The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, April 14, 1895, Page 23

THE SAN FRANCISCO CALL, SUNDAY, APRIL 14, 1895 23 CHAPTER IV. this was bnut part and parcel of the y of the old Wyoming fort. Long years had it served as refuge and resting Ylace for the emig J ific was built, when the over- te followed the Platte to the ste arks of and on to the backbone of where the mountain streams, springing from rocky beds not long pistol-shot apart, flowed rippling aw the one to the Missouri and the Gulf ©of Mexico, the other to the Colorado and that of Califorma. Frayne was but a ht stockade in y days of the civil war, but -the G nment found it important rom a strate the the Mormons— the continent, red the Rockies, and the ttler mo longer trudged hat, bordering the Sioux became speedily a road of fire and second only in its terrors to the »ky Hill route through “bleeding Kan- the boast of the Da- as it has been for generations of their enemies, the Absarakas, or Crows, v had never shed the blood of a Settlers of the old days used v the Sioux had followed them long marches, not to murder and age, but to restore to them items lost he trail or animals strayed from e herds. But there came an end when, resisting an unjust de- , the Sioux, fired upon, retaliated. the day of the Grattan massacre be- yond old Laramie, there has been no real e with the lords of the Northwest. are quiet only when subdued by They bave broken the crust of their ironment time and again, and burst b in the seething flame of a volcano s ever bubbling and boiling beneath e frontiersman to this day. Frayne was maintained asa mili- post for years; firstas a ade, €n as a sub-depot of supplies, garrisoned v four companies of infantry and four of y, the former to hold the fort, the scour the neighboring country. time wore on and other ts 1ilt further up in the Big }?om. 's garrison dwindled, but there upon its commanding bluff the low wooden barracks, the parallel rows le sets of broad-piazzaed quarters here dwelt the officers, the long, low, TOWS of the corrals and on the flats below. enough, the Twelfth had year or two before it Here it learned the | y and the Sioux so well that a few years back, the ghost dance ! e swept over the plains and mountains the plague the old regiment was hur- | d from its sunshiny stations in the and mustered once again, four troops | within the very walls that long 1 echoed to its trumpets. Here ot them it the midst of the Christ- mas preparations that were turned so sud- nto summons to the fieid, and here , three years later still, headquarters now, the proud old regiment yne, and Fenton, “vice Far- ed in action with hostile Indians,” s the command. ored dragoon he is, but a gentle- , with a gentle heart in his breast for toe stern exterior. Women said of him all he needed to make him E»er(ect was polish, and all he needed to give him polish was a wife, for at 54 the grizzled colonel was a elor. But Fenton had had his romance in early youth. He had loved with all his big heart, so said tradition, a | ew. York belle and beanty whom he knew in his cadet days, and who, so rumor said, preferred another, whom she married be- fore the war, and many a garrison belle had since vainly set her cap for Fenton and found him faithful to his early love. Bat though the ladies often speculated as to the identity of the woman who had held the colonel’s heart in bondage all these years and blocked the way for all suc- cessors, no one of their number had ever heard her name or even knew the truth. One officer there was in the Twelfth who, like Fenton himself, was a confirmed bach- elor, and who was said to be possessed of the whole story, but there was no use ask- ing Malcolm Leale to tell anybody’s se- crets, and when Fenton came to Frayne, yromoted to the command so recently held y a man they all loved and honored, it was patent to everybody that he felt sorely, as though he was an usurper. Fenton was many long m away with another bat- talion of the Twelfth the day of the tragic battle on the Mini Pusa, and it was long months thereafter before he appeared at regimental headquarters, and brought with him as his housekeeper his maiden sister, Lucretia, and 1n Lucretia Fenton—the dreamiest, dowdiest, kindliest, quaintest, middle-aged prattler thut ever lived, moved and had her being in the army—the ladies of the Twelfth found so to make merry over that they well- nigh forgot and forgave the unflattering indifference to feminine fascinations of her | brother, the colonel. When Fenton came the Farrars, widowed mother and devoted daughter, had been gone some weeks. The shock of her hus- band’s death bad well nigh shaken Mrs. Farrar’s reason, and for months her con- dition was indeed deplorable. Loving him devotedly, glorying in his soldierly record and reputation, yet