The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, July 27, 1902, Page 2

Lo trouble you to pro- said the young leaned back easily in his and “waited as indiffere ad ordered a glass of aguar man He his His e those voice: back easily in the ged chair. -“‘Senor, you es this eve Te e In sta- i ! mé it if you dare.” T the man e deck of cards senor—"" from thelr midst awfat-fa dentical with the port card based his wi the other are—" he le nte table and gave a tweak to the er then pointed care- es thin monte cards th at of the e that tried not form itseif. boot and the teel came up Wwith it mission came the their clamor soften- nce. The knives dropped bared and bowed their er with the girl they made men on the defensive, the silent, tiny maa, of his friend and the other's elbow with both ut her eyes against w can be, & r was no coward self-defense. neous wrench they tore ng at each opened her eyes Orosco floor. His shirt was ue red as his trickster of a sash. Fili- the younger, was flipping annoying from a wound in his hand aw. a cat shakes a we the hand to bind it, but Senor of the es not need attention after ment by what ears, fell to with- a beside mine He left her and walked close to Fill- berto. *““Will you come with me to town?"” he asked. “No—why should 17" The boy was so calm that the little n's wrath leaped again at the sight of but he had it under a sure control “Do you prefer to stay here while I send a guard for you?” I shall stay here,” Ardito answered in- differently. ery well. You will be prepared for arrest within half an hour.” leaving Ardito free. e heat, but he is anger as And he rode awa; Don Barrajas was witted under t wh was as kee some men are under liquor, and he had perfect faith in his judgment of human nat Before his e's hoofs were out of 80! Candida was making a noose. She was wonderfully skillful with the rope. or what?" Fliberto asked. T will have a horse for you in a minute more,” she answered as her fingers flew. She tightened the knot and hurried teo the door. He laid a strong hand on her shoulder. “I don't want a horse,” he said, stop- ping her in his blunt way. “Why—to—escape!” she gasped, puzzled. “Do you think I'm a coward?” he asked her roughly. “Let that liar send his guard if he wants to. To run now would be to knew him img- n the skin Speechl mova of the great r that she had She sobbed, face down, in the deep fur of the thing. Filiberto, the man whom she was to have married three days hence, sat strok- ing her arm heavily, man fashion. Then there was a clatter and the guards entered. She did not hear them for the noise of her own sobs. But she felt his stroking cease. She looked up then and watched their motions in helpless silence. But when she soed saw him mounted to ride away between r 8p it and d cheer, stered all v and with g them she mu shouted brav Ad It was decreed that Filiberto Ardito be a thing as hanging was very rare California. The justice that ruled bebit of winking at rob- bery and murder. Those that were stolen m had more than their share of this world's goods, anyway, Justice argued, nd those that were murdered were a good riddance. Besides, easy-tempered ornia thought of the criminal—it was most unpleasan a good liver of Cali- fornia to. be imprisoned or hung. But Filiberto Ardito was to be hung. For the new Governor had started out to reform the-lax justice. And when Ardito, a leather carver, was accused of murder by Don Barra f Monterey, he seemed a very good example to select Don Barrajas told his story as he had ised. His reasons for doing so con- cerned complex inferests of his own. He and his friend, D 3 citizen of Monterey, had stopped to rest rses at the inn of one Serra, in outskirts of town. Serra had gone to town, leaving the house alone save daughter Candida. Ardito had drifted in; the three men had agreed to raise a monte table for an idle hour, with Orosco as the banker. Ardito’s steady losses had enraged him to the-point of killing. For this Barrajas lay dead. Candida Serra, the told her story. Throu pro n Orosco, also a weal other witness, hout the first part > -+ New Telephone That Writes Messages 47t PATENT just issued to Peder Olut gen cove! the telegraphone recor single steel strip age without vention of a Valdemar implies, a transmitter e tircuit, the undulatory rente set up in the transmitter react upon cleciro-magnet and cause a continu- arfation in the direction and in the e of magnetism at the poles of the magnet. These varfations are permanently re- corded on the steel wire as it rushes by, and when the message is complete the steél wire retains a Cefinite record of what has taken place in the shape of a series of transverse magne- vary! throughout in their and in their strength. On con- a tel ne receiver to the elect and again starting the wire on its vs the Telegraph Age, this mag- wire generates electric currents s of the superimposed magnet s it passes betw oles, and these ic currents, which are the exact erpart of those generated by the voice, caused the telephone to re- t was sald in an almost abso- fect manner. 