their old enemy, the Spanish cruiser. The Americans heard the firing and sent out a boat to enquire the cause. They were informed that a strange boat had boldly approached the Spaniard, disregarded the challenge, and disappeared in the dark

ness.

The excited Spaniards weighed anchor and cruised about in the darkness. The apprehensive Americans kept alongside of them as near as prudence allowed. It was broad daylight when both vessels rounded a point of the island and sighted the fated slaver, only needing another hour of rising tide to free her from her coral prison. Then began another sea race over a ten knot course, and the Spaniard won. She had the position nearest the slaver at the start, and adroitly kept between the American and the prize.

As soon as the Trafican was afloat both men-of-war convoyed her into Broa bay, where the slaves were delivered to the Spanish authorities of Cuba, and the crew imprisoned in an old barrack, under guard of the men from the Spanish ship.

The captain of the Spaniard picked out Wag Benton, Captain Rexton, the mate, the boatswain, and four others, as the ringleaders, and sent them to Moro castle at Havana. The American and British consuls sent formal demands that the prisoners be sent to their respective countries for trial, for the Captain, mate, and boatswain, were Englishmen and the others were citizens of the United States. The Spanish blood was boiling at the revengeful degree, and the Captain General was personally disposed to gratify the Spaniards' thirst for blood atonement. Consequently a long diplomatic correspondence ensued without any agreement being reached, until events at Broa bay lifted the Captain General's pen from his

evasive letters to the consuls, and put it down upon a positive order for the immediate execution of the slaver pirates at Moro castle.

The Spanish cruiser at Broa bay was short on supplies, so the American captain proposed to feed the prisoners until the ship's commissary department could be replenished. This offer was gladly accepted, and the blue jackets were allowed to take cooked rations into the stockade three times a day. Every time an American entered the prison he wore in addition to a very innocent look, an extra suit of clothes, which he shed in the barrack room to be put on by a black-birder, who, with a share of the mess plates, walked out between the Spanish guards and on board of the American, where he was enrolled on a false list a member of the crew. In this way a dozen escaped in a day. The very audacity of the act averted suspicion, and yet something must be done to cover up the treachery when it was discovered that the prisoners had escaped. This was done by starting a short tunnel under the floor of a barrack room and undermining the stockade, but not breaking open the outer end until the night that the last black-birder, masquerading as a blue jacket, had taken his supper mess plates and walked leisurely out of the prison, which had never been inspected by the officers in charge of the guards.

The alarm raised by the innocent looking sailors who brought the breakfast to the barrack the next morning, was the first intimation that the unwary Spaniards had that they were guarding a deserted prison. The open tunnel satisfied them as to the route that had been taken, and searching parties were sent out to scour the country for the identical men, who, dressed as American sailors, encouraged the pursuit. As no trace of the slave thieves could be found, a strong suspicion arose in the minds of the humiliated Spaniards, that the sly Americans had in some way abetted the crawl out. Yet the Americans had been so kind to them in their distresses, so ready to help them bring in the prize, and so generous in furnishing rations for the captives, that their native Castilian courtesy forbade coining their distrust into circulating words.

Outside of the crew of the Spaniard the indignation knew no bounds, and like an angry wave it gathered strength as it rolled

onward to Havana, where it culminated in the arbitrary order of the furious CaptainGeneral.

The British consul ran over to the American consulate to find that the American had gone to Broa bay. He then rushed out to Moro castle and leaped from his carriage just as the firing squad had shot down a group of four Americans, and were reloading for the other group that consisted of the Captain, mate, boatswain, and Benton. The soldiers were priming their pieces when the undaunted Englishman with the British Union Jack in his hand, broke through the guard line and thrusting himself between the leveled muskets and the victims of a drum head court-martial, demanded in the name of Great Britain and humanity that the executioners withhold their bloody hands. This appeal, echoed back as they well knew it would be from the throne of England, cooled the Spanish blood, and they surrendered the prisoners to the Consul, who claimed Wag Benton as a British subject. The men were put on board of an English cruiser that was about to sail for home, and in less than a week it saluted Moro castle and put to sea.

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While Wag Benton was happy to escape a Spanish bullet, yet he was loth to have an English court discover that he was American, and be sent home for trial where stealing and importing slaves was a piracy punishable by death. He therefore set his head, which was ever fruitful in resources for self-preservation, to devising means of escape from his new imprisonment. Although he was allowed the liberty of the deck, yet the marines and sailors were very vigilant, so that he could never turn around without two or more eyes upon him. It seemed that all hands knew that he was the reckless leader of the daring exploit, and might take desperate chances for freedom, which he certainly contemplated, for he was more concerned about his fate than were his companions. They were Englishmen and had no fear of capital punishment.

