Evening Star Newspaper, April 3, 1897, Page 27

cad THE EVENING STAR, SATURDAY, APRIL 8, 1897-28 PAGES. 27 sek: JC SCIL IE ; THREE PARTNERS; Or, The Big Strike on Heavy Tree Hill BY BRET HARTE. (Copyright, 1 SONNET ONONONONONMEINOND W 2: a eee WOW We (se . Written for The Evening Prologue. sun was going down on the Black Spur Range. The light it had kindled there was still ¢ way along the serried crest, s ranks of pine The ting etching out the interstices of howing through gaps in the | broken boughs, fading away and then flashing suddenly out again like sparks in burnt-up paper. Then the night wind swept | and he- th its whole mountain usval struggle with the shadows ng from the valley, only in the end a absorbe the all-conquering darknes Yet for some time the pines on the long slope of Heavy down gan upelim| to lost Tree Hill murmured and protested with waying arms; but as the shadows stole upward, and cabin after cabin and tunnel r tunnel were swallowed up, a compiete nce followed. Only the sky rema’ e—a vast concave mirror of dull steel, hich the stars did not seem to be set, t only reflected. Hill had remained o| to the wind Then it was afterward fire it Rgure bi Ss stir jing over the but as the flames leap- up two other figures could be seen sit- ing. show hearth wa. e tin ionle Was shut they 3 before it. When the door cknowledged that interrup- tion by slightly changing their position. The one who had risen to shut the door an invisible seat, but the man was one of profound reflection or reserve, and apparently upon some common subject, which made them respect each other's silence. However, this was at last broken by a laugh. It was a o¥ish laugh, and came from the youngest The two others turned their inguiringly toward of the party profiles and glanced him, but not speak. “I was thinking,” he began in apologetic anation, “how mighty queer it was while we were working like niggers grub wages, without the ghost of a chance of making a strike, how we used to sit here, night after night, and flapdoodle and speculate about what we'd do if we ever did make one; and row, Great Scott! that we have made it, and are just wallowing in gold, here we are sitting as glum and silent as if we'd had a wash out! Why, Lord! I remember one night—not so long <o. either—that you two quarreied over swell hotel you were going to stop n ‘Frisco, and whether you wouldn't aight out for London and Rome Paris, or go away to Japan and China round by India and the Red sea <o, we didn't quarrel over it,” said one the figures gen’ “there was only a ex that « of before we tried to b nd that it was just as ed out of our hair and r boots before we thing of the wor! or even hire it, I to get the hay siumgullion off o in polite society. Ny I don’t see what ntiment now,” r , g002 humoredl gravely, we the matter with rned the second only,” he add- quarrel—God for- ere was something in the speaker's which seemed to touch a common nord in their natures, and this was voiced Barker, with den and almost pa- tic earnestn “I tell you what, boy We ought to swear here tonight to always stand by each other—in luck and out of We ought to hoid ourselves always at h other's call. We ought to have a i of password or signal, you know, by ch we could summon each other at time from any quarter of the globe!” ‘ome off the roof, Barker,” murmured ¥, without lifting his eyes from the But Demorest smiled and glanced ntly at the younger man “Yes, but look here, Stacy,” continued Barker, “comrades like us, in the old days, used to do that in times of trouble and adventures. Why shouldn't we do it in our luck?” “There's @ good deal in that, Barker, boy,” said Demorest, “though as a general thing passwords butter no parsnips, and the ordinary, everyday, single yelp from a wolf brings the whole pack together for business about as quick as a password But you cling to that sentiment and put it away with your goli dust in your bel “What I like about Barker is his com- modiousness,” said Stacy. “Here he the only man among us that has his future fixed, and his pre-emption lines laid out and registered. He's already got a girl that he’s going to marry, and settle down with on the strength of his luck. And I'd like to know what Kitty Carter, \ single cabin door on the crest of Heavy | it; our luck brings no misfortune to others. The gold was put there ages ago, for any- body to find: we found it. It hasn't be tarnished by man’s touch before. I don't how it strikes you, boys, but it seems that of all gifts that are going it is raightest. For whether we deserved not, it comes to us first-hand—from The two men glanced quickly at the speaker, whose face flushed and then smiled embarrassedly as if ashamed of the en- thusiasm into which h= had been betrayed. But Demorest did not smile, and Stacy's eyes shone in the firelight as he said lan- guidly: “I never heard that prospecting Was a religious occupation before. But I shouldn't wonder if you're right, Barker So let’s liquor up. ers. The fire leaped higher, bringing out rude rafters and sternly economic de- tails of the rough cabin, and making the ¢ ants in their seats before the fire look gigantic by contrast. Who shut the door?" said Demorest, after a pause. i i did,” said Barker. “I reckoned it was Setter open it again, now that the fire’s blazing. It will light the way if any of the men from below want to drop in this evening.” Stacy stared at his companion. “I thought that it was understood that we were giving them that dinner at Foomville tomorrow ht, so that we might have the last even- ing here by ourselves in peace and quiet- s, but if any one did want to come It would seem churlish to shut him out,” said Demorest. reckon you're feeling very much as I said Stac! hat this good fortune is rather crowding to us three alone. For my- self I know," he continued, with a back. ward glance toward a blanketed covered in the