The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, November 23, 1902, Page 9

HE recent sad d sudden death of Mr. Frank Norris marks the lons to the English speaking world of oue of the Sreatest writers of the day. As an Suthor he was just in his prime. His last novel " pab- lished last year, recog- mized both here as the closest proxi great American movel of anything that bas ever sppeared from the pen of any writer. As = Califormiam Mr. Norris made = mame that brings the greatest credit to his State; and us the as- thor of “T! " Mr. Norris wrote the primal idea—so disastromsly imter- rupted by his death—was intended to be the first of a series of three books devoted to that greatest of ail world forces, wheat. This story concerns itself with the growing of the wheat. It wi Mr. Norris’ idea ok the book was the handling of wheat by the brokers in the pit; while the third book of the trilogy should tell of the final distribution ©f wheat in Europe. ely “The Octopu complete in itself, and a of fact would naturalliy be the most interesting of the trilogy for Uslifornia; for Mr. Norris chose a the sceme for this book the most Im- mense wheat field known the rid over—our own plains of the San Joagqu! Valley The story itself with the life of the of and ruggle: ¥ with soil and against the misha of weather, against ravenous sharks of the b world whe hover around to tear away the prof- its from the tiller of the land. As & mevel this is the ncarest ap- proach to the great Amer novel so long sought for by erities an As a story, it will keep you up mights umtii you h mished it. The character studies in this book are peculiarly Califor- mian, and particularly accurate and comnvincin ely upon the death of realizing the great inter- t would urally be awak- in his last movel, “The Octo- erpiece of fiction—The forthwith de Ereat expense publishers for the exc sive rights of “The Octopus” for the Pacific_Coas The first i tallment of this great book was published in The Sunday Call of November 9, d but few coples of that edition are left, so if you wish to read ~The Octopus” you would better apply for the first is- sue—Sunday Call of November 95— at once. “The Octopus” will be followed by “The Gospel of J Iscariot,” by Aarom Dwight B which ha: ated a tremen or both E t throws a mew light on the strange life, the character and motives of th meost bitterly execrated m either the biblical or pro tory of all age it show e splendors, the vices and follies, the w and the fe. and the sports easures Rome =as they have mnever beem shown before, and tells of the com- ing of Christ d his long and gleri- ous struggle to establish his king- dom of heavem on earth, and the rikabie Then Spots.” by Knighthood Wi Charles Major; “The Gentlema From Imdiana,” by Booth Tarkimg- ton: “Tainted Gold,” by Mrs. C. Williamson, whose “Mystery Box,” few weeks ago in The was ome of the best - riable meries; Turapike Houmse,” by Fergus , ete., ete. ~Just ponder over this list of books, as well as the mames of the writers, and remember you get all these stories free with The Sunday 1. Other annoumceme Magazine Section in the way py and exciting short ==by the most popular authors ef the day. Copyright, 1901, by Doubleday. Page & Co. Continued from Last Sunday. To her imag e great league, which all the ranchers were joining. was a mere form Single-handed. Annixter fronted the m er. for him the cor- poration would gobble Quien Sabe as a whale would a m who stood betwee, tion. He was a p ow e was a hero them all and destruc- otector of her family. He was her champion. She be o men- tion him in her prayers ever t, add- ing a further petition to the effect that he would become a ood man. and that he should not swear so much. ard should never meet Delaney again However, s Hilma s aebated the jdea of bathing Ler fest in the creek. a trein did actually thunder overhead— the regular evening ove: e th express, that never stopped betwe ersfield and Fresno. It stormed by with 2 deafening clamor and a ewirl of smoke in a long succession of coaches and chocolate colored Pullmans. grimy with the dust of the great deser the South- v The quivering of ports set a tremble in the ground under- foot. The thunder of wheeis drowned all sound of the flow creek, and also the noise of the buckskin mare's hoofs de- scending from the trail upon the gravel about the creek. so that Hilma. turning yt after the