Omaha Daily Bee Newspaper, November 4, 1894, Page 19

THE OMAHA DAILY BEE: INDAY, NOVEMBER 4, 1894, THE LOST OPAL OF MYSORE; Or---The Secret of the Ghants, By Wil m Murray Graydon. (Copyright 189 by tne Autnor.) TAP O Ho! get away, you rd the bug There's a_ regim Grand Trunk ro DRUMS, bullock-man, e blowed, nt a-comin’ down the In ringing tones Myles Chesney «nquvmx}h." the soldler’s facs Showed emb and out the stirring couplet from his favorite “Barrack Room Ballads.”” Then he made an imaginary slash at little Paltu, who dodged nimbly aside “Me no bullock-man, grunted. “Don’t you wish you were?' cried Myles laughing. “That's better than a syce any day. But come on Side by side the companions ran @ British residency. gatea, indifferent Chesney sahib,” he two oddly contrastin oss the lawn of the They passed through the the street That distant bugle blast Myles Chesney's keen ears. The regiment was coming—not down the Grand Trunk road, but along one of the principal thorough- fares of Mysore, the capital city of the native state of that name, in southwestern India, Nearer and nearer marched the gallant had not decelved you've | | mounted or we'll miss the show.” | to the helmeted suld]v'rlb” standing guard, and halted on the edge of | oL ec | his fellows, keeping step to the roll of the drums | and the fanfare of bugles. First the band then the mounted colonel then columns of bronzed faces and uniforms and flashing rifle Myles drew himself up to the full stature of his 16 years, and his face glowed. “They're marching from the Madras rail- way station to the barracks, Paltu,” he ex- claimed. “It's the Twenty-first light in- fantry, the Bedfordshire regiment that was ordered here from Burma.' dusty The soldiers bore plain evidence of recent | campaigning with the cruel dacolts. Here and there were rcarred faces, faces stamped with the mark of illness and exhausting wounds. The muster roll, too, could have to|‘§ a sad story, 'rom out the passing ranks more than one alr of eyes glanced with interest at the two ys before the residency gates—the hand- some English lad with his ruddy cheeks and curly brown hair; the thin, dusky-faced little Hindoo in white waist-clout and jacket. Half the regiment had marched by when threa horsemen cantered out of the residencey grounds, and brought up within a few feet of the moving columns. They were Colonel Toversham, the British resident; Captain Chesney, his private secretary and the of Myles, and an orderly, They were wait ing until their evening ride. The soldiers, recognizing salutes and cheers. Colonel Teversham lifted his hand forehead in friendly acknowledgement was an aristocratic-looking old soldier, keen eyes and the carriage of a rigid marti- net. His cheeks were florid, and black hairs were as plentiful as gray in his close-cropped mustache and chin beard. But there were wrinkles on his brow and under his eyes— the indelible stamp of the tragedy in his lite. The story was well known, but none ever referred to it. His wife and 6-year-old boy had perished in their burning bungalow dur- ing the outbreak at Meerut in 1857. It was now the month of January, 1893. Thirty- six long years since the great mutiny! Yet the coloned had not forgotten. He had merely learned to hide the suffering that still gnawed keenly at his heart. The service-worn troops fiied on toward the cantonments. Outside the ranksof the Fifth company, and proudly holding step with it, marched a lad of with black hair and sun-bronzed checks. In spite of his semi-military dress he was evidently not attached to the regiment. He seemed to be on friendly terms with the private at his side, a tall, well-built fellow of 25 or there- abouts, with sandy halr and mustache, a freckled face, and big gray eyes that twin- kled with jolly good humor. When opposite the residency gates ‘he young stranger and Myles Chesney exchanged glances of mutual attraction. Each saw in the other a possible future acquaintance. Suddenly Colonel Teversham spied the lad His face paled and he uttered an unguarded exclamation. ~ For a moment his hands trembled. Then his self-control came back, and only the hungry look In his eyes as they turned