corner of the cabin, “that I feel kinder oppresssed by—by—its specific grav- ity, I kalkilate-and sorter crampy and twitchy in the legs, as if I ought to lite out and de something, and yet it holds me here. All the same, I doubt if anybody will come up—except from curiosity. Our luck has mace them rather sore down the hill, for ey're coming to the dinner tomorrow.” hat’s only human nature,” said Demo- sa.d Barker, eagerly, “what does Why, only this afternoon, when the ‘Old Kentuck’ tunnel, se Marshalls have been grubbing along for four years without making a sin- gle strike, I felt ashamed to look at them; and as they barely nodded to me, I slinked by as if [ had done them an injury. I don't Understand it. It somehow does not seem to square with this ft o nd” i of yours, does - a H open the door were their only guest, ing on the thres and had been wai to now-enter bodily fe all with its presence. fragrant intlow of air they breathed freely. The red edge had gone frem Black Spur, but it was even mort clearly define: the sky in its tow- rirg blackn: sky i if had growr lighter, although stars stuli s med mere reflections of the solitary -points of light scuitered along the corcave valley below. Mingling with the cooler, restful air of the summit, yet p2actratingly distant from it, arose the stimulating breath of the pires below, still hot and panting from the daylong sun. The silence was intense. The far-off barking of a dog on the invisibie river bar nearly a mile beneath them came to them like a sound in a dream. They bad risen, and, standing in the doorway, y common consent turned their faces to the east. It was the frequent attitude of the home-remembering minér, and it gave him crowning glory of the view. For, be- yond the pine-he: summits, rarely ‘seen except against the evening sky, lay a thin white ¢ like a dropped portion of the inliky way. Faint with an indescribable pallor, remote yet distinct enough to assert liself above and beyond all surrounding ob- jects, it was always there. It was the Srow line of the Sierras They turne} away, and silently reseated themselves—the same thought in the minds of each. Here was something they could rot take away- mething to be left for- ever and irretrievably behind—left with the healthy life ihey had been leading, the cheerful endeavor, the undying hop-ful- ness which it had fostered and blessed. Was what they were taking away worth it? And oddly enough, frank ana outspoken as they had always been to each other, that common thought remained unuttered! Even Barker was silent; perhaps he was also | thinking of Kitty! Suddenly two figures appeared in the very when | doorway of the cabin. The effect was STRIKE’ SAID BARKER LEAPING she’s Mrs. Barker, would say to her hus- band being signaled for from Asia or Africa. I don’t seem to see her tun bling t password. An he and s & > & new I reckon she'll old one s just where you're wrong!" with qui rising color. t girl in the world, and she'd { our feelings. Why, tks everything of you two: she waa you to get this claim, which Ss where we are, when I heid if it hadn't been for her, by ! we wouldn't have had it. was only because she cared a y, with a half yawd now that you've got your sh: ving to take a breathless interes| us. And, by the w Ta rather y remind us that we owe our luck to he than that she should ever remind ycu of it. “What do you mean?” sald Barker qui. Demorest re rose lazily, and, owing a giganiic shadow on the wall, #tood between the two with his back to the fire. “He means,” he sald slowly, “that Iking rot, and so is he. However, as yours comes from the heart ard his from the head, I prefer yours. But you're both making me tired. Let's have a fresh deal.” Nobody ever dreamed of contradict: Demorest. Nevertheless, Barker persiste: eagerly: “But isn't it better for us to look at this cheerfully and ily all und 2 There's nothing crimf in our ving: made a strike! It seems to me, boys, that of all ways of making money it’s the squar- est and most level; nobody is the poorer for i WELL DRINK SUCCESS TO— TO— ‘THE NEXY ON A CHAIR” startling upon the partners, who had only just reseated themselves, and for a mo- Ment they had forgetten that the narrow Fand of light which shot forth from the open door rendered the darkness on either side of tt more impen that out of this dar! althoug Ives guid- ed by the light, the fien res had Just emerg- ed. Yet one » was famillar enough. It was the Hill drunkard, , Or, as he was called, “Whiskey Dick,” or Indicated still more succinctly by the Hill humorists, “Alkey Hall.” Everybody had seen that sodden, puffy, but gocd-humored face; everybody had felt the flery exhalations of that enormous red beard, which always scemed to be kept in a state of molst, unkempt luxuriance by Uquor; everybody knew the absurd dignity of manner and attempted precision of Statement with which he was wont to dis- guise his frequent excesses. Very few, however, knew, or cared to know, the pa- thetic weariness and chilling horror that sometimes looked out of those bloodshot ey. He was evidently equally unprepared for the three sflent figures before the door, and for a moment looked at them blankly with the doubts of a frequently deceived percep- tion, Was he sure that they were quite real? He had not dared to k at his com- paniop for verification, but smiled vaguely. i evening,” said Demorest pleas- antly. Whiskey Dick's face brightened. “G evenin’, good evenin’ yourselves, hoys—and see how you like it! Lemme tnterdrush my ole frien’ William J. Steptoe of Red Gulch. Stepsho—Steptoe—is shtay—ish stay- He stopped, hiccoughed, waved his hand gravely, and with an air of reproachful dignity concluded: ‘‘Sojourning for the present on the bar. We wish to offer our congrashulashen and felish—felish—’ he paused again and, leaning against the door- post, added severely, “itations.” His companion, however, laughed