ever dreading for him just such an end, she had been so pros- i by her grief that Ellis almost forgot rer own bitter sorrow in the contempla- tion of her mother’s woe. For months the daughter was her main prop and com- d attendant. Will, her bright, brave v, could not be permitted to leave his studies at the Point. Royle, ber first-born, was an outcast and wanderer she knew not where. Ellis, her youngest, her one daugh- ter, proved to be her chief’ dependence. Loving friends and relatives she had in lenty, to be sure, and through the provi- dence of her soldier husband, her fortune unimpaired, and, fortunately, more n sufficient for her needs. And so, for r six months after that fatal Christmas- the widow lay, either apathetic or in tide the depths of an overwhelming grief, and Ellis never lett her side. And then they went for a summer at the seashore, for Ellis herself was drooping, and then while visiting at her own sister's home Mrs. arrar began to realize how all this time education was being neglected, and, te her protest, the girl was sent back to school in New York, where she could be within call. This was her one stipula- tion, for Ellis well knew what her mother only faintly suspected—that no more sud- den shocks could come into the gentle sufferer’s life, without danger of ending it atonce. And all this time Jack Ormsby had been so0 helpful, thoughtful and attentive. It was he who met them and escorted them LAY AyNE BY capT cHas. KNG © ants in the days before | 1 then past the Devils Gate | ical point of view, even aiter | good soldier is Fenton, a brave fellow, | le rough at times, like the simple | then he | W () W | most of that miserable homeward way. | For the time being, at least, the honored | remains of the grand old colonel had been {laid to rest under the shadow of the flag at the post he had so well commanded, but in the course of the second year they were brought East and buried in the beau- tiful cemetery near his own father’s side, and the veterans of a famous regiment bowed their heads beside the helmeted reg- | ulars from the forts in the harbor, and | Jack’s company sent a superb floral em- blem to be laid on the flag-d ra{w(l coffin of the commander by whose side their popular sergeant had won his spurs in Indian bat- tle. A famous fellow, with all his modesty and good sense, was Jack Ormsby in the | armory of the Seventh all the year that ollowed his home-coming from the Sioux campaign, and again and again did his comra make him tell the story of his sensations and experiences when he fol- lowed Farrar into the heart of that fire- spitting village, through that veil of softly | falling snow. How red it grew in many a place! What scenes of carnage were there not after the noble colonel fell! Jack’s brain used to turn sick at thought of it | sometimes, but still there was_the exulta- | tion of the rescue of those hapless captives, | those poor women being dragged away to a fate to which torture at the stake were mercy. There was the triumph of the overwhelm- ing defeat and punishment of that great | village of hostiles even when it was re-en- | forced, asit soon was, by the return of | many of the warriors who had been watch- i hindering the pursuit of the | E Leale had taken command, | cool, yet raging over the murder of his { beloved chief, and while even then seeking | to carry out Farrar’s injunctions to protect | the women and children, had dealt venge- | fully with tne warriors who had rallied to | theattack. Ormsby was throughitall, and bore himselflike a man and a sergeant, even the Seventh, and swore that his Creedmoor training had been more than enough to | help him empty at least two saddles. If he | had “only had his old Remington,” 1 | h instead of a cavalry carbine,’” Kill | gle himself would have bit the dust, for | twice he drew bead upon that savage chief | when the snow-clouds lifted late in the afternoon and let the battlefield be seen. Great work had the little battalion done | that day, but all the same were they glad | to see the coming column of the Eleventh | just before the red, red sun went down. Once, just once, after they had been home perhaps a_month, Ellis made him tell her something of that stirring fatal day, but soon she shut her ears and fled. Ormsby came again. He began coming often—so often that that became one rea- | son why it was deemed best that Ellis should return to school. Mr. Ormsby was | & very fine fellow, and all that, said Mrs. Farrar’s many relatives, but, really, Ellis is still too young, and she might do better, and so poor Jack, s learning to do nothing less than worship that exquisite face, so pathetic above the deep mourning of her attire, became dismal in his turn and found no comfort in anything outside of the armory or Wall street. The next summer the Farrars