The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, January 29, 1899, Page 23

THE SAN FRANCISECO CALL, SUNDAY, JANUARY 29 1899. ; morning was over. The troop had 1 with a great d f threatening, and intention- art of Captain Plllogg’s orders to un- e was merely to impress “the fear ed tribe and drive them back a 1d Pillogg to his senior trumpeter, and at once his horse, lay at full length on the grass, and produced rightly over the plain, and, as its clear command filled and rang from bluff to bluff, the distant shouting and > the captain puffed his cigar at ease, and g the horses beside him, the roar of the first ame to their cars, and in a few minutes, with er of steel, the men came gallop- \pany front swiftly, and halted. remounting, and the first ser- . faced the men and rat- an critically as he an- One man was badly hurt Jut one alone was missing. ning of the affair, thought ver, who had mostly been t 'swung his horse about horses, & rs, f0 roll,” said Capta wing a paper from his bl names, while swered ‘‘Here ' an missing, sir,” he reported. “The second trumpeter, Thomas ‘body see him drop?” m; 3t a-mouthed Rip, and, in all he could do to hold the horse in. The the p trooper crazy at the best of times, had gone maa with excitemen 1to the next county he captain had just ordered the sergeant to detail a corporal and men to look up the missing, when, from the direction of the Indians’ flight, there came a mad ¢ of hoofs and a shout. Up charged the missing bugler, a lad, with saber r: against his side, his bugle 1 touching the rein, ev!deml{ owerless to control his foaming, wild-eyed horse, who dashed pellmell nto the troop, and cama to a standstill only when it had jammed itself between two bruised and cursing troopers. Tommy's right arm desper- ately embraced a wiggling bundle of dirty shirt and red-brown skin, and s bundle came a hideous success howls and snarling lamen- The troopers leaned forward orses’ necks to look, and rdonic laughter. tations. at once there ran from right to left a rumble of “What is that, sir?" the captain asked, and peered disgustedly at the bundle “‘Please, sir, first expedition, “Oh, —!" ‘cried Pillog; you a drynurse, s , 8ir,”" sald Tommy, very red and anxious. ‘“But he's such a little i he's hurt, and I—I'm afraid I've killed his father, so I-I thought T'4 bring him along. O! Ah! O!" The wriggling Indian child had writhed about until it got Tommy’s hand between its teeth, and was now biting like a rat. When the next T ranks overcame his laughter sufficlently to release the bugler the * sald Tommy, a vear in the service and glorying in his 'a prisoner, sir.” _and the troopers roared. “Let the papoose 3 » father, eh? How did it happen you did not keep up eager to excuse himself, and hot at the laughter of the hastily explained got a bit the best of me,” he jerked out, “and ran wild. We lost rer fellows, sir, an’ over there the horse bolted up a coulee, un withe y. an’ he turned an’ fired on me. So I . an’ (Tommy grinned with modest pride) I m, sir, deader than stuffing. This here kid guess let grazed him. An'—an’ I got Rip in hand an’ ¢d an’ took the kid; ho fought ltke a wildcat, an’ he bites—fing! 1 taken the rifle it would have been more sensible,” Pillogs What do you want to do with him?"” 1k, sir,” Tommy protested, “an’ I was kinder sorry for nml cute when he wrastles an’ bites, an’ he’d dfe if I Eht o se beggars Have come to their senses again,” he said, d_for him. You can bring him along if you'll guarantee to "Tention! right forward, fours right, march!” this manner the Weasel was brought to Fort §. and_ introduced to es of civilization. His father and mother dead, none of his med him, and Tommy Cox, the bugler, became. despite of the ent jests, a father, tutor and friend to him. Tommy was yet ugh to refain great freshness of soul and simplicity of heart. he had shot the little savage's father and made an orphan f the Weasel weighed upon his consclence, and he was very zealous in his care of the Indian. Nevertheless. a seven-year-old redskin is a esome anomaly in the garrison, where the women of laundress’ row on him as they might upon the direct spawn of the devil, haling from him when the Weasel would have shared their had their way the boy would have been sent back to A powerful influence was exerted, however, in the half. an {nfluence than which none greater was felt in' Fort 8. » Adair, little six-year-old daughter of the colonel, who had ned Judith (a name to which she never answered), to the hor- 1 the Jaundresses, took a fancy to the Weasel and at once adopted r own special protege. What Téonle said, when she sald it from § ce, Witk riably was accepted Weasel's position was assured. 