The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, November 16, 1902, Page 4

< THE SUNDAY CALL. slone—the only time this whole evening.” she added proudly. *Have you seen him —my partner, sir? I forget his name. I only met him this evening, and I've met #0 many I can’t begin to remember half of them. He was a young man from Bonneville—a clerk, I think, because 1 re- member secing him in @ store there, and he_wore the prettiest clothas!” 8 “I guess he got lost in the shuffle,” ob- served Annixter. Suddenly an idéa oc- curred to him. He took his resolution in both hands. He cienched his teeth. “Say! look here, Miss Hilma. What's the matter with you and I stealing this one for ourselves? 1 don’t mean to dance. 1 don’t propose to make a jumping-jack of myself for some galoot to give me the laugh. but we'll walk arousnd. Will you? What do you say?” Hilma consented. “I'm not so very eorry 1 missed my dance with that—that—little clerk,” she said guiltily. “I suppose that's very bad of me, isn't it?” 4 Anpixter fulminated a vigorous protest. “] am so warm!” murmured Hilma, fanning herseif with her handkerchief: “and, oh! such a good time as I have had! I was so afraid that I would be a wall flower and sit up by mamma and papa the whole evening: and as it is, I have had every single dance, and even some dances I had to split. Oh-h:” she breathed. glancing lovingly arcund the barn, noting again the festoons of tri-colored cambric, the Japanese lanterns, flaring lamps and “‘decorations” of evergreen; ‘‘oh- t's all so0 lovely, just like a fairy story; and to think that it can’'t last but for one little evening and thet to-morrow morning one has to wake up to the every-day things ain!” & Vel observed Annixter doggedly, un- willing ‘that she should forget whom she ought to thank, I did my best, and my best is as good as another man's, I guess.” Hilma overwhelmed him with a burst of gratitude which he gruffly pretended to deprecate. Oh, that was all right. It hadn’t cost him much. He liked to see people having a good time himself, and the crowd did seem to be enjoying them- selves. What did she think? Did things look lively enough? And how aboutsher- self—was she enjoying it? Stupidly Annixter drove the question home again, at his wits' end as to how to make conversation. Hilma protested wolubly she would never forget this night, e et On, you don't know how I love t! I didn’t know myself. 1 could dance il night and never stop once!” Annixter was smitten with uneasiness. No doubt this “promenading” was not at ell to her taste. Wondering what kind of & :Peclade he was about to make of him- self, he exclaimed: ant to dance now?” *“Oh, yes!” she returned. They paused in their walk and Hilma, facing him, gave herself into his arms. Annixter shut his teeth, the perspiration starting from his forehead. For five years he had abandoned dancing. Never in his best days had it been one of his ac- complishments. They hesitated a moment, waiting to catch the time from the musicians. An- other couple bore down upon them at pre- cisely the wrong moment, jostling them out of step. Annixter swore under his breath. His arm still about the poung woman, he pulled her over to one corner. “Now,” he muttered, “we’ll try again.” A second time, listening to the one-two- three, one-two-three cadence of the musi- ciens, they endeavored to get under way. Annixter waited the fraction of a second too long and stepped on Hilma's foot. On the third attempt, having worked out of the corner, a pair of dancers bumped into them once more, and as they.were re- covering themselves another couple caromed violently against Annixter so that he all but lost his footing. He was in e rage. Hilma, very embarrassed, was trying mot to laugh, and thus they found themselves, out in_the middle of the floor, continually jostied from their position, holding clumsily to each other, stammer- ing excuses into one another’s faces, when Delaney arrived. He came with the suddenness of an ex- plosion. There was a2 commotion at the doorway, a rolling burst of oaths, a furi- ous stamping of hoofs, a wild seramble of the dancers to either side of the room, &nd there he was. He had ridden the buck- skin at a gallop straight through the door- way and out into the middle of the floor of the barn. Once well inside, Delaney hauled up on the cruel spadebit, at the same time driv- ing home the spurs, and the buckskin, without halting in ber gait, rose into the air upon her hind feet, and coming down egain with a thunder of iron hoofs upon the hollow fioor, lashed out with both heels simultaneously, her back arched, her head between her knees. It was the running buck, and had not Delaney been the hardest buster in the county, would hav»s flung him headlong like a sack of sand. But he eased off the bit, gripping “the mare’s flanks with his knees, and the buckskin, having long since known her master, came to hand quivering, the bloody ‘spune dripping from the bit upon the slippery floor. Delaney had arrayed himself with pain- ful elaboration, determined to look the part, bent upon creating the impression, resolved that his appearance at” least should justify his reputation of being “bad.” Nothing was lacking—neither the campaign hat with upturned brim, nor the dotted blue handkerchief knotted be- hind the neck nor the the heavy gauntlets stitched with red, nor—this above all— the bearskin “‘chaparejos,” the hair trous- ers of the mountain cowboy, the pistol holster low on the thigh. But for the moment this holster was empty, and in his right hand, the hammer at full cock, the chamber loaded, the puncher flour- ished his teaser, an army Colt’s, the lamp- light dully reflected in the dark blue steel. n & second of time the dance ‘was a bedlam. The musicians stopped with a discord and the middle of the crowded floor bared itself instantly. It was like sand blown from off a rock; the throng of guests, carried by an impulse that was not to be resisted, bore back against.the #ides of the barn, overturning chairs, trip- ping upon each other, falling down, scrambling to their feet again, stepping over one another, getting behind each other, diving under chairs, flattenin; themselves against the wall-a wild, clamoring pell-mell, blind, deaf, panic- stricken; a confused tangle of waving erms, torn muslin, crushed fiowers, pale faces, tangled legs, that swept in all di- rections back from the center of the floor, leaving Annixter and Hilma, alone, deserted, their arms about each other, face to face with Delaney, mad with al- cohol, bursting with remembered insult, bent on evil, reckless of results. After the scramble for safety the crowd fell quiet for the fraction of a second, lued to the walls, afraid to stir, struck umb and motionless with surprise and terror, and in the instant's silence that followed Annixter, his eyes on Delaney, muttered rapidly to Hilma: “Get back, get away to one side. That fool might shoot.” There was a second’s respite afforded while Delaney occupied himself in quiet- ing the buckskin, and in that second of time, at this moment of crisis, the won- derful thing occurred. Hilma, turning from Delaney, her hands clasped on An- nixter's arm, her eyes meeting his, ex- claimed: “¥You, too!” And that was all; but to Annixter it was & revelation. Never more alive to his sur- roundings, never more observant, he sud- denly understood. For the briefest lapse of time he and Hilma looked deep into each other’s eyes, and from that moment on Annixter knew that Hilma The whole