to follow the ranks of the Fifth company betrayed his secret agitation. Myles intercepted part of the glance, and he instinotively divined its meaning. The sad story had often been told him by his father. “That chap must remind the his own son,” he thought. “I've look the same way at other boys once.” The dusty columns marched on, bringing closer the rear guard of baggage carts and ambulance wagons. Suddenly there was a commotion in front —hoarsn cries, the clatter of hoofs, and a shrill sound like the blast of a trumpet The hubbub came from a cross thoroughfgre that led to the rajah’'s palace and skirfed ono side of the residency grounds. In a trice Myles and Paltu were racing toward the corner of the two streets, sur- rounded by a motley throng of natives who seemed to have sprung out of the very earth. The lads reached the spot just in time to behold the thrilling sight.. Down the cross street came a huge runaway elephant, mosi gorgeously caparisoned. The mahout, perche on the beast's neck, was vainly shouting and prodding with his steel-tipped goad. To the sides of the magnificent howdah, which glittered with gold and tinsel, clung his royal highness Cham Bahadur, the rajah of Mysore, He looked far from regal now for terror was stamped on his youthful, coffec colored face, and his jewel-studded turban was sadly awry At the heels of the elephant clattered a mounted troop of the rajah’s native retainers, enlisted from various quarters of Asia. Here were Afghans, Persians, Sikhs, Rohillas, a perfect arsen in_their multi-colored kummerbunds. The rajah's evening ride bade fair to ha a sorry ending, and s0 it proved. The cent of the regiment chanced to be passing the cross stroet just them, and at sight of the Iumbering quadruped, trumpeting with rage, the soldiers, who had unflinchingly faced the perils of Burmese jungles, broke 1n confusion and fled right and left. Bither from fright at the jingle and flash of the men's equipments, or out of sheer perversity, the elephant swerved suddenly to one sido and fell on his knees. The shock broke one of the straps of the howdah, which instantly lurched forward with a jerk. Out flew its royal oceupant, turoing a complete somersault that landed bim on his back in the str A great cry of horror burst from the spec- tators. The rajah lay right in the path of the wild horsemen, whose fiery steeds were but ten feet distant. Escape secmed impossible. A moment more and he would be trampled 10 a bleeding mass But that brief instant proved a hero's right to the mame. The private whom Myles had seen marching beside the lad made a dash to the spot. None doubted that he was going to his death. He stooped like a flash and as quickly he was erect again with the slim form of the Tajah clasped under his left arm. Up shot his right hand just in time to snatch the bridle of the steed that was about to strike him down—a powerful black animal straddled by a bearded Afghan. The brave fellow hung -a like a Hercules, mow gaining a brief foothold, now dangling in alr, How he escaped the fying hoofs was miraculous, He was dragged full a dozen feet and then he actually brought the plunging stesd to a Standstill just as the rest of the troop, who bad managed to swerve a little to right and left, passed clear of him. The air rang with acclamations and there Was 8 rush forward from all sides. By this time the elephant had risen to his feet and stood sullenly swinging his trunk. He was under the full control of his mahout, who had escaped sharing the rajah’s peril by aticking 1o the overturned howdah. The horsemen were reining up their taeds one by one and wheeling around. @ reaident and his escort spurred in through tho crowd, in the thick Wi were Myles and Paltu. The broken ranks of the now stationary regiment looked on, waverlug between duty and desire. Their offidors ware riding back from the front, Beyond o few bruises aud & sadly disor- them, tendered to his Hi colonel of seen him more than and his officers, ( father | the street was fclear to start on | with | fa of jeweled weapons bristling | dered dress the rajah was uninjured imperiously waved aside his retainers this cleared a small sp to the ce of which he drew his brave rescuer What passed hetween them was He 1audible, rrassment confusion, while sparkling eyes expressed war The resident fc officer the gratit und himself a who was an_old acquaint- They shook hands and exchanged a hasty words of greeting. 