The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, November 8, 1903, Page 4

THE SUNDAY CALL. cne else woul Lone Dog resented Bra youth, &k the last two const: ever found these yere parts—a genu- ine picter & gal, and a mighty fine gal, too. e of these yere bisc shooter: ain’t, but the real arti clated this ¢ seen to be appr d a rumpus over f art I'm going to give you What do you bid for boys, for the honor of ught the crowd. There wera Bud.” “The ed 1f 1 ain't woma. like; I ain't da the e since last men to Steve was knocked own - X ranch ks for the crowd said i Stove ' when be the wall nswered get | RUSTIC JESS By Martha McCulloch Williams ankies . taper wrists, but gave no hint of t pls swe g erms revealed by rolled half way to the shoulder. new leafage flung down varia- ead. She kept y, mow and me to it. Her clear, and not too have been justified Qnding hin glad of her presence. He was distinctly not glad—cu iy fellow He had been whipping stream for trout since sunrise, with no luck at all his hope was centered mpon the cool, deep hole just below the spring house. He knew the stream of old —and that particular reach of it had never ed to give him good sport. Why creature go spoil his chances writh her idiotic trilling? Fish had sensi- tive ears—he was ce of it. Nothing would rise to the most tem; g lure after nting of the auricular sense. *George! 1 wish she was in—Halifax!” he seid to himself s he prepared, rather hopelessiy, for & cast. He had hardly oward the singer—besides “Robin with an accompaniment of whish- ermilk, rather got on his nerves. song kept up, he called over his enything but an amiable wolce: “Madam, I will pay you double price for the butter you are churning if you will go sway until afternoon and let me fish in P BGesd you won't!” Jess retorted, with the least t #*Tend to your own bu promise you I' tend strictly to mine. Buy my butter, indeed! BSuppose I don’t want to sell 1t? And I don't. It's golng into cake for the picnic to-morrow.” The fisherman, Allan Beckley by name scowled st his image in the water and swore—under his breath It must have been & day for the tra- wersing of art and rule. The fly was bhardly settled befo with & vigorous upswirling rush, & monster trout took it For the next ten minutes Allan Beckley was conscious of nothing but his quarry. The guarry was game and wary as ever rose to & fly. Up, down, athwart stream, he darted, diving, plunging, now and sgain leaping clear of the water, coming with such a rush bankward the singing reel could not take up the slack, wheel- bore h rst against the rocky : 80 strongly the pliant rod-tip bent almost doul The fisherman stood just below & high shelving bank. He would bave plunged in the water but that there was no good foothold. Cautiously, with nice judgment and sportsman skill, he catch. It was one to rejoice nt of all trout in Clear Creek. e pounds at ry least. Idly he began to ul f might not be the same wily w who had 8 often out- witted him when he was a native strip- Ung? -humor evaporated magically. He wa peace with higself and the world. ] ut was weakening. Though he sti t gamely, the rushes were Jess electri In five minutes more—in three—in one—with a long steady pres- sure he drew the fighting creature to the bank, ed his rod deftly and made to eilp anding net underneath. And then- 1 m Cer b of water t his back jed to turn the battle his power strained, for some the least hurt— room a-y in their rocky he could not get them out the stone was moved from over it He had forgotten the girl, singing and churni at the springhouse, but remem- bered T, NOW NC both sounds had ceased. He was on the point of calling to her when he caught a fl £ pink or the farther bank and heard her say with sparkling malice, “How do you like fit, gettin’ caught yourself? Ain't you ready to cry quits with the big trout?” “How do y know I caught him?” Beckley retorted. The girl shrugged her shoulders the least bit. “I watched you —to wi you bad luck—you were so rude,” she sald. And as she sald it he noted that neither accent nor intonation was rustic. He looked at her appealingly. “I was rude—a perfect brute,” he said. “Do please forgive me—and go fetch somebody to help me out of this.” p help you out myself—on two con- ditions,” Jess sald, dimpling beautifully. Beckley bowed meekly. “Only name them!” he sald. “The first is—cut your line,” Jess retorted promptly. “The big trout is a friend of mine. I've fed him now and again, ever since we came here.” “Henceforth he is sacred,” Beckley said, slashing his line and tossing the rod away. “Now for condition second.” ou shall hear that when you're out of the woods—and water,” Jess answered, dimpling again. In a whiff she had run to a foot log a