Evening Star Newspaper, August 5, 1923, Page 66

&l’ckly Moving' Incidents, With uine Human Interest, the Northwest Mounted O the post at Red Wing came Emile Roubideau with the story of a man of the north- west mounted lying dead on Pincher creek, a bullet Lele in the ‘back of his head. Emile had brought dispatches to Inspector Cairns. They told of the hold-up of the Sunset Flyer at Gray Mound by a single bandit who had robbed the ecxpress car of $30,000. Though & light snow had blotted out the trail, he had apparently headed north. Important, if true, this last. It meant that if the outlaw had crossed the line into Canada the red- ©oats must be on the lookout for him. But the death of Jack Drummond came more nearly home to the In- spector. Less than a week ago Jack had ridden from the barracks on special service, humming a dance tune. Had his life been snuffed out because he had found evidence against Brill Sheridan that would conviot him? While Roubideau talked with hands. shoulders and excited voice, Cairns sat erect behind his desk, a spare. goldierly man with a face keen as a sword blade. He put incisive ques- tions, drew deductions and summoned Constable Barry. 5 Into the room presently quick- stepped a lean-flanked trooper in the prime of his splendid youth. There was no superfluous ounce on his trim, well set body. Barry saluted his grizzled chief and waited silently at attention. “Afrald Drummond's gone west” fhe inspector said. “Shot frem be- Tind—on Pincher creek. Roubideau found his body." The deep blue eyes of the con- stable winced. Jack Drummond had been his 1al. “Sure it's Jack?" he asked. “Drummond’s the only one out that way.” Cairns turned to the messen- ger. “Tell your story again, Roubi- deau.” The French-Canadian burst into an- other eruption of words. It had been while he was making a short eut across Pincher that a gleam of scar- let had caught his eye and drawn him to the body of the murdered man. He had examined and “V'la! he wore the uniferm. Oui, monsieur! A close-trimmed brown mustache.” The inspector dismissed Roubideau and gave Barry brief, crisp instruc- tlons. “Take a driver with you and send Drummend's body back. Find out who shot him. If you can't do that get Brill Sheridan and bring him in. And T've just heard that some one— 2 single man, it seems, though he must have had help on the outside— robbed the western flyer at Gray Mound of $30,000. He's headed this they think. No deseription ex- cept that he's a big man. Keep a lookout for him.” * k¥ x JITHIN the hour Barry was on | the road to Pincher ereek. A light wagon followed close at the heels of his mount. Roubideau was driving this. The trail was hard and travel easy. By midafternoon they had reached Millard lake. Before dusk ihey were zlgzagging up Pincher creek. “Roun’ mext RAdbidssn dait. Breauing e wagon hama been lert a halr mile back. They were now follow- ing a rough deer trail through young timber. Another five minutes and the of- ficer swung from the suddle. He had come upon the body of a man lying face down among the dead leaves. At the base of the brain was a small hole which tunneled into the head. 1t led upward and to the left. Barry turned over the body and recognized at once the face of Jack Drummond. His jaw tightened as he looked down at his friend. The constable pushed back his emotion and bent his mind to the problem before him. If Drummond lay whera he had fallen—there was no evidence that the body had been dragged through the thick carpet of leaves—he must have been shot by momebody crouched at the righthand side of the trail, If he had been in the open Jack would have seen him as he passed. Therefore he must have been behind the big cotton- wood rooted close to the path. The shot had been fired while ita victim was scarcely two paces distant Carefully Barry brushed aside the thin cover of smow above the leaves. found nothing to show that any- msieur.” a lon) o o) ze turn, Among Police. TOROM a cheerless night Barry rose I 1o a dismal dawn. Breakfast was & poor affair of half-cooked bacon and lukewarm coffee, for the fire was frankly surrendering to the storm. The trooper packed and began his cross-country ride. He rode head-down into the buffet- ing of the sleet-packed wind. The chill of ‘the tempest bit to the bones. The lashing of the fine sleet flogged his face savagely. He could be sure only of the general direction in which he traveled. At times he walked, the horse at his heels. Again he rode. But there was no certainty as to where he was go- ing. Crow Creek might be a hundred yards in front of him, It might be at hiy back. He was lost. He gave the pony its head. Not a month ago he had ridden on Jim-Jack to the deserted McDiarmid eabin. It was possible the mustang might, by animal instinct, find its way there