'm proud of that fellow, Colonel Tever sham,” said the office “It was a most heroic decd. He did some plucky things with the dacoits, too,” “But he's & sort of a black sheep—always breaking the regulations, you know. It's kept Bim in the ranks.” “‘Sorry to hear it,” ofly. rajah’s b an, h fow responded the resident, “He ought to have the Victoria But tell me, Captaln Dundas, is that lad I saw marching beside you here 1—I like his fac “'A sort of protege of mine,” answered the capt W e's the making a fine sol- dier in him he poor boy is an orphan. He came out from England a year ago to join ather, who was Captain Wynyard of ours.” “I've heard of hi Teversham, in Burma,' “Yes, only a It was very sad “What's his name?" “Jack,” replied Captain Dundas, “same as his father.” The resident gave a little start. me,’ stily, his highness. He touched up his horse and trotted for- ward through the yielding throng. About this time Myles and Paltu chanced to rub elbows with the object of the resi- dent’s inquiries, and they promptly scraped acquaintance on the spot. “Wasn't that a brave thing to do?” said Myles, in a tone of great enthusiasm, “Well, 1 should say it was,” replied the young stranger. “It's like Pink Triscott. He's an awfully good fellow. He ought to be a lieutenant,” “Or a captain, said better. “I'll bet the raja with presents. ‘Pink won't take them,” was the slightly scornful reply. “‘He hates to be made much hat's your name? Mine Is Jack " interrupted Colonel “He was killed by dacoits up eek before the boy arrived. “Excuse “I must congratulate es, will going one load him mine s my father there. tary."” A wisttul look came into the lad’s eyes “My father is dead,” he replied softly. ‘‘He was a solier, and the dacoits killed him. I haven't anybody now but Pink Triscott and in_ Dundas—FHullo! There goes the bugle. T'll see you again.” He hurried off to his post beside Triscott, who had already returned to the ranks, and an instant later the dusty columns were in motion. The resident's party cantered toward the suburbs of the city, and the Rajah Cham Bahadur rode back to the palace on a steed borrowed from one of his retainers. The spectators scattered in different directions, Myles Chesney, That is He is the resident's secre- | all unconsclous that the seeds of what might blossom into a great tragedy had just been sown. The native Indian state of Mysore, the reader must know, was only nominally gov. erned by its Hindoo prince. The resident duties were hardly in accord with his smooth- sounding name. He was there to watch the rajah’s court, to report everything to the viceroy at Calcutta, and to order out the British troops at the least sign of revolt. It was one of his duties, also, to collect the annual tribute of 250,000 rupees. In no other native states, perhaps, was less danger of friction and trouble appre- hended. The rajah, now over 30 years of age, had been reared under Euglish tutors, His present prime mimister, a Hindoo named Pershad Jung, was a well-known sympathizer of British {nstitutions and customs, and an intimate friend of the resident. Moreover, Mysore had held loyal during the bloody times of the great mutiny. So Colonel Tever- sham is little to be blamed if he regarded his post as somewhat of a sinecure. There was an air of bachelor's hall about the residency, in spite of its luxurious fit- tings and large corps of servants. Colonel Teversham had never married a second time, and Captain Chesney's wife had been dead twelve years, Myles remembered his mother but dimly, and equally vague were his recollections ‘of his English home. His studies under a tutor had ended a few weeks he was shortly to enter the mili- hool at Nainee Tal, up in the Hima- Paltu lived at the residency in the capac- ity of syce or stable lad. His mother was one of the house servants, and his father, Matee Mal, belonged to the rajah’s native body guard. The little