matter was brief as the snap- ping of & finger. Two words and a glance &nd all was done. But as though nothing had occurred, Annixter pushed Hilma from him, repeating harshl h“Get !back. 1 tell you. Igon‘t you see €’s got a gun? Haven't I enough on my hands without you?” > 4 He loosed her clasp and his eyes, once more on Delaney, moved diagonally back- ward toward the side of the barn, push- ing Hilma from him. In the end he thrust her away so sharply that she gave back with 2 long stagger; lomegody caught her arm and drew her in, leavi Annixter alone once more in the middie of the floor, his hands in his coat pockets, watchful, alert, facing his enemy. But the cow-puncher was not ready to come to grapples yet. Fearless, his wits :lmbanng under the lash of the alcohol, e wished to make the most of the oc- casion, maintaining the suspense - ing for the gallery. e ot of the hand and knee he kept the buckskin in continual, nervous movement, her hoofs clattering, snorting, tossing her head, while he, himself, ldgmlln( him- self to Annixter, poured out a torrent of lm'r;‘gu;-e. ¥ “Well, strike me blind 1f it ain't old Buck Annixter! He was going to lh?)' me off Quien Sabe at the toe of his boot, was be? Well, here’s your chance—with the ladies to see you do it. Gives does he, 'high-falutin’ hoe- his - barn and forgets his old bronco-bustin’ friend. his friend don’t forget him: no, he don't. He remembers little things, does his bronco-bustin’ friend. Liker 10 see a dance hisself on occasion, his friend does. Comes anyhow, trustin’ his wel- ©ome will be hearty; just to see old Buck dance, just to show Buck An. nixter's friends how Buck can dance— dance all by hisself, a little henson-a-hot- plate dance when his Lronco-bustin’ friend asks him so poiite. A little dance for the ladies, Buck. This feature of the entertainment is alone worth the price of admission. Tune up, Attention now! I'll give you the ke; He *fanned” his revolver, spinning it *about Lis index finger by ' the trigger guard with incredible swiftness, the twirling weapon a mere blur of blue steel n his hand. Sudden!y and without any apparent cessation of the movement, he fired, and a little splinter of wood flipped into the air «t Annixter’s feet. “Time!" he shouted, while the buckskin reared to the report. “Hold on—wait a minute. This place is too light to suit. That big light yonder is in my eyes. Look out, I'm guing to throw lead.” A sccond shot put out the light over the musicians’ stand. The assembled guesta shrieked, a frantic, shrinking quiver ran tarough the crowd like the huddling of frightened rabbits in their pen. Annixter hardly moved. He stood some thirty paces from the buster, his hands in his coat pockets, his eyes giistening, watchful. Excitable and turbulent in trifiing mat- ters, when actual bodily danger threat- ened he was of an abnormal quiet. “I'm watching you,” cried the other. “Don’t make any mistake about that. Keep your hands in your coat pockets if vou'd like to live a little longer, under- stand? And don’t let me see you make a move toward your hip or your friends will be asked to identify you at the morgue to-morrow morning:. When I'm bad, I'm called the undertaker's friend, so I am, and I'm that bad to-night that I'm scared of myself. They’'ll have to revise the cen- sus returns before I'm done with this place. Come on, now, I'm getting tired waiting. 1 come to see a dance.” ““Hand over that horse, Delaney,” said Annixter, without raising his voice, *“‘and clear out.” The other affected to be overwhelmed with infinite astonishment, his eyes star- ing. He peered down from the saddle, ““Wh-a-a-t!"’ he exclaimed; “wh-a-a-t did you s: Why 1 guess you must by looking for trouble; that's what I gue: “‘There's where you're wrong, m'son, muttered Annixter, partly to Delaney, partly to himself. “if I was looking for trouble there wouldn't be any guess-work about it."” With the wokds he began firing. De- laney had hardly entered the barn before Annixter's plan had been formed. Lon since his revolver was.in the pocket of his coat, and he fired now through the coat itself, without withdrawing his hands. Until that moment Annixter had not been sure 6f himself. There was no doubt that for the first few moments of the afl- fair he would have welcomed with joy any reasonable excuse for getting out of the situation. But the sound of his own re- Yolver gave him confidence. He whipped it out from his pocket and fired again. Abruptly the duel began, report follow- ing report, spurts of pale blue smoke jet- ting like the darts of short spears between the two men, expanding to a haze and drifting overhead in wavering strata. It was quite probable that no ‘thought of killing each otber suggested itself to either Annixter ‘or Delaney. Both fired without aiming very deliberately. To empty their revolvers and avoid being hit was the desire common to both. They no longer vituperated each other. The re- volvers speke for them. Long after, Annixter could recall this moment. For years he could with but lit- tle effort reconstruct the scene—the densely packed crowd flattened against the sides of the barn, the festoons of lan- terns, the mingled smell of evergreen, new wood, sachet and powder smoke; the vague clamor of distress and terror that rose from the throng of guests, the squealing of the buckskin, the uneven ex- plosions of the revolvers, the reverbera- tion of trampling hoofs, 'a brief glimpse of Harran Derrick’s excited face at the door of the harness room, and in the open space in the center of the floor, himself and Delaney, maneuvering swiftly in a cloud of smoke. . Annixter's revolver contained but six cartridges. Already it seemed to_him as if he had fired twenty times. Without doubt the next shot was his last. Then what? He peered through the blue haze that with every discharge thickened be- tween him and the buster. For his own safety he must “place” at least one shot. Delaney’s chest and shoulders rose sud- denly above the smoke close upon him as the distraught buckskin reared again. Annixter, for the first time during the fight, took definite aim, but before he could pull the trigger there was a great shout and he was aware of the buckskin, the bridle trailing, the saddle empty, plunging headlong across the floor, crashing into the line of chairs, Delaney was scrambling off the floor. There was blood on the buster's wrist and bhe no longer carried his revolver. Suddenly he ‘turned and ran. The crowd parted right and left before him as he made toward the doorway. He disap- peared. Twenty men promptly sprang to the buckskin's head, but she broke away, and wild with terror, bewildered, - blind, in- sensate, charged into the corner of the barn.by the musicians’ stand. She brought up against the wall with cruel force and with impact of a sack of stones; her head was eut. She turned and charged again, bull-like, the blood streaming from her forehead. The crowd, shrieking, melted before her rush. An old man was thrown down and trampled. The buckskin trod upon the dragging bridle, somersaulted into a confusion of chairs in one corner, and came down with a terrific clatter in a wild disorder of kicking hoofs and splintered wood. But a crowd of men fell upon her, tugging at the bit, sitting on her head, shouting, gesticulating. For five minutes she struggled and fought; then, by degrees, she recovered herself, drawing great sobbing breaths at long intervals that all but burst the girths, rolling her eyes in bewildered, supplicat- ing