coarse- ly, and, pushing past Dick, entered the cabin. He was a short, powerful man, with a closely cropped crust of beard and hair that seemed to adhere to his round head like moss or lichen. He cast a glance—fur- tive rather than curlous—around the cabin, and sald, with a famillarity that had not even good humor to excuse {t, ‘So you're the gay galoots who've made the big strike? Thought I'd meander up the Hill with this old bloat Alky, and drop in to see the show. And here you are feeling your oats, er? And not caring any particular G—d d—n if school keeps or not.” “Show Mr. Steptoe—the whisky,”’ sald Demorest to Stacy. Then quietly address- ing Dick, but ignoring Steptoe as complete- ly as Steptoe had ignored his unfortunate companion, he said: ‘You quite startled me at first. We did not see you come up the trail.” “No. We came up the back trail to please Steptoe, who wanted to see around the cabin,” said Dick, glancing nervously yet with a forced indifference toward the whisky which Stacy was offering to the stranger. “What yer gettin’ off there?” sald Step- toe, facing Dick almost brutally. know your tangled legs wouldn't take you straight up the trail, and you had to make a circumbendibus. Gosh! if you hadn't scented this licker at the top you'd have never found it. “No matter! I'm glad you did find it, Dick,” said Demorest, ‘and I hope you'll find the liquor good enough to pay you for the troubl Barker stared at Demorest. This extraordinary tolerance of the drunk- ard was something new in his partner. But at a glance from Demorest he led Dick to the demijohn and tig cup which stood on a table in the corner. And jn another moment Dick had forgotten his compan- ion’s rudeness. Demorest remained by the door, looking out into the darkness. “Well,” said Step- toe, putting down his emptied cup, “trot out your strike. I reckon our eyes are IT WAS AN “You- which Paul Van Loo entered the cabin as if it was a drawing room, and perhaps did not reflect upen that want of real feel- ing in an act which made the others un- comfortable. The slight awkardhess their entrance produced, howevéef, Was quickly forgotten when the blanket was again lifted from the pan of treasure. Singularly enough, too, the same feverlsli light came into the eyes of each as they all gathered around this yellow shrine.. Even the polite Paul rudely elbowed his way between the others, though his artifigial “pardon” seemed to Barker to condoge this act of brutal in- | stinct. But it was more instructive to ob- serve the manner in which the older loca- tors received this confirmation of the fickle Fortune that hati overlooked their weary labors and years of waiting to lavish her favors on the new and inexperienced ama- teurs. Yet, as they turned their dazzled eyes upon the three partners there was no | envy or malice in’ their depths, no re- proach on their lips, no insincerity in their wondering satisfaction. Rather there was a touching, almost childlike resumption of hope as they gazed at this conclusive evi- dence of nature’s bounty. The gold had been there—they had only missed it! And if there, more could he found! Was It not a proof of the richness of Heavy Tree Hill? So strongly was this reflected on their faces that a casual observer, contrasting them with the thoughtful countenances of the real owners, would have thought them the lucky ones. It touched Barker's quick sympathies, It puzzled Stacy, it made Dem- orest more serious, {t aroused Steptoe's active contempt. Whisky Dick alone re- mained stolid and impassive in a desperate attempt to pull himself once more together. Eventually he succeeded, even to the am. bitious achievement of mounting a chair and lifting his tin cup with a dangerously unsteady hand, which did not, howeve affect his precision of utterance, and said “Order, gentlemen! We'll drink success to—to—" Be “The next strike!’ said Barker, leaping canetoens y on another chair and beaming upon the old locators, ‘and may it come to those who have so long deserved it! is sincere and generous enthusiasm seamed to break the spell of silence that had fallen upon them. Other toasts quickly followed. In the general good feeling Bark- OLD DREAM. trong enough to bear it now.” Stacy drew the blanket irom the vague pile that stood in the corner and discovered a deep tin prospecting pan. It was hi d with sev- eral large fragments of quartz. At first the marble whiteness of ie quartz and the glittering ¢ tals of mica in its veins were the eon noticeable, but as they drew clcser they could see the dull yellow of gold filling the decomposed and honey- combed portion of t rock if still Nquid and molten. The eyes of the party spar- kled like the mica—even those of Barker and Stacy, who were already familiar with the is the richest chunk? asked in a thickening voice. y pointed it out. . Why, it's smaller than the others.” Heft it in your hand,” said Barker, with fh enthusiasm. he short, thick fingers of Steptoe grasp- ed it with a certain aquiline suggestion; his whole arm strained over it until his boy face grew purple, but he could not lift it. har vseter to be a little game in the *risco mint, said Dick, restored to fluency by his liquor, “when thar war ladies visiting it, and that was to offer to giv’ ‘em any of those little boxes of gold coin, that contained five thousand dollars, ef they would kindly lift it from the coun- ter and take it away! It n't no bigger than one of these chunks Jimminy! ycu oughter have seed them gals grip and heave on it, and then hev to give it up! You see, they didn’t know anything about the paci—(hic) the speshif—’ He stopped with great dignity, and added with painful precision, “the specific gravity of gold.” ‘Dry up!” said Steptoe, roughly. Then turning to Stacy, he said abruptly: “But where's the rest of it? You've got more than that.” “We sent it to Boomville this morning. You see, we've sold out our claim to a company who take it up tomorrow and put up a mill and stamps. In fact, it’s under their charge now. They’ve got a gang of men on the claim alread: “And what mout ye hev got for it, if it's a fair questioi said Steptoe, with a forced smile. Stacy smiled also, “I don’t know that it’s ness question,” he said. “Five hundred thousand dollars,” said Demorest abruptly from the doorway, “and a treble interest."