passage of the train. saw Annixter close ai hand, with the abrupt- ness of 2 vision. He was looking at her. smiling as he rarely did, the firm line of his out-thrust lower lip relaxed good humoredly. He bad taken off his campaign hat to her, and though bhis stiff, yellow hair was twisted into a bristling mop, the little per- eistent tuft on the crown, usually defi- antly erect as an Apache's scalplock, was nowhere in sight “Hello, it's you, t, Miss Hilma?" he exclaimed. getting down from the buck- skin and aliowing her to drink. Hilma nodded. scrambling to her feet, dusting her skirt with nervous pats of both handse Annixter sat down on & great rock close by a the loop of the bridle over his arm, Iit a_ cigar and began to talk. He complained of the heat of the day. the bad condition of lower road. over which he had come on his way from a committee meeting of the league at Los Muertos; of the slowness of the work on the irrigating ditch. end, as a matter of course, of the general hard times. “Mise Hilma, he sald abruptly. ‘‘never vou cmarry a ranchman. He’s never out of trouble.” S Hilma gasped. her eyes widening tili the full round of the pupil was disclosed. Instantly a certzain. inexplicable guiltiness overpowered her with Incredible confu- .. Her hands trembled as she pressed »e bundle of cresses into a hard ball be- tween her hands. Annixter continued to talk. He was dis- turbed and excited himself at this unex- pected meeting. Never through all the past winter months of strenuous activity, the fever of political campaigns. the har- rowing delays and ultimate defeat in one Ew court after another, had he forgotten The look in Hilma’s face as he stood with one arm around her on the floor of his barn, In peri] of his life from the buster's revolver. That dumb confession of Hil- ma’s wide-open eyes had been enough for him. Yet, somehow, he never had had a chance to act upon it. During the short he g'!rind when he could be on his ranch Ima had always managed to avoid him. Once, even, she had spent a month about Christmas time with her mother's father, who kept a hote! in San Franc Now, to-day, however. he had her all to himself. He would put an end to the situation that troubled him and vexed him day after day, month after month. Beyond question, the moment had come for something definite. he could not say precisely what. Readjusting his cigar be- tween his teeth, he resumed his speech. 1t suited bis humor to take the girl into hig confidence. following an instinct which warned him that this would bring about a certain closeness of their relations, a certain intimacy. “What do you think of this row, any- ways, Miss Hilma—this railroad fuss in general? Think Shelgrim and his rushers are going to jump Quien Sabe—are going to run us off the ranch?” “Oh. no, sir,” protested Hilma, still breathless. ~Ch, no. indeed not.” “Well. what then?" Hilma made a littie uncertain movement of ignorance. “T don’t know what.” “Well. the league agreed to-day that if the test cases were lost in the Supreme Court—you know we've appealed to the Supreme Court -at Washington—we'd fight." ‘Fight 2 s, fight.” “Fight like—like you and Mr. Delaney that time with—oh. dear—with guns “I dom’t know,” grumbied Annixter, vaguely. “What do you think?” Hilma's low-pitched, almost husky voice trembled a little as she replied: “Fight- ing—with guns—that's so terrible. Oh, those revolvers in the barn! I can hear them vet. Every shot seemed like the explosion of tons of powde “Shall we clear out. then? Shall we let Delaney have possessicn. and S. sehrman, and ail that lot? Shall we give in to , mnever!” she exclaimed, ber t eyes flashing. “You wouldn't like to be turned out of your home, would you. Miss Hilma, be- cause Quien Sabe is your home. isn't it? You've lived here ever since you were as big as a minute. You wouldn't like to have S. Behrman and the rest of 'em turn you out “N-no,” she murmured: “no. 1 shouldn't like that. There's mamma and—"" “Well, do you think for one second I'm going to let 'em?’ cried Annixter, his teeth tightening on his cigar. “You stay right where you are. take care of vou, right enough. Look here.” he de- manded abruptly, “you've no use for that roaring lush. Delaney, have you? “I think he Is a wicked man,” she de- clared. *1 know the railroad has pre- tended to sell him part of the ranch, and be lets Mr. S. Behrman and Mr. Ruggles just use him.” 3 “Right. 