little way upstream, crossed it, and was beside Beckley, a stout fence stake in her hand. “Get a good pur- chase with it, and push the rock down- stream,” she commanded. . “The current will help you if it is slow here in the pool. Now! All together! There. It's over. You can come out or stay In, as you choose. Be careful, though, i1 you stand on this side to fish—the bluff {s all honey- combed with water veins since last win- ter. The next landslip may be heavy enough to bury you.” “There will be no next ‘landslip—with me around,” Beckley sald, scrambling out. *I ought to have known better with- out telling. You see I grew up less than three miles from where we stand. So I have guessed your name. Miss Wilmot, do please accept my thanks, and Hhumblest apologles. I belleve, too, you sald some- thing about a condition. I am walting very impatiently to hear it. “It's horrible hard for a man who likes Jess sald, her eyes dancing, ‘“‘Be- cause it is this—you must go to our picnie — and be — oh, wonderfully civil to us country folk!" “I ghall be—more than civil—abject—to some among the country folk.” Beckley sald, holding out his hand. Jess laid her pink palm, slightly hardened by steady shurning, in his clasp, and sald gayly, “If you try to run away from your bargain, you'll take along all the bad luck I wished you.” $ e Allen Beckley did not run away—in fact he was the life of the picnic. And strange to relate, he lost interest in fishing, al- though he stayed in his home county a matter of six weeks., He did not leave It indeed, until he was able to take a wife away with him. Her first name is Jess— and she is proud to tell that she can _ make beautiful butter, F ol f:’\ “GENTS, TIANTS T0 CALL YOUR AT TENTION T0 THE MOST SIS PARALLELED CURIOIITY EVER £ FAFT, D2 ONF 3 (Copyright, 1903, by T. C. McClure.) CROSS the wide river the trestle, No. 14, stretched unendingly, for the broken ground on both sides necessi- tated its covering not only the treacherous o yellow tide, but much of the dubious shore beyond. Hinton's eyes rested dully on the one point of in- terest the shore under the trestle offered, namely, the small landing where steamers stopped for cotton. The landing boasted a gin, where the product, in its raw shape, brought there in wagon loads by the small farmers, was reduced to proper commercial bulk. Although Hinton and Miss Wade were still a hundred yards from the spot where they would pass the landing below, and twice that distance from the trestie’s end, they could see all its detalls very plainly, especially the huge open bin where a quantity of un- seeded cotton had been thrown, to be transferred to the snorting, laboring ma- chinery later. “Jolie n'est ce pas?’ observed M Wade lightly, with a wave of her hand which covered the surrounding scenery. “That's French for pretty,” interposed one of the children trotting at Miss ‘Wade's heels. “I have learned that one word anyway,” pursued the speaker loud- ly, “and I mean to know more, 'cause you and Mr. Hinton talk in it an’ nobody can understand what you say. Hennle, Lou and me are all going to learn it, so's we can tell secrets in the openest company.” This ambitious scholar was one of three youngsters who had jolned the couple in their walk and to whose Intrusion neither Miss Wade nor her escort objected. Now that he had been finally and completely rejected, Hinton was glad to have thelr embarrassed silence broken by the chats ter of the children. Miss Wade also was glad of thelr presence. As the 4 o’clock train had passed only & few moments ago she had been quite sure it was safe to cross the trestle. Then, just as she was encouraging the rather laggard footsteps of the youngest infant, her blood froze at the sound of a < OURTEEN TRESTLE | + BY CLINTON ! DANGERFIELD. Ll shrill, ominous screech behind them, echoing over the-hills. Hinton heard it at the same instant—evidently some. spe- clal, or perhaps a wildcat engine, was bearing down upon them. And there was still so much trestle before them—so much ot that slender network which offered no places of safety, Looking back he saw the thin line of smoke that marked the speeding death— they could never reach the other side in time! The children, in their happy babble, heard mnothing, and Hinton, forming an instant plan, sald rapidly in French: “Don’t let them know! They will turn stupid with fright—and we could not do anything with them. Obey me and I can save. you all.” To the mastery in his eye Miss Wade yielded in a sort of blind confidence. He would save them all, she repeated—and the sick terror at her heart lessened its strain a little. She heard him laughingly urge the children to hurry, heard him of- fering prizes to the one who should pass the