spent at West Point. It was Will’s first class camp, and Will was cadet captain of the color company and a capital young officer despite | & boyish face and manner, and then Jack Ormsby, who never before had “taken much stock in West Point,” the battalion looked so small beside the Seventh,and | the band as such a miserable little | affair, after Cappa and his superb array— | Jack not only concluded that he must there go_ up re every few days to pick up points on guard and sen- try duty and things of that kind, but Jack decided that Kitty, his precious sister, might as well go too, and spend a fortnight, and she did, under the wing of a matron from Gotham, with daughters of | her own, and Kitty Ormsby, only 16, and | as full of vivacity, grace, sp: ghtliness and winning ways as girl could be, pretty as a peach and brimming over with fun, co- |q and sweetness combined, };]aycd | havoc in the corps of cadets and’ could anything have been more fortunate ?—the victim most helplessly, hopelessly, utterly gone was Cadet Captain Will Farrar. To the consternation of the widowed mother she saw her handsome soldier boy led day after day more deeply into the | meshes, led like a slave_or like the piggy in the nursery rhyme with the ring in the end of his nose by this bewitching, imperi- | ous, fascinating little creature, ana there | was absolutely no ncI{: for it. Anywhere | else almost she could have whisked her | boy under her wing and_borne him away | beyond range, but not at West Point. She had to learn the lessons so many mothers learn with such bewilderment, often with such ill grace, that the boy was no longer | hers to do with as she would, but Uncle Sam’s, and Uncle Sam unfeelingly said | stick to your camp duty, with its drills | and parades, rollcalls, practical engineer- ing, Kouwoning and spooning in stolen half hours, no matter what the conse- quence. Mrs. Farrar couldn’t carry Will away and couldn’t order Kitty. About {all she saw of her boy was drilling with | the battalion at a distance or dancing with Miss Ormsby close at hand, and, on the | principle that misery loves company, she | soon was comforted by a fellow sufferer, for just in proportion as the mother’s heart was troubled by the sightof her boy’s infatuation for this pretty child so was Jack Ormsby made miserable by see- ing the attentions lavished by officers and cadets alike on Ellis Farrar. And yet the little blind god was doing Jack far better work than he ever dared to dream. The mother longed for Will and { no one else could quite take his place. The lover longed for chance has a ‘‘cit” lover at West Point, even though he be a swell and a sergeant |in the Seventh, It resulted that in the | hours when the mother and Jack had to sit and look on they were brought con- stantly together, and then in these hours of companionship Mrs. Farrar began to see more and more how manful, honest, self-reliant was the gallnnt fellow who had fought by her husband’s side. Little by little she learned to lean upon him, to ap- veal to him, defer to him, and to see 1n him, after all, 8 man in whom she could perhaps confide even so precious a treas- ure as her daughter’s heart, and that sum- mer at West Point won the mother even if it did not win the lady of his love. That winter the boys came down to New York, half a dozen of Will's classmates, for Christmas leave, and such a day an night of adulation as they received. At last did Mrs. Farrar uit{ner seclusion to give a little dinner in t‘})eir honor, and con- sent to attend, as a looker-on, the dance that night at Sherry’s where Ellis gave Ormsby one blessed waltz and Kitty gave Will the mitten. Oh, darts and flames and furies, what a turmoil there was over that Christmas dance! Will had to go back with his classmates in time to report at a cer- tain hour, but he told his mother in tragic tone that all was over between him and Miss Ormsby, forever—forever—and so, perhaps, it might have been had Kitty so minded. She had flirted outrageously with Charley Bates, a fellow Will Farrar simpl couldn’t bear, and, though neither woulg admit that a girl had anything to do with it, there was the usual cadet chal- lenge and as spirited a midwinter “mill” as ever was seen in cadet barracks—sa u qh:u;s. and what earthly | ! and they had a lovely tim, “mill” in which Farrar fought like a hero and was only knocked out after havin been knocked down time and again, an then Kitty was properly punished, for Will | was still in hospitar\vhen the New Year's | hop came off, battered and bruised and | generally miserable, while Bates, though | mouse-colored as to his eyes, was able to | attend, but Kitty went up to Craney’s with | Mrs. Farrar, a penitent indeed, and never | went near the hop, but had Will in ecstasy | and a dark corner of the parlor for a long, | long