1ful wicked little savage’' =aid Toonle, seated on the h the Weasel squatting {n front of her, his big black eves solemnly ng into the deeps of her big blue ones. “Ain’t you sorry C borned vou a savage? Do you like blue eyes? My eyes are blue, and they’re very pretty. When you know how peak English, you must tell me I have pretty blue e: v does—everybody I like. Did ) 1 vbody? If y Ip me my father would kill ., with a pis d sword, because he says my halr is the est in the world. Y black hair. It's not pretty; it's savage. vou glad I'm taking care of vou, liftle boy, because 1t's not your u was borned an Injun, and, if vou're good. I'll make you a ristian, and then p'raps God will make your eyes blue and pretty like mine.” To these remarks of Miss Toonie the Weasel eould make no reply, but he developed a great natural quickness and intelligence, and between the labor of Tommy Cox and the chatter of Toonie he speedily began to un- derstand and make himself understood Littla Miss Adair, in those artless days, was intensely military. A civilian was for her a thing to look upon with plity, not unmingled with contempt. She insisted upon having her frocks made of light blue kersey of the same stuff as her father’s regimental trousers. Her favorite reefer flarly. of dark blue cloth, with cavalry stamped brass buttons, her brown curls were usually adorned by a emall-sized forage cap ) the crossed saber badge complete. Toonie was.a devotes to martial s and martial sounds. When the bugles blew for dress parade or ISCARDED ORDERLY. BY PIY. BLACIK. wz Euurd mounting, then, prompt! wiss clocks, who bobs out o Toonie ran out to the parade sword and a sidewise cock of as the litle soldler on the old-fashioned his door at the stroke of the timeplece, ound, and with & little belt and a little the forage cep she very gravely mimicked her father or the adjutant, drawing her sword, sheathing it, crossing her arms and coming to parade rest with such earnestness and so regularly “Papa!” she cried, in the first enthusiasm of her liking for the little savage. "Now I'm a'real, real colonel, just like you. TI'm going to have an orderly. And, please, papa, may he have a uni!form?” The laundresses and all others i1l disposed toward the little Indian had now no, word to say. Toonie’s orderly became a feature of Fort 8, Where the little girl went, there went he, even to accompanying her—at the regu- latfon distance behind, for Toonie was nothing if not disciplinarian, and kept him in his place—on her sudden dashes, ponyback, into the surround- ing country and about the post. For him—when the big black eyes soft- ened it was at Toonie's volce; when he hent to study his tessons it was at Toonie’s behest; when he returned, as he did several times, after running away in search of savage freedom, it was to stand meekiy and mourn- fully before Toonie's tearful rebuke. For Tommy Cox he had a regard, varied by sudden outbursts of. passionate disobedlence; to Toonie his de- votion was always unbrokenly simple and doglike in its faithfulness. Sometimes the officers joked the little maid on her orderly, but never after the year in which she was nine and the Weasel about 10; She had dashed away on one of her willful trips of exploration, fol- lowed at a gallop by the Weasel. It was glaring summertime, and by the river, far fram the post, grew big, red plums, in succulent profusion, cool and Juicy. To feast on these at lefdura the girl dismounted, and the Weasel tled the ponies to a tree. He was not yet finished with this. office, Toonie plunging at once In the bushes, when the boy was startled by aterrible cry. He %\‘xlckly made the ponies fast and darted to the child's ald. She 5t upon the ground In tearhil fright, white and sobbing. I" e snake! The snake!” she cried. ‘‘A great big rattlesnake—it bit mel” She clutched her ankle and moaned. The little Indian did not hesitate; he did not lose his head. At some time in his life with his own people he must have witnessed some such scenes, for now he acted with decision and knowledge in a case where a white boy would have been helpless. He tore the low shoe and little stocking away, and there, already, was }he swelling redness of the serpent’s bite. He owned a knife, the gift of a protherly trooper, and this he whipped out. No doubt his black eyes “WITH A LONG, WAILING YELL HE PLUNGED HEADLONG” that, save to a stranger in the gost, there seemed nothin; her behavior. In the advent of t Dress, sword, belt and cap she had acquired, but one thing had ing—an orderly. 