Chapter XX · WINDING UP THE TALE.

The band of horsemen and the Comanches had long since disappeared in the distance.

The moon continued to look down from the clear sky as though smiling with joy at the escape of the whites.

The six rode over to the grove of trees in which the Don and his party had encamped. Chauncy remained with the young girl for over half an hour, and then the Don told him he wanted to speak to him for a few moments.

Reluctantly he tore himself away from the company of Iola, and went with her father. He expected the latter to 87 ask him what his intentions were in regard to the Donna, and was not surprised in the least when he said:

“Ralph, here, tells me that you are the son of Major Branrare. Is it so?”

Chauncy at once replied in the affirmative.

“Did you ever hear your uncle Henry Montgomery, who married your father’s sister, speak of his adopted son?” asked the Don.

“Hundreds of times,” replied Chauncy; “and it is to hunt for him that I am out on the plains. Several things, among which is your name and your knowledge of family matters, which I had not noticed before, now make me think that I have accidentally come across him. How is it?”

“You are right. But first tell me how my father, for such I own him to be, is?” said the Don.

“Both he and his wife are dead. His last words were about you,” was Chauncy’s reply.

“Heavens, is it true? I knew that mother was dead, but my adopted father? Did he forgive me before he died?” asked the Don, in a voice choked with emotion.

“He did, and also told me that he found out too late that you had just cause to run away from home. He bequeathed you two-thirds of his fortune,” said the young man.

The two relatives, by adoption, talked for some time.

Then all in the camp but one, who stood guard, went to sleep.

About an hour or so before daybreak, a trampling of hoofs aroused them, and they got to their feet just in time to see their friends coming up.

The Comanche band had been entirely demolished. Not half a dozen of the red-skins had escaped the fury of the brave vaqueroes and peons.

They now came back, bringing a drove of nearly sixty-five horses, which with their lassoes—which they knew how to handle superbly—they had captured.

The next morning the whole band set out for the hacienda of Don Carlos. They were three days in making it as they took their time to it.

While resting here, the circus-rider gave a performance, and made the Mexican vaqueroes, who ride splendidly themselves, open their eyes with wonder and admiration.

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They had never seen such riding before, and it was in vain that they tried to imitate it.

Notwithstanding all of their natural sharpness and their life on horseback, they could not do what the rider Barry Le Clare did on his famous horse Snow Cloud.

The little Frenchman was anxious to get back to “la belle France” with his renowned herb, and he and the guide soon took leave of the others.

Ralph promised that he would fix up his affairs in the West and come East to live with his old chum, Major Branrare. He privately whispered in Chauncy’s ear that he would be in New York in time to eat some of the wedding-cake, at which the young man laughed and promised to delay that ceremony, in case he, Ralph, should happen not to get in the city at the given time.

Two weeks afterward, a party left the hacienda for the East. It consisted of Mr. Montgomery, his daughter Iola, Chauncy, Barry Le Clare, and a dozen peons as guards.

The hacienda was left in the charge of Alvarez, an old and trusted servant, and the best trailer in the country.

They intended to come down during a part of every year and spend a month or two at the home which the runaway had made in the wilderness, and in which he had lived for years. He could not bring himself to sell it, and when Chauncy saw what a lovely place it was, his advice was against parting with it. The party reached Austin in safety, and here they parted with all but two of the peons.

From New Orleans they took passage in a steamboat up to Cincinnati, and from thence they went by rail to New York.

Chauncy’s father, a noble gentleman, welcomed his former friend and adopted brother, warmly.

A fine residence was bought on a fashionable street, and then Mr. Montgomery proceeded to take his ease.

Iola was introduced into the first society, and created quite a sensation. It was acknowledged by all that she was the “belle of the season,” and many young gents sought her company. Iola looked upon them with contempt, however. They were not half so handsome as her Chauncy, and she knew that none of them had the courage her affianced possessed.

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At length, one bright morning, Ralph Bison arrived, dressed in a handsome suit which quite became him.

With the prairies he left his hunter’s language, and now looked and conversed like a perfect gentleman.

The first evening he was in New York he had quite an adventure. Going along a dark street, he saw half a dozen brutal loafers insult a young lady. Ralph took her part and the whole crowd went for him, but the Hunter Hercules proceeded to try his old plan. Catching up one man he hurled him against the others, and left the whole six lying in the gutter, ending up his gallant exploit with escorting the young lady home.

When the time for Chauncy’s wedding came on, the young man learned to his surprise that Ralph instead of standing as groomsman to him was about to stand as groom.

The double wedding passed off finely.

Ralph acted his part to perfection, and no one looking at the handsome middle-aged gentleman standing at the side of the blushing young girl would have guessed that he was the famous Hunter Hercules.

After the wedding, the two couples, accompanied by Barry, set out for Europe, intending to make the tour.

Chauncy had made the tour several times before, but this time he was really happy.

They finished up with a visit to Paris, for this city ought to be seen last, (or ought to have been before the war.)

The five were looking at some fine picturesque monument and commenting upon it, when a voice behind them drew their attention to the speaker.

“Sacré,” said the person behind them, “it is von great pleasure for me to welcome mine friends to la belle France. Mon Dieu, monsieurs, it is von fine country.”

They did not recognize the speaker. He was finely dressed, and had a gold representation of an herb pinned onto his coat lapel.

“Deuce take it, boys, it’s the ‘Mounseer,’” said Ralph, emphasizing the word, which he could speak as well as any one if he chose; “look at the umbrella.” It was the truth.

The stylish gentleman was Monsieur Tierney, now a noted professor. His rival had quit the ranks of the naturalists 90 when he had come home with the wonderful herb, the model of which he wore as an emblem.

He was a rich man now, and still he carried the huge umbrella which had done so much service on the plains.

He took our friends to a magnificent mansion which he owned, and treated them in a sumptuous manner.

He promised to come out in a few years and see them and that wonderful horse, Snow Cloud.

The professor gave a large supper in their honor, and at the table he arose to his feet and gave a toast which brought forth cheers.

“Gentlemen,” said the professor, “I have von toast to propose. To von who is a true friend, a brave man and a noble husband. Gentlemen, I drink in honor of de Hunter Hercules.”

THE END.

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