Hindoo was devotedly attached to Myles. During the week following the arrival the Twenty-first light infantry at Mysore several things occurred that must needs be chronfcled. In the first place Myles and Jack Wynyard sought cach other out and speedily became close chums. They played cricket and took horse- back rides in the cool of the evening and indulged in other Anglo-Indian sports. About the middle of the week Captain Chesney was threatened with an attack of fever and the doctor ordered a change of air. So, with some officers from the cantonment he went to the Neflgherry Hills on a two weeks' shooting expedition, leaving My behind as a sort of a substitute. Three days later Colonel Teversham was summoned by telegram to Madras to confer with the viceroy, who happened to be there on an official tour. The colonel had to go, and as there was no getting at Captain Chesney he did what had been done before under similar circumstances, he left the aftairs of his ofice in charge of Pershad Jung, the rajah’s prime minister. A few hours after Colonel Treversham's departure, and shortly before midnight, Triscott disappeared from one of the pproaches to the cantonments, where had been stationed on guard duty. Rigid investigation shed no light on the mystery. The nelghboring sentries, posted fifty yards away, had heard nothing and seen no on The Indications pointed to pre- meditated flight, and Pink Triscott was straightway branded a deserter. City and suburbs were searched in vain, placards were posted in public places, and a description of the fugitive was telegraphed to Madras and other seaports, for his objective point was belleved to be England. An hour after sunset on the day following Pink Triscott's desertion Myles and Paltu were strolling about in the garden among the shrubs and fireflies. The residency and guards occupied a whole block, and were enclosed by a ten foot wall of masonry. The principal entrance was constantly guarded, and at intervals during the night a sentry paced around the square. The house fronted the main street, and on the right side was the avenue that led to the palace. On the left ran a less pretentious street, in close proximity to the native ba- zars. Here the wall was plerced by a pair of heavy gates, which were always locked and were used mainly by the servants and stable employes. Just inside these gates were the stables—two long, low buildings, with a passage between. In the rear the grounds abutted on a nar- row thorouglfare, across which was the English church, standing among trees and shrubbery, and enclosed by a low stone parapet. A tiny gate of carved brass, built in the high wall, opened toward the churchyard. It was possibly intended for the secret use of the resident. At all events the key was kept hidden in the house, and that hiding place Myles happened to know. On the aforementioned evening the two lads, being in the rear of the grounds, heard a low whistle and then a subdued pro- nunciation of Mylss' name. They burried to the small gate, and by the dim light they saw Jack Wynyard peering through the bars from the outer side “I thought it was you talking, he ex- imed gladly, ““The guard at the main gate wouldn't let me in. He said it was too late. I knew the resident was away, but 1 wanted to see your father,” “He's away, 100" interrupted Miles. “Gone to the Neilgherry hills.” “By Jove, that's bad," said Jack, in a tone of keem disappointment. “And Cayptain he who | and | ter | | cott Dundas Is with the party, too. what to do now. “Walt a moment,” exclaimed Miles, coming to a sud and imprudent resolve, ‘“It won't do for you to stay here. Tho sentry may drop along, you know.” Ho vanished in the direction of the house and was back In less than five minutes with a key in his hand. He unlocked the gate and opened it far enough to admit Jack. Then 1 don’t know ) he sald. “Pershad Jung is in charge of affairs while father and Colonel Teversham are away, and if you want to see him- 0, not_him, but him, 8 I'm awfully You know urse? quickly spoke Jack: “any h Myl:s, it's just worrled about Pink Tris what happened last night, body this. of ¢ plied Myles. *“I could hardly be- | Heva