Evening Star Newspaper, January 9, 1897, Page 18

THE EVENING STAR, SATURDAY; :JANUARY 9, 1897-24 PAGES. ri (se) Written for The Evening Star. (Continued frem last Saturday’s Star.) Chapter XV. When young Marsten reached the walled- fn house at Wimbledon, he found that Sartwell had indeed paid little attention to the wishes of his chief, and had left for the works at his usual hour in the morn- ing. Mr. Hope had evidently not put his foot n firmly enough when he told the manager not to go to his office next day. Marsten stood hesitatingly on the door- dos step, not knowing exactly the next best thing to do. After the events of yesterday, there w: me difficulty about seeking an interview with the manager at his office. Mrs. Sartwell’s not home either,” said the servant, noting his indecision; “but Miss Sartwell fs in the garden. Perhaps you would like to see her?” Perhaps! The young man’s pulses beat faster at the mere mention of her name. He had tried to convince himself that he lingered there through disappointment at finding the manager away from home, but he knew that all his faculties were alert to catch sight or sound of her. He hoped to hear her voice; to get a glimpse of her, however fleeting. He wanted nothing so much on earth at that moment as to speak with her—to touch her hand—but he knew that if he met her, and the meeting came THE MUTABLE MANY, BY ROBERT BARR. (Copyright, 1896, by Robert Barr.) LULL AUS U AAU UULURE ve NOW" i have made. You have kindly allowed me to explain; Mr. Sartwell might not have wait- ed for explanations. “T have not been very kind, have I?” said Edna, contritely, holding out her hand to nim. “Please forgive me. Now, I want to understand all about this, so come with me into the garden, where we shan’t be inter- rupted. Standing here at the gate, some one might call, and then I would have to go into the house, for my mother has gone to Surbiton to see how Mr. Hope is. Was he injured yesterday?” “No. I will go with you, Miss Sartwell, on one condition. “What is that?” asked the girl, in some surprise. She had turned to go, expecting him to follow, “That you will not tell Mr. Sartwell you have been talking with me.” “Oh, I cannot promise that. I tell my father everything.” “Very well. That is quite right, of course, but in this instance, when you tell him you talked with me, say that I came to see him; that the servant said neither he nor Mrs. Sartwell were in, and asked me if I would see you Tell your father that I said ‘No,’ and that I was leaving when you spoke to =a The girl looked frankly at him—a little perplexed wrinkle on her smooth brow. She was puzzled. “You say that because you do not under- stand him. He wouldn’t mind in the least your talking with me about the strike, be- cause I am entirely in his confidence, but he might not like it if he knew you had been to see Mr. Hope.” MARSTEN SAT DOWN WITH EDNA SARTWELL OPPOSITE HIM’— to her father’s knowledge, it would kindle Sartwell’s fierce resentment against him and undoubtedly jeopardize his mission. Sartweil would see in his visit to Wimble- don nothing but a ruse to obtain an inter- view h the girl. Braunt had trusted and had sent him off with a hearty speed: the fate of exaseprated men on brink of disorder might depend on Women and children might y for five minutes’ delightful talk with Edna Sariweil. No such tempta- tion had ever confronted him before, and he put it away from him with a faint and and. aid, with a sigh, “it was Mr. I wanted to see. I will cali upon his offic The servant closed the door with a bang. Surely time, did not need to take all that ing her standing there to say he of a word, however, bears the difficuity there may be Yet the bang of the door hesitation brought about he had with such reluct- ed to forego. It Is perhaps hard- entary to Sartweli to state that daughter heard the door shut so she thought her father had and that something had gone wrong. Patience was not among Sartwell’s virtues, and when his wife, actuated solely se of duty, endeavored to him some of his numerous ings, the man, Instead of being grateful, terminated a conversation intended ly for his own good by violently slam- ming the door and betaking himself to the breezy common, where a person may walk out going twice over the same be The girl ran toward the front of the house, on hearing the noisy closing of the coor, and was far from being reassured when she recognized Marsten almost at the gate. That something had happened to her father Instantly flashed across her mind. She fleetly overtook the young man, and his evident agitation on seeing her con- firmed her fears. Mr. Marsten."" she cried, breathless- re anything wrong? Has there ouble at the wor! "t think .”" he stammered. « is amiss. Tel! me, t keep me in suspense.” say you ‘think? Aren't 1 have come from the works.”” I've