again, Within half an hour Jim-Jack struck the creek and Barry dismount- ed and walked. Feet and hands were treezing. Eyelids and lashes were so coated with ice that he could hardly see. Unexpectedly, he brought up in his stride. A fence barred the way. He leaned against it weakly. Hope leaped | in his heart. He was saved. Through a gap in the fence he led | Jim-Jack, Out of the white mist a house emerged phantasmally, and & stable. In the stable Barry found hay and a pitchfork. Not until he had made Jim-Jack comfortable did he turn toward the house. The constable opened the door and walked in. He pulled up near the threshold abruptly, A girl sitting before the open fire had jumped to her feet and was staring at him with startled eves. He closed the door and deadened the scream of the storm. They faced each other silently, their gazes locked in wordless question. Barry tried to lift a stiff and frozen hand to his hat. Without warning, his knee joints buckled and he went down to the floor. For a moment he was hazily near unconsclousness. When the mists cleared she was kneeling beside him, her arm under hiy head, her anxious face close to hi “’S all right,” he said, smiling at her. “I've been bucking the blizzard. That's all.” He sat up. She ran te a cupboard, found a bottle and glass and started to pour him a drink. “Could vou give me tea or coffee in- stead?’ he suggested. “If you'd rather.” She made preparations without wasted effort. Her guest moved to the fire, sat down heavily and drew off the frozen gauntlets. “Take your boots off, too,” she said. In her voice was the unconscious arrogance of youth. Life throbbed in her, rich and abundant. It expressed ttsel? imperiously. Barry's stiff fingers fumbled abor- tively at the boots. Apparently she was not looking at him, but she gave up setting the table and came swiftly aeross the room to him. “Let me!” It was not a request, but an order. She was on her knees working at the ice-coated boots before he could pro- test, tonil swiftly, body had been kneeling there. But back of the tree was a thicket and 1o one of the thorns there clung a small fragment of cloth, such a V- shaped scrap as might have been torn from a pair of trousers. The goods, Barry guessed, were a blue- and-white plald with a thread of yellow. He put the piece of woolen Btuff in his pocketbook. Those bits of woven thread might some day hang a man. Across the saddle they carried the body of the soldier back to the wagen. The temperature was fall- ing and the wind beginning to blow. Roubideau sniffed the air anxiously. “By Gar, she gettin' her back up for howlin' hell, look like. Emile he think better burn ze trail for Red ‘Wing." “Righto, Roubideau,” the officer as- mented promptly. “The sooner the quicker. Tell Inspector Gairns I'm headed for Scotty McDiarmid's old eabin on Crow creek.” The guide remonstrated. Better o back to the post with him till the storm had spent itself. Barry shook his head. He did not explain that the motto of the scar- Jet-and-gold is “Maintieu le droit.” None of the mounties ever turned back from a pursuit as long as he gould stand and see. They built a fire and ate. From _the wagon the red coat took the Mes he had brought and Roubi- leau drove away. Fhe fire was under a outbank, #which protected somewhat from the wind whistling down the coulee. The ight was bitter. A driving, sleet pelted and the cold searched to the marrow of the man huddled under the ice-coated blankets. He slept ®nly by snatches. Twioe he rose to soothe his fret- ful horse and to pile more wet cot- tonweod limbs on the smoky, de- Sressed fire. ER small, strong hands tugged at the boots which clung stub- bornly to his feet. Slender she was, but her slenderness encased a poised strength born, probably, of sun and wind and the saddle. “There,” she cried, radiant with tri- umph, and put the second boot a safe distance from the fire. The black, dark-lashed eyes that met his were in striking contrast with the thick, crisp brown hair and the fair skin. Barry had the blitie heart, one in which & song could unexpectedly bub- ble up. He felt the lilt of it now, while he trijed awkwardly to express his thanks. “My name's Donald Barry,” he told her by way of introduction. “Mine’s Celeste Nelson.” Of course! Celeste, the girl men dreamed about while they mushed through the snows of the lone lands, whose dark and flashing eyes they saw in the long camp fires of winter nights. He had heard much of her, for wherever men went in this thinly settled country they carried tales of Celeste Nelson. Her generosity, her free and untamed spirit, the wilful temper of the girl—these were house- hold words, Her reputation was none too good among the stald Scotch set- tlers te the south and west, for she was Brill Sheridan's half-sister, and the rumor ran