Omaha Daily Bee Newspaper, September 29, 1895, Page 20

3 CHAPTER VIIL—Concluded. - Disappointed as the message left Key, it determined his action, and as the train steamed out of San Luls it for a while di- verted his attention from the object of his pursuit. In any event his destination would have been Skinner's or the Hollow, as tho point from which to begin his search. He be- leved with Sister Seraphina that the young girl would make her direct appeal to her brother; but even If she sought Mrs. Barker, it would b: at some of the haunts of the gang. The letter to the lady superior had bewn postmarked from “Bald Top,” which . Key knew to be an obscure settiement less frequented than Skinner's. Even then it was hardly possible that the chief of the road agents would present himself at the post- office, and It had probably been left by some less known of the gang. A vague idea—that was hardly a suspicion that the girl might have a secret address of her brother's, with- out understanding the reasons for its secrecy— came into his mind. A still more vaguo hop: that he might mect her before she found her brother upheld him. It would be an accl- dental meeting on her part, for he no longer dared to hope that would seek or trust him again. And it was with very little of his old sanguine quality that, travel-worn and weary, he at last alighted at Skinner's. But his half careless inquiry it any lady passen- gers had lately arrived there, to his embar- rassment produced a broad smile on the face of Skinner. “You're the second man that asked that stion, Mr. Key,” he said. The sccond man?’ ejaculated Key, nerv- ously ‘es; the first was the sheriff of Sh He wanted to find a tall, good-look'ng wofnan, about 20, with black eyes. I hope that ain’t the kind o' girl yow're looking arter—is it? For 1 reckon she's gin you both the slip.” Koy protested with a forcod laugh |\Ilt‘ it was not, yet suddenly hesitated to describe Alice. For he instantly recognized the por- trait of her friend, the assumed Mrs. Barker. Skinner continued In lazy confidenc “Yo see, they say that the sherifft had sorter got the dead wood on that gang o' roid agents, and had hemmed 'em in somewh:r betwixt Bald Top and Collinson's. But that woman was one o' thelr spies and spotted his little game, and managed to give 'em the tip 8o they got clean away. Anyhow they ain't bin heard from since. But the big shake has made ecoutin’ along the ledges rather stiff work for the sheriff. They siy ths valley near Lang Canon's chock full ‘o' rock and slumgulllon that's elipped down." What do you mein by the big shak asked Key In surprise. g “Great Scott! you didn’t hear of it? Didn't hear of the ‘arthquake that shook us up all along Galloper's the other night? Well,” he added disgustedly, “that's jist the conceit of them folks in the bay; that can't allow that anythin’ happens in the mountains!” The urgent telegrams of his foreman now flashed across Key's preoccupied mind. Pos- sibly Skinner saw his concern. “I reckon your mine is all right, Mr. Key. One of your men was over vere last night, and aidn’t say nothin’ But this did not satisfy Key, and in a few minutes he had mounted his horse and was speeding toward th> Hollow, with a re- morseful consciousness of having neglected his collengues’ interests. For himself, in the utter prepossession of his passion for Alice, he cared nothing. As he dashed down the slope to the Hollow he thought only of the two momentous days that she had passed there, and the fate that had brought them 80 nearly together. There was nothing to recall its sylvan beauty in the hideous works that now possessed it, or the substantial dwelling house that had taken the place of the old cabin. A few hurried questions to the foreman satisfied him of the integrity of the property. There had been some alarm in the shaft, but there was no subsidence of the “igeam,” nor any difficuity in the working. What 1 telegraphed you for, Mr. Key, was about something that has cropped up way back o' the earthquake. We were served here the other day with a le notice of a clalm to the mine, on account of previous work done on the ledge by the last oc- cupant.” But the claim was built by a gang of thieves, who used it as a hoard for their booty,” returned Key hotly, “and every one of them are outlaws, and have no standing before the law.” He stopped with a pang as he thought of Alice. And the blood rushed to his cheeks as the foreman quietly con- tinued: J ‘But the claim ain’t in any o' their name: 1t's allowed to be the gift of their leader to his young sister, afore the outlawry, and it's in her name—Alice Riggs or something. Of the half-dozen tumultous thoughts that passed through Key's mind only one re- mained, It was purely an act of the brother's to ire some possible future benefit for his sister. And of this she w perfectly ignorant! He recovered himselt quickly, and sald with a smile: “But I discovered the ledge and its aurif- erous character myself. There was no trace f previous discovery or mining oc- o cupatlon. "8 1 jedged, and = I sald, and thet puts ye all right; but I thought 1'd tell ye. For mining laws I8 mining laws, and it's the one thing ye can't get over,” he added with the cullar superstitious reverence of the Call- ornia miner for that vested authority. But Key scarcely listened. All that he heard scemed only