0000000000000000000CC0C000000000000000000000000000000000000C00000000C00000000J0 angers of Student Life in Paris. Mrs. Frye, wife of Senator Frye, accompanied him to Paris. of the Peace Commission she investigated student life in Paris, and the following is her warning to American girls: Among American art students and their friends the recent ut- terances of Mrs. Frye on the sub, caused a great deal of comment. ect of student life in Paris have Mrs. Frye is the wife of Senator Frye, who, as everybody knows, was a member of the Peace Com- mission. When the Senator salled for foreign shorcs he took his wife with him. While he wrestled with the knotty members of the commission Mrs. the Latin Quarter. th problems confronting the studied Paris, particularly F She formed some strong convictions and has ex- pressed them since her return with engaging candor. Several of se found their way into print and thus into American studios. Mrs. Frye has consented to an interview, which to-day for the first o deep an interest. FIRMLY belleve that in sounding the warning note concerninig stu- dent life in Paris I am doing a kindness to thousands of Ameri- can parents who are ignorant of the 1 conditions that surround their children who are studying abroad. many people if ction to the art study in Paris ded on the constant use of nude ing both sexes. I make no com- ound. The study of sary in the pursuit of e art schools in our own both sexes. fon to Paris life for stu- is the total lack of decorous re- which should exist between to the t no one is 1mot but be 1l I saw many 1d I heard pathetic stories 7 frequent visits to the Latin I know whereof I speak when i for our young people g t or music than to :m under such terrible odds. Some years ago when Mrs. White- law Reid was in Paris as the wife of the American Ambassador she bec e so interested in this great evil' that she established a home for American students. 1 home situated in the heart of th uarter, and it has bee P 1 f y a deserving gi learn t gives tully and correctly her vie s on the subject in which she It is conducted mnow by a lady from Connecticut, and, although not entirely a charity Institution, good conduct is more thought of than ability to pay one's board. This home can accommodate but forty sgirls, and it is always filled. The inmates of this home can never go to a lesson or a place of amusement with- out a companion from the staff of house officers. They must be in at a V0000000000000 00N00000000TC0000000000C00CO000 8 WOOD CARVING: MONG the many curlous trades into which the modern young woman has ventured in her search for a congenial and lucrative oc- cupation one of the most unex- pected is that of cabinet-making. There are several young women engaged in this trade in San Francisco, but the ploneers In the field are the Misses Anna and Agnes runt. About five years ago Miss Agnes, fresh from the classroom, discovered her voca- tion. Her bedroom was so arranged that her table, no matter where she put it, made the room appear small. She went to the furniture stores looking In vain for an oak table about four feet long and two feet wide with an upper and lower shelf. At last, when a carpenter suggested that he could make one the thought struck her, “Why can't I make one myself?” Full of her new idea she invested in a chest of tools and made a trip to the lumber and planing mills, where she se- lected her materials—plain, unpolished oak. After acquiring some practical ‘While he attended the sessions regular hour and llkewise conduct themselves with the same decorum as if they were In their parents’ home. But only forty can be sheltered in Mrs. Reid’s beautiful retreat, and there are 4000 American students now pursuing studies of gome kind in Paris. I heard of numerous cases where destitution alone forced girls from the paths of virtue, and destitution is only one of many reasons. Girls from the country, and often town girls and boys, paint something which their admiring friends and relatives consider a work of genius. The next thing is to go to Paris. They go, little equipped for the flerce fight for supremacy which is al- ways waging there. I tried to get some exact statistics as to the number of those who succeed