1 thought you wobldn't be keen on him.” There was a long pause. The buckskin began blowing among the pebbles. nosing for grass, and Annixter shifted his cigar to the other corner of his mouth. *“Pretty place,” he muttered, looking around him. Then he added: ‘‘Miss Hil- ma. see here; 1 want to have a kind of talk with you, if you don’t mind. I don’t know just how to say these sort of things, and if T get all balled up as I go along you just set jt down to the fact that I've never had any experience in dealing with female girls; understand? You see. ever since the barn dance—yes. and long be- fore then—I've been thinking a lot about you. Straight. I have, and 1 guess you know it. You're about the only girl that 1 ever knew well, and I guess,” he de- clared deliberatel you're about the only one I want to know. It's my nature. You didn't say anything that time when we stood there together and Delaney was playing the fool, but. somehow. 1 got the idea that you didn’t want Delaney to do for me one little bit; that if he'd got me then you would have been sorrier than if he'’d got any one else. Well. T felt just that way about you. I would rather have bad him shoot any other girl in the room than you—yes, or in the whole State. Why, if anything should happen to you, Miss Hilma—well. I wouldn’t care to go on with anything. S. Behrman could jump Quien Sabe, and welcome. And Delaney could shoot me full of holes whenever he got good and ready. T'd quit. I'd lay right down. 1 wouldn't care a whoop zbout anything any more. You are the oniy girl for me in the whole world. I didn’t think so at firet. I didn’t want to. But seeing you around every day. and seeing how pretty you were, and how er. and hearing your voice and all, i1t just got all inside of me som how. and mow 1 can’t think of anything else. 1 hate to go ta San Francisco. or Sacramento, er Visalla. or even Bonne- ville, for only a day. just because you aren’t there, in any of those places, and 1 just rush what I've got to do so as I can get back here. While you were away that Christmas time. why. I was as lone- come as—oh, you don’t know anything about 1 st scratched off thg days on the calendar every night. one by one, till you got back. And it just comes to this: I want you with me all the time. I want you should have a home that's my home, too. 1 want to. take care of you have vou all for myself, you under- stand. ‘What do you say?’ Hiima. standing up before him. retied a knot in her handkerchief bundle with elaborate precaution, blinking at it through her tea What do you say, Miss Hilma?” An- nixter repeated. ‘“‘How about that? What do you say?” Just above a whisper, Hilma murmured: 1—1 don’t know." 1 know we could, Hilma. I don’t mean to scare you. What are you crying for?” “1 don’t know. Annixter got up, cast away his cigar 1d. dropping the buckskin's bridle, came and stood beside her, putting a hand on her shomider. Hilma did not move, and he felt her trembling. She still plucked at the knot of the handkerchief. 1 can’t do withiout you, little gi¥l,”” An. nixter continued, *and I want you. I want you bad. 1 don't get much fun out of life ever. It. sure, isn't my nature, I guess. I'm a hard man. Everybody Is ‘rying to dgwn me, and now I'm up against the ‘rallroad. I'm fighting ‘em all, Hdma. night and day, lock. stock and barrel. and I'm fighting now for my home, my land, everything I have in the world. if 1 do win out, 1 want somebody to be glad with me. If I don't—I want some- body to be sorry for me, sorry with me— and that somebody is you. I am dog-tired of going it alone. I want some one to back me up. I want to feel you along- side of me, to give me a touch of the shoulder now and then. I'm tired of fight. ing for things—land, property, money. I want to fight for some person—somebody besides myself. Understand? I want to feel that it isn’t all selfishness—that there are other interests than mine in the game —that there’s some one dependent on me, and that’s thinking of me as I'm think- ing of them—some one 1 can come home to at night and put my arm around—Ilike this, and have her put her two arms around me—like—" He paused a second, and once again, as it had been in that moment of imminent peril, when he stood OoRer1 S8 * say at the end of the summer *early W!.!h his arm around her. ~'‘put her two arms a: their eyes met good to have you, my girl,” he exclaimed, elighted beyond words that she permit. “like—like - ted this freedom. all about {t?”’ “‘Oh, since always. Annixter took her in his arms. No words that he had at his All he could “That's- all right, little girl. T'll take care of you. That's all right; that's all right.” For a long time they sat there under the shade of the great trestle, their afms about each other, speaking only at in- An hour passed. finding no feed to her taste, took the trail stableward, the bridle dragging. Annix- Rather than to take his arm from around Hilma's waist he have lost his whole stable. ever, he bestirred himself and b talk. He thought it time to foi somo plan of action. 5 “Weil, now, Hilma, what are we going round me,"” prompt- speechless. command seemed adequate. vhen? what, Hilma?" Snrogment 1 don’t know." ‘Like what, Hilma?" he insisted. Like—like this?" she questioned. With a movement of infinite tenderness affection, she siid her arms around his © neck, still crying-a- Httle. > The sensation of her warm body in his of her smooth, round way. long enough arm through the thinness of her sieeve, pressing against his cheek, thrilled An- nixter with a delight such as he had never is head and kissed her I'm all mixed up. upon the nape of her neck, where the ‘trembly - now, delicaté amber tint melted into the thick, her face overcast with a ‘look of earnest- sweet smelling mass of her dark brown mness and N She shivered a little, holding him hands catching at-his wrist.* . “Oh, you closer, ashamed as vet to look up.” With- out speech. they stood there for a long only a little, little child. minute, holding each other close. It was ever so long before I came to think of you—to, well, 0 think about—I mean to remember—oh, But when I did, frightened. you know what I mean. ‘“Then what : ‘I don’t ‘know—1 haven't thought—that The buckskin, embrace, the feelin, i “But you said you thought it must have been me always.”: but' that was different—oh T'm.so nervous and * she cried suddenly, tes let her go. jousness, reatc serl -anoth won’t.you? n so many ways, will. be good to me, now, “Why, mustSwe ©Oh, isn't this enough?” she_ repeated. Then and I've given myself to. you, all'in a Hilma pulled away from him, mopping minute, and I can’t”go:back of it .now, her tear-stained cheeks with the moist ball of her handkerchief. ‘“What do you say? manded Annixter, jovially. “I thought I hated you all the time,” she said, and the veivety huskiness of would be with me. her voice never sounded so sweet to him. big, and rich, and I am only a servant “And I thought it was that crockery .of yours, a little nobod smashing goat of a cow puncher. “Delaney? The idea! Oh, dea it must always have been you.” ““Since when, ting his arm around her. do anything? “There's better ahead,” T, want to fix you up somewhere whére vou can have a bit of a home all Bonneville won't do. s a lot of yaps about there that know us, and they would begin to How about San Framn- We might go up next week and I would find rooms somewheres, would fix 'em up as lovely as how-do- I .don’t know how ened or Why." Sometimes I think wish,it. but now it’s done, and But now if yéu little and it'’s for always. Is it a go?’ de- L There's alw 1 am glad and happy , weren't good to me—oh, think of how lit You are strong, and cackle first off. but I've given and vou must have a look around. had to you—myse! I think be so good to me now. Always remem- ber that. Be good to me and be gentle and kind to me in little things. “Ah, but it is thing, or you will break my heart.” but why go away from Quien Sabe?” she piotested. “And so soon, too. Why must we have a wedding trip. now that you are so busy? "Wouldn't it be better—oh. 1 tell you, we could g> to Monterey after we were married, for a little week, where mamma’s people live, and then come back here to the ranch house and settle right down where we are and let me keep house for you. I wouldn't even want a single servant’ “Hum,” he sald. “I see.” He gathered up a bhandful, of pebbles and began snapping them carefully into the creek. He fell thoughtful. :Here was a phase of the affair he had not planned in” the least. He had supposed all the time that Hilma took his meaning. His old suspicion thaet she was trying (6 get a kold on him-stirred him again for a moment. There was no good of such talks as that. Always these female girls seemed crazy to get married, bent on complicating the