just come from Then she flashed a bewildering, glance at him, that vaguely re- to his mind. “From Sur- from Surbiton just now?” d en to see Mr. Hope?” Marsten was undeniab! the confused, and irl saw it. A flush of anger over- was a secret one, of course ect you to answer my question.” intended to be a secret visit, Hope asked me not to men- aS not ‘a look of scorn. ’ she said In- t you don’t want my father ou have been talking to Mr. Hope about the strike.” “My face does not tell you everything I rtwell,” replied Marsten, rst of courage that astonished Mr. Hope about the strike, 1s his wish, not mine, that Mr. 1! should not know I had been there. m wrong in saying it was not mine. t want Mr. Sartwell to know either. . I call that treachery,” cried the t face ablaze. whom?" asked Marsten, the color leaving his face as it mounted in hers. “To my father.” “It may be treachery, as you say, but not to Mi Sartwell. It is treachery to Gibbons, perhaps, for he ts secretary to the union and leader of the strike, while I am a mem- ber of the union and a s:riker. I cannot wcherous to Mr. Sart well, for we are with each other.” “You were rot at war with him when you theught he could do you a favor,” said the girl, disdainfully. The young man looked at her in speech- less amazement. “Oh, yes,” she continued, “‘he told me of it—that night I was last at the office. He refused you, and you were angry then. I thought at the time you were merely disap- pointed, and I spoke to him on your behalf. but he said I knew nothing about you, and I see I didn’t. I never thought you were a person who would plot behind your employer's back.” “Mise Sartwell,” sald Marsten, speaking slowly, “you are entirely wrong in your opinion of me. I feel no resentment against ‘Mr. Sartwell, and I hope he has none against me. You spoke of treachery just now. My hery, as I have said, is @gainst Gibbons, I mean to depose him if I can enough me, ‘Then the way will be smooth for Mr. Sartwell to put an end to this trouble, which I am sure is more worry SSgut whys if that te the case, don't you “But why, t lon’t ‘want him to know this?” = you see why? It is so that he ‘won't make the same mistake that you “Exactly. Now, don’t you see that if you tell him you have been talking with me, you will bave to tell him what was sal He will learn indirectly that I have bee! to Surbiton, and will undoubtedly be angry, the more go when he hears I did not intend to tell him. In fact, now that this conver- sation ‘has taken place, I shall go straight to him and tell him I have talked with Mr. Hope, although I feel sure my doing so will nuliify all my plans.” “And this simply because I talked with ¥ for a few minutes?” “Wea!? The girl bent her perplexed face upon the ground, absent mindedly disturbing the gravel with the tiny toe of her very neat boot. The young man devoured her with his eyes, and yearned toward her in his heart. At last she looked suddenly up at him with a wavering smile. “I am sorry I stopped you,” she said. “Perhaps you don't know what it is to think more of one person than all the rest of the world together. My father is every- thing to me, and when I saw you I was afraid something hed happened to him. It doesn’t seem right that I shouid keep anything from him, and it doesn’t seem right that I should put any thing in the way of a quick settlement. I don’t know what to do.” When did a woman ever waver without the man in the case taking instant advant- age of her indecision, turning her own weapons against her? “Don’t you see,” said Marsten, cagerly, “that Mr. Sartwell has already as much on his mind as a man should bear? Why, then, add to his anxiety by telling him that I have been here or at Surbiton? The explanations which seem satisfactory to you might not be satisfactory to him. He would then merely worry himself quite un- necessarily.” a “Do you think he would?” “Think! I know it.” “Yes, I believe that is true. Well, then, I promise not to tell him of your visit unless he askc me directly. Now come with me; I want to know all your plans, and what Mr. Hope said. I can perhaps help you with a suggestion here and there, for I certainly know what my father will do, and what he won't do, better than any of you.” Edna led the way down the garden path, stopping at last where some chairs were scattered under a wide-spreading tree. “Sit down,” she said. “We can talk here entirely undisturbed.” Marsten sat down with Edna Sartwell opposite him in the still seclusion of the remotest depths of that walled garden. He would not have exchanged his place for one in Paradise, and he thought his lucky stars were fighting for him. But it is fated that every man must pay for his pleasure sooner or later, ard Marsten promptly dis- covered that fate required of him cash down. He had no credit in the bank of the gods. “Now, although