* The eyes of the two men met. There was no mistaking the dull fire of envy in Step- toe’s glance, but Demorest received it with a certain cold curiosity, and turned away as the sound of arriving voices came from ithout. ‘ive hundred thovsand’s a big fi said Steptoe, with a coarse laugh, ‘ don't wonder it makes you feel’ so d—d sassy. But it was a fair question.” Unfortunately, it here occurred whisky-stimulated brain of Dick t friend he had introduc with scant courtesy. treatment by Steptoe. Leaning against the wall, he waved a dignified rebuke. “I'm seshified my ole frien’ is akshuated by only husinesh principles.” He paus ed himself and added with great’ precision: “When TI say he himself has a valuable to the the was being treated he forgot his own claim in Red Gulch and to my shertain kno ize has received offers—I have said enough.” The augh that broke from Stacy and Barker, to whom the infelix reputation of Red Gulch was notorio “d not allay Steptoe’s irritation. He da. -d a vindic- tive glance at the unfortunate Dick, but Joined in the laugh. “And what was -ye goin’ to do with that?” he said, pointing to the treasure. “Oh, we're taking that with us. There's a chunk for each of us as a memento. We cast lots for the choice and Demorest won. That one which you couldn't lift with one hand, you know,” said Stacy. : “Oh, couldn't I? I reckon you ain’t goin’ to give me the same chance that they did at the mirt, eh?” Although the remark was accompanied with his usual coarse, familiar laugh, there was a look in his eye so inconsequent in its significance that Stacy would have made some reply, but at this moment Dem- orest re-entered the cabin, ushering tn a half dozen miners from the Bar below. ‘They were, although young men, some of the older locators in the vicinity, yet, through years of seclusion and unevent- ful Tabors, they had acquired a certain childish simplicity of thought and manner that was alternately amusing and pathetic. They had never intruded upon the reserve of the three partners of Heavy Tree Hill before. Nothing but an infantine curi- osity, a shy recognition of the partners’ courtesy in Inviting them with the whole population: of ‘Heavy Tree” to the dinner next day, and the never-to-be-resisted temptation of an evening of “free liquor,” and forgetfulness of the past had brought them there now. Among them, and yet not of them, was a young man, who, al- though speaking English without accent, was distinctly of a different nationality and race. This, with a certain neatness of dress and artificial suavity of address, gained him the nickname of “the Count” nd “Frenchy,” although he: was really of ‘lemish extraction. He was the Union Ditch Company’s agent on the Bar by vir- tue of his knowledge of languages. Barker uttered an exclamation of pleas- ure when he saw him. Himself the in- carration. of naturalness, he had always secretly admired this young foreigner, with his lacquered smoothness, although a vague consciousness that neither Stacy nor Demorést shared his feelings had re- stricted their acquaintance. Nevertheless, be was proud now to see the bow with T er attached himself to Van Loo, with his usual boyish effusion, and in a burst of | confidence imparted the secret of his en- gagement ‘to Kitty Carter. Van Loo list- polite attention, formal congrat- but inscrutable that ocea- sionally wandered to Stacy and again to | the treasure. A slight chill of disappoint- | ment came over Barker's quick sensitive- | n Perhaps his enthusiasm had bore | this superior man of the world. Perhaps confidences were in bad taste! With a sense of his inexperience he® turned away. Van Loo took that oppor- y to approach Stacy. all this I hear of Barker being engaged to Miss Carter?” he said, with a faintly superior smile. “Is it really true?” Why shouldn't it be?” returned Stacy bluntly. Van Loo was instantly deprecating and smiling. “Why not, of course? But {sn’t it sudden?” : “They have known each other ever since he’s been on Heavy Tree Hill,” responded Stacy. “Ah, no “Well—he’s got money enough to marry, and he's going to marr: “Rather young, isn’t he?’ said Van Loo, still deprecatingly. “And she's got noth- z. Used to walt on the table at her fati- hotel in Boomyille, didn’t she?” “Yes, What of that? We all know it, “Of course. It's an excellent thing for her—and her father. He'll have a rich son- yes! True,” said Van Loo. “But in-law. About two hundred thousand is his share, isn’t it? I suppose old Carter is delightec Stacy had thought this before, but did not care to have it corroborated by this superfine young foreigner. “And I don’t reckon that Barker is offended if he 1s,” he said, curtly, as he turned away. Neverthe- less, he felt irritated that one of the three superlor partners of Heavy Tree Hill should be thought a dupe. Suddenly the conversation dropped, the laughter ceased. Every one turned round and by a common instinct looked toward the door, From the obscurity of the hill slope below came a wonderful tenor voice, modulated by distance and sptritualized by the darkness: When at some future day I shall be far away, Thou wilt be weeping, Thy lone watch keeping. The men looked at one another. Jack Hamlin,” they said. doing here? “The wolves are gathering around fresh meat,” said Steptoe, with his coarse laugh and a glance at the treasure. “Didn't ye xnow he came over from Red Dog yester- da “Well, give Jack a fair show and his own | game,” said one of the old locators, “and he'd clean out