y‘gumon. “Isn’t that best? said Hilma, glancing at _Lim. “I.don’t know,” he muttered gloomily. “Well, then, let's not. Let’s come right ‘bacrk’ to Quien Sabe without going to :Monferey. Anything that you want I.want."” T hadn’t thought of it in just that y." he observed. in what way, then?" “‘Can’t we—can't we walt about this marrying business “That’s just it,” she said, gayly, “I said it was too soon. There would be so much to do between whiles. Why not Say what?" “Our marriage, I mean.” $ “Why get married, then? What's the good of all that fuss about it? I don't go anything upon a minister puddling round in mv affairs. What's the differ- ence, anyhow? We understand each other. Isn’'t that enough? Pshaw, Hiima, I'm no _marrying man.” She looked at him a moment, bewildered. then slowly she took his meaning. She rose to her feet, her eyes wide, her face paling with terror. He did not look at her; but he could hear the catch in her throa “Oh!” she exclaimed. with a long, deep breath, and agaln “Oh!’ the back of her hand against her lip: It was ajquick gasp of a veritable phys cal anguish. Her eyes brimmed over. An- nixer rose, looking at her. ! Well?” he said, awkwardly; *‘well? Hilma leaped back from him with an instinctive recoll of her whole being, throwing out her hands in a gestute of leinx she knew not what. Te s as yet. no sense of insult-in her mind, no outraged modesty. She was only terrified. It was as though search- ing for wild flowers she Had comé sud- denly upon a snake. 5 She stood for an instant,’ spellbound, her-eyes wide, her bosom swelling; then, «ajLaj once. turned and fled, dasting across 1 plank, that /served - for a foot' bridge “over the creek, gaining. the opposite bank and disappearing with a brisk rustle of underbrush, such.as might have been made by the flight of a frightened fawn. Abruptly Annixter found himself alone. For a moment he did not move, then he picked up his campaign hat, carefully creased its limp crown and put it on his head and stood for a moment, looking vaguely at the ground on both sides of him. He went away without uttering a word, without change of countenance, hi hands in-his pockets, his feet taking great strides along the trail in the direction of the ranchhouse. He had no sight of Hilma again that evening, and the next morning he was up early and did not breakfast at the ranchhouse. Business of the league called him to. Bonneville.to confer with Magnus and the firm of lawyers retained by the league to fight the land grabbing cases. An appeal was to be taken to the Su- preme Court: at Washington, and it was « to be settled that day- which of the cases involved should be conmsidered as test cases; Instead of driving or riding into Bonne- ville, as he usually did, Annixter took an -morning train, the Bakersfield-Fres- ng local at Guadalajara, and went to Bonneville by rall. arriving there at 20 minutes after 7 and breakfasting by ap- pointment with Magnus Derrick and Os- terman at the Yosemite House, on Main street. The: conference of the committee with the lawyers took place in a front room of the Yosemite, one of the latter bring- ing with him his clerk, who made a sten- ographic_report of the proceedings and took carbon copies of all letters written. The conference was long and complicated, the business transacted of the utmost mo- ment, and it was net until 2 o'clock that Annixter found himself at liberty However, as he and Magnus descended into the lobby of the hotel they were aware of an excited and interested group collected about the swing doors that open- ed from the lobby of the Yosemite into the bar of the same name. Dyke was there—even at a distance they could hear the reverberation of his deep-toned voice, uplifted in wrath and furious expostula- tion. Magnus and Annixter joined the group wondering, and all at once fell full upon the first scene of a drama. That same morning Dyke’s mother had awakened him according to:his instrue- tions at|daybreak. A consignment ‘of his hop poles from the north had arrived at the freight office of the P. and S. W. in Bonneville, and he was to_drive in on his farm wagon and bring them out. He would shave a busy day. “Hello, hello,” he said, as his mother pulled his ear ‘to arouse him; ‘“‘morning, mamma.” “It's time.” she said; “after 5 already. Your breakfast is on the stove.” He took her hand and kissed it with great affection. He loved his mother