it.” | He hasn't been like himself sine | seemed | | Colonel | which the freshness of youthful—" “And you would believe it still less it you knew Pink as well as 1 do. Why, he's t very soul of honor. He never doserte Myies, never. T'll tell you one thing, though. the ago. He and he There's sent for him four or five days worried over something wouldn't say a word about his visit | been foul play, Myles, and that's as sure as and 1 stand here. Foul play!" exclaimed Myles lously. “You don’t mean to say—' “I mcan fhat the rajah has finger in Pink's disappearance,” exploded Jack, lowering his voice to a whisper. There, it's out now That's what I wanted to Teversham about. When T spoke to some of the officers they only laughed at me. You see Pink and I were awfully good friend and I can't bear to think that that A sound that ended the sentence, away. Myles gave a long, low whistle, tapped his friend on the shoulder. “Say, old fellow,” ‘he began. Then pped, for a bell near by had sud started’ to clang in ‘deep, dismal Another joined in, and then another, until all the bells In ihe city seemed to have gone mad. Bang! went the alarm gun at the fortress, and its echoes woke up a pan- demonium of shouts and yells and scurry- Ing feet, and clatter of horses and wheels. “Fire, sahibs,” yelled Paltu, pointing to a red glare that was visible through the gate in the direction of the English church. “It's the palace,” cried Myles, jerking open the gate. “Come on.” Pink Triscott was forgoiten, and a mo- ment later the gate was locked, the key was in Myles' pocket, and the three lads were outside the grounds, racing at break- neck speed toward the rajah's palace, - IMAGIN ATION. By Anthony Hope, (Copyrighted 18M by the Author.) I met her on the shores of the There were real tears in her eyes. “Oh, Mr. Vansittart,” she cried. “What shall I do? My husband’s out in a boat, ever so far away, and the wind’s rising, and the boatman says it's awfully dangerous when there’s a storm, and— I tilted my hat forward and scratched my head. “I don’t seo what you can do,” said I, com- passionately. I had sat next her three nights at table d'hote and liked her extremely. “Look at those trees! Oh, how it blows! And see! Great waves!" “The wind is certainly getting up,” I ad- mitted, sitting on a garden seat. “Oh, Mr. Vansittart, suppose he should be drowned!” Suppose he —— ineredu- got a was suspiciously like a_sob and Jack turned his heal and he enly tones lake. T paused. The idea was a new one to me. T turned it over in my mind. “Well, suppose he should?’ I said at last in an inquiring tone. “And we've only been married a year! “Yes, yes,” said I, thoughtfully. , “Your love is still fresh?” “As fresh as the day when—" “Your romance has not worn off, the day of disillusion has not come. Your husband’s memory would be the sweetest of consola- tions to you.” “But, Mr. Vansit—" “There would be no alloy in your recol- lections. You are young, your_life would not be spoilt, but it would be, as it were, hal- lowed by sweet and not too poignant regrets. In the course of time the violence of grief would wear off.” She sat down on the bench beside me, and dug the end of her parasol into the path “You would feel,”” T pursued, “that sacred as these memories were—preclous as they were—you would not be justified in giving your whole life to them. And at last, it may be_that_another would come who—'" “Oh, T can hardly imagine that, Mr. Van- sittart.,” “Try,” said 1, encouragingly. *One who, though not perhaps the equal in all respects of him you had lost, could yet shelter you from the world— “I should want some one, shouldn't I? “And give you an honest, enduring, un- wavering affection.” “It wouldn’t be the same she. “Depend upon it T returned earnestly, “it would be in some ways better. For he— your second husband—might well be one who could appreciate the serious when you were—"" “Instead of always making jokes? Mr. Vansittart, “‘Serious, and yet able to enter into your lighter moods—always good-tempered—" “He would be a wonderful husband, then!" “‘Generous, nay, lavish, in giving you what- ever—" Fancy!” “You wished for; unsparing in his efforts to please you—"" “What, after marriage?” “Devoted absolutely to you. thing,” sald Ye-es, Why, it's a | everyth lovely picture.” “Yes, it does sound nice, digging with the parasol. “Could not such a one,” I continued, lean- ing towards her, “by his affectionate and constant efforts, in the course of time heal the wound caused by your cruel calamity?’ “I don't know. Yes—I suppose so—well, perhaps in time, Mr. Vansittart, he might.” “He would id I, positively. “I can imagine myself— “I beg your pardon, Mr. Vansittart?"" *I say, T can imagine myself making it the work—the whole preoccupation—the worthy task—of my life thus to restore happiness to one from whom it scemed to have departed torever. “It would be a splendid thing for a man to o, wouldn’t it?" There was & pause. Then she sald “But, Mr. Vansittart, would you—who are so young and so—and so—and so—I mean, who are so young—be content with a heart that had spent its first love on another, in she conceded, “I sometimes think,” I interrupted in low but urgent tones, “that affection of that kind ts nobler, higher, better than the rash im- pulsiveness of an ignorant girl. It would be a sympathetic communion of minds, of souls, Mrs. Lawrence.” “Yes, 1 see. sittar y sympathy for you,” I pursued, “would n and Inspire my nature. I should be vated to your level. And perhaps, at last, when long years had obliterated ell, had blurred, Mr. Vansittart, “Yes, had blurred the pain of memory, we might come to see—to understand—how what once seemed so distressing was really, in spite of its sadness, the necessary condition for the perfect development of two human lives." For a few moments we sat in thought, Then Mrs. Lawrence observed: “Good so often comes out of suffering, doesn’t it?" “It indeed seems to be the way of the world." “A woman placed as you describe, Mr. Vansittart, would feel, I'm sure, so deep, so Yes, it would, Mr. Van- strong a gratitude for the man who had nobly dedtcated his life to her, that, as time wore on, she would give to him an affection, differ- ent in kind, perhaps, but not inferior in in- tensity, to that which she had felt for the who first won her heart. That would be the only reward I should hope for,” said I “So that, In the end, T should feel—it would be borne in upon me that this man was my real, my true, my only—" At this “point Mrs. Lawrence stopped ruptly, for a shadow fell between us, and, on looking up, we saw a stout, elderly man, wearing a blue jersey, standing just in front of us. f " said he, “but are you the lady what asked Jim Dobbs about the Rentleman what's out in the boat “‘About the—what? Oh, yes, | suppose— oh, yes, I am." “Well, you've no cause Lo be put out about | ‘im, mum. He's just rounding the point, and L'l be ashore in two minutes’ time.” “But_Dobbs said it was very dangerous,” | U protested ““Dobbs don’t know everything, sir, boggin® your pardon. Anyways the gentleman's safe enough. Glad of it for your sake, mum “Thank you—thank you, so much,' 1 Raid man stood looking at me in I took sixpence out of ve It to him, To ba frank udged ce more. my pocket I have seldom & Then the clderly man passed on Thera was a long silence. Mrs quite a little in she looked a r (rat Lawrence the gravel and, finding omily, 1 be- | pit walk. Or me regarding lieve), hastily turyed again w blush. At last the ‘siféhce became it able—almost impropdr, th fact “What were we tafkihg about when that| man interrupted us?® a¥ked Mrs, Lawren with a de sdrimpt ot eas | It I8 a rule of mink to give a plain answer | to a plain question “We were talking,” would have happened it And denly began to laugh Women are strangd cfeatures rence leapt up from Her seat and stood over me. Her eyes flashed with indignation, and | she_positively brandfshed lier parasol at m ‘You horrid, horrid bby!" she cried “My dear Mrs. Lawrence—" I protested “You've made me talk as if “It was a mere hypothesis,” I pleaded “As it I—oh! Anyhbw, if my husband was drowned a thimsand times over, I'd never speak to you “So you say row &atd I, composedly “But you know you were quite taken with the prospect a little while ago.” “Mr. Vansittart, you're wicked! How can 1 %o and tell my poor dear Robert?" “I don't inelst on your telling him," 1, In a conciliatory tone. haps you think 1 don’t care for him?