that pile afore sunvise. “And lose it next day,” added another. “That's “What's he “But never turn a hair or change a muscle in either case said a third. “Lord! I’ heard him sing away just like that when he's been jeaving the board with five thousand dollars in his pocke going away stripped of his last red cen Van Loo, who had been listening with a peculiar smile, here said in his most depre- cating manner: “Ys, but did you never con- sider the influence that such a man has on the hard-working tunnel men, who are ready to gamble their whole week's earn- ings to him? Perhaps not. But I know the Gifficulties of getting the Ditch rates from these men when he has been in camp." He glanced around him with some im- portance, but only a laugh followed his Speech. ‘‘Come, Frenchy,” said an old lo- cator, “you only say that because your lit- tle brother wanted to play with Jack like @ grown man, and when Jack ordred him off the board and he became sassy, Jack scooted him outer tle saloon. 5 Van Loo’s face reddened with anger that had the apparent effect of removing ev- ery trace of his, former polished repose, and leaving only a ard outline beneath. At which Demorest interfered: “I can’t say that F see much difference in gambling by Putting money into a hole in the ground and ‘expecting to take more frcm it than by putting it on a card for the same purpose.” Here the ravishing tenor voice, which Lad been approaching, ceased, and was succeeded by a heart*breaking and equally melodious whistling to finish the bar of the singer's song. And the next moment Jack Hamlin appearedzin the doorway. Whatever was his present financial con- dition, Mr. Jack! Hamlin, in perfect self- possession, and “Sha: ing sangfroid, fully bere out his prgsioug description. He was as clean and refreshing looking as a Ma- drono tree in the dust-blown forest. An odor of scented soap and freshly ironed linen was waftcd from him; there was Scarcely a crease in his white waistcoat, nor a speck upon his varnished shoes. He might have been an auditor of the pre- vious. conversation, so quickly and com- pletely did he seem to take-in the whole situation at a glance. Perhaps there was an extra tlt to his black-ribboned Panama hat, and a certain dancing deviltry in his brown ‘eyes—which might also have been an answer to adverse criticism. “When, I, his truth to prove, would trifle with my love,” he warbled in gentle continuance from the doorway. Then drop-* ping cheerfully ‘into speech, he added, “Well, boys. I am here to welcome the little stranger, and to trust that the fam~ ily are doing as well as can be expected. Ah! there it ts! Blees it!” He went on, walking leisurely to the treasure.*Trip- lets, tool—and plump at that. Have you had 'em weighed?” Frankness was an essential quality of Heavy Tree Hill. “‘We were just saying, Jack,” said an old locator, “that giving you a fair show and your own game, you could manage to get away with that pile before daybreak.” “And Im just thinking,” sald Jack cheerfully, “that there were some of you here that could do that without any such useless preliminary.” His brown eyes rest- ed for a moment on Steptoe, but turning quite abruptly to Van Loo, he held out his hand. Startled and embarrassed before the others, the young man at last advanced his, when Jack coolly put his own, as if forgetfully, in his pocket. ‘I thought you might like to know what that little brother of yours is doing,” he said to Van Loo, yet looking at Steptoe. “I found him wander- ing about the hill here quite drunk. “I have repeatediy warned him——” be- gan Van Loo, reddening. “Against bad company, I know,” sug- gested Jack gayly; “yet in spite of all that, I think he owes some of his liquor to Step- toe yonder.” “I never supposed the fool would get arunk over a glass of whisky offered in tun,” said Steptoe harshly, yet evidently quite as much disconcerted as angry “The trouble with Steptee,” said Hamlin, thoughtfully spanning his slim waist with both hands as he looked cown at pol- ished shoes, “is that he has such a soft- hearted liking for all weaknesses. Al ys wanting to protect chaps that can’t look after themselves, whether it's Whisky Dick there, when he has a pull on, or some nig- ger when he’s made a little strike, or that straying lamb of Van Loo’s when he’s pup- py drunk. But you're wrong about me, boys. You can’t draw me in any game to- right. This is one of my nights off, which I devote exclusively to contemplation and song. But,” he added, suddenly turning to his three hosts with a bewildering and fas. cinating change of expression, “I couldn't resist coming up here to see you and your pile, even if I never saw the one or the other before, and am not I'kely to sce either again. I believe in luck! And it comes a mighty sight oftener than a fellow thinks it does. But it doesn’t come to stay. So I'd advise you to keep your eyes skinned and hang on io it while it’s with you iike grim death. So lon: Resisting all attempts of his hosts—who had apparently fallen as suddenly and un- accountably under the magic of his man- ner—to detain him longer, he stepped light- ly away, his voice presently rising again in melody as he descended the hill. Nor was it at all remarkable that the othe apparently drawn by the same inevitable magnetism, were impelled to follow him naturally joining their voices with his, leav- ing Steptoe and Van Loo so markedly behind them alone that they were compelled at last in sheer embarrassment to close up the rear of the procession. In another moment the cabin and the three partners again re- lapsed into the peace and quiet of the night. With the dying away of the last voices on By hillside the old solitude reasserted it- self. But since the interruption of the stranger they had lost their former sluggish con- templation, and now busied themselves in preparation for their early departure from the cabin the next morning. They