de- votedly,.quite as much as he did the little tad. In their little cottage, in the forest of green hops that surrounded themr on every hand, the three led a joyous and secluded life. contented, industrious, hap- py. asking nothing betfer. Dyke himseif was a big-hearted, jovial man. who-spread an atmosphere of good humor wherever he went. In the evenings he played with Sidney like a big boy, an_older brother. lving on the bed, or-the sofa, taking her in his arms. Between'them -they. had in- vented a great game: The ex-engineer. his boots removed, his huge legs. in the air, hoisted the little tad on the soles of his_ stockinged feet like a circus acrobat, dandling her there, pretending he was about to let her fall. Sidney, choking with delight, held on nervously, with little screams and chirps of excitement. vehile he shifted her gingerly from one foot to and thence, the final act., the great gallery play. to the palm of one great hynd. At this point Mrs. Dyke was called*m; both father and daughter, chil- dren I}o.th. crying out that she was to come ‘In/ and Jook, look. She arrived out of breath from the kitchen, the potato masher in her hand. N “Such children,” she murmured, shak- ing her head at them, amused for all that, tucking the potato masher under her arm and c]aé)plng her hands. In the end, it was part of the game that Sidney should tumble down upon Dyke, whereat he Invariably vented a great bellow as if in pain, declaring that his ribs were broken. Gasping, his eyves shut, he pretended to be in the extreme 5 °3 < NOVEMBER 2322 1902_ of dissolution—perhaps he was dying. Sid- ney, always a little uncertain, amused but distressed, shook him nervously, tugzing at his beard, pushing open his eyelid with one finger, imploring him not to frighten her, to wake up and be good. On this occasion, while yet he was half dressed, Dyke tiptoed into his mother's room. to look at Sidney fast asleep in her little“iron cot, her arm under her head. her lips parted. With infinite précaution he kis: her twice, and then finding one little stocking, hung with its mate very neatly over the back of a chalr, dropped Into it a dime, rolled up in a wad of pa- per. He winked all to himself and went out again, closing the door with exagger- ated carefulness He breakfasted alone, Mrs. Dyke' pour- ing his coffee and handing him his plate of ham and eggs, and half an hour later took himself off in his springless, skele- ton wagon, humming a tune behihd his beard and cracking the whip over the backs of his staid and solid farm horses. The morning was fine, the sun just com- ing up. He left Guadalajara, sleeping and lifeless. on his left, and going acress lots, over an angle of Quien Sabe, came out upon the upper road, a mile below the long trestle. He was in great. spirits, looking about him over the brown flelds, ruddy with the dawn. Almost directly in front of him. but far off, the gilded dome of the courthouse at Bonneville was glint- ing radiant in the first rays of the sunm, while a féew miles distant, toward the north, the venerable campanile of the Mission San Juan stood silhouetted in pur- plish black against the flaming east. As he proceeded, the great farm horses jog- ging forward, placid, deliberate, the coun- tryside waked to another day. Cross- ing the irrigating ditch farther on, he met a gang of Portuguese, with picks and shovels over their shoulders, just going to work. Hooven, already abroad, shout- ed him a “Goot mornun’* from behind the fence of Los Muertos. Far off, toward the southwest, in the bare expanse of the open fields, where a clump of eucalyptus and cypress trees set a dark green note, a thin stream of smoke rose straight into the air from the kitchen of Derrick’s ranchhouse. But a mile or so beyond the lgng trestle he was surprised to see Magnus Derrick's protege, tlie one-time shepherd, Vanamee, coming across Quien Sabe by a trall from one of Annixter's division houses. With- out_knowing exactly why, Dyke received the”impression that the young man had not been .in bed all of that night. As the two approached each other, Dyka eyed the youns fellow. He was distrust ful of Vanamee, having the country-bred suspicion of any person he could not un- «derstand. Vanamee was beyond doubt no part of_ the life of ranch and _country town. He was an alien, a vagabound, a strange fellow who came and went in mysterious fashion, making no