that she was to marry Black Jack Wardlaw. What was she doing here? Why was this cabin, until a few weeks ago deserted, now roughly furnished for living? A glance showed him men's clothing and belongings scattered about the room, but none of those which tell of a woman's presence. His feet and hands began to tingle with the pain of returning circula- tion. He took off his heavy fur coat to give his arms freer play for mas- saging the number flesh. Sne stared at him, eyes dilated. Her face was an open book, in which he read resentment, anger, hatred, and, beneath them all, a paralysing and immediate fear. The sight of his uniform had transformed her. = She was no longer an eager Samaritan with no thought except to serve; a crouched and wary enemy rather, one of unknown potentlal danger. There was about her a flare of savagery that carried back to the primitive. THE SUNDAY E was amazingly distressed. Was it possible that tms clear-eyed girl, passionate and untamed though she might be, could have murder Jack Drummond from ambush? He reject- ed the thought violently, and even as he did 5o knew that he refused it illogically, because he did not want to accept it. She had information to give him. He must get it.from her. “You might tell me how and where you tore vour skirt,” he ansiered. He knew he had struck home—read it in her flinching eyes. L0 Loy, “I'll not. It's none of your busl- ness,” she cried. From his pocketbook he took the fragment of cloth found at the scene of the murder. Quickly he stepped forward, stooped, and fitted it to the tear in tive dress. The girl furiously struck down his hand. Grim-eyed and hard, steadily at his hostes eves fell sullenly. “Are vou going to arrest me.” she demanded. “What for?" His curt counter-thrust disarmed M 16 UAR L AGAIRNL [ho IR 10 have o torn skirt. She had miven her- self away before any accusation haa been made. “You act so high an’ mighty,” she charged defensively. “You ride over me as it—as—if “What do you know of the killing of Jack Drummond?’ he asked, evenly. Nothing. Nothing at all,’ cried on & high note of apprehension. ‘1l not say anything. I wom't.” “Why were you on Pincher creek? What were you doing there? Who killed Drummond?" “I won't talk. I won't. ing to say. You can arrest me if you like.” “You are under arrest,” quietly “Why? You have to tell me why. Do you think I—I killed him” She flung out the abhorred word passion- ately. This time her eyes held fast. Some spark in him was blown to flame in response to ‘her challenge. She was so young, had gone so little a way in life, vet had been so misused by It, In spite of herself, perhaps, she had traveled the crooked trails of out- lawry. To Donald Barry came the conviction that this wildling of the plains stood at a fateful crossroads. The sympathy that stirred in him did not reach the impersonal voice of his answer. He was first of all one of the mounted, sworn to do justice without fear or favor. “I think you knew who did.” “Why should I hurt him? I'd never even met the man." “Have I said you did 1t?" ‘You don't need to say so. what you think.” “Do you? Where dan?" She looked at him, her slim body tense. Blm? “Drummond went out to get I'm wondering if he found Brill. He said it very quietly, but his steady eyes searched her. From her cheeks the suffusion of underlying crimson ebbed. Instantly ha knew ber fear was for her brothér, nat for herself. The measure of his relief was sur- prising. She *was shielding Brill. That was, technically, a crime. But it was different from cold-blooded murder. “I don't know." he looked Her defiant she T've noth- he said 1 know is Brill Sheri- “What do you want with Shadowed behind “What are you here for? What do ! her words he found a note of horror. you want?” she asked. “I'm here on busin quietly. “What business?' A pulse fluttered in her brown throat. Her deep eyes searched him anxiously, suspiciously. “I'm paid to ask questions, not an- swer them,” he said smiling at her. “What questions? I've nothing to tell you.” The reason for her panic came to him in a blinding flash of light. The 00ds of the dress she wore had for pattern & blue and white plald with & thread of yellow. On the left-hand side, near the bottom of the skirt, a small, V-shaped wedge had been torn oute. he said “When did you see Brill last?” “A week ago.” “Where?" “At home. “Where has he been sinoe then?” “I don't know. He left—on busi- nees.” : ‘Tell you what it was?" . “He buys cattle—sometimes goes a 100 miles to get them, I don‘t.think he mentioned where he was going this time. He's often away for weeks.” She turned away to cut the bread and pour a cup of coffee. Then, sul- lenly, she suggested that he had bet- ter eat. & 5 While he was at table he ‘asked auestions and drew reluctant angwers§ ‘Witho u | | He learned