fo link him more fatefully and Indissolubly with the young girl. He was already impatient of even this slight delay in his quest. In his perplexity his thoughts had reverted to Collinson’s; the mill-was a good point to begin his scarch from; its good natured, stupid proprietor might be his guide, his ally, and even his confidant. When' his horse was baited he was a the saddle. “It yer going Collinson's yer might ask him If he's lost a horse,” said the foreman. “The morring after the shake gome of the boys plcked up a mustang with a makeup lady's saddle on. Key started! While it was impossible that it could have been ridden by Alice, It might have been by the woman who had preceded her. “DId_you make any ~earch?” he sald erly. “There may have been an accident “T reckon it wasn't no accident,” returned the foreman coolly, “for the riata was loose and trailing, as it {t had been staked out and broke ) away.' Without another word Key put spurs to his horse and galloped away, leaving his companion staring after him. Here was a clew; the horse could not have strayed far; the broken tether Indicated a camp; the gang had been gathered somewhero In the vicinity, where Mrs. Barker had warned thenr—perhaps In the wood beyond Collin- son's. He would penetrate it alone. He knew bis danger, but as a single unarmed man he might be admitted to the presence of the leader, and the alleged claim was a sufi- clent excuse. What he would say or do afterward depended upon chance. It was a wild scheme—but he was reckless. Yet he weuld go to Collinson's first. At the end of two hours he reached the thickset wood that grew upon the shelt at the top of the grade which descended to the mill. As he emerged from the wood iuto the bursting sunshine of the valley below he rply rened in his horse and stopped. nother bound would have been his last, For the shelf, the rocky grade itself, the Jedge below, and the mill upon it were all gone The crumbling outer wall of the rocky de had slipped away into the immeasur- Sl.- depths below, leaving only the sharp edge of a clift which incurved toward. the woods that once stood behind the mill, but which now bristled on the very edge of a precipice. A mist was havging over its brink and rising from the valley; it was a full-fed stream that was coursing through the former dry bed of the river and faliing dcwn the face of the bluff. He rubbed his e dismounted, crept along the edge of e precipice and looked below; whatever had subsided and melted down into its thou- 't of depth there was no trace left upon burial of all ruin was deep and compact; the erasure had been swift and sure—the oblitera- tion complete. It might have been the precipitation of ages, and not of a single. night. At that remote distance it even seemed that grass was already growing over this encrmous sepuicher, but it was only the tops of the buried pines. The absolute si- lence, the utter absence of any mark of con- vulsive struggle—even the lulling whimper of falling waters gave the scene a pastoral repose So profound was the impression upon Key and his human pass'on, that it at first seemad an fronical and eternal cnding of his quest, It was with difficulty that he reasoned that the catastrophe occurred before Alice's flight, and that even Collinson might have had time to escape. He slowly skirted the edge of the chasm and made his way back through the empty woods behind the old mill site toward the place where he had dismounte His horse seemed to have strayed into the shadow. of this covert, but as he approached him he was amazed. to see that it was not his own, and that a woman's scarf was lying over its side saddle. A wild idea seized him and found expression in an impulsive cry: it The woods echoed it; of silence and then a faint response. But it here was an interval THE OMAHA DAILY BEE: SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 29, 1895. know nothing, and keep her thought of him unchanged. "1 see—I see—I sed the injured man, wot I've been sayin' to myself lyln' here all night. Thet's wot I bin sayin' o' my wife Sadie—her that I actoorally got to think kem back to me last night. You see I'd heerd from one 0" those fellars that a woman like unto her had been picked up in Texas and brought on yere, and that mebbe she was somewhar in Call- forny, 1 was that foolish and that ontrue to her—all the while knowin', as I once told you, Mr. Key, that ef she'd been alive she'd bin yere—that 1 belleved it true for a minit! And that was why, afore this happened, I had a dream, right out yer, and dreamed she kem to me, all white and troubled, through the woods. At first T thought It war my Sadie, but when I see she warn't like her old self, and her volce was strange and her laugh was ey, murmured strange—then I knowed it wasn't her and I was dreamin’. You're right, Mr. Key, In Wot you got off Just now—wot was 1t? Better to know nothin'—and keep the old thoughts unchanged.” fave you any pain?” asked Key after a pause, No; T kinder feel easler now."” ey’ looked at his changing face. ‘“Tell me, ho said gently, “If it does not tax your strength, all that has happened here, all you know. It s for her sake.” Thus adjured, with his eyes fixed on Key, Collinson narrated his story from the irrupt- tion of the outlaws to the final catastrophe. Even then he palliated their outrage with his characteristic