fashion, trembling in every muscle, and starting and shrinking now and then like a young girl in hysterics. At last she lay quiet. The men allowed her to struggle to her feet. The saddle was re- moved and she was led to one of the empty stalls, where she remained the rest of the evening, her head low, her pas- terns quivering, turning her head appre- hensively ffom ‘time to time, showing the white of one eye and at long intervals heaving a single prolonged sigh. And an hour later the dance was pro- gressing as evenly as though nothing in the least extraordinary had occurred. The incident was closed—that abrupt swoop of terror and impending death dropping down there from out the dark- ness, cutting abruptly athwart the gay- ety of the moment, come and gone with the swiftness of a thunderclap. Many of the women had gone home, taking their men with them; but the great bulk of the crowd still remained, seeing no rea- son why the episode should interfere with the evening’s enjoyment, resolved to hold the ground for mere bravado, if for noth- ing else. Delaney would not come back, of that everybody was persuaded, and in case he should, there was not found want- ing fully half a hundred young men who would give him a dressing down, by jingo! They had been too surprised to act when Delaney had first appeared, and before they knew where they were at, the bus- ter had cleared out. In another minute, just another second, they would have l:Jho'wn him—yes, sir, by jingo!—ah, you et! On all sides the reminiscences began to circulate. At least one man in every three had been involved in a gun fight at some time of his life. “Ah, you ought to have seen in Yyba County one time—" *“Why, in Butte County in the early days—" “Pshaw! this to-night wasn't anything! Why, once in oon in Arizona when I was there—" and o0 on, over and over again. Osterman solemnly asserted that he seen a greaser sawn in two in a Nevada sawmill. Old Broderson had wit- nessed a Vigllante lynching in 5§ on California street in S8an Francisco. Dyke led how once in his engineering days he had run over a drunk at a street crossing. Gethings of the San Pablo had taken a shot at a highwayman. Hooven bayonetted a French chasseur at Sedan. An old Spanish-Mexican, a cen- tenarian from Guadalajara, remembered Fremont's stand on a mountain top in San Benito County. The druggist had fired at a burglar trying to break into his store one New Year's eve. Young Vacca had seen a dog shot in Guadaia- jara. Father Sarria had more than once ads ered sacraments to Portu- desperadoes dying of gunshot wounds. Even the wbmen recalled terri- ble scenes. Mrs. Cutter recounted to an interested group how she had seen a claim jumped in Placer County in 1851, when three men were shot, falling in a fusillade of rifle shots, and expiring later upon the floor of her kitchen while she looked on. Mrs. Dyke had been in a stage holdup, when the shotgun messenger was murdered. Stories by the hundreds went the round of the company. * The air wi surcharged with blood, dying groans, t reek of powder, smoke, the crack of rifies. All the legends of ’49, the violent, wild life of the early days, were recalled to view, before them there in an endless procession under the. glare of paper lanterns and kerosene lamps. ut the affalr had aroused a combative #pirit among the men of the assembly. Instantly a spirit of aggression, of trucu- lence, sweiled up underneath walstcoals ana starched shirt bosoms. More than one offender was promptly asked to ‘“‘step outside.” 1t was like young bucks ex- cited by an encounter of stags, lowering their horns upon’ the slightest provoca- tion, showing off before the does and fawns. Old quarrels were remembered. One sought laboriously for slights and insults, veiled in ordinary conversation. The sense of personal honor became re- fined to a deilcate, fine pomt. Upon the slightest pretext there ‘was a haughty drawing up of the figure, a twisting of the lips fnto"a smile of scorn. Caraher spoke of shooting S. Behrman on sight before the end of the week. Twice it be- came necessary to separate Hooven and Cutter, renewing their quarrel as to the ownership of the steer. All at once Minna Hooven's “‘partner” fell upon the gayly appareled clerk from Bonneville, pummel- ing him with his fists, hustling him out of the hall, vociferating that Miss Hooven had been grossly insulted. It took three men to extricate the clerk from his clutches, dazed, gasping, his collar un- fastened and sticking up into his face, ‘his eyes staring wildly into the faces of the crowd. But Annixter, bursting with pride, his chest thrown out, his chin in the air, reigned enthroned in a circle of adulation. He was the hero. To shake him by the hand was an honor to be struggled for. One clapped him on the back with sol- emn nods of approval. *“There's the boy for you'; “There was nerve for you''; “What's the matter with Annixter?” “How about that for sand, and how was that for a shot?”’ “Why, Apache Kid couldn’t have hettered that.” = “Cool enough.” “Took a steady eye and a sure hand to make a shot like that.” ‘There was a shot that would be told about in Tulare County fifty years to ‘come.” Annixter had refrained from replying, all ears to this conversation, wondering Just what had happened. He knew only that Delaney had run, leaving his revol- Yer and a spatter of blood behind him. By degrees, however, he ascertained that his last shot but one had struck Delaney's pistol hand, shattering it and knocking the revolver from his grip. He was over- whelmed with astonishment. Why, after the shooting began he had not so much as seen Delaney with any degree of plain- ness. The whole affair was a whirl. “Well, where did you learn to shoot that way?” some one in the crowd de- manded. Annixter moved his shoulders with a gesture of vast unconcers “'Oh,” he observed carelessly, “it's not my shooting that ever worried me, m’son.” ‘The crowd gaped with delight. There was a great wagging of heads. “Well, I guess not.” “No sir, not much.” “Ah, no, you bet not.” When the women pressed around him, shaking his hands, declaring that he had saved their daughters’ lives, Annixter as- sumed a pose of superb deprecation, the modest self-obliteration of the chevalier. He delivered himself of a remembered phrase, very elegant, refined. It was Lancelot after the tovrnament, Bayard re- celving felicitations after the battle. - don't say anything about it,”” he murmured. “I only did what any man would ave done in my place.” To restore completely the equanimll¥ of the company, he announced supper. This he had calculated as a tremendous sur- prise. It was to have been served at mid- night, but the irruption of Delaney had dislocated the order of events, and the tables were brought in an hour ahead of time. They were arranged around three sides of the barn and were loaded down with cold roasts of beef, cold chickens and cold ducks, mountains of sandwiches, pitchers of rallk and lemonade, entire cheeses, bowls of olives, plates of oranges and nuts. Tne advent of this supper was recelved with a volley of applause. The musicans played a quickstep. ‘r'he com- pany threw themselves upon the food with great scraping of chairs and a vast rustle of muslins, tarletans and organdies; soon the clatter of dishes was a veritable uP- roar. The tables were taken by assault. One ate whatever was nearest at hand, some even beginning with oranges and nuts and ending with beef and chicken. At the end the Esper caps were brought on, together with the ice