Omaha Daily Bee Newspaper, September 8, 1895, Page 19

THE OMAHA DAILY BEE: SU DAY, SEPTEMBER 8, 1893. (Copyright, 1595, by Dret Harte) CHAPTER VL ‘fhe astonishment of Preble Key on recog- | fizing the gateway Into which the myste- rious lady had vanished was so great that he was at first inclined to believe her entry | there a mere trick of his fancy. That the | confederate of a gang of robbers should be | admitted to the austere recesses of the con- vent, with a celerity that bespoke famillarity, | was incredible. He agaln glanced up and | down tho length of the shadowed but still | invisible wall. There was no one there. The wall itself contained no breik or reces In| which one could hide, and this was the only | gateway. The opposite side of the street in | the full moonlight stared empt No! Un- less she herself and his whole chase must have en- tered here. But the chase was not hor least tracked her to a place be identified. It was not a hotel which she | could leave at any moment unobserved. Though he could not follow her and penetrate its seclusion now, he could later—thanks to his old assoc with the padres of the contiguous coliey in an Introduction to| the lady superior on some pretext. She was safe the that night. He turned away with a feeling,of rellef. The Incongruity of her were a an fllusion dream she He had at where she could 058, retreat atsumed a more favorable aspect to his hopes. He looked at the hallowed walls and the slumbering peaeefulness of the gnarled old trees that hid the convent, and a gentle reminiscence of his youth tole over him. It was not the first time that he had gazed wistfully upon that chaste refuge where, perhaps, the bright followed in the quaint school under the leafy Alameda in the wero at last closed in gentle slumber. was the very grille through ~which wicked Conchita—or was It Dolor }\" shot her Parthian glance at the lingering stu- dent. And the man of 35, prematurely gray and settled in fortune, smiled as he turned away, and forgot the aaventuress of 30 who had brought him there. The next morning he was up betimes and at the college of San Jose. Father Cipriano, a trifle moro snuffy and aged, remembered with delight his old pupil. Ah! it was true then that he had become a mining pres'dent, and that was why his r was gray, but he trusted that Don Preble had not forgot that this was not all of life, and that fortune brought great responsibilities and cares. But what was this, then? He had thought of s that he had procession afternoon There the bringing out some of his relations from the and placing a niece In the convent state This was good and wise. Ah, y or education in this new country one must turn to the church. And he would see the lady superior? Ah! that was but the twist of on: finger and the lifting of a latch to a grave superintendent and a gray head like that Of course he had not forgotten the convent and the young senoritas, mor the discipiine and the suspended hojidays. Ah! it was a special grace of our lady that he, Father Cipriano, had not been worried Into his grave by those foolish muchichos. Yet, when he had extinguished a snuffy chuckle in his red bandana handkerchief, Key knew that he would accompany him to the convent that noon. It was with a slight stirring of shame over his claborate pretext that he passed the gate of the Sacred Heart with the good father. But it is to be feared that he speed- ily forgot that In the unexpected information that it elicited. The lady superior was gracious and even enthusiastic. Ah, yes, it was a growing custom of the American cabalieros—who had no homes, nor yet time to create any—to bring their sisters, wards and nieces here, and—with a dove-like side glance toward Key—cven the young sencr- itas they wished to fit for their Christian brides! Unlike the caballero, there were many business men so immersed in their affairs that they aould not “nd time for a personal examination of the convent—which was to be regretted—but who, trusting to the repu- tation of the Sacred Heart and its good friends, simply sent the young lady there by some trusted female companion. Notably this was the case of the Senor Rivers—did Don Preble ever know him?—a great capitalist in the Sierras, whose sweet young sister, a naive, ingenuous creature, was the pride of the con- vent. Of course it was better that it was so. Discipline and seclusion had to be maintained. The young girl should look upon this as her home. The rules for visitors was necessarily severe, It was rare indeed—except in a case of urgency, such as happened last night— that ever a lady, unless the parent of a) scholar,. was admitted to the hospitality of | the convent. And fhis lady was only the | friend of that same sister of the American | capitalist, although she was the one who had brought her there. No, she was not a relation, Perhaps Don Preble had heard of a Mrs, Barker—the friend of Rivers of the Slerras. It was a queer combination of names. But what will you? The names of Americanos mean nothing. And Don Preble knows them not. Ah! Possibly?