patience, keeping still his strange fascination for Chivers and his blind belief in his miserab’e wife. Tho story wa at times broken by lapses of faintness, by a singular return of his old abstraction and forgetfulness in the midst of a sentence, and at last by a fit of coughing that left a few crimson bubbles on tha corners of his mouth. Key liftel his eyes anxlously; there was some grave interaal injury which the dying man’s resolute patience had suppressed. Yet, at the sound of Al'ca's returning step, Col- linson's eyes brightened, apparently as much “HOW DID THIS HAPPE) ?"" SAID KEY GRAVELY. was her voice, He ran eageriy forward in that direction and called again; the response was nearer this time, and then the tall ferns parted and her lithe graceful figure came running, stumbling, and limping toward him like a wounded fawn. Her face was pale and agitated, the tendrils of her light hair were straying over her shoulders, and one of the sleeves of her school gown was stained with blood and dust. He caught the white and trembling hands that were thrust out to him eagerly. “It is you!” she gasped. “I prayed for some one to coms, but I did not dream it would be you. And then I heard your vo'ce— and I thought it could be only a dream, until you called a second time.” “‘But you are hurt,” he sald, passionately. ou have met with somo accident!” “No! no!" she sald eagerly. ‘‘Not I—but a poor, poor man I-found lying on the edge of tho cliff. I could not help him much. I didn't care to leave him. .No one would come! I have been with him alone, all the morning! Come quick, he may be dying.” He passed his arm around her waist uncon- sciously, she permitted it as unconsclously, as he half supported her figure while they hur- ried forward. “He had been crushed by something and was half hanging over the ledge, and could not move nor speak,” she went on quickly. I dragged him away to a tree—it took me hours to move him, he was so heavy—and I got him some water from the stream and bathed his face, and bloodied all my sleeve.” “‘But what were you doing here?’ he asked quickly. A faint blush crossed the pallor of her del- icate cheek like the faint tint of dawn. *I— was going to find my brother at Bald Top,” she sald, hurriedly, *“But don't ask me now —only come, quick, do.” ““Is the wounded man conscious? Did you speak to him? Does he know who you are?” asked Key, uneasily. ““No! he only moaned a little and opened his eyes when I dragged him. I don't think he even knew what had happened.” They hurried on again. Th2 wood light- ened suddenly. “Here!” she #id in a half whisper, and stepped timidly into the open light. Only a few fecet from the fatal ledge, against the roots of a buckeye, with her shawl thrown over him, lay the wounded man. Koy started back. It was Collinson! His head and shoulders seemed uninjured, but as Key lifted the shawl he saw that the long lank figure appeared to melt away below the waist into a mass of shapeless and dirty rags. Key hurriedly deplaced the shawl, and, bending ‘over him, listened to his hurried respiration and the beating of his heart. Then he pressed a drinking flask to his lips. The spirit scemed to revive him; he slowly opened his eyes. They fell upon Key with quick recognition. DBut the look changed; one could see that he was trying to rise, but that no movement of the limbs accompanied that effort of will, and his old patient, re- signed lcok returned. Key shuddered at the thought that his spine was hopelessly in- Jured. “I ean't get up, Mr. Ke: he sald in a faint but untroubled voice, “nor seem to move my arms, but you'll just allow that I've shook hands with ye—all the same.” “How did this “happen?” said Key anx- iously. ““Thet's wot gets me! Sometimes I reckon I know, and sometimes I don't. Lyin' thar on thet ledge all last night and only just able to look down into the old valley some- times it seemed to me ez if I fell over and got caught In the rocks trying to save my wife; but then when I kem to think sensible and know my wife wasn't there at all I got mystified. Sometimes I think I got ter thinkin' of my wife only when this yer young gal thet's bin like an angel to me kem lhere and dragged me off the ledge, for you see she don't belong here and hez dropped onto me Iike a sperrit,' “Then you were not in the house when the shock came?” sald Key. “No. You see the mill was filled with them fellers as the sheriff was arter, and it went over with ‘em—and [—' “Allce,” sald Key with a white face, “would you mind going to my horse, which you will find somewhere near yours, and bringing me a medicine case from my saddle bags?" The innocent girl glanced quickly at her companion, saw the change in his face, and, attributing it to the imminent danger of the Injured man, at once glided away. When she was cut of hearing, Key leaned gravely over him “Collinson, I must trust you with a secret, I am afraid that this pooi girl who helped you I8 the sister of the leader of that gang the in pursuit of. She has been kept in perfect lgnorance of her brother's crimes, $he must never know them—nor even know te! he periched utterly in this catastrophe, as It would seem, it was God's at her coming as from the effect of the power. ful stimulant Key had taken from his medi- cine case, “I thank ye, Mr. Key,” he said faintly, “for I've got an idea I ain't got no great time