had ar- ranged to spend the following day and night at Boomville and Carter's Ho’ where they were to give their farewell din. ner to Heavy Tree Hill. They talked but little together; since the rebuff his enthusi- astic confidences had received from Van Loo, Barker had been grave and thought- ful, and Stacy, with the irritating recollec- tion of Van Loo’s criticisms in his mind, had refrained from his usual rallying of Barker. Oddly enough, they spoke chiefly of Jack Hamlin—till then personally a stranger to them, on account of his infelix reputation—and even the critical Demorest expressed a wish they had known him be- fere. “But you never know the real value of anything until you're quittin’ it, or it’s quittin’ you,’ he added sententiously. Barker and Stacy both stared at their companion. It was unlike Demorest to re- gret anything—particularily a mere social div x 3 ." remarked Stacy, you known Jack Hamlin €: professionally, a great deal of real v: would have ted you before did.” “Don't repeat that rot flung out by who have played Jack’s game and returned Demor a trust him He stopped, gla at the meditative Barker, and then cluded abruptly, “the whole caboodle of his criti They were silent for a few moment and then med to have fallen into th: former dreamy mood, as they relapsed in to their old ‘seats again. At last Stac: drew a long breath. “I wish we had sent those nuggets off with the others this morning. “Why?” said Demorest, “Why? Well, a— oppress me, don't y “that rlier it suddenly. it all! they kind o’ u see? I seem to feel ‘em here, on my chest—all the three,” re- turned Stacy, only hal? Jocularly.’ “It's their d—d* specific gravity, I supp I don't like the idea of sleeping in the same room with ‘em. They're altogether too much for us three men to be left alone with.” “You don't mean that you think that anybody would attempt—” said Demorest. Stacy curled a fighting lip rather super- ciliously. ‘*) I don’t think that—I rather wish I did. It's the blessed chunks of solid gold that seem to have got us fast, don't you know, and are going to stick to us for good or ill. A sert of Franken- stein monster that we've picked out of a hole from below.” “I know just what Stacy means,” said Barker, breathlessly, rounding his gray eyes. “I've felt it, too. Couldn’t we make a sort of cache of it—bury it just outside the cabin for tonight? It would be sort of putting it back in its old place, you know, for the time being. It might like ae The two others laughed. “Rather rough on Providence, Barker, boy,” said Stacy, “handing back the heaven-sent gift so soon! Besides, what’s to keep any pros- pector from coming along and making a strike of it? You know that’s mining law— if you haven't pre-empted the spot as a claim.” But Barker was too staggered by this material statement to make any reply, and Demorest arose. “And I feel that you'd both better be turning in, as we've got to get up earl. He went to the corner of the cabin and threw the blanket back over the- pan and its treasure. ‘There! that'll keep the chunks from getting up to ride astride of you like a nightmare.” He shut the door and gave a momentary glance at its cheap hinges and the absence of bolt or bar. Stacy caught his eye. “We'll miss this security in San Izancisco—perhaps even in Boomville,” he sighed. It was scarcely 10 o'clock, but Stacy and Barker had begun to undress themselves with intervals of yawning and desultory talk, Barker continuing an amusing story with one stocking off and his trousers hanging on his arm, until at last both men were snugly curled up in their respective bunks. Presently Stacy’s voice came from under the blanket: Hallo! aren't you going to turn in, too?” “Not yet,” said Demorest, from his chair before the fire. “You see, it’s the last night in the old shanty, and I reckon I'll see the rest of it out.” “That's so,” said the impulsive Barker, struggling violently with his blanket. “I tell you what, boys, we just ought to make a watch night of it—a regular vigil, you know—until 12 at least. Hold on! I'll get up, too!” But here Demorest arose, caught his youthful partner’s bare foot, which went searching painfully for the ground, in one hand, tucked it back under the blankets, and’heaping them on top of him, patted the bulk with an authoritative, pa- ternal air. “You'll just say your prayers and go to sleep, sonny. You'll want to be fresh as a daisy to appear before Miss Kitty tomor- row early, and you can keep your vigils for tomorrow night, after dinner, in the back drawing room. I said ‘Good night,’ and I mean it!” Protesting feebly, Barker finally yielded in a nestling shiver and a sudden silence. Demorest walked back to his chair; a pro- lorged snore came from Stacy’s bunk. ‘Then everything was quiet; Demorest stirred up the fire, cast a huge root upon it, ard leaning back in his chair, sat with half-closed eyes and dreamed. It was an old dream that for the past three years had come to him daily, some- times even overtaking him under the shade of a buckeye in his noontide rest on his claim—a dream that had never yet failed to wait for him at night by the fireside when his partners were at rest. A dream of the past, but so real that it always made the present seem the dream which he was ireving joward some sure awakening. It was not strange that it should come to him tonight, as it had often come before, slowly shaping itself out of the obscurity as the vision of a fair young girl seated in one of the empty chairs before him. the same pretty, childlike face, fraught with a half-frightened, half-wondering trouble; always the same slender, graceful figure, but always glimmering in diamonds and satin, or spiritual in lace and pearls, against his own rude and sordid surround- igs. Always silent with parted lips until the night wind smote some chord of recol- lection, and then mingled a remembered voice with his own. For