that Brill had taken care of her ever since her mother had died, when she was two years old. He had always been good to her, and it plain that she repaid his kind- ness with love and devotion. She was willing* ‘enough to talk of Brill's gameness, of his fine loyalty to his friends, of his passionate sense of justice, but of the other side to his character—the fierce, impul- sive turbulence that had made him a leader among the wilder spirits of the border—she had nothing to say. . ELESTE slept on the cot, Barry in blankets on the floor before the fire. The blizzard by morning had blown itself out The sun was shining on a young world clothed in white. Don Barry had the gift of com- panfonship. As he helped the girl make breakfast it expressed itself gayly in jest and quip. In spite of herself, there were moments when the youth in her went out eagerly to meet his She was starved for just what he had to give—the whole- some friendliness of a clean and gal- lant man who still found life a shcndia avEntare Then. in an instant. the song in her heart would go out like a snuffed canale. What hobe of joy could there be in a world where one whom she loved and admired could kill in cold blood from ambush? And for & rea- son so mordid and base? Her mind sought vainly to escape its own con- clusions. But how was that possible when the cause of the horrible deed, and the evidence of it that might yet convict the slayer, where in the room now, in a gunny sack under the bed? The stubborn facts could not be de- nied. At thought of them her face took ‘on a stony look, as though stricken by inescapable woe. Barry was wiping the breakfast dishes for her when the door opened and & man stood on the threshold. He stopped in his stride, astonished at sight of them. There was some- thing catlike in the poise, in the slitted eves that watched them close- 1y, & chill and deadly hostility that lowered the temperature of the room. The girl spoke first. “You here, Jack?" She was manifestly sur- prised The memory of Barry carried him ack io school days in Ontario. He saw a soft-eyed woman, kind, tender, motherly, one who had taken to her heart and home a forlorn orphan boy. She was no kin of his, but he owed her a debt he could never pay. Never 2 month passed that he did not write to her. ' As far as could be he tried to take the place of the scalawag son she worgiipped, the ne'er-do-well, who had drained her of her small means and vanished into the frontler west, It was her son, John Sanford, who had just come into the cabin. Celeste introduced the men dubi- ously. Black Jack Wardlaw had a standing grudge at any one who wore the uniform of the Northwest Mounted. No muecle in the face of this man, who now called himself Wardiaw, moved in the least, but the wary eyes held a cold, hard light as menacing as a revolver. “Friend of yours?” girl, with a sneer. he asked the FROM A COAT POCKET CELESTE El!}fg A PAIR OF STEEL HAND- In the undercurrent of his mind he was trying to place this scarlet-coat- ed young fellow with the quiet and steadfast eves. Where had he seen him before, A vague yemembrance stirred uneasily in him. “He came last night to get out of the storm,” she said. “Last night? Brill here?” Celeste flushed. She understood the implication of the questions. “No,” she answered, and the chal- lenge in her voice was as imperious as his. ‘Where s he?" I don’t know.” What's this fellow want™" “He hasn't told me. You can ask | him." * K ¥ k¥ HE stood straight and slender, fac- ing the man with level gaze. Bar- read in the long look thev mave each other not only a clash of tem- perament, but a close and subtle un- derstanding born of intimate knowl- came of each other. < What was the nature of the tie that bound them? Wardlaw turned to the officer and flung a rude demand at him. “What d'you want here, fellow?" “This your house, Mr. Wardlaw?* Barry spoke gently. courteously, but nobody could by any chance mis- take that low-voiced tone for weak- ness. “Don’t pull that line of talk, I never did like epies. Don't like ‘em now. Youll hit the trail.” Wardlaw stood with his feet apart, hands crossed behind his back, leaning for- ward a little. “When my business is finished.” the redcoat added quietly. “And probably 1 won't travel alone.” ‘Meaning?" “That I'll take with me the man who killed Constable Drummond.” A light of concentrated deadliness flickered in the eyes of the bad man. “Got any notion who he was?" Barry had flung out his prophecy to see what effect it would have on Wardlaw. The man was not sur- prised. He knew of the death of the officer “Oh, ves!" The redcoat smiled the carefree smile of one who has no troubles. “Put a name to him," Black Jack snarled, and his teeth showed like tusks. “Soon. Not now.” The girl watched them tensely, nerves quivering with excitement. THE CONSTABLE OPENED THE DOOR AND WALKED IN, A GIRL EYES, fs) = STAR, WASHINGTON, D. C, 'AUGUST 5, 1923—PART 5. t Fear or Favor HE door opened and a man stood blinking on the threshold while his eyes became accustomed to the semi-darkness of the cabin. Celeste gave a little gasp of dis- may, and instantly covered her mis take, “Mr. Rogers! 