before me, and I've got sut'n lo say to you, afore witnesses”—his eyes :cught Alice’s in half apology—‘‘atore witn= scs, you understand. Would you mind sta’ %’ out thar, afore me, in the light so I kin see you both, and you, miss, rememberin’, ez a witness, suthin’ I got to tell to him. You might take his hand, miss, to make it more regular and lawlike.” The two d!d as ha bade them, standing side by side, humoring what seemad to them to_be wanderings of a dying man. “Thar was a young fellow,” sa'd Collin- son, in a steady voice, “‘ez kem to my shanty a night ago on his way to the—the—valley. He was a sprightly young fellow, gay and chipper-like, and he ez to me, confidential- like: ‘Collinson,’ sez he, ‘I'm off to the sfates this very night on business of impor- tance; mebbe I'll be away a long time—for years! You know,' sez he, ‘Mr. Key, in the Hollow! Go to him,' sez he, ‘and tell him ez how I hadn't time to get to see him; teil him," sez he, ‘that Rivers’—you've got the name, Mr, Key?—you've got the name, miss? —‘that Rivers wants him to say this to his little sister from his loving brother. And tell him,' sez he, this yer Rivers, ‘to look arter her, being alone.’ You remember that Mr. Key? you remember it, miss? You see, I remembered it, too, being so to speak alone myself—" he paused, and added in a faint whisper, “till now."” Then he was silent. That Innocent le was the first and last upon his honest lips, for as they stood there, hand in hand, they saw his piain, hard face take upon itself at first the gray, ashen hues of the rocks around him, and then and thereafter (he infinite tranquillity and peace of the wilderness In which he had lived and died and of which he was a part. Contemporaneous history was less kindly. The Bald Top Sentinel congratulated its readers that the late selsmic distu.bance was accompanied with very little Icss of life, It any. “It is reported that the p-cprictor of a low shebeen for emigrants in an ob- scure hollow had succumbed from injuries, but,” added the editor with a fine touch of western humor, “whether this was the result of his being foreibly mixed ug with his own tauglefoot Whisky or not, we are unable to determine from the evidence before us.” For all that a small stone shaft was added later to the rocks near the site of the old mill, in- scribed to the memory of this obscure “pro- prietor,” with the humorous lege “Have ye faith like to him?" And those who knew ouly of the material catastrophe, looking around upon the scene of desolation it com- memorated, thought grimly that it must be falth ‘indecd, and—were wiser than they new. ST LT M F ey IR T “You smiled, Don Preble,” said the lady superior to Key a few weeks later, ‘“when T told to you that many caballeros_thought it most discreet to intrust their fufure brides to the maternal guardianship and training of the holy church, yet, of a truth, I meant not you. And yet—eh! well, we shall see,” (The End.) CONTENT, Rochester Post. ‘What though old Boreas roars without And tears about unruly, My sweetheart’s nestling ‘close to me And says she loves me truly! ‘What care I now for other's smiles Or frowns, however plenty? She loves me, though she's only nine, And I am nine and twenty, None know my joy as I sit there, Her arms around me twining, For so-called love of selfish minds No more will T be pining, One can accept without a doubt The love that now is mine, For love can never truer be, Or purer, than at nine, Dear little sweetheart, may I ne'er Betray the love I cherish, May no unwitting act of mi Cause it to fade or perish, No compliment as sweet as this, Though friendship may be plenty, Where one 18 truly loved by nine, And he is nine and twenty, —— Economy in Sound Teeth, There is a large manufacturing establish- ment on the wect side which employs a dentist to examine the teeth of all applicants for work, says the Chicago Times-Herald, It & tooth has a cavity it must be filled or, If it Is too far gone, it must be pulled. This dental wors ls, In most cases, done at the ex- E O b SR LY In the history of our country the battle of New Orleans Is unique, and in the history of war there perhaps mever was a fight at- tended by circumstances more picturesque. On the part of the Americans it was waged by individuals rather than by an army; each man fought as a citizen, feeling that he had a personal duty to perform. Whether true or not, the word had come to the people of New Orleans that the British com- mander had promised his soldiers unlimited freedom to sack the ety if they took it. This aroused our people to the highest pitch of martial excitement, and General Jackson's little band of soldiers was at once reinforced by citizens of all ages, who rushed, gun in hand, to the proposed liue of defense, a few miles down the river. Among these volunteers was a boy of 16 by the name of Roger Fayard, whose parents were poor and of mixed French and Ameri- can blood. Roger had armed himself with a short, clumsy gun, a horn of powder and a pouch well supplicd with bullets. He pre- sented himself at headquarters, and was told by the bluff, rough-and-ready general to g0 and find a place in the lines. Jackson was too busy at the time to pay much attention to him, and the boy, fully determined that he must have a hand in the impending fight, went out to where hundreds of men were digging like