| I | Under the Sword of Damocles | [9] |
| II | In Days of Innocence | [24] |
| III | Through Mists of the Sea | [31] |
| IV | Graves Gave up Their Dead | [41] |
| V | Fairest Flower of the Cordilleras | [50] |
| VI | A Humiliating Incident | [56] |
| VII | In the Throes of Revolution | [64] |
| VIII | Viva Generalissimo Pierola | [72] |
| IX | Amid the Din of Battle | [80] |
| X | We Meet Again, Felicita | [90] |
| XI | The Masque Ball at Tiravaya | [98] |
| XII | Cowardly Act of a Villain | [107] |
| XIII | Murderous Plan of the Insurgents | [115] |
| XIV | For the Sake of Humanity | [125] |
| XV | In Desperate Struggle for Life | [135] |
| XVI | The Screaming Winds of Night | [143] |
| XVII | The Barbarian Meets His Ingomar | [151] |
| XVIII | On Sunny Seas Bound North | [159] |
| XIX | Death Ships of the Sea | [167] |
| XX | A Daughter of the Cherokees | [176] |
| XXI | Carson’s Blank Pages in Life | [185] |
| XXII | A Voice from Centuries Past | [195] |
| XXIII | The Two Old Black Crows | [205] |
| XXIV | The Reckless Hand of Fate | [214] |
| XXV | Cords of Love Are Strong | [223] |
| XXVI | When the Death Gloom Gathers | [231] |
| XXVII | A Night of Tragedies | [240] |
| XXVIII | From out the Shadowy Past | [249] |
Where Strongest Tide Winds Blew
I.
UNDER THE SWORD OF DAMOCLES.
We built our cabin high on the slopes of the Sangre de Christo range, overlooking the broad, level San Luis Valley, in Colorado. At the rear of the cabin rose a towering cliff or rather a huge slab of rock standing edgewise more than two hundred feet high, apparently the upheaval of some mighty convulsion of nature in ages gone. Near the base of this cliff flowed a clear crystal spring.
Some hundred yards west of the cabin was the mouth of a tunnel into which we had drifted with pick, shovel and giant powder, a distance of 300 feet in five months of hard toil. A trail led from the 10 tunnel to the cabin along the mountain side, which was thickly studded with tall pines. Another trail led down the mountain slopes in a winding way to the valley, almost a mile below. Above, reaching far into the blue dome of the sky, rose the peaks of the snow-capped Sangre de Christo, glistening in the morning sunlight, which threw gaunt, fantastic shadows in cañon and deep ravine.