I have promised,” began Edna, “I am sure you are wrong in think- ing my father would be displeased if he knew we talked over the strike together, and if I have said I will not tell him you were here, it is not because I fear he will be annoyed at that, but because I would have certainly to tel! him of your Surbiton visit as well, and, as you say, he might not think you were justified in going to Mr. Hope, no matter what your intentions were. But with me ft is quite different. He would just laugh at our discussing the situation, as he does over the conversa- tions I have with Mr. Barnard Hope in this very garden.” ‘Ah, Mr. Barnard Hope comes here, does e “Yes, quite often, ever since the strike began. He takes the greatest possible in- terest in the condition of the workingman.” “Does he? It is very much to his credit.” “That's whit I say, but father jr laughs at him. He thinks Mr. Hope is a good deal of a—a—" “Of a fool,” promptly put in Marsten, seeing her hesitation. “Well, yes,” said Edna, laughing confi- dentially; “although that is putting it a little strongly, and is not quite what I in- tended to say. Put I don’t think so. He may be frivolous—or rather he may have been frivelcus, but that was before he came to recognize his responsibilities. I think him a very earnest young man, and he is exceedingly humble about it, saying that he hopes his earnestness will make up for any lack of ability that—" “Then he needs all the earnestness he % izes that,” cried Edna, en- thustastically. “If there is only some one to point him in the way, he says, he will do everything that les in his power to assist the workingman in bettering his condition. I have told him that his own vacillation of mind is his worst enemy. ; “He vacillates, does he?’ “Dreadfully. He will leave here today, for instance, thoroughly convinced that a certain course of action is right. Tomor- row he will return having thought over it, and he has ever so many objections that is not clear about. He says—which is quite true—that it fs a most intricate question which one must look upon in all its bear- Sas otherwise mistakes are sure to be made.” “That is why he does nothing, Then he is sure of not making Something of bitterness in the young ean's tone caused the girl to leok at him in surprise. Surely two people who had the interests of the so much at heart as both Hope and Marsten ought to I suppose. any mis- be giad of any help one could give the other, yet Marsten did not seem to relish ed ‘of the unselfish and lofty aims.of ney.” rx ‘Why do you say he does nothing?” ‘Well, when I called upon him before the strike began, hoping he would use his in- fluence to avert trouble, he showed no de- sire to ameltorate any one’s condition but his own. He was comfortable and happy, so why trouble about the men? ‘Foolish beggars,’ he called them when I told him they had voted to go on strike.” “Now, you see,” cried Edna, cheerfully, “how easy it is, as you yourself said, for men to misunderstand each other. A few words of explanation will show you how you have thought unjustly of Mr. Barnard Hope. He did intend to use his influence on behalf of the men, and came all the way from Chelsea here to see father on the subject, just as you have done today, and father was not at home, just as he is not today. Mr. Hope talked it over with mother and me, and he quite agreed with us that it would not be fair to father if there was any interference. It was for my father’s sake that he refused to take part in the dispute.” To this conclusive defense of Barney the yourg man had no answer, but he was saved the necessity of a reply, for both talker and listener were startled by a shrill voice rear the house calling the girl's name. : Edna started to her feet in alarm, and Marsten also arose. “That is my stepmother calling me. She has returned. I had no idea it was so late. What shall we do? She mustn’t see you here, and you can’t get out without pass- ing the house.” “I can go over the wall. lives in the next house?" “It is vacant, but the wall is high, and there is broken glass on the top.” “I'll have to try for it, anyway.” They passed through the shrubbery to the dividing wall. . “Oh, I’m sure you can’t do it, and you will cut your hands.” Marsten pulled off his coat, threw it widespread over the barbarous broken glass, steped back as far as the shrubbery would allow him, and took a running jump, catching the top of the wall with his hands where the coat covered the glass. Next instant he was up putting on his coat, while his boots crunched the broken bottles. “You haven’t cut yourself? I am 80 glad. Good-bye,” she whispered up at him, her face aglow with excitement. “One moment,” he sald in a low but dis- tinct voice. “I haven’t had a chance to tell you my plans. “Oh, please, please jump down. My mother may be here at