gin first, and then saw him snatch up the fat-legged 6-year-old. ‘Wrapped in their wretchedly slow race, for they had to move with some caution, the children, as they stood at last above the gin, did not yet hear the thunderous monster, now setting its iron feet on the trestle itself. They only heard Hinton's sharp command to “‘Stop!" and then their baby faces went white as théy saw him lean over and drop the §-year-old into what seemed destruetion. But Hinton's steady, athletic arms had not falled him. Before the astounded child knew what had happened she was lying on her back in the unseeded cotton, ‘With cool and desperate precision Hin- ton threw the would-be French scholar down next, though he had to tear her frantic hands loose from his neck, The third youngster unceremoniously followed, landing on its' head, but with no worse harm than falling between two loose piles of springy dirtyish white, which saved its #pinal column from any hurt. ““You next,” saild Hinton calmly. (hs"one chance—the train is almost upon us. As he spoke he litted the girl, and she found heue!g trusting to his cool self- L 2 Hi “It's — possession in spite of the horror before her. What she might strike, where fall, she did not know. She only knew that in his steady eyes flamed a hero she had not dreamed of in their conventional ac- quaintance. She thought of this as she thought of many other things in her descent to the cotton below. The drop was a fearful one —and it seemed to her that she wassed an eternity before she touched anything. Then, like the first of the children, she lay on her back staring up at the black mass thundering past above. “As it reached the spot whence e had been thrown she saw Hinton, his hands pointed above his head, leap far out to- ward the center of the stream, heading t“ far as possible from the saving cot- on. Ignoring the howls of the indignant children, who altogether failed to com- prehend the reason for their brusque and willing flight downward, she scrambled out of the bin and ran to the edge of the shore. Had Hinton struck one of the numerous snags abounding in the river? Would he never rise again? Her screams for ald brought the few men at work to her immediately. One of them unlocked a little flat boat ‘moored to the shore, but as they prepared to push her off a brown head lifted itseif from. tha muddy current and Hinton, blowing the water from his mouth, clambered up on the little pier, his face growing radlant as he saw the girl unhurt, “‘Oh, you!" she cried, “you are—" Bhe choked. “How are the kids?" aske little thickly. S . ‘‘Safe as If they had merely bee: ssed into bed; oh, Mr. }nnton-—R:ber:il'i" “Don’t feel obliged to say anything pretty,” interrupted Hinton a little iron- 1ly, misconstruing her embarrassment. 've often dived from as great height 'You'd never dive twice into that river an’ come out alive,” interpolated the gin fireman abruptly. “What did you think of as you winged your way down?” Inquired Hinton lightly, as they turned toward the wailing chorus of angry infants, who found the sides of th‘a“bln%oodhlth to scramble out. ss Wade went scarlet. “I tho & lot of things!"” she murmured. e 'Yes,” sald Hinton politely, but with the wound she had given him before they had set foot on the trestle now reopening. had saved her—for some other man! “‘of a—a proverb—' May I ask the saw?"” 's a—that it's a woman's privilege to change her mind,” murmured Miss Wade. ‘ain’t popular.” The man twisted his hand in the collar of the boy's blue shirt as he spoke, but the boy tors away, sprang across the room and pulled a pistol. For & moment it looked as if the comedy were about to change to tragedy, and then the boy's arm was knocked up and the gun wrenched from his trembling hand. It was the cowboy who had bought the picture “Your're things, soriny young to ge too old to play with them " he said quietly, “and too shot.” Then he turned to the others. “I don’t know how you feel, boys,” he said ,“but I don't reckon I keer for no more fun to-night—at least this here kind. Playin’ with children s mighty comical, but they're MHable to git too familiar to suit me. I move we puil our freight to the saloon. The drinks are on me." It was, on the whole, a good natured crowd, and Steve was popular, wherefore it took the hint and its ponfes and depart- ed whooping. An hour later Steve returned. The lamp was out and he was about to ride along when he heard the sound of sobbing from the dark interfor of the station. “Holy smoke! They don't breed men where he comes from, that's sure,” sald he, dismounting and golng to the door. He moved toward the sound and mads out the boy crouching beside a bench, his face In his hands. At the jar of heavy footsteps the boy