at those times he Always | seemed to speak also, albeit with closed lips | and an utterance inaudible to all but her. “Well?” he said sadiy. “Well?” the voice repeated, like a gentle echo blending with his own “You know it all now,” he went on. “You know that it has come at last—all that I had worked for, prayed for. All that would have made us happy have saved all too late? “Too late,” echoed the voice with his. You remember, he went on, * day we were together. ; all that would and you to me has come at last, You re friends and family would ha up a penniless man. You rememb en they reproached you with my pover' 1 told you that it was only your wealth that I was seeking, that I then determined to go away and never to return to claim you un- til that reproach couid be removed. remember, dearest, how | and bade me stay with you, even fly with u, but not to leave you alone with them. | You wore the same dress that day, darling your eyes had the same wandering, child- | ike fear and trouble in them: your jewels glittered on you as you trembled, and I} refused. In my pride, or rather in my | Weakness and cowardice, I refused. I came away and broke my heart among these recks and ledges, yet grew strong: and you, my iove, you, sheltered and guarded by these you loved, you—” He d and buried his face in his hand: night Wind breathed down the chimney and from the stirred aShes on the hearth came the soft whisper: “I died.” “And then,” he went on, “I cared for nothing. Sometimes my heart awoke for this young partner of mine in his innocent, trustful love for a girl that even in her humble station was far beyond his hopes, and I pitied myself in him. Home, for- tune, friends, I no longer cared for—all were forgo‘ten. And now they are return- ing to me—only that I may see the hollow- ress and vanity of them, and taste the bit- terness for which I have sacrificed you. An] here, on this last night of my exile, I am confronted with only the jealousy, the doubt, the meaness and selfishness that is to come. Too late! Too late! The wondering, troubled es that ha@ lcoked into his here appeared to clear and | brighten with a sweet prescience. Was it the wind moaning in the chimney that seemed to whisper to him: “Too late, be- loved, for.me, but not for you. I died, but | love still live ip. And in your happiness I, too, m: 4 He started. In the flic chair was empty. The wi ring tirelight the that had swept | down the chimney had rred the a: | with the sound like the p > of a ru ling skirt. There was a chill in the air and a smell like that of opened earth. nervous shiver passed over him. Th sat upright. There was no mistake; no superstitious fancy, but a faint, damp curren of air was actually flowing’ across his feet toward the fireplace. He was about to rise, when he stopped suddenly and be- came motionless. He was aciively conscious now of a strange sound which had affected him even in the preoccupation of his vision. It was a gentle brushing of some yielding sub- stanc> like that made by a soft broom on sand, or the sweep of a gown. But to his mountain ears, attuned to every woodland sound, it was not like the gnawing of gopher or squirrrel, the scratching of wild eat, nor the hairy rubbing of bear. Nor was it human; the long, deep respirations of his sleeping companions were distinct from that monotonous sound. He could not even tell if it were in the cabin or without. Suddenly his eye fell upon the pile in the corner. The blanket that covered the treas- A ure was actually moving. (To be continued.) Collection of Famous Death Masks Presented to the University. From Harper's Weekly. Mr. Laurence Hutton has given his fa- mous collection of death masks to Prince: ton University. There are over se’ masks In the lot, nearly all of them of very noted personages. It is the only nota- ble collection of the sort in existence, and Mr. Hutton has been adding to for the last thirty years. The story of its beg’ ning is that one day, as long ago as the civil war, while Mr. Hutton was still a clerk in a New York store, he was stand- ing in a book shop when a boy came in with a death mask in his hand, which he sold to the proprietor of the shop for fifty cents. Mr. Hutton identified the mask as ove of Franklin, and assisted in the trans- action, Mr. Hutton followed the boy out, learned that he had found the mask in an ash barrel, and that there were more. Next day he located the barrel, and found in it six masks, which turned “out to be another mask of Franklin, others of Wordsworth, Scott and Cromwell, and casts from the skulls of Robert Burns and Robert Brace. So tke collection began. The history of its growth is full of stories, many of which have already been told in Portraits in Plas- ter (Harper's), the book which Mr. Hutton wrote about his collection some four years ago. Not much money was actually spent for the masks themselves—about $300, Mr, Hutton has said—but the expenditure of time and money in finding and identifying them has been profuse. It has been stated that Mr. Hutton was offered $30,000 for the collection by a London museum, but that story is not true. No offer of money was ever made for it, nor has a price ever been put on it. Mr. Hutton once offered ‘t to the Metropolitan Museum in New York, but cculd not get assurance that it would be kept together there. At Princeton tne ccllection will be placed in the new library now building, and as Mr. Hutton intends to have a summer home at Princeton, it will still be under his eye. It does not appecr whether the university wili feel an obliga- tion to add to the collection as well as to preserve it, but the natural propensity of collections is to grow, especially after the Tame of them has gone abroad and reached the junkmen. A Woman's Love. A sentinel angel sitting high fn glory rd this shrill wail ring out from Purgatory: Have mwerey, mighty angel, hear my siury! “TI loved—and, blind with passionate love, I fell. Love brought ‘me down to death, and death to Hell, For God is just, and deauh for sin is well. “I do not rage against His high decree, Nor for myself do ask that grace shall be; But for my love on earth who mourns for ine. “Great Spirit! Let me see my love again And comfort him one hour, and I were fain To pay a thousand years 6f tire and pain,” ‘Then said the pitying angel, “N: That wild vow! Look, the dial- Down to the last hour’ of thy punt: But still she wailed, “I pray thee, I I cannot rise te peace and leave fim Ob, let me soothe him in iis bitter woe repent 5 bent nent !”