* she erfed, defiantly The hypothesis was that you did “That's what made It €0 interesting." “I shall sit somewhere else at dinner to- night,’” Mrs. Lawrence announced, haughtily. “If you go on like this," I observed, warn- ingly, “I shall end by being—" “You can be just what you like.” “By belng glad,” I concluded, Glad of what? said I, “that I see your husband walking toward us in perfect health.” As 1 spoke he,came within speaking dis- tance. “‘Hullo, Georgie!” he cried to his wite, “‘Here T am—had a bit of a blow, though.” Mrs. Lawrence ran a few steps toward him. the liberty of following. Vansittart been looking after y Lawrence, with a smile. “‘Oh, my darling Robbie," cried Mrs. Law- I've been imagining all sorts of things about you." ““Foolish child!” sald he, fondly. think 1 was going to be drowned?" “We didn’t exactly think it “We assumed it by way of— “‘Please, Robbie, will you take me into the house?"’ said Mrs. Lawrence, hastily. Mrs. Lawrenco did sit elsewhere at dinner, but Lawrence sald to me, as we played billiards afterwards: “Tell you what, old chap. It a fellow wants his wife to be extra pleasant to him he can't do better than risk his life on this beastly lake,” and he smiled most contentedly. It was merely penitence, of course. let him alone. h n said 1, “of what Dobbs had known | havidg thus said, T sud- Mrs. Law- aid said L " asked “Did you I broke in. But 1 e THE ROCKY MOUNTAIN RAM e Is Hard to Rope and a Great Deal of Trouble to Bring Down. On the first of lest week Frank Chatfield succeeded in roping a Rocky Mountain ram on the foothills of the Sunlight mountains, about fifty miles from this city, says the Red Lodge (Mont) Picket. To catch and hold a full-grown animal of this species is a feat that has heretofors probably never been accomplished. Mr. Chatfield is a strong and hardy mountaineer, having passed most of his life in the wild recesses of the Rocky mountains, and has been combining trapping, prospecting and stockraising for a number of years past in the Sumlight valiey, through which winds a rugged stream that empties into the Clark's Fork river in the Box canyon, making its final appearance over a grand fall. of seventy-five feet in: haight. During this particular hunt Mr. Chatfield saw a fine specimen of the Ovis Montana on a ledge of rock far mp the hill, and with a common lariat determined to make an effort to cateh the animal. . Crawling up a dry gulch he kept out of sight of the ram and reached a reef of rock about thirty feet above it. Looking over the edge of this he saw the monareh of the moyntains, and the animal also saw Mr. Chaffield. It immediately jumped over the ledge and with a couple of bounds landed on another ledge about thirty- five feet below. The dog was sent after the sheep and brought it to a standstill about 200 feet away. Chatfield followed and ayain Bot a few feet above the ram and threw his rope. It landed around one of the ram's horns, and a hard tussle for the mastery took place. First - the sheep would havo ~ the best of the struggle and then the man. - Being on a narrow ledge of rock it was a very dangerous position and Mr. Chatfield was liable to fall over with disastrous results. - Finally the man suc- ceeded in getting down to a comparatively safe descent and with the assistance of the dog got the sheep started down the mountain. As neither party could go exactly as they wished, they soon got tamgled in the rope and both sheep and man started in a bundle, rolling down to the bottom of the hiil, where they landed decidedly the worse for their rough scramble over the rocks: His sheep- ship was roped around both hind feet and afterwards the tope was arranged around both horns, in which condition he was taken to the Chatfield ranch, where he is now securely confined. The specimen is a mag- nificent one and will very likely be sent to some large zoological garden. Its horns measure seventeen inches in circumference and have a two-foot spread. Some time previous to catching this sheep Mr. Chatfield caught three ewes in the same manner, but as they