any moment.” The cry of “Edna!” came again from the house. “It’s all right yet,” whispered Marsten. “But I must know what you think of my plans. I'll be here at this hour tomorrow, and if the coast is clear would you throw ycur shawl, or a ribbon, or anything, on the wall where my coat was so that I can fee it from this side?” : “Do go. If you are seen it will spoil everything. I don’t know what to say about tomorrow. I'll think it over.” “Remember, I shall be on this side. You muke everything so clear that I must consult you about this—it is very im- portant.”” “Yes, yes. I promise, but you are risk- ing it all by remaining there.” Marsten jumped down into another man’s garden and pushed his trespass ruthlessly over and through whatever came in his way, until he reached the gate and was out once more on the public way. The safety signal, ‘‘To Be Let,” was in the windows of a house and on a board above the high wall. “Ah, Barney Hope,” he muttered, clench- ing his fist, “all the good things of this world are not for you. Once over the wall is worth a dozen times through the gate. I fancy I need instruction on my duty to my employers quite as much as you re- quire having your obligations to the work- ingman explained to you.” I wonder who Chapter XVI. “Edna, where are you?” “Here, mother.” c “You heard me calling you; why did you not answer?” “I have answered by coming to you. is Mr. Hope?” “In a dreadfully nervous state. He thinks he ts not hurt, but I am sure he has been injured internally, which is far worse than outward wounds, as I told him. How He seems to be strung on wires, and jumps every time his wife makes the most casual remark to him. I advised him to see a physician, and know the worst at once. And Mrs. Hope tells me he acts very queerly. He took scarce- ly any breakfast this morning, yet before lunch he ordered into the study a simply erormous meal, and devoured it all alone.” “Perhaps that was because he had taken so little breakfast.” “No, child, you don’t know what you are talking about. There are some things Mr. Hope can never touch without being ill afterward. Mrs. Hope is very careful of his diet. There's pickles, for instance; he hasn't touched a pickle for sixteen years, yet today he consumed a great quantity, and drank a whole bottle of beer, besides roast beef and cheese and ever so many other things. Mrs. Hope, poor woman, is sitting with folded hands, waiting for him to die. I never saw such a look of heavenly resignation on any human face before."" “As on Mr. Hope's?” “Edna, don't be pert. well I mean Mrs. Hope. “Really, mother, I didn’t. I thought per- haps Mr. Hope was.resigned. What does he say?” “He says it hasn’t hurt him in the least, but Mrs. Hope merely sighs and shakes he: he: She knows what is in store for him. “I'll warrant the poor map was just hun- gry, and tired of too much dieting. I hope he enjoyed his meal.” : “Edna, you have too little experience, and, much as I regret to say it, too litue sense to understand what it means. Mr. Hope’s digestive organs have always beon weak—always. If it had not been for his wife's anxicus care, he would have been dead long ago. She allowed him out of You know very Edna Had Her Hat on and Was Clasp- ing her cloak. her sight for a few minutes this morning, and refused all callers, except myself and one or two of her own very dearest friends, and you see what happened. She fears that the excitement of yesterday has com- pletely ruined his nerves, and that he doesn’t know what he is doing, although he insists he feels as well as ever he did, but I said to Mrs. Hope I would have the best medical advice at once if I were in ber place. Who was it called here to see your father while I was away?” ‘i me have not been in the house since you eft.” “What! In the garden all this time! Edna, when will you learn to have some responsi- bility? How can you expect the maids to do their duty {f you neglect yours and ievar look after them?” M been idling, and, even if I be always thinkiag of the . . implore you not to icy. That is exactly the your father. talks, and while, let us hope, it will be forgiven kim, it mes_one of your years to take that tone. ee father little thinks what trouble.