0- cen its THE SUNDAY CALL. it tallied neatly with the story of Orosco: who was strongly principled against tell- ing a lie when the truth would serve. The end of her story involved the cheating and attack of Barrajas, his killing in self- defense by Ardito. The very court barely restrained a smile. Why, she was the murderer's sweetheart. “You are a plucky little liar, neverthe- less,” the Alcalde” remarked to ‘her in passing on the day after Ardito was sen- tenced to be hung by the neck until dead. Candida swung into her saddle without an answ Tt was the saddle which Filiberto had carved for her in his won- derful shell design which no other carver had ever matched. Her father w pottering among the dishes when she reached home. “Give them to me;” she said harshly, ching a plate from him and wiping it. “I must work, work, work.” ¢ ANRDID A, PosE sy JULIET CRosBY The 0id man quavered before he mood. AL CAZ A= “My dear, oh my dear,” he w himpered, - % “what s happened?” “He is wsentenced,” she answered shortly. “No, no—not to be hung?’ “Yes.” “Ah Dios, Dios—what treachery shall We next see?’ He moaned a few times, rocking his head from side to side. Thgn he ceased suddenly. “But there is Tomas, that fine young soldier lately come from Mexico. He has great liking for you.” Candida flamed through her dark skin. “Do you suppose—" she cried, then stopped. What was the use? The old man stared blankly, not knowing what harm he had done. She fled to her own room to be alone. It was only a matter of days lgter when the date of execution came. It was to be In the afternoon. In the morning Tomas dropped in at Serra’s. He was the soldler whom Can- dida’s father had named. He was a Mex- fcan who had been sent to the Monterey Presidio and was what most of the Alta California soldiers were—a Mexican out- law shipped north to be out of Mexico's way. h, senorita, good morning,” he cried jauntily. “Did you know that I am chosen for hangman?” He expected to see the girl wince, but she smiled at him instead. “Yes, I heard it, and I said to myself, ‘that's because he's a cool-headed man, Tomas is.” " Tomas puffed his chest at the compli- ment. Old Serra, mouthing over his to- bacco in the corner, was pleased and hopaful. ‘““You couldn’t lose your head for this whole bottle, could you?’ She held up a bottle of aguardiente. It was big and full. Ho!" he boasted. “That's no more than a bracer to a man like me.” Candida fetched a glass. “Make it a merry day,” she said. Tomas' puffy face, always red, grew redder at every draught. “I think that's about enough,” he said after awhile. “For you!" she cried mockingly, and her eyes made fun of him in a way that he could not bear. He drank on while she chattered to him. The room was close. Old Serra dozed over his tobacco, his lips twitching from time to tinte. Can- dida’s eyes, a great many of them, laugh- ed into Toma “It's flery,” he-gurgled lUmply I'm a shport—I .tell you—I—say shport.” * Candida watched him with the eyes of a lynx. At this point she took the bot- tle away. You'd better come away to town now,”” she said. “I am going, too.” P She helped him with his horse. The tresh air kept him from collapsing. But he was thoroughly hazy. Candida rode light-footed little Pero, the horse that she had long ago broken for herself. Tomas trusted to his horse to look out for him. They left the two tied at a grazing spot in town and walk- ed to the jail. They passed two little girls gossiping in the street. “A man’s going to be hung to-day,” one of them said. “Oh!" said the other. “Yes. My father said so. killed another.man.” « “Oh! * The man “If your mother’ll lst you go, I'll see if mine will “Oh! to see him hung?” “ourse.” “Oh! Won't it be “Ye—e—s! Better Come, let's ask Candida huddered groups and the gi that of the little girls. woman and child, was te else of &be great event. Every one was listening with greedy ears. The Sp lust of blood was keen at sound of the word “hanging.” “I'm going early /so as to be sure and get near,” she heard a woman say They reached the old Monterey “Show me the gallows she said. “There.” Tomas pointed with a wide wave of his arm. “Take me out there and show me the whole thing.” ‘“Ho! What do you want to see it for?” He was preparing to lle on the ground in a shady spot. It was far easier than standing to any Californian, and to a half- drunk one there was no comparison. “I want to. Come.” “Ho! Too much trouble.” “Come, Tomas.” He scrambled dully to his feet and fol« lowed her. “Show me the rope. How does it work?"” “Like this.” It was a riata made of rawhide, with a noose at the end. “That’ll hang him,” Tomas observed. She examined it carefully. “See the Deople gathering already,’ she said. “There is old Yorba and Senora Yorba.” She ran on while she dallled