cream. All up and down the tablés the pulled ‘‘crackers” snapped like the discharge of innumerable tiny rifles. The caps of tissue paper were put on—"Phrygian Bonnets,” ‘‘Magicians’ Caps,” “Liberty Caps;” the young girls looked across the table at their vis-a-vis with bursts of laughter and vigorous clap- ping of the hands. The harness room crowd had a table to themselves, at the head of which sat An- nixter and at the foot Harran. The gun fight had sobered Presley thoroughly. He sat by the side of Vanamee, who ate but little, preferring rather to watch the scene with calm observation, a little contemptu- ous when the uproar around the table was too boisterous, savoring of intoxica- tion. Osterman rolled bullets of bread and shot them with astonishing force up and down the table, but the others—Dyke, old Broderson, Caraher, Harran Derrick, Hooven, Cutter, Garnett of the Ruby rancho, Keast from the ranch of the same name, Gethings of the San Pablo and Chattern of the Bonanza—occupied them- selves with eating as much as they could befere the supper gave out. At a corner of the table, speechless, unobserved, ig- noced, sat Dabney, of whom nothing was known but his name, the silent old man who made no friends. He ate and drank quietly, dipping his sandwich in his lemonade. Osterman ate all the olives he could lay ‘his hands on, a score of them, fifty of them, a hundred of them. He touched no crumb of anything else, Old Brodersoh stared at him, his jaw fallen. Osterman declared he had once eaten a thou- sand on- a bet. The men_ called each others’ attention to him. Delighted to create a sensation. Osterman persevered. The contents of an entire bowl disap- peared in_his huge, reptilian slit of a mouth. His cheeks of brownish red were extended, his bald forehead glistened. Colics seized upon him. His stomach re- volted. It was all one with him. He wus satisfied, contented. He was astonishing the people. ““Once 1 swallowed a tree toad,” he told old Broderson, “by mistake. I was eating grapes, and the beggar lived in me three weeks. In rainy weather he would sing. You don’t believe that,”” he voeciferated. ‘“Haven’t I got the toad at home now in a bottle of alcohol.” . And the old man, never doubting, his eyes starting, wagged his head in amaze- ment. ““Oh, yes,” cried Caraher, the length of the table, “that's a pretty good one. Tell us _another.” “‘That reminds me of a story,” hazarded old Broderson uncertainly; ‘‘once when I was a lad in Ukiah, fifty years—"" « “Oh, yes,” cried half a dozen voices, “that’s a pretty good one. Tell us an- other.” “Eh—wh—what?” murmured Broderson, looking about him. “I—I don't know. It was Ukiah. You—you—mix me all up.” As soon as the supper was over the floor was cleared again. The guests clamored for a Virginia reel. The last quarter of the evening the time of the most riotous fun, was beginning. The young men caught the girls who sat next to them. The orchestra dashed off into a rollickin; movement. The two lines were formed. In a second of time the dance was under way again; the guests still weulnts the Ph‘yglnn bonnets and liberty caps of pink and blue tissue paper. But the group of men once more ad- Jjourned to the harness room. Fresh boxes of cigars were opened; the seventh bowl of fertilizer was mixed. Osterman poured the dregs of a glass of it upon his bald head, declaring that he could feel the hair beginning to grow. Btut suddenly old Broderson rose to his eet. “Aha,” he cackled, “I'm going to have a dance, I am. Think I'm_too old? I'll show you young fellows. I'm a regular old rooster when I get started.” He marched out into the barn, the others following, holding their e found an aged Mexican woman by the door and hustled her, all confused and giggling, into the Virginia reel, then at its helght. Every one crowded around to see. Old Broderson stepped off with the alacrity of a_ colt, snlyplnf‘ his fingers, slapping his thigh, his mouth widening in an_excits n. The entire company of the {uest! shouted. The city band re- doubled their efforts; and the old man, losing his head, breathless, n'-fln(. dis- located his stiff joints in his efforts. He ime possessed, bowing, scraping, ad- vancing, retreating, wagging his rd, cutting pigeons’ wings, distraught with the music, the clamor, the applause, the effects of the fertilizer. Annixter shouted: “Nice eye, Banta Claus.” But Annixter's attention wandered. He searched for Hilma Tree, having still mind the look in her eyes at that swi moment of danger. had not seen her since then. At last he caught sight of ber. She was not dancing, but, instead was sitting with her “partner” at the of the barn near her father and mother, her eyes wide, a serious expression on her face, her thoughts, no doubt, elsewhere, Annixter was about/ to go to her when he was interrupted by a cry. d Broderson, in the midst of a double shuffle, had clapped his hand to_his side with a gasp, which he followed by a whoop of anguish. He had got a stitch or had started a t .somewhere. With a gesture of resignation, he drew himself llborlousl{ out of the ice, limping abominably, one leg dragging. He was heard asking for is wife. Old Mrs. Broderson took him in charge. She jawed him for making an exhibition of himself, lcoldlnf as though he were a ten-year-old. “Well, I want to know!’ she ex- claimed, as he hobbled off, dejected and melancholy, leaning upon her arm, “thought he had to dance, indeed! What next? A gay old grandpa, this. He'd better be thinking of his coffin.”’ It was almost midnight. The dance drew toward 1ts close in a storm of jubilation. The perspiring musicians toiled {ike galley slaves; the guests singing as they danced. The group of men reassembled in the harness-room. Even Magnus Derrick condescended to enter and drink a toast. Presley and Vanamee, still holding them- selves aloof, looked on, Vanamee more and more disgusted. Dabney, standing to one side, overlooked and 'forgotten, continued to sip steadily at his glass, sol- emn, reserved. Garnett of the Ruby rancho, Keast from the ranch of the same name. Gethings of the San Pablo, and Chattern of the Bonanza, leaned back in their chairs, their waistcoats unbuttoned, their legs spread wide, laughing—they could not tell why. Other ranchers, men whom Annixter had never seen, appeared in the room, wheat growers from piaces as far distant as gzshen and Pixley; young men ‘and old, proprietors of verit- able principalities, hundreds of thousands of acres of wheat lands, a dozen of them, a score of them; men who were strangers to each other, but who made it a poiut to shake hands with Magnus Derrick, the cprominent man” of the valley. Old Broderson, whom every one had belleved had gone home; returned, though much sobered, and took his place, refusing, however, to drink another spoonful. Soon the entire number of Annixter's guests found themselves in two compa- nids, the dancers on the floor of the barn, frolicking through the last figures of the Virginia reel, and the boisterous gather- ing of men in the harness-room, downing the last quarts of fertilizer. Both as- semblies had been increased. Even the older. people had joined in the dance, while nearly every one of the men who did not dance had found their way into the harness-room. The two groups rivaled each other in their noise. Out on the floor of the barn was a very whirlwind of Bayety, a tempest of laughter, hand- clapping and criesfof amusement. In the harness-room the confused shouting and singing, the stamping of heavy feet, set a