CATO, THE CREEPER; OR, THE DEMON OF DEAD-MAN’S FOREST. BY FREDERICK DEWEY. NEW YORK: BEADLE AND ADAMS, PUBLISHERS, 98 WILLIAM STREET. Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1878, by FRANK STARR & CO., In the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. CATO, THE CREEPER; OR, THE DEMON OF DEAD-MAN’S FOREST. CHAPTER I. CAPTAIN DOWNING SMILES. The hot Arkansas sun shone hotly down upon Dead-Man’s Forest, that vast, sleepy army of trees which silently overlooked acres of treacherous swamp, silent glade, and tiny hillock. Why it had been so weirdly named, no one knew, as the name had descended from the Indians, and they had regarded it with awe as being haunted with evil spirits. In extent it was some thousands of acres, some hilly, others level, and a great portion swampy and gloomy. The trees were thickly planted, and were giants among other trees. In the swampy regions the sun scarcely ever penetrated the matted branches, and the howl of the wolf, the scream of the catamount, and the hiss of the venomous snake, and the scream of some bird of prey were the only sounds to be heard in its depths. On the afternoon of which we are speaking, however, the gloomy old forest resounded with the quaint tones of a negro melody, trolled from the lips of one of the most sable negroes who ever hunted a raccoon. He was shambling along a dim trail through the silent forest, idly gazing right and left, and appeared to be wholly at his leisure. He was short and stumpy, and was scantily dressed in an old cotton shirt open at the neck, and an old pair of blue jean pants, which were much too short for him, being once the property of a diminutive boy. His lips were thick and huge, and his large white eyes rolled always, never at rest. His head was bare, showing a cranium covered with close-setting kinks of black hair, or wool. He was very dirty, and was one of those heedless, happy vagabonds who have plenty to eat, plenty of time to sleep, and who care not what the morrow may bring. His name was Cato, the Creeper--from his aptness and stealthiness in pursuing a trail. He once had been a Mississippi slave, but had been freed many years since--in fact when he was quite young, and he was now thirty-five. He lived alone, and what he did for a living no one knew; but he always was to be found strolling about Dead-Man’s Forest, or else asleep in his cabin, which stood on the edge of the wood. He was suspected of being in league with a band of outlaws which haunted the woods, but, as nothing bad was ever proven against him, he was allowed to go unmolested. Cato emerged into a flowery glade, with a skip and a caper. “Hi!” he laughed, cheerily. “Ho! wha’ for dat Dutchman say song war--hi!” He stopped, and bending his head, mused for a moment. Then he capered on, with a grin. “Hi! yah! yah! Golly, I hab it!