— good! The lady would be remembered, being tall, dark and of a fine presence, though sad, A few hours earlier and Don Preble could have judged for himself, for, as It were, she might have passed through the visitors' room. But she was gono—de- parted by the coach. It was because of a telegram—those heathen contrivances that blurt out things to you, with never an ex- cuse, nor a smile, nor a kiss of the hand. For her part sho never let her scholars re- celve them, but opened them herself and translated them in a Christian spirit, after due preparation, at her lelsure. And it was this telegram that made the Senora Barker go, or, without doubt, she would have of herself told to the Don Preble, her compatriot of the Sierras, how good the con- vent was for his nlece. Stung by the thought that this woman had again evaded him, and disconcerted and con- fused by the scarcely intelligible information he had acquired, Key could with difficulty maintain his composure. ‘‘The caballero is tired oi his long pascar,” sald the lady superior, gently. *“We will have a glass of wine in the lodge waiting room.” She led the way from the reception room to the outer door, but stopped at the sound of ap- proaching footsteps and rustling muslin along the gravel walk. ~“The second class is | going out,” she sald, as a gentlo procession of white frocks, led by two nuns, filed be- fore the gateway. *We will wait until they have passed. But the senor can see that my children do not look unhappy.” They certainly look d very cheerful, although they had halted before the gateway with a little of the demureness of young people who know they are overlooked by authority, and had bumped against each other with affected gravity. Somewhat ashamed of his useless deception and th> guileless simplicity of the good lady superior, Key hesitated and began: “I am afraid that I am really giving you too much trouble,” and sud- denly stopped. For as his volce broke the demure silence one of the nearest—a young girl of appar- ently 17—turned toward him with a quick and an apparently irresistible impulse, and quickly turned away again. But in that instant Key caught a glimpse of a face that might not only have tbrilled him in its beauty, its freshness, but In some vague suggostiveness, Yet It was not that which set his pulses beating; it was the look of joy- ous recognition set in the parted lips ‘and eparkling eyes; the glow of childlike, inno- cent pleasure that mantled the sweet, young face; the frank confusion of suddenly real- 1zed expectancy and longing. A great truth gripped his throbbing heart and held it still. 1t was the face that he had seen {n the hollow. The movement of the young girl was too marked to escape the eye of the lady supe- though she had trenslated it differently. ‘ou must not believe our young ladies are all €0 rude, Don Preble,” she sald dryly; “though our dear child has still some of the moun- tain freedom. And this is the Senor Rivers' sister. But possibly—who knows?' she sald gently, yet with a sudden sharpness in her clear eyes, “perhaps she recognized in your voice a companion of her brother,” Luckily for Key the shock had been o sud- | of | et of his pa: Y *BRET, HARTE « corvg oWty ‘ifi i barrassment. that he now Instinctively felt was bound up In this revelation of a secret with his own future happiness he exhibited e of the signs of a dlscovered Intriguer or unmasked Lothario. He sald quietly and coldly: “I am afraid I have not the pleasure of knowing the young lady and certainly have never before addressed her.” he scarcely heard his companions’ vcices and answerd mechanically, seeing only before him the vision of the girl's bew!tching face in its still more bewitching consclousness of his presence. With all that he now knew or thought he knew, came a strange delicacy of asking further questions, a quick Impatience his present deception; even his whole quest of her seemed now to be a profanation for which he must ask her forgiveness. d to be alone to recover himse:f, en temptation to linger on some pretext and walt for her return and another glance from ler Joyous eyes was not as strong as his con- viction of the necessity of cooler thought and action. He had met his fate that morning, for good or ill; that was all he knew. As soon as he could dee. retire he thanked with her later and taking leave of F Clpriano found himself again in the stre Who was she, and what was she, and what meant her joyous recognition ¢f him? It