started, but Steve laid a kindly hand on his sho There, sonny, don’t take on like that when there ain’t no reason. The boys was just play. in’—they didn't mean no harm unles you'd pulled that trigger— “I'd have killed him,” sobbed the boy, “if he'd touched me again.” Steve chuckled. ‘“He was safe enough, kid. It was rest of us you had scared. It was plumb ridiculous. The boy apparently did not see the comicality of the situation, tinued crylng softly, while Steve on, powerless to help. A c or he con- looked something new in his philosophy “Look here, kid,” ad you come her mighty young @ here strenuo “I had to. This was the only place I could get.” “Ain't you got no kin?" “They are all dead.” “Your sister—she ain’t, 1s she?” 1y s What sister? What do mean The sister whose picture the boys was admirin’ of.” “Oh, she? She's lving.” There was a long pause. * purty gal,” said Steve. “I in' that picture. She certain a heap—that is if she has yal yourn. Has she?”’ “Yes," returned the boy. color of mine.” « reckoned so. Long, I bet, and curly. I knowed it. What's her name?” ~Er—Jessie.” “Jessle?’ Steve name as if to see if it would fit preconceived notions. “You'll be b her on here soon I reckon, won't ¥ I'm powerful anxious to come up Wwith your sister.” he's a right s been study- ¢ fAvors you 1 Nair like “it's just the the pondered over The boy gave a queer lttle laugh which changed to a sigh. “I guess not now,” .he sald, “after what's happened. I must go away, 9O back. I ought never to have come. I idn’t see it before. Oh, you can't un- 1, “I don’t want to go. 7. mor money nor Steve shifted uneasily In his chalr “This here sister of yours,” he sald at reckor she'd git to ask he o the e was about speak. keep sonny, and let me bar spell. I've been doing a lot of think since I come here been about her. I've t these parts for the last ten years, more, ever since I was half as young you, getting into scrapes and out of ‘e riding the ranges, roundir when I had to, drinkin and shootin’ up a town, ju does out here, withouten t to hold 'em steady, and see your sister's picture . t I wanted t wanted her to help me. don't want you to go Away L $ you do I we git no chance to ses her and ask her. Do you reckon she'd look at me, k1d?" The boy sald mothing for a moment, while Steve watched him anxiously. The dawn was just breaking over the plains 1 a pale lignt came through the dirty ows of the station. t any sister,” sald the doy 1 “T lted to you, but you've been too good to me and I can’t keep it up. I t's me. I'm—ah, can’t and gamblin t like all men you see—I'm a gi “A girl! the sentence. I'll-be"— BSteve didn’t finish He rose and went to the “I had to do it t the station at learned to telegraph. Then he no one had any work for & girl 1 do. Then I thought dressed as a man, and now—now you go back.” came to the side of got to go back, and t if T can help you was & womar Look hers, kid “Jessie was my sister girl, with a little laugh. “Well, I'm rough and I don't deserve mo such gal as you, Jessle, but there's a heap of men git what they don't gerve, and I ain't so mighty bad. You say you kin Wel t down, then 10 telegraphin a new agen one to Pr ‘em 1 g to git Steve Oliver, here + BESSIE’S JOE By Marian Harcourt e (Copyright, 1903, by T. C. McClure.) T had been understood for a year or more that Joe Green, ®on of Farmer Green, was to marry Bessie Hurlburt, daughter of an adjoin- ing farmer. There was not a cloud on the hori- gon until a young man named Harry Beechman came into the nelghbcrhood to sell and to show the farmers how to set up wire fencing. He secured board at Hurlburt's and at once became “‘stuck” on Bessle. His admiration naturally pleased her, and when people began to hint that it was a case of love a new idea came into her father's head. He knew Joe to be an honest, hard-working young man, and the question of money had never come up. If he married Bessie he would take her to his own house and pro- vide for her as well as a farmer would be expected to. It was only after the wire fence man came and exhibited his “roll"” and talked of stocks and bonds and bank accounts that Farmer Hurlburt reallzed what a good thing it would be to have a wealthy son-in-law. Young Beechman encouraged the feel- ing In both father and mother, and his lavishness in buying presents for Bessle wotild have carried a less sensible girl oft her feet. But when he began to court In earnest she began to draw away, and Joe Green had nothing to be jealous of. It was soon discovered, however, that he had a fight on hand. The spirit of avarice bad been awakened in the souls of the par- ents, and it was not long before they had a good deal to say to Bessie and some- thing as well to her lover. *“Look