hour, and cried nan cooed over and | comforted him and surrendered at discre- | tion. Will Farrar was practically an en- | gaged man when he wasgraduated in June | —and only 21. All that winter Ellis had continued her | course at school, but was to come out in | May, and during the long months of Sep- | tember she was comforted in the comfort | her mother found in the companion that | had been chosen for her, a gentle, refined and evidently well-bred woman, who came | upon the recommendation of their rector. | and who was introduced as Mrs. Daunton —Helen Daunton, a woman with a sad his- | tory, as the grave old pastor frankly told them, but through no fault or foible of her | own. She had been married, but her hus- | band was unworthy of her, had deserted her some years before, leaving her to struggle for herself. Dr. Morgan vouched | for her integrity and that was enough. By the time Ellis was to return to her mothe roof Helen Daunton was so thoroughly established there, so necessary to her mother, so devoted to her in every way that for the first time in her life, even while glad to mark the steps of improve- ment in the beloved invalid’s health and appearance, Ellis Farrar felt the pangs of jealous And s was Will’s graduation summer, the seashore. Kitty was there, and Kitty was an accept- ed fact, and more so now. Will would be content nowhere without her, and would have married her then and there but for his mother's -gentle admonition, and Kitty's positive refusal. She had been | reared from girlhood by a doting aunt, had been petted and spoiled at home and at Achool, and ‘yet Bad not s Hiftle fand of shrewd good” sense in her bewilderingly pretty head. She wouldn’t wear an en- gagement ring, wouldn’t consent to call it | | ment went b the discipline of the old regiment, after all;” as the orderly came to ask for the checks for the lieutenant’s baggage, and all went well until the luckless moment, when the colonel and Leale, with some of the elders, turned aside to look at a batch of recruits sent by the same train, and Far- rar, chatting with some of his fellow- youngsters, was stowing his baggage in the waiting ambulance, and therein the driver Will recognized Saddler Donovan’s freckle- faced Mickey, with whom he had had many a hunt for rabbits in the old, old days, and then an unctuous, caressing, Irish voice fairly blubbered out: ‘‘Hivin save us if it isn’t really Masther Will,” and there, cor- poral’s chevrons on his brawny arms, was old Terry Rorke, looking wild to embrace him, and even as Will, half ashamed of his own shyness, was shaking hanas with this iaithfuf old retainer of his father's household in years gone by the squad of recruits came marching past. The third man from the front, heavily bearded, with a bloated, ill-groomed face and restlessly glancing eyes, gave a quick, furtive look at the new lieutenant as he passed, then stumbled and plunged forward against his file leader. The squad was thrown into momentary disarray. The sergeant, an- gered at the mishap at_such a time, strode quickly up to the offender and savagely muttered, “Keep vour eyes to the front, Gracie, and_you won’t be stumbling up decent men’s backs,” and the little detach- skly on. “I thought I'd seen that man before,” said Leale an instant later, “and now I know it—and I know where.” CHAPTER V. The winter came on early at old Fort Frayne. Even as early as mid-October the ice was forming in the shallow pools along the Platte, and that eccentric stream itself had dwindled away in volume until 1t seemed but the ghost of its former self. ing and unfordable in June, swollen by the melting snows of the Colorado peaks and the torrents from the Medicine Bow, it spent its strength in the arid heat of a long, dry summer, and when autumn came was mild as a mill stream far as the eye could reach, and fordable in a dozen jlaces within rifle shot of the post. Many a time did old Fenton wish it wasn’t “HE THAT STABS IN THE DARK.” an engagement. She owned, under pres- sure, that she meant to marry Will some day, but not in any hurry, and, therefore, but for one thing, the mother's gentle heart would have been content. And that one thing was that Will had applied for and would hear of no other regiment in all the army than that at the head of which his father had died—the Twelfth Cavalry, and no one could under- stand, and Mrs. Farrar couldn’t explain, how it was—why it was that that of all others was the one she had vainly hoped he would not choose. He was wild with joy and enthusiasm when at last the order came, and with beaming eyes and ringing voice he read aloud: ‘‘‘Twelfth Regiment of Cavalry, Cadet Will Duncan Farrar, to be second lieutenant, vice Watson, pro- moted. Troop C.' Leale’s troop, Queen Mother—blessed old Malcolm Leale. What more could T ask or you ask? What