1 wasn't looking for you; Mr. Rogers. This gentleman is Constable Barry.” And to the offi- cer, “Shake hands with Mr. Rogers." Barry took in the newcomer swift-, ly. The man waw big and rangy, sandy-haired, with a long. drooping mustache a shade lighter. His per- son fitted accurately a description AR AR that had been glven Barry of Ce- leste's big half-brother. The constable stepped forward and shook hands. “Glad to meet you, Mr, Sheridan. I've been looking for vou. Have to take you with me to the post.” ‘That s0?” The cattleman gave Barry a hard, cold eve. “What do you claim you're pullin® me in for—if you do?” “For running cattle on the Indian revervation without & permit.” “That all?" No. Inspector Cairns would like to ask you what vou know about the death of Constable Drummond.” “DIA i 07 ke 0 B T apparently surprised. “Fie was murdered—shot from nina- “Why, T siw him two davs ago, up on Pincher creek.” “He was killed two davs ago. Pincher creek.” Brill Sheridan stared, open-mouth- ed. “Goddelmighty:” He was either a consummate actor or genuinely as- tonished. “Who killed him?" “I'm asking you that” Barry sald quietly. Impetuously Celeste spoke. ful, Brill" Beneath the tan the big man flushed angrily. “Are you tellin’ me I killed Drummond?’ he asked, and| his manner was a threat. “I'm offering you a chance to prove vou didn't," the constable answered. ‘An’ I'm not takin' it. I don't have to prove a thing. If you claim I did it trot our your evidence.” Black Jack, standing with his hands crossed behind him, laughed in an ugly way. “That's the way to| talk to this bird, Brill. Don't you let him take you to Red Wing." “I aln't lettin' him Don't make a mistake, Sheridan,” Barry advised, quite undisturbed ex- ternally. “You're under arrest, and you'd better not make yourselt trouble. “Under arrest, about that There was a swift movement of the cattleman's arm. His revolver fumped into sight. They looked at each other, eyes gripped the young soldier-police- man and his prisoner behind his gun. Again the watching girl felt the thrill of drama. Brill Sheridan w. of the outdoor, untamed west, a hard, tough citizen, Who had been a law to himself. Don Barry was a slight, debonair youth, without any bluster or heroics. But he had the fighting edge back of the serene confidence with which he faced the weapon. Instinctively she knew it. EE be- on “Care- am 17 We'll see ELESTE'S emotions played her false. She had been brought up dawning knowledge seemed to strug- gle. “It don’t matter where.” Black Jack looked at her, snarling. “What's eatin’ you, girl?" Sherfdan Interrupted the by-play. “Better take his gun away first, Jack."” Quickly Celeste stepped forward. “I will." ! She walked back of the constable, removed his revolver and put it on the table behind him. “Anything else on snapped. “Yes.” From a coat pocket Celeste drew 4 pair of steel handcuffs. “Good enough. We'll see how they fit, Mr. Policeman,” jeered Wardlaw. The eyes of Barry and the girl met for an instant. ‘How > they work, asked T'll show you.” n order not. to get between the weapon and the man whom it cov- ered, Celeste passed back of Ward- law, who still straddled awkwardly, head down and hands crossed behind him. Again for a fraction of a second her gaze met that of the Northwest Mounted trooper: A message flashed forth and back. There was a sharp click of steel. Celeste had handcuffed Black Jack Wardlaw. him?" Brill Brig?" she 2% HE man let out a savage roar of | rage. Sheridan stared at him and at Celeste, puzzled, his slow brain stunned by this development. Simultaneously with the click of the cuffs Barry leaped for the revolver on the table. His voice rang clear and strong. BY WILLIAM MACLEOD RAINE. she had lavished on him. Was there no escape? No way out of the hor- rible dilemma? “Maintien le droit!" pledged by his oath to do justice without fear or favor. Barry straightened his shoulders. A man's honor could not be rooted in d's- honor. He had. first of all, to be loyal. He was * B o % T the fort Barry found a letter walting for him. It was from a nurse in Toronto, and it told of the death of his friend Julia San- born. He was reading the letter a sec- ond time when a light step sounded. Dark eyes stabbed into his. “What about my brother?” In Celeste's eyes was just a flare of the antag- onism he had stirred when she first caught sight of the uniform. “It won't go hard with him, ry promised. “The inspector wants a straight