quivering reverberation in the oil of the kerosene lamps, the flame of the candles in the Japanese lanterns flaring and sway- ing in the gusts of hilarity. At intervals, between the two, one heard the music, the wailing of the violins, the vigorous snarling of the cornet, and the harsh, in- cessant rasping of the snare drum. And at times all these various sounds mingled in a single vague note, huge, clamorous, that rose up. into the night from the colossal, reverberating compass of the barn and sent its echoes far off across the unbroken levels of the sur- rounding ranches, stretching out to infin- ity under the clouded sky, calm, mysteri- ous, still. Annixter, the punch bowl clasped in his arms, was pouring out the last spoonful of liquor into Caraher’s glass when he was aware that some one was pulling at the sleeve of his coat. He set down the punch bowl. “‘Well, where did you come from?”’ he demanded. It was a messenger from Bonneville, the uniformed boy that the telephone company employed to carry messages. He had just arrived from town on his bicycle, out of breath and papting. “‘Message for you, sir. Will’you sign?” He held the book to Annixter, who signed the receipt, wondering. The boy departed, leaving a thick en- velope of vellow paper in Annixter's hands, the address typewritten, the word “Urgent” written in blue pencil in one corner. Annixter tore it open. The envelope contained other sealed envelopes, some eight or ten of them. addressed to Mag- nus Derrick, Osterman, Broderson, Gar- nett, Keast, Gethings, Chattern, Dabney and to Annixter himself. Still puzzled, Annixter distributed the envelopes, muttering to himself: “What's up mow?” The incident had attracted attention. A comparative quiet followed, the guests following the letters with their eyes as they were passed around the table, They tar;ncled that Annixter had arranged a sur- prige. ' Magnus Derrick, who sat next to Annix- ter, was the first to receive his letter. ‘With a word of excuse he opened it. “Read it; read it, Governor,” shouted a half-dozen voices. “No secrets, you know. Eyerything aboveboard here to-night.” Magnus cast a glance at the contents of ('ihe letter, then rose to his feet and read: “Magnus Derrick, Bonneville, Tulare County, Cal.—Dear Sir: By regrade of October 1 the value of the railroad land you occupy, included in your ranch of * Los Muertos, has been fixed at $27 per acre. The land is now for sale at that price to any one. Yours, etc., ‘CYRUS BLAKELEE RUGGLES, and Agent, P. and S. W. R. R. ‘S. BEHRMAN, ‘‘Local Agent, P, and 8. W. R. R.” In the midst of the profound silence that But for a long moment this was the only remark. The silence widened, broken only by the sound of torn paper as Annixter, Oster- man, old Broderson, Garnett, Keast, Gethings, Chattern and Dabney opened and read their letters, They were all to the same effect, almost word for word like the Governor's. Only the figures and the proper names varied. In some cases the price per acre was $22. In Annixter’s case it was $30. ‘‘And—and the company promised to sell to me, to—to all of us,” gasped old Broderson, “at two dollars and & half an acre. It was not alone the ranchers immedi- ately around Bonneville who would be plundered by this move on the part of the railroad.” The “alternate section” sys- tem applied throughout “all the San Joa- quin. By striking at the Bonneville ranchers a terrible precedent was estab- lished. Of the crowd of guests in the harness-room alone, nearly every man was affected, every man menaced with ruin. All of a million acres was suddenly involved. Then suddenly the tempest burst. A dozen mepn were on their feet in an in- stant, their teeth set, their fists clenched, their faces purple with rage. Oaths, curses, maledictions exploded like the fir- ing of successive mines. Voices quivered with wrath, hands flung upward, the fin- gers hooked, prehensible, trembled with anger. The sense of wrongs, the injus- tices, the oppression, extortion and piliage of twenty years suddenly culminated and found voice in a raucous howl of execra- tion. For a second there was nothing articulate in that cry of savage exaspera- tion, nothing even intelligent. It was the human animal hounded to its corner, ex- ploited, harried to its last stand, at bay, ferocious, terrible, turning at Jlast with bared teeth and upraised claws to meet the death grapple. It was the hideous squealing of the tor- mented brute, its back to the wall, — s So great has been the de- ! mand for the first installment of “The Octopus,” published in The Sunday Call last Sunday, November 9, that edition is already nearly exhausted. If You missed this first number, published last Sunday, apply for The Sunday Call of thai date at once or you will be too late. : “The Octopus” was written by the late Frank Norris. It is Mr. Norris’ strongest novel. It has justly been consider- ed the nearest approach to the “great American novel” ever written. It portrays life and scenes in California more vividly than any other book extant. No extra charge! Anil by this means you read the best novel of the day—FREE!! e e e e defending {its lair, its mate and its Wwhelps, ready to bite, to rend, to trample, to batter out the life of the enemy in a |tu1mevul. bestlal welter of blood and ury. The roar subsided to intermittent clam- or, in the pausés of which the sounds of music and dancing made themselves aud- ible once more. “‘S. Behrman again,” vociferated Har- ran Derrick. *'Chose his moment well,” muttered An- nixter. “Hits his hardest when we're all rounded up having a good time.” .‘Gentlemen, this is ruin,” “What's to be done now?"” “Figh My God! do you think we are Eolng to stand this? Do you think we an? The uproar swelled again. The clearer the assembly of ranchers understood the significance of this move on the part of the railroad, the more terrible it :pFu.rod. the more flagrant, the more intolerable. ‘Was it possible, was it within the bounds of imagination that this tyranny should be contemplated? But they knew—past years had driven home the lesson—the im- placable, iron monster with whom they had to deal, and again and again the sense of outrage and oppression lashed them to their feet, their mouths wide with curses, their fists clenched tight, their throats hoarse with shouting. “Fight! How fight? What are you go- ing to do?” UIf there's a law in this land—" “If there is, it is in Shelgrim's ket. Who owns the courts in California? Ain’t it Shelgrim?"* 8 !God damn him."” ““Well, how long are you going to stand it? How long before you'll settle up ac- c?un’u with six inches of plugged gas pipe?” 2 ‘And our contract, the solemn pledges ultl the corporation to sell to us first of Al b‘:iAn‘t'i now the land is for sale to any- 0 o hy, it is a question of my home. Am I to be turned out? Why, I have put lelulat thousand dollars into improving this land.” “And I six thousand, and now that I have, the rallroad grabs it.” “And the system of irrigating ditcHes that Derrick and I have been laying out. There's thousands of dollars in that!” “I'll fight this out till I've spent every cent of my money."” . ““Where? .In the courts that the com- pany owns?’ “Think I am going to give in to this? Think I am to get off my land? By God, gentlemen, law or no law, railroad or no railrx"(m.d‘I I—will—not.” “Nor I or L *Nop- L™ “This is the last. Legal means first; if those fail—the shotgun.” “They can kill me. They can shoot me down, but T'll die—die fighting for my home—before I'll give in to this.’” At length Annixter made himself heard: ““All out of the room but the ranch owners,” he shouted. ‘Hooven, Caraher, Dyke, you'll have to clear out. This is a family affair. Presley, you and your friend can remain.” Reluctantly the others filed through the door. There remained in the harness- room—besides Vanamee and ' Presley— Magnus Derrick, Annixter, old Broder- son, Harran, Garnett from the Ruby rancho, Keast from the ranch of the same name, Gethings of the San Pablo, Chat- tern of the Bonanza, about a score of others, ranchers from various parts of the county, and, last of all, Dabney, ignored, silent, to whom nobody spoke and who, as yet, had not uttered a word. But the men who had been asked to leave the harness-room spread the news throughout the barn. It was repeated from lip to lip. One by one the guests dropped out of the dance. Groups were formed. By swift degrees the gayety lapsed away. The Virginia reel broke up. The musicians ceased playing, and in the place of the noisy, effervescent revel- ry of the previous half hour, a subdued murmur filled all the barn, a mingling of whispers, lowered volices, the coming and going of light footsteps, the uneasy shifting of positions, while from behind the closed doors of the harness-room came a prolonged, sullen hum of anger and strenuous debate. The dance came to an abrupt end. The guests, unwilling to go as yet, stunned, distressed, stood clumsily about, their eyes vague, their hand# swinging at their sides, looking stupidly into each others’ faces. A sense of impending calamity, oppressive, fore- boding, gloomy, passed through the air overhead in the night, a long shiver of anguish and of terror, mysterious, de- spairing. In the harness-room, however, the ex- citement continued unchecked. One rancher after another delivered himself of a torrent of furious words. There was no order, merely the frenzied outcry of blind fury. One spirit alone was common to all-resistance at whatever cost and to whatever lengths. Suddenly Osterman leaped to his feet, his bald head gleaming in the lamp light, his red ears distended, a flood of words filling his great, horizontal slit of a mouth, his comic actor’'s face flaming. Like the hero of a melodrama, he took thd stage with a great sweeping gesture. ‘Organizatipn,” he shouted, “‘that must be our watchword. The curse of the ranchers is‘that they fritter away their strength. Now, we must stand together, now, now. Here's the crisis, here's the moment. Shall we meet it? I call for the league. Not next week, not to-morrow, not in the morning, but now, now, now, this very moment, before we go out of that door. Every one of us here to join it, to form the beginning of a vast or- ganization, banded together to death, if necds be, for the protection of our rights and homes. Are you ready? Is it now or never? I call for the league.’” Instantly there was a shout. With an actor’s Instinct, Osterman had spoken at the precise psychological moment. He carried the others off their feet, glib, dexterous, veluble. Just what was meant by the league the others did not know, but it was some! g, a vague engine, a machine with which to fight. Osterman had not done speaking before the room rang with outcries, the crowd of men shouting, for what they did not know. , “The league! The league!" L) “Now, to-night, this moment; sign our mes before we leave.” ‘“We have a committee at work * ready,” Osterman vociferated. “I am a member, and also Mr. Broderson, - Mr. Annixter and Mr. Harran Derrick. What our aims are we will explain to you later. Let this committee be the nucleus of the league—temporarily, at least. Trust us. We are worlkting for you and with you. Let this committee be merged into the larger committee of the league, and for president of the league”—he paused the fraction of a second—‘‘for president there can be but one name mentioned, one man to whom we all must look as leader— Magnus Derrick.” e Governor’s name - was received with a storm of cheers. harness-room re- echoed with shouts of: “‘Derrick! Derrick!” “Magnus for president!”” “Derrick, our natural leader." “Derrick, Derrick, Derrick for presi- dent.” Magnus rose to his feet. He made no gesture. Erect as a cavalry officer, tall, thin, commanding, he dominated the crowd in an instant. There was a mo- ment’'s hush. “‘Gentlemen,” he sald, “if organization is a good word, moderation is a better one. The matter Is too grave for haste. I would suggest that we each and sever- elly return to our respective homes for the night, sleep over what has happened and convene again to-morrow, when we are calmer and can approach this affair in a more judicious mood. As for the honor with which you would inform me, 1 must affirm that that, too, is a matter for grave deliberation. This league Is but me as yet. To lccnrt gontrol of ization whose princi ples are not yet +is a heavy respomsibility. I shrink from it—" But he was allowed to proceed no far- ther. A storm of protest developed. There ‘were shouts of: ~ ““No, no. The league to-night and Der- rick ‘or president.” ‘“We have been moderate too long.” “The league first, principles afterward.” “We can’t wait,” declared Osterman. “Many of us cannot attend a meeting to- morrow. Our business affairs would pre- vent it. Now we are all together. I pro- g:ie a temporary chairman and muéry mmn{ and a bnlc‘:‘t'lac taken. ;:% league. raw up a of resolutions to together, for the defense of our homes, to th, if needs be, and each man present affix his signa- ture thereto.” the ranchhouse. A set of resolutions was , having the force of a pl o the” League of g rixter was the first to sign. Others fol- lowed, only a few holding back, refus- ing to join till they had thought the mat- ter over. The roil grew; the paper cir- culated about the table: each signature was welcomed by a salvo of cheers. At length it reached Harran Derrick. who signed amid tremendous uproar. He re- 1ensedithe, pim, anty; to shake a score of an ow, Magnus Derrick.” z ‘Gentlemen,”” began the Governor, once more rising, ““I beg of you to allow me further consideration. entlemen—- He was Interrupted by renewed shout- ng. i *No, no: now or never. Sign, join the ague.’” " S‘:’n'l leave us. We look to you to help.’ Bglt presently the excited throng that turned their faces toward the governor were aware of a new face at his €lbow. The door of the harness room had left unbolted and Mrs. Derrick, unable to endure the heart-breaking suspense of waliting outside, had gathered all her courage and had come_into the room. Trembling, she clung to Magnus’ arm, her Pretty light brown hair in_disarray, her arge young girl's eyes wide with terror I distrust. What was about to happen she did not understand, but these men were clamoring for Magnus to pledge himself to something, to some terrible course of action, some ruthless, unscru- ulous battle to the death with the iron- earted monster of steel and steam. Nerved with a coward's lntrepldltly_ she, who so easily obliterated herself, had found her way into the midst of this frantic crowd, into this hot, close room, reeking of alcohol and tobacco smoke, into this atmosphere surcharged with ha- tred and curses. She seized her husband’s arm imploring, distraught with terror. “No, no,” she murmured; ‘“no, don’t sign.” g;‘\e was the feather’ caught in the whirlwind. En masse, the crowd surged toward the erect figure of the governor, the pen in one hand, his wife's fingers in the other, the roll of signatures before him. The clamor was deafening; the ex- citement culminated brusquely. Half a hundred hands stretched toward him; thirty voices, at top’ pitch, implored, ex- g_ostuluted, urged, almost commanded. 