is to be feared that it was the last ques- tion that affected him most, now that he felt that he must have really loved her from the ther first, Had she really seen him before and had been as mysteriously impressed as he wa It was not the refl fon of a conceited man, for Key had not that kind of vanity and he had aiready touched the humility that is at the base of any genuine passion. He had establifliod the identity of the other woman as being her companion in the house He | the lady superior, promised to communicate | the procsssion that morning and even now be concealed somewhere, walting for the dark- ness to make her visit? He concluded to patrol the block next to the hotel, yet near enough to Intercept her before she reached It, untit that hour came. The time paseed slowly, He loitered before shop windows, or entered and made purchases with his eye on the street. The figure of a pretty girl —and there were many—the fluttering rib- bons on a distant hat, or the flashing of a cambric skirt around the corner, sent a nery- ous thrill through him. The reflection of his grave, abstracted face against a shop win- dow, or the announcement of the workings of bis own mine on a bulletin board, in its in- congruity with his present occupation, gave him a hysterical impulse to laugh. The sbadowa were already gathering when he saw a slender, graceful figure disappear in the confectioner’s shop on the block below. In his elaborate precautions he had over- looked that common trysting sp He hur- ried thither and entered. The object of his search was not there, and he was compelled to make a shamefaced, awkward survey of | the tables in an inner refreshment saloon to satisfy himself. Any one of the pretty girls seated there might have been the one who had just entered, but none was the one he sought, He hurried Into the street again— he had wasted a precious momoent—and re- sumed his watch. The sun had gone down, the angelus had rung out of a chapel belfry, and shodows were darkening the vista of the Ala- meda, She had not come. Perhaps she had thought better of it; perhaps she had been prevented; perhaps the whole appoint- ment had been a trick of some day scholars who were laughing at him behind some window. In proportion as he became con- vinced that she was not coming, he was con- sclous of a keen despalr growing in his heart, and a sickening remorse that he had ever | thought of preveating Ler. And when he at last reluctantly re-entered the hotel he was as miserable over the conviction that she was not coming as he had been at her expected arrival, The porter met him hurrledly in the hall. “Sister Seraphina of the Sacred Heart has hurry to see you on a matter he sald, eyeing Key some- ““She would not wait in the her business was her in a private been here in of importanc wtat curiously. public parlor, as she said confidential, so I have put sitting room on your floor.” Key felt the blood leave his cheeks. The secret was out for all his precaution. The Lady Superior had discovered the girl's flight —or her attempt. One of the governing in the hollow on that eventful night; but It sisterhood was here to arraign him for it, or STILL VISIB! HE AGAIN GLANCED UP AND DOWN THE LENGTH OF THE SHADOWED, BUT LE WALL. was her profile that he had seen at the win- dow. The mysterious brother Rivers migit have been one of the robbers—perhaps the one who accompanied Mrs. Barker to Sin Jose. But it was plain that the young girl had no complicity with the actions of the gang, whatever might have been her com- panion's confederation. In the presclence cf a true love he knew that she must have been decelved and kept In utter ignorance of it. There was no look of it in her lovely gutleless eyes; her very impulsiveness and ingenuous- ness’ would have long since betrayed the secret. Was it left for him, at the very out- on, to be the one to tell her? Could he bear to see those frank, beautiful eyes dimmed with shame and sorrow? His own grew moist. Another idea began to haunt him. Would it not be wiser, even more manly, for him—a man over twice her years—to leave her alone with her secret, and ¥o pass out of her inmocent young life as chancefully as he had entered it? But was it altogether chanceful? Was there not in her innocent happiness in him a recognition of something In him better than he had dared to think himself? It was the last conceit of the humility of love, Ho reached his hotel at last, unresolved, perplexed, yet singularly happy. The clerk handed Kim, in passing, a business-looking letter, formally addressed. Without opening it he took it to his room, and, throwing him- self listlessly on a chair by the window, again tried to think. But the atmosphere of his room only recalled to him the mysterious gift he had found