a devilish price on that mare of his yesterday; I don't care if you tell him so." The chink of gold proved sweetly persuasive to the scout. Words were unnecessary. There remained only Cogger to be conciliated, and him Captain Elyot met close to the appointed rendezvous. "I s'pose the cap'n's given ye his orders," said the wagon-master, coming to a halt. He had not been able to act upon the advice bestowed so lavishly upon the others to catch what rest might be had between now and midnight. "Yes, I have the dispatches here;" and Captain Elyot laid his hand upon his breast. "But I was looking for you. Do you know, Cogger, there's a woman in the train ?" This was no time to choose his words, or to break more gently the subject on his mind. 66 Now, if them blasted "It's only Stubbs's daughter, and he is taking her home to her mother." "Ye don't say! Whar ever's he kep' her ?" "I don't know; in one of the wagons, probably. But he wants us to take her into the fort to-night. Captain Luttrell does not object, if we are willing to make the attempt. This'll be no place for a woman if the Indians attack us." Cogger would have whistled, but caution checked him in the act. ""Twas a kind o' mean trick in Stubbs," he said, thoughtfully, after a moment of silence. "We didn't kalkerlate to take no glass-ware this trip. We didn't pervide for't. An' he knew it. I reckon he can take keer o' his own darter," he added, with the air of a man who washes his hands of the whole affair. "Tony thinks we can do it," said Captain Elyot, quietly, "and Luttrell has consented." "He don't think so for nothin'. I take it, 'taint pure love o' God in either of 'em. Not that I've anything to say ag'in you, Captain Elyot. But why didn't Stubbs come to me with his darter square-like, before we left Independence? I'd 'a' said to him, 'Keep the gal t' the states for the present. 'Taint no time t' be teamin' wimmin folks over the trail, nigh on ter winter as 'tis, an' with sech a fearsome sperit for Injuns as I be.'" "But the girl is here." But I "Wall, wall, 'taint nuthin t' me. wouldn't 'a' thought it o' Stubbs. Him an me's been pardners for years. But ye'll strike a crooked trail in most men, an' where ye aint lookin' for't; an' ten chances t' one it'll be on account of a woman." He was moving away, but he turned back to add: "Ef ye hold t' the same mind, ye'd better shet Tony Baird's mouth, an' creep out o' camp kind o' unbeknownst t' the rest; an' it's time ye were off." one. "I gave Stubbs half an hour to meet us here. It's hardly up yet. And I cautioned Tony to say nothing about the affair to any Here he is now," he went on, as the scout came up through the darkness from the corral, leading his horse. A servant followed with Captain Elyot's, and behind them appeared a third, leading Black Jess, which Captain Luttrell had coveted at the sutler's hands. A woman's saddle was fitted to her back. Stubbs had perhaps foreseen emergency like this, and provided for it. an "I was ordered to bring her here," said the man who held the bridle. Captain Elyot recognized him as one of Stubbs's teamsters,-a man regularly employed about the fort. "But are you sure she is safe?" "As gentle as a lamb, sir; and it wont be the first time Miss Blossom's rode her, either, or since we left the states," he added, in a still lower tone, and with a quiet chuckle. "Jess knows her, don't ye, Jess?" And he stroked the face of the beautiful animal, who rubbed her forehead against his arm with a whinny which seemed in response to his words. Night had settled lower and lower upon the camp; beyond the darker shadows of the circling wagons and the still forms of the men near at hand, nothing could be discerned. The sentinels, chilled by the keen air, huddled in pairs close to the ground, wrapped in their blankets, open-eyed, attent, but silent as sphinxes. The time had come for the party to set out for the fort. They waited only for Blossom. (To be continued.) REFLECTIONS. BY THE AUTHOR OF "DEIRDRE." Inscribed to Oliver Wendell Holmes. A CALL from mountain-tops and waving pines, Whose lanterns lead me but to vague abysms To analyze the motive of a fly; Who, if a poplar leaf they trembling find, Or, if the cat within the dairy sips The luscious cream until she smacks her lips, Or some wild urchin steal a worthless pin, Pour forth about the origin of sin Dim floods of thought on Destiny and Will All stolen from Whately, Spencer, Kant, and Mill! All teach us wisdom, while our sides they tickle; Paints more by what he did than what he said; Of thought that made Ulysses build the Horse; Give me my logic, then-if I must drink The golden draught-from minds that clearly think, Where Hodge speaks bastard logic in his hovel, Or, if with poesy my mind I feed, Give me the pipings of the grand old reed That great ones kissed, and blew in strains that ran Or with Cervantes' knight to feel the thwack Through earth's hard crust and hell's Tartarean main, To urge the snorting steeds, and break the wood Or, if to verse at home my soul incline, Through summer woods, upon the One Hoss Shay, Talk with the Autocrat, and hear the Poet, And drink life's subtlest charm, and scarcely know it! Or give me him, high culture's noble son, The Scholar and the Poet both in one, Whose verse of varied movement falls and swells In melody like his cathedral bells: Now full and grandly calm, now soft and tender, Or give me him who called the armèd dead- By Newport Tower; with him the blasts I'll brave, In the King's hall, and there, to test my truth, Or let me look on Death with him whose gaze 'Neath the grim ribs, with many a thought to bless Or place my hand in his, and let me go To sylvan places where sweet waters flow, The song of birds, the wave, the zephyr's fan, From cave and bank of flowers, rock, fern, and trees, Or, snow-bound, let me, lingering, cheer the mind. In happy converse with companions kind, Or frosty magic on the panes assume New forms of light, transcending summer's bloom. With Skipper Ireson, feathered, tarred, and dyed, Till I repent me, and roll back the wain Of truant thought to nature's joys again! ENGINEER CROSSING THE CHASM OVER THE RIMAC. IT somewhat surprises the American tour- | ist in Peru that no detailed description has appeared in the United States of the great railway over the Andes, especially as it has been the work of an American. The writer of this account, therefore, takes peculiar pleasure in introducing the journey to the readers of SCRIBNER'S MAGAZINE, in the hope, not only of imparting to others something of the novel enjoyment he himself experienced in it; but also of presenting some of the most remarkable difficulties and VOL. XIV.-29. impressive features of this truly Cyclopean undertaking. A visit to Peru rewards the traveler with an extensive field of study and pleasure, in the beauty and grandeur of its scenery, the variety of its climates and productions, the romance of its history, and in the archæological remains that represent its very ancient civilization. When to these attractions is added one of the essential elements of modern progress,-easy railroad communication in its highest development,-it be |