'he reverberation of the shouting was as the plunge of a cataract. It was the uprising of the people; the thunder of the outbreak of revolt; the mob demanding to be led, aroused at last, imperious, resistless, overwhelming. It was the blind fury of insurrection, thi brute, many tongued, red eyed, bello: ing for guidance, baring its teeth, sheathing its claws, imposing its will with thé abrupt, resistless pressure of the re- laxed piston, inexorable, knowing no pity. “‘No, no,” implored Annie Derrick. “No, Magnus; don’t sign.” “He must,” declared Harran, shouting in her ear to make himself heard, “he must. - Don't you understand?” Again the crowd surged forward, roar- ing. Mrs. Derrick was swept back, pus! ed to one side. Her husband no longer belonged to her. She paid the penalty for being the wife of a great man. The world, like a colossal iron wedge, crushed itsel: between. She was thrust to the wall. The throng of men, stamping, surrounded Magnus; she could no longer see him, but, terror-struck, she listened. There was moment’s lull, then a vast thunder of sav- age jubilation, Magnus had signed. Harran found his mother leaning against the wall, her handg shut over her ears; her eves, dilated with fear brim- ming with tears. He led her from the harness room to the outer room, “where Mrs. Tree and Hilma took charge of her, and then, impatient, refusing to answer the hundreds of anxious questions that assailed him, hurried back to the harness room. Already the balloting was in g:o‘rell. Osterman acting as_temporary chairman. On the very first ballot he was made sec- retary of the league pro tem., and Mag- nus unanimously chosen for its president. An executive committee was formed, which was to meet the next day at the Los Muertos ranchhouse. It was balf past 1 o'clock. In the barn outside the greater number of the ts had departed. Long since the musicians had disappeared. ere only remained {he tamilles of the ranch owners involved in the meeting in the harness room. These huddled in isolated groups in corners of the garish, echoing barn, the women in their wraps, the young men with their coat collars turned up against the ;!rlnuxhll that once more made themselves elt. For a long half hour the loud hum of eager convérsation continued to {issue from behind the door of the harness room. Then at length there was a prolonged scraping of chairs. The session was over. The men came out in groups, searching for their families. At once the homeward movement be Every one was worn out. Some of the ranchers’ daughters had gone to sleep against their mothers’ shoulders. illy, the stableman, and his assistant ‘were awakened and the teams were hitch- ed up. The stable yard was full of a maze of swinging lanterns and buggy lamps. The horses fretted. champing the bits; the carry-alls creaked with the straining of leather and springs as they received their loads. At every instant one heard the rattle of wheels, as vehicle after vehicle disappeared in 'the night. A fine, drizzling rain was falling, and the lamps began to show dim in a vague haze of orange light. Magnus Derrick was the last to go. At the doorway of the barn he found Annix- ter, the roll of names—which it had been decided he was to keep in his safe for the moment—under his arm. Silently the two shook hands. Magnus departed. The grind of the wheels of his carry-all grated sharply on the gravel of the drive- way in front of the ranch house, then, with a hollow roll across a little plank bridge, gained the roadway. For a mo- ment the beat of the horses’ hoofs made itself heard on the roadway. It ceased. Suddenly there was a great silence. Annixter, in the doorway of the great Barn, stood looking about him for a mo- ment, alone, thoughtful. The barn was empty. That astonishing evening had come to an end. The whirl of things and people, the crowd of dancers, Delaney, the gun fight, Hilma Tree, her eyes fixed on him in mute confession, the rabble In the harness-room, the news of the re- grade, the flerce outburst of wrath, the hasty organizing of the league, all went u{)lnnmg confusedly through his recollec- tion. But he was exhausted. Time enough in the morning to think it all over. By n it was raining sharply. He put the roll of names into his inside pocket, threw a sack over his head and shoulders, and went down to the ranch house. But in the harness-room, lighted by the glittering lanterns and flaring lamps, in the midst of overturned chairs, spilled liquor, cigar stumps and broken glasses, Vanamee and Presley still remained talk- ing, talking. At length they rose and came out upon the floor of the barn and stood for a moment looking about them. Billy, the stableman, was going the rounds of the walls, putting out light after light. By degrees, the vast interior was growing dim. Upon the roof over- head the rain drummed incessantly, the eaves dripping. Thé floor was Httered with pine needles, bits of orange peel, ends and fragments of torn organdies and muslins and bits of tissue paper from the “Phrygian Bonnets” and “Liberty Caps.” The buckskin thare in the stall, dozing on three legs, changed tion with a long sigh. The sweat stiffening the hair upon her back and loins, as it dried, gave off a penetrating, ammoniacal odor that mingled with the stale perfume of sachet and wilted flowers. Presley and Vanamee stood loo] at the deserted barn. There was a silence. Then Presley said: ’ “Well *+ * * what do you think of it “I_ think,”” answered Vanamee slowly, “I think that there was a dance in Brus. sels the night before Waterloa.” BOOK IL L In his office at San Franeisco, het':)n a m::llva desk of Dofllh.:-# wood, vorly ornate, Lyman Derrick, sat dictating letters to his typewriter, on a certain morning early in the sp; of the year. subdued monotone of his voice proceeded evenly from sentence to sentence, regular, precise, businesslike. “I have the honor to wledge here- with your favor of the 1ith Inst., and in “P'gs:;“]gn:l“lncl;fl draft upon N Orleans to be applied as per our und:r'. “In answer to your favor No. 1107, re- ferring to the case of the dt‘yh:nd county %mhuufiugx.fn Btota;v‘ commny‘x I would u!l—" TR ¥ His volce continu expressionless, measured, distinct. While he spoke he swung back and forth In his ,leather swivel chair, his elbows resting on g. arms, his ’ofh"“ fixed vaguely 3 calendar on the opposite wall, -:‘3?,'.