the day before on his pil- low. He felt now with a thrill that it must have been from her. How did she convey it there? She would have entrusted it to Mrs. Barker. The idea struck him now as dis- tastefully as it seemed improbable. Perhaps she had been here herself with her compan- fon—the convent sometimes made that con- cession to a relative or well known friend. Ho recalled the fact that he had seen Mrs. Barker enter the hotel alone, after the inci- dent of the opening door, while he was lean- Ing over the balustrade. She was alone then, and had recognized his voice; and he had not known it. She was out again today with the procession. A sudden idea struck him. He glanced quickly at the letter in his hand and hurrledly opened it. It contained only three lines in a large formal hand, but they sent the swift blood to his cheeks. heard your voice today for the third I want to hear It again. I will come time, at dusk. Do not go out until then,” He sat stupefled. Was it madness, audacity, or a trick? He summoned the waiter. The letter had been left by a boy from the confec- tloner's shop in the next block. He remem- bered it of old—a resort for the young ladies of the convent. Nothing was easier than con- veying a letter in that way. He remem- bered with a shock of disillusion and disgust that it was a common device of silly but in- nocent assignation. Was he to be the ridicu- lous accomplice of a school girl's extravagant escapade, or the deluded victim of some in- famous plot of her infamous companion? He could not believe either; yet he could not check a certain revulsion of feeling toward her, whica only a moment ago he would have believed impossible. Yet whatever were her purpose he must prevent her coming there at any hazard. Her visit would be the culmination of her folly, or the success of any plot. Even while he ‘was fully conscious of the material effect of any scandal and exposure to her, even while he was incensed and disillusionized at her unexpected audacity, he was unusually stirred with the conviction that she was wronging herself, and that more than ever sho demanded his help and consideration. Still she must not come. But how was he to prevent her? It wanted but an hour of dusk. Even if he could again penetrate the convent on some pretext at that inaccessible hour for visitors, the angelus, how could he communicate with her? He might intercept her on the way and persusde her to return; but she must be kept from entering the hotel. He seized his hat and rushed downstairs. ®en and overpowering that he showed none ©f the lessser symptoms of agitation or em- public oue ia what must he & surreptitious But here another difficulty beset him. It was easy enough to take the ordinary road to the convent, but would she follow that at least prevent an open scandal. Yet he was resolved, and seizing this last straw, he | hurriedly mounted the stairNdetermining to | do battle at any risk for the girl's safety, and to perjure himself to any extent. She was standing in a room by the window. Tha light fell upon the coarse serge dress with its white facings, on the single girdle that scarcely defined the formless walst, on the huge crucifix that dangled ungracefully almost to her knees, on the hideous white- winged coif that, with the coarse but dense white veil was itself a renunclation of all human vanity. 1t was a figure he remem- bered well as a boy, and even in his excite- ment and half resentment, touched him now, as when a boy, with a sense of its pathetic isolation. His head bowed with boyish deference as it approached gently, passed him a slight salutation, and closed the door that he had forgotten to shut behind him. Then, with a rapld movement, %o quick that he could scarcely follow it, the coif, veil, rosary and crucifix were swept off and L}[w young pupil of the convent stood before m. For all the somber suggestiveness of her disguise and its ungraceful contour, there was no mistaking the adorable little head, tumbled all over with silky tendrils of hair from the hasty withdrawal of her coif, or the blue eyes that sparkled with frank de- light beneath them. Key thought her more beautiful than ever. Yet the very effect of her frankness and beauty was to recall to him all the danger and incongruity of her position. “This is madness,” he said, quickly. “You may be followed here and discovered in this costume at any moment!” Nevertheless he caught the two little hands that had been extended to him and held them, tightly, and with & frank familiarity that he would have wondered at an instant before, “But I won't,” she sald, simply. “You see I'm doing a ‘half retreat,’ and I stay with Sister Seraphina in her room, and she always sleeps two hours after the angetus, and 1 got out without anybody knowing me in her clothes. 