in Paris and the number of those who fail. T could not get any absolutely ac- curate statistics, but a friend who has had a long and varled experience tells me that about one out of every hundred students who go to Paris to study is fifierward able to earn a comfortable ving. --- AS A TRADE FOR WOMEN knowledge in a carpenter shop she worked steadily for a week and produced her table. It is certainly a creditable plece of furniture, firmly and substantially made, *T was so successful with this table,” said Miss Agnes, that I was encouraged to continue work along that llne. Now I have completely furnished my own room with pieces of my own handiwork—all except the bed, and T am now formulat- ing a carved design for that.” Miss Agn room s filled with beautiful pleces of furniture in oak. In one corner she has a cozy settee, the back hand- somely carved and the seat upholstered to match the general tone of the room. Every bit of work done upon this was done with her own hands. Upon one side of the wall hangs a set of shelves with inlaid mirrors finished with rich carvings. Over the doors are grills of beautiful de- sign. At the enu of the bed Miss Flint has placed an oak chest with the lid and four sides carved in a clematls pattern. The wood of which she made this chest e Weasel, Toonie graspe: JO0OO0OOO000E0000C0C0000000000 an of at all lunnyi in gleamed strangely with excitement, for Toonie was overcome with new portunity. een want- terror at sight of them and of the shar screams the grimly sllent Weasel selze and shining blade. In spite of her the leg and deliberately and firmly cut into the flesh round the wound until a portion was hacked out. To the cut he applied his lips and sucked vigorously. Toonie's shrieks and howls filled the air, but the boy uttered never a word, only Stopping now and then to peer into his mistress’ biue and frightened eyes anxiously. These aid not dim; her rigor did not lessen, and the Weasel sucked away with confidence. At last he took her handkerchief and bound up the wou dragged her to her pony and helped her mount. She was a wonderf strong and healthful young person, and did not w only howled in a sturdy and wholesome way. The Weasel a tearing gallop back to the post and straight to the h applied his remedies, but they were not needed, for t of the Indlan’s actlon had drawn the poison. Toonie afterward, and betrayed an awed respect for a derly for a long time, but the doctor was enthu: it be understood that the Weasel was henceforth his owr charge, And now his position was firmly assured. No longer did Trumpeter Tommy have to bear ridicule on account of his pet; no more did the iaun- dresses dare to speak of him as an outrageous heathen. But the Weasel seemed to care absolutely nothing for compliments and prai Ho ik consclous that he had saved Toonfe's life, and in many ways he showed that he considered himself no longer merely her messenger, but her _duly authorized protector. In the passage of time it became necessary for the girl to desert the wild but beautiful life of the Western plains and go East to be nd\:c,\r d The colonel decided to send Weasel away at the same time to one of t great institutions which are maintained for the benefit of the nation's wards. Thus it came that the two parted, the mistress and the orderly. Toonie gave him her photograph with tears. . E, u're never, never to furg?thmf‘.dlshe saldt; ?égmlse. ‘Never,” he Weasel, with sadly earnest eyes. 3 "A:de:vheimld ofns BcE you' bel my orderly just the same, promise. *Just the same,” said the Weasel. But when she came back she was no longer Toonle, the child. She was Miss Adair, no further opposed to being called Judith; indeed, pre- ferring it to the loving pet name of her babyhood, which, she said, was silly. The Indlan was back on the plains, very tall and straight, in neat arments of civilization. He had passed through the school with much onor, and was now to act as a missionary among his own people. The colonel was amusedly proud of him, as of a fine dog of his own breeding. He sent for him on the night of Judith Adalr's arrival. “Here’s your old orderly, my dear,” sald he. Bhe looked up from the chair where she was reading some letters— looki’ag at him wfth a smile of curjosity. “Well, I never, papa!” she sald. ‘“‘He looks quite ofvilized. I am glad to hear you get on so well,” she added with a nod to the Weasel, and re- sumed her reading. The Indian went out silently, nor looked so tall and straight and