‘. at lnt:;ah when he paused, searching for a “That's all for ithe present,” he sald at ithout reply the typewriter rose and withdrew, thrusting her pencil into the coil of her hair, closing the door behind her, sottly, discreetly. When she had gone Lyman stretching himself, putting fingers to hide his yawn. To locsen his muscles he tcok a couple of turns the length of the room, noting with satisfaction its fine appointments, the padded red carpet, the dull olive green tint of the walls, the few choice engravings—portraits of Marshall, Taney, Field ana a célored lithograph—excellent- done—of the Gramd Canyon of the L ® (}:lofldm-the deep-seated leather chairs, e large and crowded bookcase (topped a bust of James Lick and a huge the waste basket of , made by Navaje In- ve silver inkstand on the desk, the elaborate fling cabinet, com- plete in every particular, and the shelves of tin boxes, padlocked, impressive, grave, bearing the names of clients, cases and estates. He was between 31 and i years of age. Unlike Harran, he resembled his mother, but he was much darker than Annie Der- rick and his eyes were much fulier, the eyeball protruding, giving him a pop-eyed foreign expression, quite unusual and un- expected. His hair was black and he wore a small, tight, pointed mustache, which he was in the habit of pushing delicately upward from the cormers of is lips with the ball of his thumb, the little finger extended. As often as he made tI esture he prefaced it with a little twisting gesture of the forearm in order to bring his cuff into view, and, in tatl:t, this movement by itself was habit- ual. He was dressed carefully, his trousers creased, a pink rose in his lapel. His shoes were of patent leather, his cutaway coat was of very rough black cheviot, his double-breasted walstcoat of tan covert ecloth with buttons of smoked pearl. An Ascot scarf—a great puff of heavy black silk—was at his neck, the knot transfixed by a tiny golden pin set o& with an opal and four small dlamonds. At one end of the room were two great windows of plate glass, and pausing at length before one of these, Lyman se- lected a cigarette from his curved box of oxidized sflver, lit it and stood lool down and out, willing to be idle for & moment, amused and interested in the view. His office was on the tenth floor of the Exchange building, a beautiful, tower-liks affair of white stone, that stood on the corner of Market street, near its inter- section with Kearny, the most imj office building of the city. Below him the city swarmed tumultuous through its grooves, the cable cars start. ing and stopping with a gay jangling of bells and a strident whirring of jostled glass windows. Drays and carts clattered over the cobbles, and an incessant shuf- fling of thousands of feet rose from the pavement. Around Lotta’s fountain the baskets of the flower sellers, crammed with chrysanthemums, violets, pinks, roses, lilies, hhync!mh;, !;e! : bzhk note of color in the gray of the stree But to Lyman’s notion the general im- pression of this center of the city’s lifi was not ome of strenuous business a tivity. It was a continuous interest in smail things, a people ever willing to be amused at trifles, refusing to consider serious matters—good-natured, allowing themselves to be imposed uj taking life easlly—generous, companionable, e thusiastic; living as it were, from y to day, In a place where the luxuries of life were had without effort; in a city that offered to consideration the restless- ness of a New York, without its earnest- ness; the serenity of a Naples, without its languor; the romance of a Seville, without its picturesqueness. As Lyman turned from the window, about to resume his work, the office boy appeared at the door. “The man from the lthograph com- pany, sir,” announced the MJ' “Well, what does he want?’ demanded Lymas dding, however, upon the In- stant, “Show him in.” A young man entared. carrying it bundle, which he deposited on a chair, with a gasp of relief, exclaiming, all out of breath: “From the Standard Lithograph Com- ny. P4 Wnat 17" 1 “Don’t know,” replied the other. “Maps, guess. “I don’t want any maps. them? I guess you're mistaken.” Lyman tore the cover from the top of the package, drawing out one of a great many huge sheets of white paper, folded eight times. Suddenly, be muttered an exclamation: “Ah, I see. They are maps. But these should not have come here. are to 0 to the regular office for distribution.” He “Srote ‘a new direction on the label of the package: “Take them to that ad- * he went on. “I'll keep this one The others go to that address. If you see Mr. Darrell, tell him that Mr. Derrick—you get the name—Mr. Derrick may not able to get around this after- noon, ll:\x! to go ahead with any business just ‘the same. 3 The young man departed with the pack- age and Lyman, spreading out the map upon the table, remained for some time studying it thoughtfully. It was a commissioner’s officlal railway map of the State of Curlnrnlfi completed to _March 30 of that year. ‘pon it the different railways of the State were ac curately platted in various colors, blue, green, yellow. However, the blue, the yellow anc the green were but brief traceries, very short, isolated, unimport- ant. At a liti distance ese could hardly be seen. The whole map was gridironed by a vast, complicated net- gotk of red lines ‘ked P. and S. W. L se centralized at Francisco and thence ramified and spread north, and south, to every quarter of the State. From Coles, in the topmost corner of the map, to Yuma in_the lowest, from Reno on one side to San Francisco on the other, ran the plexus of red, a veritable system of blood circulation, complicated, ing and reuniting, branching, splitting, ex- tending, throwing out feelers, offshoot tap roots, feeders—dl utive little bl suckers that shot qut from the maln ular and_went twisting up into some re- mote county, laying hold upon some for- gotten village or town, involving it in one of a myriad brmcfi%‘oofla. a hundred tentacles, dra: were, toward that center from this system sprang. e map was white, and it seemed as if all the color which should have gone to vivify the various counties, towns and citles marked upon it had been W by that huge, sprawling organism, with its ruddy arteries convi to_a central g::nt. t was as tho the State had T Sallid ST agal s arteries of the monster stood out, swollen wm;“l’u;b;ood. reaching out to Inflnl?_. gor; ursting; an excrescence, a gantic te fattening upon the life- blood of an entire commonwealth. However, in an upper corner of the g‘p .llll m—." I“N;:: for the 'ommissio: ones _ Mc. First District, L; n Derrick for the Sec- ond and James 11 for the Third. Nominated in the Democratic State Con- ‘vention In the fall of the preceding year, Lyman, backed by the coteries of San Francisco bosses in the pay of his fath- er’s political committee of ranchers, had been elected together with Darrell, the candidate of the Pueblo and Mojave road, and McNish, the avowed candidate of the Pacific and Southwestern. Darrell was n\;}g}y A(‘lllillt ‘lh‘. P.and 8. W., llem-'x; rabidly for it. Lyman was supposed be the conservative member of the boar: §"?u§:‘.fi°’€ their interests, a o their interests, man, deliberate, swayed by no such vio- lent emotions is colleagues. Osterman’s dexterity had at last sue- ceeded in entangling Magnus inextricably in the new politics. The famous "‘fl’" nized in the heat of passion the night of Annixter’s & been con- solidated all through the winter months. Its executive committee, of which Mag- nus was chairman, had been, through Os- terman’s manipulations, merged into the old committee composed of Broderson, Annixter and himself. Promptly thereat he had resigned the chairmanship of this committee, thus leay s at its head. Precisely as Usterman had ’I-fl: ned, Magnus was now one of them. new committee accordi had two obe Jects In view—to resist le attempted grabbing of their lands by the raliroad, and to push forward scheme of electing a Board of Railread Commissioners who should regulate wheat rates so as to favor the ranchers of the San Joaquin. The land cases were prompt- ly taken to‘the courts and the new grad- 1 the of the lands at twen- ty and thirty dollars an acre instead of two—bitterly and stubbornly fought. But delays occurred, the process of the law ‘was interminable, and in the Intervals the ittee addressed itself to the work ting the *“Ranchers’ Commission,” jected Board of Commissioners lance, had 8 | § $ : 8 pisE