moles in the wet sand, building a long embankment for defense; but he could find no one (hat he knew, and so he wandered about somewhat bewildered until he chanced to attract the attention of General Coffee, who was in command of the left wing of our forces. A little later Roger found himself stationed in a swamp, where a struggling line of men were watching for the British redcoats to appear. LOST IN THE SWAMP. Here he had to stay all night, and the next day the command was sent farther on into a dense jungle. By this time Roger was, boy-Like, beginning to feel dissatisfied with his situation. He was wet, muddy, hungry, sleepy and tired almost beyond endurance. Some movement ‘was ordered which he did not understand, and at last, after running this way and that, trying to regain his place in line, he suddenly found himself all alone in the midst of a wild tangle of trees and plants. Not a man was in sight, and a dead stillness and silence hung over everything. A strange sense of bewilderment and fear filled his heart. Where was he? What had become of the army? He stood and listened. Not a sound. To make the matter worse night was coming on, and a fog with it. Roger was no coward, but his nerves thrilled, and for a while he was faint and almost ready to fall. After a few moments he rallied, however, and set out to look for his command. But which way should he g0? He had absolutely no guide, nothing from which to draw even a hint of direction. For hours he floundered in mud, water and underbrush. Overhead, as night fell, the brecze soughed dolefully through the dim treetope. He dared not halloo or make any sound, for this might betray him to the enemy. At last he saw a light twinkle, then disappear. He pushed on. Another and an- other light flashed through the thickening fog. They were campfires, but whose were they? He must be careful. In his imagina- tion to fall into British hands seemed worse than death. And the next instant, when he slyly pushed his way through a clump of tangled shrubs, he saw red coats and bay- onets. A sentry was strutting back and forth between him and a fire where some men were cooking and eating. He saw two, whom he thought officers, discussing a bottle of wine. At first he was sure that the guard eaw him and his heart sank. He recoiled and crept back into the cover unnoticed, however, to hasten away in the oppesite di- rection; but again and again he came upon lights and always there were red-coated sol- diers by the fires. It seewed that choose what course he might the result was the same, and naturally he concluded that he was in the midst of the enemy’s army. In fact, like all lost persons, he was walking fu a circle and returning time after time to the same place. THE BATTLE BEGINS. There was a moon, but the fog shut off nsarly all the light. For many hours Roger strove in vain to get back to the American lines. At last, worn out, he lay down in a thicket near an old fence and almost im- mediately fell fast asleep. Some time after- ward a great rushing moise awoke him. He opened his eyes and sprang to his feet. Tm- mense rockets were.going up and their i'ght made the fog look red. The British army was moving, and far and near the noises of a multitude of men tramping, cannon trundling and horses plunging, were heard, while military orders given in sharp lo“es were passed from distance to distance. Then a heavy boom from a big gun, and all at once the storm of battle began. In a few minules the British were charging upon Jackson's works. 2 Roger was now able to make out by the general direction of the enemy's march which way he should go in order to reach his friends, but he soon discovered that the Brit- ish advance line was already between him and Jackson's works. He knew that General Coffee was on the American left, and he hoped that by bearing far out into the swamp he could reach the extreme of the line. His sleep had refreshed him, so that now he ran briskly, keeping a sharp lookout for redcoats, but his eyes were not quick enough, and while making his way through the corner of an old plantation inclosure he suddenly came face to face with four or five soldiers, wlo fired at him. Their bullets sang past his ears without touching him. Badly scared as he was, he leveled his old gun and banged away, then turned and ran as fast as his legs could carry him back into the woods. THE HIGHLANDER. By this time the battle was at its highest pitch. Cannon balls and grape shot were pounding and tearing their way through the THEN, TURNING, B RAN AS FAST AS HIS LEGS COULD CARRY HIM BACK INTO THE WOODS. woods and plowing great furrows across the sandy open space, while a continuous patier and hissing of rifie bullets was mingling with the snarling of rockets and the broadsides from a vessel in the river. Roger zig-zagged is way toward the left of the American line, he thought, but in fact he was approaching the center. It began to be very difficuit to keep out of the way of the charging British, and every movement made his peril greater. He sought the first:opportulnly to reload his gun, but, to his comsternation, discovered that he had lost his powder horn. Aad scarcely was he aware of this calamity be- fore a soldier, dressed in the uniform of the Highlanders, sprang Jdn front of him and leveled his musket; and the next moment the will to spare her that knowledge. I tell yo ed iveffecibally; it had miss this (0 warn you in_ anything you say be. | pense of the factory, and has proved to be | per PP 4 Rhrd fore her. She must beliove, as I shall try to | Wise economy. Little time Is lost on account | ~ Roger could not retreat, nor could he fire make her believe, that he gone back to [ of tootha Teeth of employes are exam- | an empty gun; but feellng the d:speration of where she will too, hereafter, be- | Ined at regular intervals, whether they ars ry mu-n .