-he is orig, for himself in his training df yo@, and, if I told him you were deceiving him, he would not believe it. But & —— ‘his eyes will be opened.” ‘How aim I deceiving him?” cried Edna, a quick pallor coming into her face. Her stepmother mournfully shook her head an “If y jOwsgiheart does not tell you, then perhaps I should be silent. You have his wicked temper, my poor child. Your face is pale with anger just because I hav. mildly tried to how you the right path. “You have not shown me the right path. You have said I am deceiving my father, and I ast what you mean?” Mrs. Sartwell smiled gently, if sadly. “How like! how like! I can almost fancy itis your father speaking with your voice.” “Well, I am glad of that. You don’t of- ten say complimentary things to me.” “That is more of your pertness. know very well I don’t compliment you when I say you are like your father. Far from it. But a day will come when even his eyes will be opened. Yes, indeed.” “You mean that his eyes will be opened to my deceit, but you have not told me how I am deceiving him.” “You deceive him because you take very good care, when-in- his presence, not to show him the worst side of your character. Oh, dear no, you take good care of that! Butter wouidn’t melt in your mouth when he is here. But he'll find you out some day, to his sorrow.. Wait till your stubborn wills cross, and then you will each know the other. Of course, now it is all smooth aud pleasant, but that is because you don’t demand to know what he means, and do not tell him that you can’t be bothered about the last great day.” “Father never threatens me with the Judgment, as you so often do, nor does he make accusations against me, and so I don’t need to ask what he means. I sup- pose I am wicked,” continued the girl, al- most in tears, “‘but you say things that seem always to bring out the bad side of my _ character.” “You are too impulsive,” said the lady, smoothly. “You are first impenitently im- pudent to me, and then you say you have @ bad character, which I never asserted. You are not worse than your father.” “Worse? I only wish I were half as good.” “Ah, that’s because you don’t know him any better than he knows you. You think he takes you entirely into his confidence, but he does nothing of the sort. Why did he so carefully carry away the newspaper with him this morning?” “I'm sure I don’t know. Why shouldn't he? It’s his own “His own—yes! but he never did it be- fore, He took it away the better to deceive his wife and daughter—that’s why. So that we shouldn't know how he braved and de- fied the men yesterday. Oh, I can see him! It was just the kind of thing that would gratify his worldly pride.” “Oh, what happened, mother?” cried the girl, breathless with anxiety. “I thought he didn’t tell you, and I sup- pose he did not mention that poor Mr. Hope, and Mr. Monkton, too, begged and implored him not to go to the works to- day—yes, almost on their bended knees, and he paid not the slightest attention to their wishes—and they his employers! If for no other reason he——” “But tell me what he did? How did he defy the men?” “Why do you not allow me to finish what I am saying? Why are you so impatient?” “Because he is my father. Is that not ye: murmured Mrs. Sartwell, ir mournful cadence; “that is reason,erough. Like father, like daugh- ter. It 1g perhaps too much for me to ex- pect patience from you, when he has so ittle.”” “That 3s not‘my meaning, but never mind. Pigase tell me if he was in danger.” “We are all of us in danger every mo- ment of our liyes, and saved from it by merciful jnterpgsition and not by any vir- tue of our puny efforts. How often, how often haye I made my poor endeavor to impress this great truth on your father’s mind, only to met with scorn and scof- fing, as if scorh and scoffing would avail on the last——-, Why are you acting so, Edna? You pace up and down the room in a way that is—I regret to say it—almost unladylike. You shouldn't spring from your chair in that abrupt manner. I s@y that scoffing will not avail. Surely I have the right to make the statement in my own house! When J said to your father this very morning that he should not boast in his own strength, which is but fleeting, but should putlis trust in a higher power, he answered that he did—the police were on the ground. What is that but scoffing? He knew I was not referring to the police.” Edna had left the room before her step- mother had completed the last sentence, and when the much-tired woman, arising with a weary sigh, followed the girl into the hall she found herself confronted with another domestic tribulation. Edna had her hat on, and was clasping her cloak. “Where are you going?” asked her amazed stepmother. “To London.” “To London! Does your father know of this?” “He will. I am going to take a hansom from the station to the works.” “What! Drive through that howling mob?” “The howling mob won't hurt me.” “Child, you are crazy! What is the mean- ing of this?” (To be continued next Saturday.) en WHAT WAS TRUMP? The Gentlemen Playing Pool Found It Needed an Umpire to End the Game. From the Buffalo Express. Two men were playing pool, with great earnestness and interest, even if with little skill. A man sat dozing on the settee be- side the table. The players dubbed along with many disputes and miscues and scratches. Each won a game. They had been playing close-your-eyes-and-bump-into- them-and-everything-goes. At the conclu- sion of the second game the man who had won, consumed by his own vanity, propos- ed a game of call shots. The other man assented, and they began with a great show of studying lines and angles, They were very careful. They called many shots and made few of them. Finally, with two balls each, the man who Proposed the call-shot game said: “‘Safety’” and sent fis ball into the bunch. The cue ball went to the cushion, hit a ball and came slowly back. Two other balls in the bunch rolled lazily to the upper rail, also. “Hold on there!’ said the second man, “that was a scratch. Put down a ball. You owe one.” “Get out!” fired back the other man. “You talk like a student in the kinder- garten pool class, That was a safety, just as I called it.” “Called nothing. This is a call-shot game. Every shot has got to be called and every shot muSt be made on some definite object ball. You can’t work any of those gags on me. Put down a ball.” “I'll do nothing of the kind. My shot was perfectly propér.~ Go on and shoot and don’t be a kid.” “I’m just kid enough to know my rights in this game. I tell you that in a call-shot game you have to shoot at a certain ball. Now, don’t delay the game any longer. Put down a ball and I'll shoot.” “You blamed fool! I'll not do it. I know what I'm ;talking about.” They stood there and disputed for ten minutes. The argument grew warmer at e exchange of opinions. Finally the made the safety, said: “Well, man there's n@, use standing here and arguing about it. |1'll leave it to anybody in the room,"* t “Leave ft to this gentleman, then,” said the other man, pointing to the dozer on the settee. é They went over, explained the situation. e dozer? asked many questions, and then straightened up and looked wise. “As I understand it, gentleman,” he said, “the contention is over the shot. One claims he had a right to do he did and the other claims he had no suth right.” “Exxactly.”* “Waal, before giving my decision, there is one more question I must ask.” ‘ “What is it?” asked the players in uni- gon. “What was trump?” : ——+o+-____ Tired of It. From-the Detroit Free Press. F} “‘Would you love me just the same, di it, if I were poor instead of worth a million?” He—“I have registered a solemn vow hever to discuss the financial question ses. + A Spurious Version. of the Golden Rule?” McS8will “No. How does it go?’ oes others before they haye a chance you’ GOO 6050008 0 0000 GaCGe SEDENeREgCER A Fair Warning BOSOSQSOHSHSHSOHOHSHSHSO BOSH SSOOSOSVOSOSSOS PSOSSGOE @ gold for a’ that.” For the Unknown persons are not admitted to the family. Who are you? is the necessary prelim- inary to acquaintance. What are you? precedes intimacy with those who have learned that “rank is but the guinea’s stamp, the man’s the Why not test medicines, as well as mien, not by name only, but by nature. It’s not the name of the medicine that will help you or injure you; it’s the nature of the ingred ents that make the medicine. Ask the medi- cine what are you? before you admit it to the family. That was the test applied at the World’s Fair of 1893, to all medicines entering as exhibits. The World’s Fair received no medicines whose ingredients were secret. That © fact shut out all sarsaparillas but Ayer’s, whose © formula is open to physicians at all times. It’s a Fair warning for the Family: Secret sarsa- parillas are not safe. Ayer’s “Curebook.” Get Ayer’s. Free. J. C. Ayer Co., Lowell, Mass. A story of cures told by the cured Family. GOO908 ©000806 0656 S606 ©OS900 OSO0S O00 THE GREAT AMERICAN BIRD. A Boss Turkey Story From the Far Southwest. A correspondent of the Army and Navy Register, having read The Star's story of “A Visit to the Haunts of the Wild Tur- key,” writes the following recollections of a turkey hunt participated in by General Crook twenty-five years ago. His letter to the Register is dated from the Indian re- serve, Hot Springs, Ark., and is as follows: If the turkey man of The Star will hie himself to the great pine forests of the Mogollon mountains, in the Fort Apache country, there he will find the great “Amer- ican bird” in all his glory. No turkey in the known world ever grows to such mag- nificent proportions as does the “Spanish bronze” or “silver gray’’ (16 to 1) birds of these dense forests. These birds, it is claimed, were brought to Arizona originally by the Spanish priesis three hundred or more years ago, when they first visited that country. It is in evidence (by an infantry captain) that the late General Crook, United States army, in 1871 or '72, at the time commanding the department of Ari- zcna, sat down to his Christmas dinner in Tucson among friends, long residents of the territory, and the noble bird that graced the festive board was a_fifty-four-pound brcenze Mogollon turkey. These forty-niners or spring of 30 men knew where to find the largest turkeys in that country. It is