cap- tain in all the line can match him? And Kitty’s uncle in command of the regiment and post. Just think of it, madre dear, and you'll all come out and we’ll have grand Christmas times at Frayne’s, and we’ll hang father’s picture over the mantel and father’s sword. I’ll wire Leale this very minute, and write my respects to Fenton. What's he like, anyway, mother? I can’t remember him at all-nor can Kitty.” But Mrs. Farrar could not tell. Tt was years, too, since she had seen him, ‘‘but he was always a faithful friend of your father, ‘Will, and bhe wrote me a beautiful, beauti- ful letter when he came away."” And so, late in SBeptember, the boy lieu- tenant left his mother’s arms and, followed by her prayers and tears and blessings, was borne away westward to revisit scenes that were once familiar as the old barrack walls at West Point. Then it required long days of travel over rough mountain roads to reach the railway far south of the Medicine Bow. Now the swift express train landed him at the station of the fron- tier town that had grown up on the site of the prairie dog village he and his pony had often stampeded in the old days. Here at the station, come to meet and welcome the son of their old commander, ignoring the fact that the newcomer was but the plebe lieutenant of the Twelfth, were the ruddy- faced old colonel and Will’s own troop- leader, Captain Leale, both heartily, cor- dially bidding him welcome and comment- ing not a little on his stalwart build and trying hard not to refer to the very downy mustache that adorned his boyish lip. And other and younger officers were there to welcome the lad to his new station, and huge was Will's comfort when he caught slgfit of Sergeant Stein, the veteran stand- ard-bearer of the regiment, and that su- perbli punctilious old soldier straightened up like a Norway pine and saluted him with rigid preeision and hoped the lieuten- ant was well and his lady mother and Miss Farrar, “There’s nothing,” thought Will, “like Frayne's reservation was big and gener- ous, but, unluckily, it never extended across the river. Squatters, smugglers and sharpers could not intrude upon its guard- ed limits along the southern shore, and the nearest groggery—that inevitable ac- companiment of the westward march of civilization—was a long two miles away, down the right bank, but only a pistol shot across the stream. In his day Farrar had waged war against the rumsellers on the north shore and won, because then there were only soldiers and settlers, and no lawyers — outside the guardhouse—within ninety miles of the post. But with the tide of civilization came more sectlers and a cattle town and lawyers in abundance, and with their com- ing the questions at issue became no longer those of abstract right or wrong, but how a jury would decide it, and a frontier jury always decides in favor of the squatter and against the soldier. Fenton strove to take pattern after Farrar, and very nearly succeeded in landing him- self in jail, as the outraged vender went down to Laramie, hired lawyers there, swore out warrants of assault and appealed to kis countrymen. The fact that no less than four of the Twelfth within six months had died with their boots on, victims of the ready knives or revolvers of the squatters across the stream, had no bearing in the eyes of the law. Fenton had warned the divekeeper 4 dozen times to no purpose, but when finally Sergeant Hannifin was set upon and murdered there one fine April evening within easy range and almost within hear- ing of his comrades at Frayne, Fenton broke loose and said impetious things, which reached the ears of his men, who went and did things equally impetuous, to the demolition 0% the “shack™ and the destruction of its stock of spirits and gam- bling paraphernalia, and it was proved to the satisfaction of the jury that Fenton did not interpose to stop the row until it had burned itself and the “shack” inside out. The people rallied to the support of the saloon-keeper—he, at least, was a man and a brother, a_voter and, when he couldn’t lie out of it,a taxpayer. The officers at Frayne, on the other hand, in the opinion of the citizens in that section of Wyoming, were none of the four. And Bunko Jim's new resort across the Platte was a big im- provement in point of size, though not in stock or sanctity, over its predecessor. Jim ran a ferry-boat for the benefit of customers from the fort. It was forbidden to land on the reservation, but he did so, neverthe- less, when the sentry on the bluff could not see, and sometimes, it must be owned, when he could. The boat was used when the water was high, the fords when it was low, and the ice when it was frozen, and it was the curious thing in winter to see how quickly the new-fallen snow would be seamed with paths leading by devious routes