= he dared to try a that he died. Better that she should | giving their owners any trouble or mot. w flashed upon bis mind. Tak- Adventures of an American Boy at That Great Engagement. By Maurice T hompson, 3 ) SRR ) 8 B he do with his prisoner, whom he was 4o!d- 1ng under fear of an empty blunderbis? To stand there would be certaln death or cap- Ing quick aim upon the Highlander, he de- manded his surrender, “Drop that gun!" crled the boy, with a stern scowl, The Highlander promptly obeyed. So far %0 good, but Roger realized at once that Le had a serious trouble in hand. What c)nd “‘March along!" Roger commanded, indi- citivg the direction in which he wishel The Highlander, secing the gaping muzzle of the boy's gun bearing directly upsa h'n. felt tLat e must submit, and so he marche: as ke was told, At this stoge of the actlon there was & territie concentration of emergy by both armies. The British commander f:1, mor- tally wounded, the Highlanders charged up to the Citen in front of Jacksui's work and wera cut down like grass. Roger his captive were borne along, as if on storuw-tide o* the fight, ad you. At last the recoil came fTle British army, torn to shreds, was lurled back, utie:ly defeated and panic siuricken, IN THE MUD. The ditch in front of the American breast- works was an old mill race, in which the sluggish water covered a bottom of deep mud. When Roger had succeeded in driving his prisoner to the brink of this he ordered him to cross It, not imagining the feat a_dicult one. In went the Highlander, up to his arm- Dits, and by a tremendous struggle reached the other side, all covered with mud. Without counting the probabilities Roger followed and plunged into the oozy ditch, where he stuck ast. Here was the Highlander’s opportunity 1o escape. But no; It was too late; the Ameri- cans were swarming over their breastworks; they were upon him; they seized him and marched him away. Not far, however. The brave fellow staggered and fell, and when they examined him they found that he was dead. During all that time he had been bleed- ing from a gunshot wound necessarily mog- tal, but had never shown a sign of it. Nearly two hours passed before Roger was discovered and rescued from the mud. He told his story, but nobody believed i*; it was too romantic. Yet throughout all his after life he stoutly maintained its truth and in- sisted upon having it heard ARMY NAMES, 0dd Titlen W rman Soldiers Restow Upon Each Other. Everybody is familiar with the name of Tommy Atkins, representing the British sol- dier, but how many know the terms of en- dearment by which the German soldiers are called? Some of these are applied fo the entire regiment, some to an Indlvidual corps. The guards are called “Hammel,” or " the guards call the soldiers of the fleld rats;” the infantry speak of the cavalry as “‘grooms,” and the cavalry return the compliment by bestowing upon the in- fantry the names of “sand hares,” “sand carriers,” “clodhoppers.” Ths Culrassiors are known as ‘“flour sacks,” the pioneers as “moles,” the Hussars as ‘‘packthreads, and the artillery as ‘“cow soldier The latter are called, also, “astronomers,” and the engineers “water rats.” In these diyi- ns again the corps have names for them- selves and their rivals. In the cavalry the Seventh Culrassiers are the *“white-cmiths,” the First Hussars the “death’s heads,” as thelr shako bears this emblem, and the Fourth Hussars, from their brown uriforms are called the “partridges,” the only brown in the German army preserved in remm- brance of Frederick II,-who used all the cloth found in the Capuchin convent for his soldiers. The green uniform with vellow facings has glven to the Stxth Hussars the name of “spinach and eggs,” and for a siml. lar reason the Tenth Hussars are (alled “parrots.” In the guards the first regiment of foot are called “tin heads,” in poetic allusion o thef helmets; the Chasseurs are ‘“green frogs;~ the First Grenadiers, “‘potato peelers; the Hussars “glow-worms,” from thelr red clothes; the Third Uhlans, “dusties,” from their dull yellow trimmings; and the Plo. d tre and foread hither ic neers, ‘“earth worms.” A MUSICAL MIRACLE. Wonders Performed by Jeanne Blanchard, the H-Year-0ld Piag Fancy a small girl of 4 years of playing classlcal music before an assem- | blage of distinguished men and women at | Paris. This was the remarkib'e achiove- ment of a tiny French maid who a year later | composed a simple sketch for the plano callel | Since her debut in Paris little Miss Blanch- ard has gone from one triumph to another, until she gives promise of rivaling even the glorious boy Mozart. After composing ballets, polkas, mazurka: and marches, she completed an op-ra en- titled “Fingal,” and at Nctre Dame de Paris | Canton Repository. last year little Jeanne conducted an orchestra of 120 performers who played the prelude