fur- ther in evidence that General Crook, in 1871 or 1872, with a small hunting party—Col. George M. Randell, then of the 23d Regu- lars, but new of the 8th Wyoming; Dr. Oldwitten, Chief Scout Al. Siever and the general Irdian scout, “Mac,” with a couple of packers—went on a midnight tur- key hunt rear Fort Apache. The party left their horses and mules at the post, having secured burros to ride to the turkey roost, they being of low stature, strong and sure- footed, patient beasts (the burro is the na- tive Mexican jackass, usually from nine to eleven and one-half hands in height), just the animal to ride through the pine foresis after turkeys, when the woods are so dense, the linbs growing so low on the immense trunks of the pine or fir trees. Chief Scout AL Siever, with the Indian scout “Mac,” headed toward the supposed turkey roosi, some miles toward the interior of the for- est, the others of the party cautiously bringing up the rear, all armed with shot guns and bull’s-eye lanterns (dark lan- terns). The general gave strict orders that no word or whisper would be allowed until the game had been secured and loaded on pack burros. The Indian “sign language” only would be used (and it was awfully dark, too). When the party got near tu where the roost was supposed to be they halted and tied their burros to the lower limb of a great fir or pine tree. The party moved on toward the turkey roost, shot and killed a fine bag of immense birds, which they carried and dragged toward where the animals were tied to the limb of the .tree, and, would you believe it, on their arrival at the hitching tree no animals were to be fcund; they had disappeared as if by magic. The party being somewhat tired and over- come by the solitude and immeasurable darkness. naturally sat down to rest and smoke a cigarette under the tree. Upon the first match being struck something in the air gave or made a swish and snort, and upon lookink up the general discovered their animals suspended in mid air to the large mb to which they had been tied. Upon investigation it was discovered that a large fiock of turkeys had been roosting on this Iimb unseen and unknown to the hunters, but when they began shooting at the main roost these birds on the tree and limb where the burros were tied flew away, and when their weight was lifted from sai limb it naturally swung back to its natural place, thus dragging the animals up in th air by their hitching straps. Think of th size of these birds! Being in a quanda: what to do under the circumstances, and how to get the donkeys down, the general's scout “Mec,” being equal to the occasion, seized one by the tail, and, skinning up his back, cut them down. The parity then wended their way back to the post. Thus terminated one of the most exciting as well as the most remarkable and unique of tur- key hunts known in the west. Apropos of this subject of large turkeys in that country, Major Viele, an cfficer of wide experience and veracity, will vouch for his own story and experience. The ma- jor, while out after a bear on the mountain side which he had wounded with a shot from his forty-five-caliver army sporting rifle, on being chased by the wounded “bruin” down the plain or flat, he saw what he supposed at first was a herd of an- telope, but which upon closer inspection proved to be a small flock of Mogollon mountain turkeys. This officer, being cavalryman and fleet of foot, while chars ing through the bushes had lesi all h: ammunition but the one cartridge in the chamber of his rifle. Well, the story goes, he must have a turkey or two te carry to camp. So he removed the bullet from the cartridge, and, putting his steel ramrod dewn the barrel, on top of the powder in the cartride, lay flat on the grovad and let ge his shot. Results: The ramrod had s) ted three of the birds in great shape. T three gobblers weighed, it is said, 108 1-4 pounds. When the major told his experi- ence and success of the hunt to a company of admiring army friends, a young leu- terant just from the Military Academy asked Viele why he was hunting with an infentry rifle and he a cavalryman. Well, it was easily and promptly answered by the major. His carbine was a very hand- some as well as a valuable one; besides, the bear and turkey were usually shy, sel- dom permitting the hunter to approach nearer than 800 to 1,000 yards, and to shoot at that distance with his short tweniy-two- inch barrel carbine would strain the barrel. The young man patted his slight mustache, lccked down on his brand-new yellow stripes and was happy. It is well known among army people that the small wish bones from the great gob- diers of the Mogollon mountain are used by the Indians in the northern portion of the territory for snow shoes. It is equally well known that the Mexicans utilize the larger wish bones of these turkcys