talk with him If vour brother's reasonable. > “Brill will be” she said quickl “He doesn’t feel the same as he did Then, passionately, she added, Tt was that man, Black Jack. He was Just spoiling everything.” “You didn't like him? “Never. He was always hateful but T couldnt get rid of him. Brill understands now.” “Glad of that. It'll be better for him, and better for you." “Yes” she said, a little wistfully and on the heels of impulse added “I've always wanted us to be—decent folks—so that things would be dif- ferent. “They're going to be different” He took her small brown hands in his. His gaze held hers fast. “I'm going to attend to that personally—if I “I arrest you, John Sanford, allas Black Jack Wardlaw, in the king's name.” Brill frowned. manded harshly. “For the murder of Constable Drummond,” replied Celeste swiftly. Black Jack struggled furiously to free himself from the steel bands. “That's a lie!” he shouted, and fol- lowed his denial with a flood of curses. “IU's the truth,” the girl flung back. “And, O Brill, 1 thought you did ft—till just now!" “Thought 1 killed Drummond. Shot him from behind?” her brother said, with keen resentment. “I ought to have- known better,” she wailed, “but when I found your knife—" “Found my knife—where?" “I tell you, Brill, she’s in cahoots with this spy. They've been here all night together. She's his—-" Black Jack's furious scream died down. The cold rim of Barry's re- volver was pressed against his fore- head. y “Let's hear your story from the be- ginning, Miss Nelsoa,” the officer suggested. Celeste told it, simply. A letter had come to Brill after he had left the ranch. Thinking it might be im- portant, she opened the envelope. The note was unsigned, but she rec- ognized the writing as that of Ward- law. A reference in it made her un- easy. Black Jack was urging her brother to join him in some under- taking darkly hinted at, the nature of which seemed to be both lawless 2R deeaewelL Erill had told her he was golng to Pincher Creek. She became restless saddled, and rode after him. That was the day before yesterday. She had come upon the body of one of the Northwest Mounted. He had been shot from behind. She was greatly shocked and dis- turbed, for such tragedy was new to her. Foot tracks led from the scene. She followed them. An old Cree had taught her how to read signs and she had often diverted herself by cutting trails, The ground was moist enough te leave prints of shoes. These brought her to a coulee where at the foot of a pine tree she found her brother's knife. There was fresh dirt on the blade She was filled with apprehension of disaster impending even before her heel sank into soft soil. Leaves had been carefully strewn over the place that had been dug, with the evident intention of concealing it. Using the blade of the kuife, she flung out the dirt and found a gunn: sack, inside of which were smaller sacks. “I was sick with worr on. “I had to find Brill, and I re- membered Jack Wardlaw had fitted up this old cabin. So I came here. The sack’s under the bed now.” Brill dragged it out. Inside he found his knife and sacks with broken express seals. Within them was currency to the amount of $30,- 000. “While he was heading this way Wardlaw must have seen Drummond and thought he was out after him So he shot him from behind, and be- cause ho was frightened at the pur- suit being so close he buried his swag,” Barry guessed. Black Jack broke into a storm of “What for?" he de- 1 * she went | may, Celeste Nelson.” Life irradiated her eyes cheeks, her whole slender, youth. “I'm listening to you, Donald Bar- ry,” she whispered. (Copyright, 1623.) her eager Uses of Wood. F one were to approach a person on the street and be so impertinent as to tell him that the stockings he wore were made largely from wood it is most probable that he would regard you as being a suitable can- didate fora lunatic asylum. Equal- 1y surprised (and indignant) would be a young lady if we told her that her gilk frock was 80 per cent wood. Furthermore, you would be still more amazed if, while at breakfast, some one imparted the information that the sausage you were eating had casings made of pure wood. Silk is composed largely of cellu- lose, and as wood is composed chief- ly of that substance, it has been found possible to produce silk from wood. The cellulose of the wood is first converted into a substance known as viscose, which greatly re- sembles celluloid and is often used as a substitute for it; also as cas- ing for sausages. In the production of silk the viscose is dissolved in water, forced through the capillary tubes of a spinning machine and the fine threads produced are hung up L dry and to be converted into cellulose by warm currents of air. The threads are woven then Into “silk” eloth with a cotton