1 see what It is,” she said, suddenly bending a reproachful glance upon him, “you don’t like me in them. I know they're just horrid, but it was the only way I could get out.” You don't understand me,” eagerly. “I don't like you to run these dreadful risks and dangers for—" He would have said “‘for me,” but added with sudden humility—"for nothing, Had I dreamed that you cared to sce me I would have arranged it easily without this indiscretion, which might make others misjudge you. Every instant that you remain here—worse, every moment that’ you are away from the con- vent in that disguise, Is fraught with dan. ger. I know you never thought of it.”" “But I did,” she sald quietly; “I thought of It, and thought that if Sistor Seraphina woke up and they sent for me you would take me away with you to that dear little { hollow in the hills where I first heard your voles, You remember it, don't you? You were lost, I think, in the darkness, and I used to say to myself afterward that I found you. 'That was the first time, Then the second time I heard you was here In the hall. I was alone in the other room, for Mrs. Batker had gone out. 1 did not know you were here, but I knew your volce. And the third time was before the convent gate, and then I knew you knew me, And after that I didn't think of anything but coming to you, for I knew that If I was found out you would take me back with you, and perhaps send word to my brother Where we were, and then—" She stopped suddenly, with her eyes fixed on Key's blank face. Her own grew blank, the joy faded out of her clear eyes, she gently withdrew her hand from his, and withow a word began to resume her disguise, (To Be Continued.) ———— A dozen raw with a bottle of Cook's Extra Dry Imperial Champagne is an after theater thought, he said e e— A full-blooded Cherokee Indian, named Wa- hoochee, 1s holding Christain revival services at Thomasville, G and drawing immense crowds. He is sald to be a very successful escape? And might sbe not bhave eluded evengellaty Leis LI17 FARNAM ST. 19 DEWEY & STON Furniture Special September Sale. 0. Two thousand Bed Room Suits in more than 250 stylas, That is one of the features of our September Sale represented in all the wanted woods, It took planning and business fore- sight to gather these great stecks together and organize such a movement as our Special sale, The statement grows each day more conservative when we say that the furniture we are selling is worth half as mnch more again as we ask you for it, The past week’s sales were larger by half than we even hoped for, the best proofs, as they were $19.00 Oak suits. . . .. . Sale Price §35.00 Curley Birch. . .. Sale Price $42.00 Oak Suits. ... .. Sale Price $75.00 Solid Mahogany . . Sale Price $110.00 Bird's-Eye Maple.Sale Price $176.00 Curley Birch. . . Sale Prics Chamber Suits $13.00 Suits. ..o .....Sale Prie P 8.25 19.50 29.00 47.50 72.00 98.00 OUR FIRST 11.75 needs no pleadi explanation. I down to close This $7.00 Rattan Rocker Reduced September bought since J sale is universal all the newest trade. Not a items offered at to duction, but the whole vast $3 15 stock at straight prices. ° . . reputation of 31 years is suf- for Special Sale. Is not a clearance sale and Seventy-five thousand dollars worth of furniture has novelties manufactured for fall ficient guarantee that goods will be as adver ng apology or t is not a mark out old goods. been uly 1st. This and represents and designs And other .00 Beds, sale price.. ... $42,00 Beds, sale price $065.00 Beds, s $100Beds, sale price Brass Bedsteads v $1550 2500 4250 . 6800 o Beds as high as §$2 Iron few selected an alleged re- Our $ .00 Beds, $5.00 Beds, s: .00 Beds, sale price. ... ... sale price.. ... ..., feads $275 390 675 Bedst ale price........ tised. tween, 300 styles to choose from. and Antique Oak, Fancy Rockers $3.00 Rockers, reduced to.... $1-55 $5.00 Oak Rockers, reduced to 265 $5.50 Birch Rockers, reduced t02.75 The gathering was never so lavish, From $1.00 to $50,00, any price be- The woods—Birch, Maple, Mahogany Parlor Pieces figures, fancy chairs, etc, values. The collection of furniture includes cabinets for curios, pedestals for vases or ornamental and useful divans and arm chairs, beautiful new designs in Mahogany, inlaid rockers and tables, palm stands, music cabinets, It is impossible to quote prices as this line is so large we cannot inteli- gently explain either quality, design orl Sideboards- Libra This elegant Antique 18 patterns in Birch... ... Tables mateh w complete 1iby Bookcases. 