to “Fingal." Of course this young prodigy has appeared before most of the L'ving mast.rs, Saint- Saens, Massenet and Dellebs, who one and all are enthusiastic in praise of her wondertul gifts, She s a pretty child, with a swe-t, earnest, modest little face, and in spite of the adulation ard presents heaped upon her by admirers, re- ta'ns her childish simplicity of manner. Our principal interest {n Jeanne s that she ex pects soon to visit this couniry, the land of children, and one wond:rs If, in spita of her fame and genlus, she may not fome time envy American boys and giris who live in the | in freest, world, nicest country the who'e round Prattle « Tomwiy dscipline s still moantined in some American familles, as, of course, it ought to be in all. A small boy got a sliver In bis fool, according to the Bostn Herild, and ils mother expressed her tuteniva of putting a pouitice on the woue The woy, With the ra‘vral foolighness wa'en is bounl up i the Leart of a child, objysed t) the Propused renedy, “I won't have any poultice,” he declared. Yes, you will,” said both motk tod &andn otver ). The majori wae tw to one against him, and at bedtime the poul- tive wns realy. The patient was not ready. On the. con- trary, he resisted so stoutly that a switch was brought into requisition. It was ar- ranged that the grandmother should apply the poultice, while the mother, with uplifted etick, was to stand at the bedside. The boy was told that if he ‘‘opened his mouth"” he would recelve something that would keep him quie The hot poultice touched his foot and he opened his mouth. You—" he began. Keep still,” said his mother, shaking her stick, while the grandmother applied the poultice. Once more the little fellow opened his mout But the uplifted switch awed him Into silence, In a minute more the poultice was firmly in place and the boy was tucked into bed. There now,” said his mother. “The old sliver will be drawn out, and Eddie's foot will be all well.” The mother and grandmother were mov- ing triumphantly away when a shrill voice piped from under the bed clothes: ““You've got it on the wrong foot.” Little Johnny has been naughty, and has to be sent from the table without having any dessert. For an hour he has been sitting in the corner of the room crying. At last he thinks it time to stop. “Well, I hope you have done now,” says his mother. Haven't done,” says Johnny, in a passion; “I'm only resting."” crying The little Chicago boy was sleepily mut- tering his prayers. “0, Lord,” he said, “bl mamma, and Uncle John, an and—and the whole push!” papa and Aunt Maria, First Urchin—Say, Tom, what's appendici- tus? Second Urchin—Appendicitus! O, dat's der disease yer catches from swallerin’ peachstones. CE T WORTHY WIVES OF NOTI M Ohio Politicinns Who Owe Much to heir Better Halves. The political eyes of the nation are now focused on Oh Five vital factors in the pending guberna- torfal, senatorial and subsequent presiden- tial campaigns, says the New York Herald, are embodied in the wives of the candidates indorsed by the recent republican and dem- ocratic state conventions. They form a remarkable quintet—a curious combination of wealth, soclal prestige, in- tellect and domestic virtues. The failure of Ohio republicans to renomi- nate McKinley for governor, while they in- dorsed him as their candidate for the presi- dency of the United States, instead of rele- gating Mrs. McKinley to the traditional ob- scurity of the wife of a defunct official, but emphasizes her possibilities as the successor of Mra. Cleveland From an fnvalid’s chair the cherished wife of the world-famous protectionist, in follow- ing the political fortunes of her husband, has kept in vital touch with public questions at home and abroad. The invalidism that prevented her active participation in Washington society during the fourteen years Governor McKinley served In the house of representatives nat- urally tended to concentrate her mind on the measures her husband has ever had at heart. It there be a stancher protectionist fn the world today than the author of the McKin- 12y bill it is his sweet-faced wife, who thinks there is no man her husband’s equal. Mrs. McKinley was born in Ohio, and in the quaint Dutch commercial town of Canton she was a noted belle in her girlhood. Her father, the late James Saxton, was an in- fluentfal citizen and the publisher of the | Until after the birth of two children, now dead, Mrs, McKinley was active in soclal affairs. slons Mrs. McKinley, llke Mme. Recamies, recelved her guests reclining on a divan, The gubernatorial race reVives two wom of varied social and political resourceg—the wives of former Governor James E. Campe bell and General Asa Bushnell. Mrs. Camp« bell is probably the most ambitious as well a8 the most “‘advanced”—in the best sen of that much abused term—of this interes| ing quintet. She Is reputed to be a practieal politican, It is an inherited predilection. Her father, Job E. Owens, was one of the sharpest, shrewdest politiclans and most successtul manufacturer of Hamilton, O. His home was the rendezvous of the early politiclans of that section, Mrs. Campbell was born in Lebanon, O., the home of Tom Corwin, and moved to Hamilton, where, as Libby Owens, she was voted the brightest, preitiest girl of the town, Bducated at Vassar college, she was & favorite of Maria