hap- plly expectant as when he entered. He had ridden In from the mission, ten miles from the post, where he ‘Ifl quartered. The moon was up when he silently left the post after that ¢hilling, indifferent greeting. The clouds that scurried low between earth and moon cast flickering, hasty shadows on the uneven plain, but the shadow that had fallen on his f(fe never lifted. Before him, as he rode, tretched the shimmering, shallow river, darkly fringed by those low Pushes whence the rattlésnake had darted—so short a. time ago. It had geemed to him so short a time, until to-night. Now he realized that an age had passed. Perhaps it had never happened; it was a dream. It must have been & dream, or the chill young lady in the parlor he had left, who had told him so carelessly he was quite civilized, would have remembered. Ha was civilized. For years he had lived with white people. He barely re- membered the baby days of tepees and squaws and ponies and bows and arrows. She had clvilized him—she and the long, happg thoughts of her in the days at school and college when his own blood brothers had been things of pity to him, because %\ey had never been blessed by fnendshlg with her—when his teachers had wondered at his towering ambition an: 1s intense industry. His horse, unhindered, fell to walking leisurely. The ndian's h drooped. Swiftly there came to him a conviction of the wrong done him. Over all those great.plains there were two other ‘I,"",{"“' two great familles—the white and the red. Each member of these had his brother, his father, close ties of kinship. In all the breadth of the land he stood utterly alone and apart. He was civilized—half and half, nelther one thing nor the other. He had turned away from his brothers at the beck f his teachers. He had done his task:; he had succeeded. He had been K‘ld up as a shining light, an example of what might be done with one of his race. There Ft stopped. He had dreamed of being a white amon whites, whose creed had been dinned in his ears—'all men are equall’ Only to-night had she, by a glance and a word, let him realize how he had decelved himself. To please her he had obeyed as a child, studied as a boy, labored at college. To please her. ‘“Well, I never. He looks Btiulte civilized. I am glad to hear you are getting on so well,” ehe had sald. He would not go back to the post nor to the mission. He cared noth- tng for their good will If he was not to be one of them. What then? At a crossing of trails he met an old Indian freighter going to the post to sell Watarmelons to the soldlers. The Weasel s\hpged him and gaye him some money and made a bargaln, and the old freighter went on his way with a good suit of clothes from the East, and the Weasel dashed into ths darkness, where hid far, far away the Indlan reservation, and on his legs and feet were fringed and beaded moccasins, and round him was wrapped agaudy blanket. He had chosen his family, his people, among whom he Souia be an equal at least. He had retrograded, lapsed Into savagery. One of the chief delights of his Eastern teachers, when showing off th star pupll to Congressmen and inquiring philanthropists, had been to dwell upon the fact that the lad belonged to one of the most unruly and hope- lessly savage tribes on the plains—a tribe which was constantly restle an annual annoyance to the Indian Bureau, addicted to sun dances, ghos dances, raiding and other symptoms of incurable Indlan fever. Just at this time they were disturbed unusually by the prominence among them of a certain young buck who_aspired to leadership and was inciting his comrades to all manner of Indlan deviltry. As the Weasel rode toward the reservation that night, and while yet many miles from the legally constituted camp, he heard the beat of savage drums in a lonely valley off the trail, and, in the somber despair of his heart, he galloped toward the sound, eager to join his kin, and have the ordeal of return over. He came on a scene which made him rein in ab- ruptly. By moonlight and the glare of fires he saw the fearful crowd, aPnted, plamed and feathered, flourlshing guns and old-fashioned toma awks, leaping, howling, dancing in devilish circles of frenzied eve convulsed limbs, while the drums beat and the singers chanted d song. Not that alone! In the middle of the circle they had erected a kind of gallows, and from it depended ropes, with barbed hooks at the end. By these hooks, imbedded In the muscles of their shoulders. hung young men, with