The ship was coasting along about three miles from the Cuban shore between Matanzas and Cardenas, when Wag Benton determined to make a break for liberty if he found only the freedom of an ocean grave. Just before the ship's lanterns were lighted he sneaked into the quartermaster's room and hid two empty canteens under his

jacket. He whispered to his companions to look out for something sensational after dark, and they made their way to the land side of the vessel, and were watching the phosphorescent display in her wake, when Wag Benton sprang upon the rail and dived headlong into the sea. A half dozen mariners rushed to the gunwale and fired at him as he rose in the glittering trail of the ship. He uttered a piercing shriek and sank from sight. The case was reported to the captain of the vessel who said,"Sail on, for he 's gone to Davy Jones's locker."

And thus it came to pass that while the crew were admiring his courageous dash for liberty, and his late companions in peril were regretting his tragic end, Wag Benton was leisurely paddling toward a light on the shore about three miles away, safely buoyed up by the canteens under his jacket.

He landed a short distance from the light and cautiously approached it, to find that it was the camp fire of a lone Cuban fisherman, whose boat was well stocked with provisions. Armed with a stout club, Benton advanced boldly upon the timid fisherman, and in Spanish jargon that was more forcible than grammatical, ordered him to fill a ten-gallon keg with fresh water and put it in the boat, following him closely all the time with the club drawn over his head. Standing in the bow of the boat with his threatening club over the enslaved Cuban, Wag Benton made him push the boat as far out from shore as he could wade. Commanding him to stand there until the boat was out of sight, Benton seized the oars and was again a free buccaneer afloat at the mouth of the Gulf of Mexico on a life-saving expedition of his own.

Had he not been in the route of the vessels from Havana to England and in the latitude where terrible hurricanes sweep the summer seas, Wag Benton would have had no fears for his personal safety.

He was an experienced sailor and knew where was and what he was about. So he pointed his bow toward the North star, hoisted his sail, and drifted before a light breeze toward the Florida keys. He worked three holes in the bottom of his boat which he closed with plugs. These he removed whenever a ship was sighted, and let the boat fill with water until it was almost submerged. Lying in the water with only his

head above the surface, he scrutinized the vessel. If it did not fly the American flag he let it pass without hoisting a signal of distress. When the suspected enemy had passed, he bailed out the boat, spread his sail, and continued his solitary voyage. At the end of the third day the wind shifted to the northeast, and as his boat was not built for tacking, he was driven far into the mouth of the Gulf of Mexico, where he hoped to be picked up by some Gulf and Atlantic coastwise steamer. The vessel that he looked for never came, but in its stead two steamers from the southeast in close company bore down upon him on the morning of the tenth day of his dubious voyage.

While he was justly alarmed over the prospect of being picked up by a vessel whose colors he could not make out, yet there was no use in trying to escape from the leading steamer; for it was heading directly for him. To submerge his boat would only increase the danger of its being run down. There was no escaping this vessel, friend or foe, so he boldly displayed his distress signal, and as the ship heaved to he saw that it was an American man-of-war. Benton's sigh of relief was followed by a wild cheer from the ship as the mate lowered his glass and spoke to the men who crowded the gunwale. It was like raising the coffined dead from the grave to the surprised sailors, when Wag Benton and his boat were hoisted upon deck of his old guardian ship, which had so faithfully maintained her "honor among thieves." The report had reached Broa bay that Wag was one of the four men who were shot at Moro castle. story of his escape from the Englishman was almost incredible, even to the reckless men who were famillar with perilous adventures.

The

The other vessel was the Trafican manned by her old black-birding crew. The Spaniards when they knew that the ship had been a pest hospital, looked upon it as a Jonah, and sold it to the American captain for a trifle of its value. It was taken to New Orleans, where it was disinfected and sold for a handsome advance above the purchase price. The money was divided among the

crew whose faithfulness to their duty had so well earned it, although they had been engaged in a contraband business. Each man had been promised a hundred dollars per month, and a choice negro as his pay, which, had the enterprise not failed, would have amounted to at least a thousand dollars. As it turned out a hundred dollars apiece was all that they realized out of over four months' time spent in an unlawful, inhuman, and neck-risking undertaking.

Wag Benton went to New York, to visit his old home, and to start again in life, this time in a legitimate line. A few weeks later as he was watching the landing of a Liverpool steamer, there was a mutual surprise when the Trafican's captain, mate, and boatswain, walked down the stage plank. They were almost astounded to see Benton, and at once ceased lamenting his barnacled bones at the bottom of the sea.

