California Joe, the Mysterious Plainsman

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California Joe, the Mysterious Plainsman The Strange Adventures of an Unknown Man, whose real identity, like that of the "Man of the Iron Mask," is still unsolved
by Col. Prentiss Ingraham
Beadle's Boy's Library of Sport, Story and Adventure, Vol. 3, No. 54
New York: Beadle and Adams
California Joe, the Mysterious Plainsman. The Strange Adventures of an Unknown Man, whose real identity, like that of the "Man of the Iron Mask," is still unsolved.*
BY COL. PRENTISS INGRAHAM,
AUTHOR OF LIFE OF
"BUFFALO BILL,"
"WILD BILL,"
"TEXAS JACK,"
"WHITE BEAVER
"BRONCO BILLY"
"BUCKSKIN SAIL,"
"NIGHT HAWK GEORGE,"
"EDDIE BURGESS, THE BOY CHIEF,"
"NEBRASKA CHARLIE,"
"BRUIN ADAMS," ETC., ETC.,
Table of Contents

CHAPTER I.
THE FOREST PHANTOM.

CHAPTER II.
THE UNSEEN GUIDE.

CHAPTER III.
"JOE"

CHAPTER IV.
PREPARING FOR THE WORST.

CHAPTER V.
JOE MAKES A GRAND CAPTURE.

CHAPTER VI.
JOE'S LITTLE GAME.

CHAPTER VII.
JOE STRIKES A BARGAIN.

CHAPTER VIII.
THE BROKEN PROMISE.

CHAPTER IX.
A LEAP LIFE.

CHAPTER X.
SEARCHING FOR JOE'S SCALP.

CHAPTER XI.
JOB AT BAY.

CHAPTER XII.
THE DEATH-CAVERN.

CHAPTER XIII.
A RECONNAISSANCE.

CHAPTER XIV.
JOE'S REVENGE.

CHAPTER XV.
THE FATAL CHASE.

CHAPTER XVI
A NOVEL ESCAPE

CHAPTER XVII.
THE BOY PIONEER.

CHAPTER XVIII.
A FAVOR RETURNED.

CHAPTER XIX.
THE SAME "JOE."

CHAPTER XX.
THE BANDIT TRAILER.

CHAPTER XXI.
CALIFORNIA JOE.

CHAPTER XXII.
JOE VISITS OLD FRIENDS.

CHAPTER XXIII.
THE CHEYENNES RANSOM.

CHAPTER XXIV.
JOE'S FATE.
Waverly Library
BEADLE'S HALF-DIME LIBRARY.
TRUTH STRANGER THAN FICTION!
Beadle's BOY'S LIBRARY of Sport, Story, and Adventure
NOW READY IN PRESS.
*Even if the real name of California Joe is unknown, some saying that it was Joseph Milmer, others that it was Joseph Hawkins. A few assert that he was a distant relative of Daniel Boone. Of where he was born, his parents and early boyhood life, he never spoke and he died leaving all a mystery behind him. --THE AUTHOR
California Joe, the Mysterious Plainsman
by Col. Prentiss Ingraham

CHAPTER I.
THE FOREST PHANTOM.
"Who was California Joe?"
Kind reader, that question I cannot answer more than can I the queries: "Who was the Man of the Iron Mask!"
"Who wrote the 'Junius Letters'?"
But from the time he entered upon the eventful career of a border boy, when he was in his seventeenth year, I can write of him, and many a thrilling tale of his adventures can be told.
But go beyond that night when he first appeared to a wagon-train of emigrants, and became their guide, and all is a mystery, as though a vail had been drawn between him and the years that had gone before, for of himself this strange man would never speak.
One night-nearly half a century ago-a train, westward bound, was encamped just where the prairie met the woodland and hills.
It consisted of a score of white-tilted wagons, drawn by oxen, half as many stoutly-built carryalls, to which were hitched serviceable horses, and the stock of the emigrants, comprising horses, cattle, sheep, and hogs.
Perhaps half a hundred souls were in the train, half of them being hardy, fearless men, and the remainder their wives and children, seeking homes in the border land.
When the camp had been pitched for the night, an hour before sunset-for the train traveled slowly, retarded as it was with their stock -a few of the younger men took their rifles for a stroll through the woodland above, hoping to knock over a few wild turkeys and squirrels for the evening meal.
They were quite successful, and lured on by the sport, they penetrated the hills for a couple of miles, and only thought of returning when the evening shadows warned them that night was at hand.
"Heaven above! Look there!"
The cry came from the lips of one of the party and all were thrilled with the sudden exclamation, which told of something more worthy of attention than a wild turkey or even a bear.
All glanced in the direction in which the one who had made some startling discovery was gazing, and every eye became riveted at once in a manner that proved the thrilling cry of their comrade had not been uncalled for.
There, some hundred paces distant from where they stood, was what appeared to be a horse and rider.
The animal was snow-white, and stood as motionless as though carved from marble.
The rider was dressed in deep black from boots to hat, and sat silent and still.
Even in the gathering gloom his face, seemingly very pale, was visible, and it was beardless.
Across his lap lay a rifle, also seemingly painted black, and a belt of arms of the same somber hue was about his waist.
The horse was saddle and bridleless, and stood with head erect gazing upon the party.
This much all of the young immigrants saw.
But who was this strange being and his ghost-like horse?
One remembered to have heard their guide tell the story how a phantom horse and rider had been seen by old hunters and trappers in that forest of late months, and none knew aught of him.
All then recalled the story and felt that they beheld the same mysterious being.
The guide had died a few days before, and been buried by the roadside, and the train was continuing its way upon the indistinct memory of one of the wagoners who had before been over the trail,