grim, determined, silent lips and sweating brows, waliting stoically until the flesh would tear away and allow them to drop.” Through such an ordeal they would pass to a rank of warriors. Did they falter and cry out and beg to be cut down, their place would be with the women and chil dren. The Weasel, fresh from civilization, from school and study, church and chapel, sickened at the sight of his brothers thus employed. They saw him speedily, and were soon about him, recognizing him, for his history was well known in the tribe. They applauded his blanke return to his own folk; they jeered him for staying so long away, ar found, to his distress, that his tongue, so long unused to it, halted when he sought to answer them in their own, his own, language. He told them that he had come back for good; that the talk of the white man was de- celtful, and no red man could ever be one of them; that such a one as he must submit to be an inferior, an object of mingled curiosity and con- tempt. He, he said, had the heart of a proud man, of a free man, and must live with his fellow men as an equal in all things, or die. They danced about him, and sang improvised songs about him. Then suddenly the young brave who led them leaped forward and made a speech, and said that their brother was welcome, but he must prove that he was fit to rank with the braves of the natlon. Then, with shrieks and howls, they led him to the hooks, and he was pressed to undergo the ordeal and assert his manhood. At that the Weasel trembled and shook. Not all his studles, nor the teachings of the East, could make him a mate for white people, fit to in- termarry with them, but they had indeed succeeded in killing the savage instincts of his Indian blood, the ability to torture and suffer torture. He was afrald, and at once thev divined his fear, and hooted him, spat on him, called him squaw and paleface. He hung his head, and being pushed near his pony, sprang upon it and dashed back to the friendly shadows of the night, while arrows and bullets and howls of contempt pursued him. His heart was sore. He had been merely an interesting plaything for the philanthropists, the old colonel and her. He was rejected of his own eople. No tie was left him. On his breast, in a little deerskin pouch astened to his neck, lay a picture—the photograph Toonie had given him when she went away to school, her heart young and tender to the devoted boy who had saved her life. 'He tore it out as he rode, and rent it to ghreds and threw them to the wind with a wild cry. He galloped furiously onward, in and out of the shadows, over low stretches of sand and across rocKy ridges. In front of him was a risin bluff, whose further side dropped precipitously to a deep ravine, hewe out ages ago by glacial snows. Here had old-time Indians driven the great buffalo herds, sending. the madly frightened brutes tumbling and bellow- ing fo a crashing death down the cliff. Here rode the Weasel now, at full tilt, until, with one long, wailing yell, he plunged headlong. was rough oak. Each and every plece was sawed, planed, carved, polished and put together by her own hands. A bookcase with shelves made to sult her library stands in one corner, ‘and in another is her writing desk, made after her own jdeas of a convenient desk. Two carved Chinese lanterns hang from wrought fron ! (iR At e i il :‘ i Miss Agnes Fiint § At Wood-carving Workroom. brackets which were made by Miss Agnes, for she does wrought iron work as well. The workroom is an interesting place, where the two sisters work early and late. Besides selling carved furniture, they also draw designs, which have a ready market. This workroom is furnished entirely with articles of thelr own make—stands, tables, pictures, carved chairs, leather cushions, portieres, taborets and the big work table with its many compartments and draw- ers. A large divan, upholstered in brown denim, was made by Miss Agnes, even to 000000NN0000000LO000000000000C0000000C000C0000C00000 the laying of the springs. Upon this ara piled burnt leather cushions, the work of Miss Anna, whose speclalty is burnt wood and burnt leather work. One of thelr recent orders was a portlers made of light tan leather burned in hand- some designs on both stdes. It took twelve large skins to make it, and when finished it contained 125 squares of leather. They also designed and carved the grill upon which the portiere was hung. Tha grill is carved in oak, and is seven feet in length and three foet deep.