were not so large and unmanageable they did not cause so much trouble. A Legislator in a Dilemma. Once in the Kentucky legislature,” says Asher Carruth in Kate Field’s Washing- tony “there was a man elected because of his high personal character, who was fully determined to live up to the standard claimed for him during the campaign. A friend of his wanted him to favor a bill that was being pushed through, and the new member, having become convinced that it was a Just measure, readily consented to do s0. The day before the bill was to come up, however, he received a present of a barrel of very fine whisky with his friend’s card attached, and instantly his conscience be- came aroused and he wondered whether he could support a measure that was in need of such Influences to secure adoption. In his dilemma he consulted the speaker, who was an old war horse in the legislature. . “‘He sent you a barrel of whisky to In- fluence your vote, did he? asked the old man. Yes.' was the answer. “‘Well, what are you going to do about was the next question “ ‘I don't see what I can do except send back the whisky with a note that I camnot be influenced in that way.' he speaker thought a moment, No, that would never do, he sald. ‘But I'll tell you the way you ean show him how you stand. Just drink up his whisky and vote against his bill.” " ot H Cook's Tmperial. World's fair “highest award, excellent champagne; good efferves cence, agreeable bouquet. delicious flavor. e Love is sparingly soluble in the words of men, therefore they speak much of it; but one syllable of a woman's speech can dis- solve more of it than a man's heart can hold. it often depends on beauty. The loss of one means the Joss of the other. Oray hair is reldom beay- Ruined hair, bleaching never is IMPERIAL Hair Regenerator. lustrous cobor, clean. Steaming, mot. affect it 1t Is a5 nat tign Impossible. Book about streaked and patchy from AL CHEMICAL MFG €O, 292 Fifth Avenu. N. Y. SOLD BY SHERMAN & McCONNELL, DODGE ST, OMAHA, NEBRASKA. Bever s THE CHILDREN JUST GO CRAZY OVER THE atest, Brightest ENTITLED QUEER PEOPIL BY — PALMER COX, +» +» AUTHOR OF , , “The Brownies,” AND Widely Famous AS This new production from the PEASANTS, BIRDS, PHANTS, ete., des strange FOXES, INSES RATS, pen and pencil of Palmer Cox— MIC whose world-wide fame as the cribing their Juvenile Artist of this age—is adventures and their their FROLICS, ESCAPADES, FLIR- TATIONS, COURTSHIPS, WEDDINGS, ete., all ot which are illustrated in that un« approachably humorous and literally crammed from cover to cover with, ROLLIUCKING FUN for LITTLE FOLKS and BIG FOLKS, too. It tells of the able and ludicrous experiences of FAIRIES, GIANTS, KINGS, CLOWNS, PIXIES, quaint conversations, ete., most remark- grotesque style peculiar to our gifted author, Palmer Cox, Obtainable Only Through THE OMAHA BEE S~ We have the exclusive supply for this city. NO GOUPONS. Just a Christmas_Treat for our LITILE PEQOPLE THE OMAHA BEE saw a chance to give the children of its readers a great treat by securing an option on these books, and determined to distribute them to the first that cam> at 10 cents each. They are genuine Palmer Cox Books, and beauties. Each book is complete in itself. Speak quick for they wont last long. A WONDERFUL FU BY A WONDERFUL THOR. PEaAe l SOLD AT A WONDERFUL BARGAIN. Each part contains thirty-two pages, about fifty unique pictures printed in a variety of colors, on a superior grade of paper, very highly calendered, and they are bound in beautis fully illuminated covers, execated in the highest style of the art, from designs by Palmer Cox, A lovely set, complete in The price of this wonderful series [just funny enouch to make a frog laugh] if sold in the stores [they can't get it] ought to be at least 50 cts, each, but as youn are one of our readers you shall have them, if you speak quick, for only 10 cts. each, THIRTY-TWO PAGES EACH ABOUT FIFTY PICTURES ILLUMINATED COVERS ISSUED WEEKLY The First of the Series will be ready in a few days. Watch the Paper for Announcement. Come or send to our office 10 cts., and we deliver or mail to nw I" 8 am"‘your address, as you wish., No extra charge. S, ELE-