95 patterns in Antique 0k $3.75 to $100.00 itterns in Mahogany..15,00 to 175.00 8.50 to 75.00 Chairs to » Bookeases to make suits, Desks and ny of the Oak $85.00 Sideboard, 5 feet long, with long Frénch plate mirror and full swell front, Seplomat Prig ) $52.50 $ 0 Oak Sideboard, sale $15.00 Oak Sideboard, sale 33.00 Oak sale Sideboard, $70.00 Oak Sideboard, sale Our line contains over mahogany and oak, up to $250 each. price... $ 7-75 9.50 18.75 46.50 price.. . price. .o price. .. 200 designs, § night of this week, l Goods can be selected at once and delivered any time during Store open Monday and Saturday the month. Draperies. $5.50 Brussells Net Curtains. $10.00 Tapest 5.00 Velour Curtains...... 25.00 Brussells Net Curtains Estimates and all special work. found in our unlimited stock, from the most simple piece of Swiss muslin to Exquisite effects in all grad:s and qualte ties—the latest fm- portations to choose from. You have but to say what is wanted furnish it of the world are open to us, and The we looms and samples of thelr best work can be found In our stock, 85¢ $3.7 6.2 8.76 14.50 Curtains. .. designs furnished Zverythi on can be the finest silks or tapestries. THESE PRICES ARE GUARANTEED FOR SEPTEMBER ONLY. THE DEPOT'S KILLING EFFECT Omaha's Famed Structure Roused a Trav- eler's Evil Spirit. THE BEGINNING OF A BAD MAN A Five Hours' Stay In the Vicinity Drove Him to Strong Drink and Made ¥ a Killer—Story of His Career, The first “bad man” I ever knew happened to be, I have since discovered, a fair spzclmen of the average of his class, says the New York Herald. Occastonally one rises above the level, and becomes—or is naturally—some- thing heroic. But as a rule the “killer” is a coward. You will understand thé advantage of set- ting at least 300 yards Yetween yourself and the man considered, in making such a state- ment. Relying on matters of alm and range and the expulsive force of powder, some men have considered 100 yards enough. But 300 is better, For the man with a record, or ambitious to attain one, as “‘quick with a gun,” a “killer,” a “dangerous charact must of necessity often shoot without giving due and sufficient notice of his Intention. In the nature of things it is the unexpected which must hap- pen, or in self-defense some Intended victim might end his fame and life with a single bullet, The “bad man" needs no ground of quar- rel. He must be a person of uncertain mools, if he is to be feared. Of course, he prefers fortune should make it appear a matter of self-defense, for that feeds apology, instead of vengeance, It leaves a better fceling at the scene of past killing, and this grows into something which he regards as distinguished reception when he returns. Stlll, be can dispense with reason If he wants to shoot. And he can dispinse with fair play. And he can become quite famous without any courage. And because he managed to do a good deal of business without either of these qualities, I say Dan Scott was a fair type of his class. DAN SCOTT'S ENTRANCE The first time I ever saw him was at the Union Pacific depot, in Omaha. He was on bis way to California, and I traveled with him— second class—as far as Green River, in Wyo- ming. It was all his fault I did not enjoy his company further, But the five-hour walt in Omaha, and the close acquaintance on the train, convinced m2 that Dan Scctt was a surly scalawag of the complaining type, which is often encountered and never Iiked. He aidn’t approve of Omata, or tho depot, or the weather, or anything e'se. He told me in a confidential aside that two other members of the party were bad—not “bad"” in the sense which he finally acheved, but by no means gentlemen. I have no doubt he expressed similar opin ons ccncern'ng me. He was from some modest city in Ohio and had worked about horses. He had also worked in a carrfage factory. But he disap- proved of labor and told some stories which indicated his contempt for toll or any other equivalent for wealth, We all dicliked him, but we got along with him. At Cheyenne he wanted a door open when the brakeman—and every one else—wanted it shut. They had some words. Scott's face flamed and his ready tongue coined the epithets of his class. But the matter dropped there. Several times later I noticed the ex- pression of his hatred for the brakeman and thought little of it. In fact I rather hoped he would provoke a conflict, for the brakeman seemed a very capable man. I never thought of bloodshed. We had walted two hours at Green River, and just at sunset climbed on the cars for another night ride. Nearly all our party was aboard. Suddenly there was a burst of profanity from the platform and then a shot, The brakeman staggered back and fell dead in the aisle of the car. We saw Dan Scott, pistol In hand, at the door. But the thing was so0 sudden and 0 terrible—so unusual, too—that nothing was done to apprehend him. When the train was finally stopped and the crew had learned of the tragedy, Seott