from the barracks to &e shore and then across the ice-bound pools straight to Bunko Jim’s. Bowing, as became the soldier of the republic, to the supremacy of the civil law, Fenton swallowed the lesson, though he did not the whisky, but Jim had hisfull share of customers from the fort, and the greatest of these, it soon transpired, was the big recruit speedily known throughout the command as “Tough Tom’ Graice. Joining the regiment at the end of Se tember, it was less than a month before he was as well, though not as favorably, known as the sergeant-major. There is more than one way of being conspicuous in the military service, 1n5 Graice had chosen the worst. Even the recruits who came with him from the depot, the last lot to be shipped from that once-crowded gar- ner of ““food for powder,”’ could tell noth- ing of his antecedents, though they were tull of gruesome detail of his doings since enlistment. He was an expert at cards and billiards, said they, for they had found it out to their sorrow, and a demon when aroused by drink. Twice in drunken rage he had assaulted comparatively inoffensive men, and only the prompt and forcible intervention of comrades had prevented murder on the spot, while the traditional habit of the soldier of telling no tales had saved him from justly merited punish- ment. Within the month of his arrival Graice had made giant strides to notoriety. He was a powerful fellow, with fine com- mand of language and an educatson far superior to the general run of non-com- missioned officers, and it was among the younger set of these he first achieved a certain stand. Professing to hold himself above the rivate soldier, proving himself an excel- ent rider and an expert in drill, with car- bine or saber, he, nevertheless, declared it was his first enlistment and gave it to be understood that a difficulty with the Sheriff who sought to arrest him had been the means of bringing him to the temporary refuge of the ranks. For the first few weeks, too, he drank but little, and wear- ing his uniform with the ease and grace of one long accustomed to the buttons, and being erect and athletic in build, he pre- sented a very creditable appearance. The bloated, bloodshot look he wore on his ar- rival, the result of much surreptitious whisky en route, passed somewhat away and it was only when one studied his face that the traces of intemperance, added to the sullen brows of shifting, restless eyes, banished the claim to good looks that were at first accorded him. From the first, how- ever, the older scrgeants and such veterans among the corporals as Terry Rorke, looked askance at Trooper Graice. “An- other guardhouse lawyer,” said the first sergeant of Leale’s troop, as he disgustedly received the adjutant's notification of Graice’s assignment. ‘‘Another wan of thim jailbirds like Mr. American Blood, the newspaper pet,’ said Rorke, in high disdain. *We'll have a circus with_him, too, as they had in the Eleventh, or I'm a Jew. Where have I seen that sweet mug of him before?” he added, reftlectively, as he watched the newcomer surlily serub- bing at his kit, and the newcomer, glancing sideways at the Irish corporal, seemed to read his thoughts, although too far away to hear his muttered words. It was plain to every man in C troop that there was apt to be no love lost between Terence Rorke and Tommy the Tough. And there another still who wore the simple dress of a private soldier, whose eyes, black, pi cintz and full of expression, were constantly following that new recruit, and that was the Sioux Indian, Crow Knife, & youth barely 19 years of age. He had been a boy scout before the days of the ghost-dance craze. A valued and trusted ally of the white soldiers he had borne dis- patches up to the very moment when Kill Eagle's mad-brained ultimatum drove his band into revolt and launched them on the warpath. With them went Crow Knife's father and mother, and the boy rode wildly in pursnit. He was with them, striving to induce his mother to abandon the village, when the warriors made their descent on the ranches of the Dry Fork, and later, when Farrar's fierce attack burst upon them like a thunderbolt through the snow clouds, Seizing his mother in his arms the boy shielded and saved her when Leale's vengeful men rushed upon the nearest Indians, when unquestionably, yet unavoidably, some squaws received their death wound in the furious fight that followed Farrar’s death- wound. Recognized and rescued by his former friends, Crow Knife went back to Frayne when the brief but bloody cam- paign was ended, and then was sent to the Indian School at Carlisle. Returning in the course of three years, he had been en- listed in what was left of the Indian troop of the Twelith, and was one of the few of his tribe who really made a success of soldiering. By the autumn of this event- ful year Crow Knife's comrades were rap- idly being discharged and returning to their blankets and lodge lifeat the reserva- tion, or hanging about the squalid cattle town across the river. Crow Knife, sticking to his cavalry duty and showing unlooked- for devotion to his officers, wasregarded by the Twelith as an exceptignal case, and was made much of accordingly. “What do you think of ~ the fellow, Crow ?” asked "Corporal Rorke one day as he watched the expression in the Indian’s face. ‘‘You don’t like him any more than Ido. What’s the reason?"’ “There is a saying among my people,” was the answer, in the low, measured tones of one who thought in another tongue, ‘‘eyes that cannot meet eyes guide hands that strike foul. He-that-stabs-in- the-dark is the name we give such as that man.” “D’ye know him, Crow? Did ye never see him?”’ persisted Terry. “Ever since the day he came the captain has had his eye on him, and so have you, and so have 1. Ican’task the caEtxin. but 1 can you, ‘Where have you seen him before 2" But Crow Knife shook his head. I can- not remember his face. It is his back I seem to know. My people say that way they see their enemies.’”” 7o be continued.] Copyright, 18! A QUEEN OF HEARTS. “A Queen of Hearts”: she whom I hold as dearest, ‘Who grows yet dearer to me day by day; Loving and loved she lives, and all around her As loyal subjects own her sovereizn sway. Queen of all heerts ! she wields her scepter wisely, With quaint, sweet dignity and gentle power; Of all, the brightest in life’s golden sunshine, Steadtastly faithful when life’s storm-clouds lower. Not beautiful—with what the world calls beauty— Claiming not noble rank or iigh degree; Not rich, save in her wreath of love and friendship, Unknown to fame, unknown to history. Yet one forgets to 100k for outward be: In noting but the love-light in her face; Feeling the influence of her pure presence, Which makes her little world a better place. Queen of my heart | Along life’s path we journey, Still hand 10 hand, as in our youth's sweet day; One love—one lite—her heart is mine forever, God will not part us—e'en in death, we pray. ‘Why Not “*Scientists?’” If scientia had not scire behind it, scien- tist would, accordingly, be every whit as ood as aurist, dentist, florist, jurist, ocu- rist and the old copist, now copyist. ‘Where I indulged in a license was in oper- ating, not on the stem of a substantive, but on that of a part of a verb, a present participle. Surely, you would not quarrel with colloquist, determinist, funabulist, noctambulist, sonambulist and ventrilo- uist, which are only slightly different rom scientist? i Nay, who knows that, when grown VIF- orous, it may not get to be ambitiously propagative, engendering, to become radi- cated in usage, scientism, scientistic, sci- entistically, scientisticalness, scientize, sci- entizing, scientizingly and scientization? How do you like the prospect >—Academy. —— Maulda Enham, Columbia, Pa., says @ ¢ That Feeling anddizzy, faint, ing attacks eft me as soon as I began to take Lydia E. .!"rinkhagnl'l egetable Compound. I X was sick with womb troubles solong I thought I never could get well.” COLORADO’S FOREMOST ENGINEER Tells His Story—It Is Religiously True and Can Be ' Authenticated by Any One Who Will Write to the Hon. W. N. Bachelder. Rugged and hwnest, brave and big-hearted Wil- 1lam N. Bachelder is oneof the leading engineers {n the White Metal State. The silver badge on the Hon. Willlam N. Bachelder is indicative of his ability in engineering circles. It was presented to him by a silver convention held in Colorado last year. From overwork, mental and physical con- | finement, while he was trying to save the pieces In | the wreck of the cyclonic financial storm which | devastated the rich fields of Colorado, brave Wil- He was no Mam N. Bachelder lost his good health. | tonger the active man, the man of resources, the brainy engineer—why? HIis nerves were unstrung, his eyes lost their wonted luster, he seemed to age rapidly. He lost his appetite, gas generated in his stomach. Mentally and physically this brilliant engineer was a wreck. Now his friends all over the State of Colorado are congratulating him. He has recovered. He is a strong, hearty man. Read what he says; doubt it and write to him: DENVER, Colo. — Hudson Medical Institute— Gentlemen: I find but few words in the English langnage to express my appreciation for the bene- fit that has been bestowed upon me by the Hudson Medical Tnstitute. Not & great many months ago I gelt as if my days were numbered. For weeks I had a continuous headache and the slightest exer- tton left its mark. A feeling of nearly having run my span of life had possession of me. I was about to accept the Inevitable. A friend in need, who lives out the old maxim and proved a friend indeed, recommended me to your institution. I clutched &t his words as does a drowning man to anything. 