friends, keeping to himself. Why did he never wear a hat,.why indulge in a fine, black, pointed beard, when either a round beard or a mustache was the invariable cus- tom? Why did he not cut his hair? Above all, why. did he prowl about so much at night? ‘As the two passed each other, Dyke. for all his good nature. was a littie blunt in his greeting and looked back at the ex-shepherd over his shoulder. Dyke was right in his suspicion. Vana- mee’s bed had not been disturbed for three nights. On the Monday of that week he had passed the entire night in the garden of the mission, overlooking the Seed ranch, in the little valley. Tuesday even- ing had found. him miles away from that spot, in a deep arroyo in the Sferra foot- hills to the eastward, while Wednesday he had slept in an abandoned 'dobe on Osterman's stock range, twenty miles from his resting place of the night before. The fact of the matter was that the oid restlessness had once more seized upon Vanamee. Something began tugging at him; the spur of some unseen rider touch- ed his flank. The instinct of the wanderer woke and moved. For some time now he had been a part of the Los Muertos staff. On_ Quien Sabe, as on the other ranches, the slack season was at hand. While waiting for the wheat to come up no one was doing much of anything. Van- amee had come over to Los Muertos and spent most of his days on horseback, rid- ing the range, rounding up and watching the cattle in the fourth division of the ranch. But if the vagabond instinct now roused itself in the strange fellow's na- ture, a countgqr. influence had also set in. More and more Vanamee frequented the mission garden after nightfall, sometimes remaining there till the dawn began to whiten, lying prone on the ground, his chin on his folded arms, his eyes search- ing the darkness over the lttle valley of the Seed ranch, watching, watching. As the days went by. he became more re- ticent than ever. Presley often came to find him on the stock range, a lonely fig- ure in the great wilderness of bare, green hillsides, but Vanamee no longer took him into his confidence. Father Sarria alone heard his strange storfes. Dyke drove on toward Bonneville, think- ing over the whole matter. He knew, as every one did in that part of the country, the legend of Vanamee and Angele, the romance of the mission garden, the mys- tery of the other, Vanamee's flight to the deserts of the Southwest, his perfodic regurns, his strange, reticent, solitary character, But, like many another of the country people, he accounted for Vana- mee by a short and easy method. No doubt. the fellow's wits were turned. That was the long and short of it. The ex-engineer reached the postoffice in_Bonneville toward 11 o’clock. but he did not at once present his notice of the arrival of his consignment at Ruggles’ office. It entertained him to indulge in an hour's-lounging about the streets. It was seldom he got into town, and when he did he permitted himself the luxury ,of enjoying. his evident popularity. FHe met friends everywhere, in the postoffice, in the drug store, in the barber shop agd around the courthouse. With each ofe he held a moment's conversation: almost invariably this ended In the same way: “Come on 'n’ have a drink. “Well, T don’t care if { do. And the friends proceeded to the Yosemite bar. pledging each other with punctilious ceremony. Dyke, how- ever, was a strictly temperate man. His Tife on the engine had trained him well. Alcohol he never touched. drinking | tead ginger ale, sarsaparilla and iron— soft drinks. At the drug store, which also kept a stock of miscellaneous stationery, his eye was cayght by a “transparent slate,” a child's toy, where upon a little pane of frosted glass one could trace with con- siderable elaboration outline figures of cows, plows, bunches of fruit and even rural water mills that were printed on slips of paper underneath. “Now, there's an idea, Jim,” he ob- served to the boy behind the soda-water fountain. “I know a little tad that would just about jump out of her skin for that. Think I'll have to take it with me.™ “How's Sidney getting along?" the oth- er_asked, while wrapping up the package. Dyke's enthusiasm had made of his lit- tle girl a celebrity throughout Bonneville. The ex-engineer promptly became volu- ble, assertive, doggedly emphatic. “‘Smartest little tad in all Tulare County, an& more fun! A regular show in her- by 2