for window and door frames for their church; ope bone making a complete frame for a window and double church door, nature having supplied these bones with the true cathedra! shape. From Fliegende Blatter. MUSEUM MAKING, A Curious and Profitable Business Carried on by a Few Skilled Men. From the New York Sun, Museum-making 1s a curious and profit- able business carried on by a few skilled men in this country, and by more in Eu- rope. One of the best-known museum- makers of the United States has his place of business in an interior city of this state. His specialty is objects illustrating na- tural histery. He has sold some valuable specimens to the Museum of Natural His- tory in this city, and is constantly on the lookout for rare objects in natural history. He it was that mounted the only museum specimens of the sub-tropical seal found on certain obscure islands in Spanish-Ameri- can wate The numbef of really noteworthy seums of natural history in this country 1s small, and the notable groups of finely mounted animals are known to all the mu- seums, A weli-mounted dead animal is worth a considerable portion of the value of the same creature alive, and some groups, when done with care, skill and knowledge, are even m le than the live animal group would be. Th is y one museum ia the country that is in any way a serious al to the Museum of Natural History in tais city. The moose group and the buf- falo group, the latest important additions to the Museum of Natural History in that particular department, are probably best of the kind in the world. Old-established museums are buying of the museum-makers, large museums have skilled of their own employed in mounting specimens. The colleges are among the st customers of the m iseum-maker: a newly founded rich university occ: ally gives an order for a brand-new mu- seum of natural history. The muscum- makers, having the possibility of such or- ders in view, are always on the lookout for rare or fine specimens. Among the most difficult specimens to obtain is the bison, or American buffalo. Wherever one ot these creatures dies in captivity carcass Is easily salable to the maseum- makers, Lions and tigers that die in me- hageries are usually sold to the museum- makers. All valuable animals that die at the Central Park Zoo are sent to the Mu- seum of Natural History to be mounted. There is a constant corn among museums with a view change of duplicates, but the value of spec imens from different museums varies great- ly because the skill of the official taxi- dermists employed varies. The demand for well-mounted specimens has resulted in @ great advance in the art of taxidermy. The improvement in the last twenty years has been very marked, and a few Ameri- can taxidermists now rank with the most skilled men of their trade in Europe. Notwithstanding the fact that the great museums of the country are conducted not for profit but for the advancement of science, there is a curious jealousy among them. Each museum ts proud of {ts best sroups and fearful lest a rival shall obtain better ones. There is a rule of the Museum of Natural History against the carrying of cameras into the building, although visit- ors are permitted to sketch specimens. A man who sought to obtain pictures and other materials for an illustrated article on the museum found himself singularly baffied at every step of his attempt. The taxidermist professed himself ready to sive the desired information if some one in authority would say that he might do so. The necessary authorization was obtained but the taxidermist then drew back and said the permission or order must come frcm some higher authority, Meanwhile permission could not be obtained to photo- graph specimens in the museum. The offl- cial who had courteously denied to the ap- plicant this privilege when pressed fora reason finally said that if accurate pictures of the groups were published the groups might be imitated by other museums, and the applicant went away wondering wheth- er this jealousy could reall : with the scientific spirit,” P® Peconciled ———-e2___ INDISPUTABLE EVIDENCE. The Judge Was Not About Buck Killmo: From the Detroit Free Press. The man on the bench was a typical magistrate of the cactus district. He was even @ greater terror than usual to evil doers because suffering the reactionary consequences of over stimulation. When the first dilapidated prisoner was brought before him, the rugged representative ot the blind goddess showed his teeth. “What's th’ charge agin this sneakin’ lookin’ coyote?’ snarled the court. yellin’ an’ shootin’ Be Foolea Shooting. pery Ike.” “He looks it. What have you to say for vey war Jest leavin’ th’ Bi “I war leavin’ th’ Blue Bottle, 3 when I spies Buck cotage street, with both guns lookin’ my way. He'd swore to roun’ me up, an’ shot twice afore I could unlimber.