warp. This artificial silk is gifficult to distinguish from T ' ) | the original product and is uneylng Iceen competition 1o the originel mro In Wisconsin there is what known as the forest products labora- tory, and it Is there that Uncle Sam employes a staff of experts to find means of extending the usefulness of wood in the daily life of the na tion and further to perfect the v ous chemical and mechanical proc esses directly connected with wood The laboratory is provided with min- fature paper making machines, ap- paratus for the production of grain alcohol, still, apparatus for the study of fire prevention and, in fact, everything necessary for the practi- cal experimentation of processes in- volving wood. There are many varieties of trees in this country that are regarded as of little commercial value. Many of these the laboratory has put throug! a rigid test. Among those which have come triumphantly through their examination are the white fir specles of which are found acific coast states; the lodge stern growth; not several in our pole pine, also a w gelmann well known, and several others Paper made fr the wood these trees b tried out cesstully on dailles. Even the bark of overlooked in this tory. Hemlock., in particular, is promising in this respect. The bark where utilized at all now is burned as fuel. It could, however be employed in the manufacture of telt roofing. Rag stock, now quite precious, is largely used in the in- dustry. Hemlock bark could take up an appreciable percentage of this work. As the annual output of roofing felt approximates 200.000 spruce, perhaps s suc- metropolitan s been several trees is not eficient labora- impotent and desperate denial, Beads of sweat stood on his forehead. “You ain’'t gonna turn your back on an old pal, are you, Brill?” he whined. “After you'n me have trained together all these years.” Sheridan flushed angrily. “What makes you figure I'd stand for cold- blooded murder, you yellow wolf? Maybe I don't care a whole lot for tons, this conservation is of prime importance, The consumption of wood in United States is enormous. It claimed by reliable authorities that almost 60,000,000,000 board feet of wood are cut vearly in this country alone. There are more than a million men the is to believe that the Northwest Mount- | ;o,o possy police, but I reckon I'm |emploved in the United States in the interferers with personal lberty. This Barry wanted to take her brother to prison, where he might be convicted of a capital crime ed were a white man anyhow." The murderer appealed to the con- stable. His memory had functioned at last. He knew now that the of- various phases of the lumber indus- try. It may be safe to assume that $2,000,000,000 s a just valuation of the annual product. Here is a busi- and executed. Her sympathy. should|gcer was the boy whom his mother [ness so gigantic in its proportions have been wholly engaged on the side of Brill, but deep within her was a divided alleglance. She found had loved. “You got the wrong man, Don,” he pleaded. "I swear you have. If that this laboratory's findings are of prime importance, not only too manufacturers, but to the nation at her pulses throbbing to the courage|yo, take me back with you ivll kill |large. - of the soldier, her soul leaning to- ward some kindred quality in this young ‘fellow whom she must reckon an enemy. “Cut ‘that rope on the table an’ tie this fellow's hands, Jack,” Sheridan sald. “You've got my knife. I lent my mother. You'll be doing it the same as if you put & bullet through her head.” ‘That's enough,” Barry cut sharply. “We'll start now.” But all the way back to the fort there rode with him the picture in A Hole in Glass. ) G said that a hole may be made in thin glass by pressing uvon the glass a disk of wet clay. Make a it to you last week an’ you forgot tofof a small gray-haired woman with | hole through this clay the size of the sive it back *I mislald it.” Wardlaw growled. The girl's heart hammered fast. “When did you lose it?" she asked. “I dldn't say I'd lost it. What I sald was that I'd misplaced it.” “I wonder where.” She was look- soft, tender eyes and tremulous mouth. -.Black Jack told the truth. This would kill her. She was in pre- carious health, and she would never survive the blow, The tragic irony of it filled him with woe, that her son must come to his death threugh hole desired in the glass, being sure that the glass is clean ‘and bare. Now pour molten lead into the hole and the lead and glass will drop through at once. The aulck heafing of the glass at one point causes & circular orack to form, the outline ing a$ him with dilatpd eyes—eyes |the agency of the man Whom she had | of which corresponds to the hole = in, wiieh Joy, and borror and somelmade her son by, reason of the love made in the clay.’ <