1 wrote and told my troubles, and after you had shown me a ray of light and hope T immediately took a firmer grasp of life. I can truly and do gratefully say that I am ten years younger in 1ooks, i ambition, tn health. I feel perfectly safe in recommending the Hudson Medlcal Institute to my fellow-sufferers. Yours truly, WM. N. BACHELDER, State Engineer, 817 Equitable building, Denver, Colo. DENVER, Colo,, Nov. 5,—Hudson Medical Insti- tute—Gentlemen: I am feeling finely. I send you my photograph. Iwill always speak highly of your mbysicians. WM. N. BACHELDER, A ) 2 /2 WM. N. BACHELDER. AT THE INSTITUTE. What the Specialists Are Doing Dally to Restore Health and Strength to Sufferers. It s an established rule of the institute that ne It an applicant is found to be suffering from true cancer or tubercu- lar consumption he is frankly told that he cannot be cured, though much may be done to allay his sufferings, but as medical science has yet failed to discover any cure for these two dreadful mala- dies, all the physicians at the institute say freely and frankly that it is beyond human power to re- move these evils. Nevertheless it should not be forgotten that there are many instances whers mistakes have been made In diagnosing thess diseases, 50 It Is well forall sufferers to apply for help at the institute. incurable diseases are taken. All the Following Cases Are Curable: Catarrh of the head, stomach or bladder; all bronchial diseases; all functional nervous dis- eases; St. Vitus' dance; hysteria; shaking palsy; epilepsy; all venereal diseases; all kinds of blood troubles; ulcers; wastes of vital forces; rheuma- tism; gout; eczema: all skin diseases, from what- ever cause arising; psoriasis; all blood poisoning; varicocele; poison oak; lost or impaired maneod ; spinal troubles; nervous exhanstion and prostra- tion; incipient paresis; all kidney diseases; lum- bago; sciatica; all bladder troubles: dyspepsia; indigestion; constipation; all visceral disorders, which are treated by the depurating department. Special instruments for bladder troubler There area few of the special diseases In which exceptionally remarkable cures have been made by the specialists, and it may frankly be stated that a helping hand is extended to every patient. Circulars and Testimonials of the Great Hudyas sent free. HUDSON MEDICAL INSTITUTE, Stockton, Market and Ellis Streets: Visit the Institute when you can. All patients seen In private consulting rooms. Out-of-town patients can learn all about their cases if they sand for symptom blanks. All letters are strictly confidential. Two thousand testimonials in the writing of the individuals cured. Office Hours—9 A. M. t0 8 . M. Sundays, 8to 13. DR. BISHOP’S KIDNEY TEA The Most Reliable Remedy for all Diseases of the KIDNEYS, LIVER & BLADDER For Sale by all Druggists. PRICE, 25 Cts. A PACKAGE. COAL OIL Best and_Safest 0il Manufactured, IL A TRIAL AND Y0U WILL USE NO OTHER. DR. MCNULTY. . HIS WELL-KNQWN AND RELIABLE SPE- it trexis PRIVATE CHEONIG AND NERVOUS DISEASES OF MEN ONLY. He stops Discharges: cures socret Siood and Skin Dise: Bores and Swellin tence and other w nesss anhoo He corrects the Sacret Errorsof Youth and thelr terrible effacts, Loss of Vitality, Paipitation of the Heart. Loss of Memory, Despondency and other troubles of mind and body. cansed by the Errors, Excesses and Diseases of Boys and Men. e restores Lost Viker and Manly Power, re- moves Deformities and restores the Organs te Health. He also cures Diseases caused by Mer~ cury and ether Poisonous Drugs. Dr. McNulty's methods are and sclen- tific. He uses no patent nostrums or ready-made puxcnllonm bui cures the disease by thoro: medical treatment. His New Pamphlet on vate Diseases sent Free toall men who describe their trouble. Patients cured st Home. Terms reasonabl Hours—-9 10 8 daily; 6:30 to 8:30 evenings. Sun- , 10 to 12 only. Consultation free and s erediy confidentiai.” Call on or ad P. ROSCOK McNULTY, Efl’é Kearny St., Sun Franc 23~ Beware of strangers who try to talk to you sbout your disease on the streets or elsewhera They are cappers or steerers for swindling doctors, A LADIES' GRILL ROOK Has been established in the Palace Hotel ON ACCOUNT OF REPEATED DEMANDS made on the management. It takes the piace of the city restaurant, with direct entrance from Market st. Ladies shopping will find this a most desirable piace to lunch. Prompt service and med- erate cl , such as have given Grillroom an international teputation, will preval in this new department. A POSITIVE BARGAIN 1100 ACRES, WITH INPROVENENTS, $186,500, IN SAN MATEO COUNTY. N THE PLAIN OF OAKS: S. P. through; S. F.and 8. J. V., a growing locallf ety box 117, Gl Branch