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THE FIVE CENT WIDE AWAKE LIBRARY

_Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1883, by FRANK
TOUSEY, in the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D.
C._

_Entered at the Post Office at New York, N. Y., as Second Class Matter._

  No. 565.

  { COMPLETE. }

  FRANK TOUSEY, PUBLISHER, 34 & 36 NORTH MOORE STREET, N. Y.
  NEW YORK, July 11, 1883.           ISSUED EVERY WEDNESDAY.

  {  PRICE   }
  { 5 CENTS. }

  Vol. I


CUSTER'S LAST SHOT:

OR,

THE BOY TRAILER OF THE LITTLE HORN

A Romance of the Terrible Ride to Death.

By COL. J. M. TRAVERS.

[Illustration]




The subscription price for THE WIDE AWAKE LIBRARY for the year 1882
will be $2.50 per year; $1.25 per 6 months, post paid. Address FRANK
TOUSEY, PUBLISHER, 34 and 36 North Moore Street, New York. Box 2730.


CUSTER'S LAST SHOT;

OR,

The Boy Trailer of the Little Horn.

A ROMANCE OF THE TERRIBLE RIDE TO DEATH.

By Col. J. M. TRAVERS.




CONTENTS


  CHAPTER I. THE YELLOW-HAIRED CAVALRY CHIEF ON THE WAR TRAIL.
  CHAPTER II. SITTING BULL'S GANG OF RED MARAUDERS.
  CHAPTER III. THE RECKLESS GALLOP IN THE JAWS OF DEATH.
  CHAPTER IV. BRAVE CUSTER'S LAST SHOT.
  CHAPTER V. HOW THE COMMAND PAID FOR IMMORTALITY.
  CHAPTER VI. BOLLY WHERRIT'S BATTLE ON A SMALL SCALE.
  CHAPTER VII. ROBBERS OF THE DEAD.
  CHAPTER VIII. PANDY ELLIS' HOTTEST SCRIMMAGE.
  CHAPTER IX. RED GOLIATH, THE GIGANTIC HERCULES.
  CHAPTER X. ADELE.
  CHAPTER XI. HOSKINS PAYS NATURE'S DEBT--ABOUT THE FIRST HE EVER DID.
  CHAPTER XII. WHITE THUNDER ON THE RAMPAGE.
  CHAPTER XIII. RENO'S RIFLE-PITS ON THE RIVER BLUFFS.
  CHAPTER XIV. THE BOY TRAILER AT WORK.
  CHAPTER XV. A MAN WHO NEVER BROOKED AN INSULT.
  CHAPTER XVI. WHAT FATE HAS ORDAINED.




CHAPTER I.

THE YELLOW-HAIRED CAVALRY CHIEF ON THE WAR TRAIL.


"Hold up yer hands thar, ye varmints. Ef his hair air gray I kin
swar this chile's hand air as steddy and his eye as sure az they war
twenty years ago. Bein' sich a heathen, I reckon ye don't know that
wine improves wid age; ther older it air, ther better, an' I s'pose
thar's a likeness between wine an' me, az ther feller sez. Keep them
hands steddy, my red cock-o'-the-walk. Now, I'm goin' ter caterkize ye
'cordin' ter my own style. Fust and foremost, who air ye?"

The buckskin-clad hunter held his long rifle nicely poised, and the
bead at the end was in a line with the object of his speech.

Under such peculiar circumstances the warrior (for his color proclaimed
him an Indian) could do no less than remain quiet, although from his
evident uneasiness it was plainly seen that he did so under protest.

Even in this sad predicament, the boasting qualities of his race seemed
to be predominant.

"Ugh!" he ejaculated, slapping his dusky chest vigorously, "me big
chief. Hunter must