was gone. ANOTHER SCORE. T belleve some attempt was made to catch him, but it was not successful. The barkeeper told me he was a “bad man" and had killed four people. So here he was, with a full-fledged reputation, He added to it that night. He was playing roulette, and losing. The banker twirled the wheel and droned out: “Twenty-one in the red,” and set a stack of chips on the number—winnings for a bet he saw there. Scott reached for the stack, across the tablo stopped him. “No you don't,” said the stranger. my bean.” “It fsn't mine,” growled Scott. ot much. That's my syst I always play seven, twenty-one and thirty-five. Don't 17" And he appealed to the dealer. There was just half a minute more of such disputing and then Scott turned away with an oath of disgust. The next instant he whirled | and shot. The stranger threw up both hands, | sending a_shower of chips all over the room. He was dead in an hour. To the end he clutched a knife in his left hand and his will was good for a struggle to the very last The knife and his ravings saved Dan Scott lots of trouble. He made a winning along toward morning and insisted on paying the | tuneral expenses, though Le did rot attend the services. A letter came from a friend in Winnipeg the following summer that Dan Scott. had just succeeded In escaping from Manitoba after Killing his eighth man. I always doubted the number of his vietims. But these things grow with a little exploiting, He died in Fargo. The way it happened was this: He had come into town with some money and .was opening a gambling room A man he had known in Deadwood came in and Dan, disliking him. ordered him out The man, a meek looking German, glanced | at the incomplete arrangements, remarked he would come back when the games started and turned to go. Ho tripped over a bit of furniture, and, as he stooped quickly to recover himseif, a bul- let from Dan Scott’s revolver went through | his left arm. But for the stumble it would have gone through his heart. He turned | about coolly, for he must have been a man of great courage, and walked up to Scott with- out & word, As ho approached, towering somewhat be- cause of his superior size, Scott retreated. He advanced, pushing back the employes, who tried to detain him, and evinced 80 strong a purpose to reach and grapple with and a man “That's It that coward that Scott was utterly demoral- Two years later I met bim in Deadwood. { lzed. He walked backward, shouting out frightful oaths, struck his heels on a pile of misplaced furniture and fell, THE GERMAN VICTOR BY LUCK., He was trying to draw another revolver, In falling both were discharged and both bullets went clean through him, The Ger- man was untouched, be persuaded to giy ment, From beginning to end Dan Scott was a type of the man wLo, twenly years ago, was “handy with a gu; ————— Which Ma Winst In sceking the best chance to do well, to better your condition, if you have only a small amount of money, it is a duty to cares fully investigate the merits of any lccation in which you can get a start easily and where all conditions favor your efforis. The oppors tunities for the man of modest means, in this part of the country, to get ahead are becom- ing scarcer every year. As the men become ‘more sacquainted with the never-fallinig means of making a living easily and_ surely, each year in such a reglon as Orchard Homes, nd consider how little money is needed to establish themselves there, it is no wonder taey are anxious to see for themselves this beautiful place and secure a foothold there now. A delightful cliimate that has no suds den changes—a summer season as cool and pleasant as the winter is mild and equable, naturally atiracts the homeseeker. A soll whose generous qualities pay the grower of fruit or vegetables from $200 to $400 per acra but he could scarcely up his purposed punishe each year, astonishes and delights you. Good roads, good water, schools, churches fast traln wervice, are some of the other destrable features of the Orchard Homes country. See it yourself, fol this i3 the only way you can realize how great its advantages are, It is a place fop th Tan of small capital, bt who has intelllgent encrgy and industry, the qualities that wil win for him prosperity and happiness whe exerclsed in a reglon so0 full of such opors tunities as Orchard Homes, Parties are leavs ing Omaha every few days for Orchar Homes. Join one of them. Do not delay, W. Ames, General Agent, 1617 Farna Omaha, Neb.,, will cheerfully give al information and statistics. The cosf of the trip is nominal. If you buy, youl fare is pald by us. We know we have (o’ what you want. See it. —— Philadelphla Record: Hoax—The ceman's money 18 cold cash, isn't it? Joax—Mor than that. ‘When he gets it it's cool collected,