with the rawhide. Tomas saw nothing clearly except the shady spot he had left. When afternoon came all Monterey was assembled about the gallows. The ailr buzzed with excitement. Children clung to their mothers’ hands in the thrill of the moment and strained their eyes toward the scaffold and the ugly machin The buxom widow of Don Orosco sat in a nearby window and wept tears that the silent little man, Don Barrajas, wiped away with his glances. The buxom W reflected comfortably from t that she was still not overstout and Don Orosco had failed to whiten her ha in spite of twenty-one years of endeavor, The buzz around the gallows grew. The crowd rocked with impatience. The great show was late. Then the crunching, cruel door of the jail swung open. Filiberto came ou The priest who had confessed him came with him and two soldiers, guarded. At his coming there was a great shout from the spectators. ‘“Where's the hangman?” they cried as Filiberto mounted the scaffold. The guards looked about for him. = Filiberto ‘walted calmly. Then Tomas came running toward him He pitched slightly as he ran, rubbing his eyes like a sleeper just awakened. Fumbling, groping, stupid, he adjusted the noose over the man’'s neck. Filiberto submitted quietly Around him rustled the crowd, impatient for the show. * The priest who had con: d the man prayed for him. The people waited restlessly for the end of the long prayer. A few seconds after it closed the man swung out above the scaffold. The crowd ceased to stir,- to breathe even. The noose tightened sharply. Then came, an odd jerking. The knot had slipped. The crowd took a quick breath of sur- prise. Then the priest's voice rang out. “A miracle has been performed,” he cried. ““The criminal has been absolved.”™ The superstitious crowd raised a shout of praise. “I will pbtain the mandats,” said the padre,*and he hurried away. ‘“You are absolved, my son,” he cried, as he returned, his old Neart beating so that kis words came chokingly. ‘“You are ab- solved.” Then he knelt and the crowd with him. They were Filiberto’s friends now, but he did not want them. He found his way to where something told him that Candida waited. “Pero is near,” she said. “I rode him over with your saddle. I knew you would need it.” I don’t understand,” he said. ail. e to time “You know that it does not take much of my father's aguardiente to make Tomas hazy, and that no girl in all C li- fornia erstands the tricks of a rope as I do, he answered as he swung into the saddle. “You don’t mean”— he was stooping for her to lift her up in front of him. 'You— Dios!—such a risk—why, what a little fool you were After which he unfairly stifled the de- fense she would have uttered as Pero gal- loped away with them. . ——ei It was told that an enterprising maga~ zine manager offered Stocktom$10,000 if ha WO reveal the true end of the f tale, but he was true to his story clined ‘the offer. 5 mous d de- a G .- Fort 1R cribne Rwaiting ) HIEF WILKIE of the Secret Service told an interesting story to a party of Congressmen the other day. He said that he'found it in a foreign editfon of Mark Twain's ‘‘Innocents Abroad.” Many years ago a young Englishman was stranded in Australia. Wandering disconsolately along the shore he met a man who was fishing for sharks, the Aus- trallan Government offering, by the way, a bounty upon all sharks killed. The fish- erman engaged the young Englishman to help him, promising him half of the boun- ty earned. While the fisherman was away a shark was caught and killed. The young man cut it open, found in its stomach a copy of the London Times, read the paper and departed at once for Sydney. There he secured an audience, after some diffi- culty, with a rich nierchant, and boldly, proposed to borrow £100,000. The merchant laughed in his face. “Will. you guarantee to lend me the money if I can show how it will lead to a fortune?” asked the would-be berrower. ““Yes," was the reply. - 78 -+ Him in the Shavk “War has been declared between Ger- many and France, and the price of wool in London has advanced tremendously. If We can buy up the whole Australian out- put we can make a fortune.” “Again the merchant laughed. “The last copy of the London Times,” he said, “says nothing about any war. “But I have a cor of the London Times,™ replied the young man, “which is five days later than any copy in Aus- tralia,” and he produced ‘the paper he had found In the stomach of ihe shark It contained the announcement of the dec- laration of war. The proof was convincing, the wool was purchased, and the next mail steamer brought copies of the London Times con- firming the news. The wool was sold at 2n immense profit and the young English- man left Australia with $1,000,000. His name was Cecil Rhodes. “That's a good fish ment £ one of Ch'ef Wi “Oh,” remarked i When'I tell storles I do mot make thei’e: plausible and commonplace.”—Ny Tribune. P was the com- s listeners.