Mitchell. Governor Camps bell's four congressional terms Initiated his handsome, clever wife in the intricacies of official soclety, and her receptions soon vied in popularity with those of Mrs. Whitney. A woman of commanding presence, ready wit, soclal tact. an artistic dresser, Mre, Campbell burst Iike a meteor on the social life of Ohio's capital, and her tollets, teas, luncheons and receptions during her huse band’s gubernatorial reign were a revelation to the conservative town. To the tact and diplomacy of his wife Governor Campbell despite his unquestioned talent and gifts of smanship, owes not a little of his popus larity with the masses, An incident is cited in Columbus i1« lustrative of Mrs. Campbell's tact. Durin the republican convention which nominate Major McKinley for the governorship Mrs, Campbell rode fn her open landau to the Neil house, where Major McKinley was stops ping, and took the distinguished proteci‘ons ist for a drive through the city. Cheer upon clieer rent the air as McKinley rode away, Wwith Mrs. Campbell at his side, while the governor sat facing them. Major McKinley is one of our old friends, Why shouldn't we give him a little outing after being penned up all day in that hot stuffy convention hall?” said Mrs. Campbell when asked what prompted her to take her husband’s political rival on that memorablo ride, The wife of the republican nominee, Mre. Asa Eushnell, achieved her first officlal so= cial prominence during her able husban gervice on Governor Foraker's staff. Mrg, Bushnell !s a handsome, dark-eyed Tromagh of sweet, al‘ractive manner. Her father, Dr, Ludlow, wac a ploneer of the sterling qual{s tles that have contributed to Ohlo stabllity, Mrs. Bushnell was born and rearcd in Springficid and has always been actively one gaged in church work. She is an exemnleiy Pousekeeper and presides with old-tine Lose piality and grace over a beautiful house ot tna early renaissance type of architectuce. Unlike Mrs. Campbell, she is childlcss, In the senatorial contest Mrs. Calvin B, Brice confronts Mrs. Foraker. The lattér has never had the soclal discipline insepy arable from Washington life. As Miss Julla Bundy she attended the Ohlo Wesleyan sem- Inary at Delaware, where she met In a fellow student at the neighboring university the brilliant, erratic who developed lat into the “fire-eating” Foraker, who m-v? fails to attract and hold a political gathors ing. As wife of a governor, Mrs. Foraker made many friends in Columbus, and duriog the Grand Army encampment and the Ohio cef- tennial the executive mansion entertained with consummate grace Mrs. John A. Logan, Mrs. Ruesell A. Alger, Mrs. Fred Grant an hosts of celebrities. Mrs. Foraker is an ac- tive member of the Methodist church. Since her gubernatorial experfence family has grown, and she could now brin| to Washington society a family of Interests ing age and attalnments, Mrs, Foraker is a women of fine prese: cgé ul She is as politically ambitious as her giffe husband, and quite as capable of holding he tongue as was the governor when asked to state whether Mrs. Cleveland did or did not snub him at the Philadelphia review, whle%‘ closely followed Foraker's dispatch to tr president: “No flags shall be returned while I am governor." The supremacy of Brice money singularly equips Mrs. Brice for an extended lease op her present social and official prestige, Mrg, Brice, like Mrs. Foraker, was educated in Ohio 'seminary—the Western Female sem nary in Oxford, which is a mile from th Miami university, from which her husband was graduated. In college environment they met and syl sequently both taught school In the vicini of Lima, whero they were married long by fore wealth overtook them. Some five yea ago Mrs. Brice endowed her alma mater, an the senator erected there “Brice hal 3 Before Calyin Brico aspired to senatorigl honors the family, by renting the cottages q‘ Newport celebritles during several season! and making repeated trips to Europe, suge Gooded In making social inroads. They gaty ried this prestige to Washington, where theit Inxurious career is too fresh to be reiterated here. — Mr. and Mrs. Edwin N. Benso not Phil, adelphia have Issued cards for the marrigge of their daughter, Miss Nina L. Benson, ap Jay Cooke, third, to take place at Chestny Hill in St. Paul’s church on Wedensday, As wife of Ohlo's governor she has given several state and informal receptions in the | spacious suite, specially fitted up for the governor, in the Neil house, which con- | fronts the windows of the gubernatorial office at the state house. On these occa- September 25, Mr. Benson s ex-president of the Union league and one of th: wealthlest and most public-spirited men in Philadelpblg, His daughter Is very attractive. The bride. groom-elect 1s a grandson of Jay Cooke, the famous financier. Honest VS. Samples sent upon Request e e Tailoring “Shoddy Imitators.” Intelligent buyers are not governed by the prices alone— You will see Nicoll's prices elsewhere—but, oh, the difference in the fabrics—the fit—the trimmings—and workmanship. Gentlemen wearing our garments are our best advertisers—They come baek and bring their friends. Our $20.00 Business Suit —to order is causing a stir among dressy men. Imported grades at $25.00, $28.00, $30.00, Trousers, $5-$6-$7-$8. You'll have over a thousand styles to pick from. 207 South 15th