It is a very easy thing to send a prisoner several thousand miles away from the place of his arrest for trial. It is a more difficult matter to send convincing proof of his guilt along with him. guilt along with him. Under such circumstances it is not difficult for the accused to apply for a writ of habeas corpus and demand an immediate trial, and in default of prosecuting evidence, to be discharged by the court from custody.

As the captain, mate, and boatswain, were leaving the London court room, they were met by a clerk of the American Legation, who presented them with their portion of the proceeds of the sale of the Trafican, sent from New Orleans. The following day they were again afloat upon the Atlantic under the American flag. Standing beneath the stars and stripes that waved over a legitimate deck, they swore by Neptune, the god of the sea, that they would henceforth employ the business methods of honorable men. And they ever afterwards kept their oath.

The American captain was never detected as an abetter of the black-birding expedition, but never again was treacherous to an official trust. And as if to atone for his faithlessness, he, with many of the slaver's crew went down to a seaman's grave in a famous naval battle of the civil war.

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HE semi-civilized garb of the cow-boy could not hide the fact that he was an aristocrat. His hands, begrimed and withered by scorching blasts of desert winds, yet preserved their elegance, and when the loose collar of his flannel shirt slipped from his sun-tanned neck, it revealed a skin as white and fine as a woman's.

Two years before the end came, he had ridden to the door of the ranch and asked for work. The foreman had looked contemptuously at the blistered face, which was receiving its first lessons from the sun, but the would-be puncher bore the scrutiny unflinchingly, and Wild Dick "lowed" to himself that "thar might be grit in the feller if he warn't so green," and bade him, "Light, anyway, and come into supper."

His outfit was magnificent, purchased with the last of a great fortune recklessly squandered, and though everything conformed strictly to the demands of the country, from the silver-banded sombrero to the gold-chased Mexican spurs, there was a painful newness about it all. The saddle creaked uneasily as he swung himself to the ground, the "chaps" were pure and spotless in their cleanliness, and the ivory-handled six-shooter, with its untarnished barrel, did not give evidence of having participated in much slaughter. But there was 'grit" in his face as Wild Dick had "lowed,"

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a handsome, almost beautiful face the face of that pleasure-loving race which a hundred years before had danced to the very brink of the volcano and then gone with their king to the scaffold, smiling contemptuously at the fury of Parisian mobs and jesting with their executioners.

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For the first few months the life of Maurice (the boys called him "Morry ") was not an easy one. He was a good rider, but be a man never so good a horseman, his first experiences with broncos are apt to prove disastrous, and more than one bruise and sprain were the cost of experience. Then he had to submit to the inevitable rounds of breaking in," as it was called. One night he would be sewn up in his blankets, the next a "kangaroo court" would be improvised in which he played the part of prisoner pro tem, and was the butt of many a rude jest. It was all in fun, however, that the boys played their school-boy pranks on the inexperience of the novice, and he took it as such, laughing as loudly as any at jokes that were often not pleasant.

It did not take him long to become a cowboy in every sense of the word,--naturally, he who had been the wildest, gayest, of all the gilded youth of the fastest capital in the world, became the most devil-may-care, the most reckless, of all that band of free lances. If there was any particularly wild bronco to be subjugated, Morry was the one to do it. Was there an unruly steer to be branded? the gaudy foreigner was the first to dash at the vicious brute. In their periodic descents upon the little frontier town, none kept up the lawless revelry with more reckless abandon than did this scion of nobility. He was a thorough comrade, meeting all the vicissitudes and participating in the pleasures of his companions, but sharing his confidence with none.

Between Wild Dick and Morry arose a real friendship, a communistic fellowship such as knits together the hearts of two brave men, however different their stations in life. A few months after his arrival, the

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"Opened a Lane in the Midst of the Horned Death

two had been caught in front of a stampede and were obliged to fly neck and neck for their lives before the rushing herd of crazed cattle. They were making their way well out of danger, when Dick's horse stumbled in a prairie dog burrow and came down with a broken leg. Without a moment's hesitation, his companion sprang to the ground, and standing over the prostrate man, emptied his revolver into the dense ranks of advancing cattle. It was a piece of bravery that was almost ridiculous in its recklessness; one who has not seen a stampede can

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form no idea of the passing courage of such a deed; but as sometimes happens, the forlorn chance won, and that compact mass of panic-stricken beasts parted on either side of the desperate pair and opened a lane in the midst of the horned Death.!

"What the h-- made you get off your horse?" asked Dick, as he sprang to his feet and gazed after the herd, already vanishing in a cloud of dust. But there was in the clasp of his hand that which told of a gratitude that, if need be, would risk in return, life for life. So the two became

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