? ne got ‘The brazen gates ground suMenly ajar, Aud upward, joyous, like a rising star, She rose aud vanished in tbe ether far. But soon adown the dying sunset sailing, And like a wounded Vird her pinions truiling, She fluttered back, with oroken-hearted wail She sobbed, “I found him by the summer sea Itcelined, “is head upoa a inaiden’s,kmec— She curled his hair and kissed Lim. Woe is me!? She wept, “Now let my punishmeat begin! I have been fond and foolish. Let me in ‘To expiate my sorrow and my sin.” The angel answered, “Nay, sad soul, go higher! To be deceived in your trie heart's desire Was bitterer than @ thousand years of fire!” —JOMN TAY, oe. If you want anything, try an ad. in The Star. If anybody has what you wish, ycu will get an answer. es “We ought to give the devil his du “Yes; but the trouble is, we often spend on him money we owe to other people.”— Chicago Record. You | ° you clung to me | and accurate as t oats and barley in bunches and ther it is three or four in apart as you can stre just as a Connecticut farmer weeds very ric bresive ale i Danger, Fatigue Means a Dranght on One's Reserve Strength. the Leader, Jonn PLS Cleveland, Ohio, whe Hives is one of a «i can bear “y to Dr is tn fam! od has ay ther men who ssion of an exc ted strain w f the smupaay, capacity finds it her symptoms of t the story in his own words tells it in pla: istle of a man w sweat of his brow glowing Urtbute e blood would rush. for almost make me faint on the wine, avd iy to think of th ahead of me. My for ehtly as formerly 1 could not sleep well, and was us » get the rest and recreation [needed The. warn weather was md, and Twas afesid 4 dow Bon I was sum Dility. W: tin “I know that something w nd smn, too. T talked w What to de Som. now One isern w the aphlet or adver is. It tald bh re suffering £) to i in doubt ast w claimed they were, but ny ed. Those pills fixed ns. Tonever saw a med ml surely as those little ne T took seemed to and the my took scted awfully tired nnd Imost from t Start. After taking half a deren « is my op Was unr Then my and with it came my old-tim as ever now, and pills did Just what t coal yard Is hard, and 1 « Rut 1 have to ov dition 1 was Williams’ Pick 7 doe 1 Williams’ trow f 1 ever buy dom them self st May 1 res get int more of i Pink Pills for Pale BP r butld A CHAMPION G Remarkable Achievements of @ Chi- cago Enthusiast. From Harper's Weekly. Certain Interesting experiments la made in Chicago, to the end of getting now sensations out of the game of golf, seem fit to be recorded in the Interest of golfers now preparing to resume their occu : To Mr. Charles Mac come so inordinately skill that a new form of han able for him, it was s yuld play a match wi ald was surprised to find pretty arly as well with . n with two. The left hand has a ten to pull the ball rokes « the right hand only, thoug powerful than those made with b hands, were erful enough, and we exceptional curate. T -ha drives wer iy as long as the play usual drives with both han: he most ficult strokes to execute with hand urned out to be the approach shots and rokes made with a lofte but these wera not so fil done but what’ Mr. Macdonald wen his match without difficults Then the appetite for experiments being still strong, it was proposed that Mr. M donald should play with i re ie folded. A match was made with a stroug player, who gave him odds of one siroke to each hole. Gogzies were provided which completely blindfolded their wearer. Mr, Macdonald before each stroke was allowed to take his position and address his bail with his eyes open; then the goggles were pulled down. He says that ball was really just as visible to him with his eyes shut as with them open. His play was excellent, and he won this match as easily as the other. Both of these experiments,ana the latter especially, were interesting tests of form, and showed how tenacious trained muscies are of the positions and motion which they have learned. What Women Are Doin, From Harper's Bazar A mass meeting of nearly two thousand women was held recently at Omaha, > for the purpose.of electing eleven of their number for the board of lady managers of the trans-Mississippi exposition. Of th women ch one an authoress of some note, one a well-known artist in china one a musician of ac- knowledg: nt, another is a prominent library th eminently fitted for the called upon to dischar toward making their city’s great ev thorough succ soo Farmers in Japan, Japan is one vast garden, over the fields you can in and as you look ine that they are covered with toy farms where the chil- dren are playing with the laws of nature and raising samples of different kin of vegetables and grains. Everything is on a diminutive scale, and the work fine appli vase. What would an farmer think of planting nok his corn, ches high, transplant- ing every spear of it in row® about as far 1 your finge his wheat ff Japanese farmer weed. ids his onion bed, and cultivates his potatoes and barley with as much care as a Long Island farmer tows upon his asparagus and mushrooms or his flowers. ——- eee ‘The Visitor—“And what are you going to make of him?” Mamma—“I want him to be a phils thropist. “Why, there is no money in that.” ut all the philanthropists have been ie REVENGE Is sW From Life,