here, Joe,” sald Farmer Hurlburt, who prided himself on his plain speaking, “I have sald that you were one of the best young fellers in this county, but you aln't just the match for Bessle. She's smart and good looking, and one of the sort who ought to live in town and wear silks and satins, instead of plodding away on a farm. I don’t want to hurt your feelings, but I wish you'd look around for some other girl."” “You want her to marry the wire fence man, I take It?" sald Joe, in reply. “Yes, Joe; 1 do. He's got money. He's making more of it. He'll be as rich as Vanderbllt in ten years more. He offered to lend me $50 the other day without any security at all. He’s not only in the wire fence business, but he's into windmills and drainpipe and patent farm gates. He's going Into a speculation next week in which he will clear three or four thousand dollars in no time at all, and mebbe I'll go In with him. You ain’t expecting to make a dollar extra this year, and so—" “I'm looking for ofl down along the creel interrupted Joe. “Can’t be none there, Jos. Can’t be ne ofl in this county. I like you as & man, Joe, but being you haven't got money I shall have to ask you to stay away after this. It may take your appeéite away for a few days, but you'll get over it in a week and shine up to one of Jim Gard- ner's girls.” Bessie was told at the same time that she would be expected to discourage Joe and encourage the other one, and though she promptly rebellsd her parents put the foot down in a most vigorous way. In manner the fleld was left clear for the ‘wire fence man. Untortunately for him he was a boaster and a braggart. He was making a few dollars, but could not count on anything permanent. He realized that if he got the farmer's daughter at all It would be through the aid of money, and he began to plan and scheme. Circumstances alded him. One day he received a private and confidential letter from New York. An individual in that city had got possession of & bank note plate, and was printing greenbacks by the tens of thousands. He was willing that others should share in his good luck. He was so willing that he would sell green backs for 10 cents on the dollar and w rant them to pass current anywhe: was the old, old green-goods game, a young Beechman bit. In turn, he became so generous hearted illing to let Farmer Hurl- burt in on the spec. Together they hoped to raise $500 in cash, and after some cor- respondence with the liberal minded man in New York it was decided that the wire fence man should make a little journey and bring back ten for one. The farmer sold a horse, & cow and three hogs to make up his share of the money, al is prospective son-in-law started for the East. Joe and Bessie had not quarreled. He had ceased hoeing po- tatoes to dig holes along the creek and 100k for the black stuff that had made so many men rich. In a sense they were waliting for things to turn up. “Sarah,” sald the farmer to his wife after Beechman had departed, “how would you like to have silk dresses all the rest of your life?" “Don't re a body to death, fathe: she repl “I know you and Harry ar going to make millions of money, and I'm 80 nervous that I break dishes every time I clear the table off."” “Bessle,” he continued, as he turned to the daughter, “how would you like to ride out in a carriage drawn by four white horses and have so many diamonds on that you shone like the sun?” “If Joe finds an oil well he may buy me a diamond mng,” she quistly an- swered. “Don’t you keep it up about Jos He'll never find no ofl wells, or if he does It ‘will be after you are married and lving in & palace and having forty servants to wait on you. Me'n your mother have set out to get you a feller worth a milllon dollars, and when you are recelving the President of the United Btates in your own castle you'll be glad you had a a father and mother. A few days later Bessle set out to spend the afterncon with a neighbor. She had not been gone above an hour when youn Beechman returned from his journey. He carried a tin box under his arm, the key thereof In his pocket and exultation in his heart. Soon after his arrival the two men went to the barn to count over their “ten for one.” The box was unwrapped, the key inserted, and the packages taken out to be counted. Then there came an interval, during which time the wire fence man and the farmer looked into each other's pale faces and spoke no word. The “money” was green in color, but that was all. Young Beechman had been done up, as thousands before had been done, and had brought back only blanks. They were still looking at each other and licking their dry lips when Joe and Bessie drove up to the gate. As she en- tered the house Joe hitched the horse and came out to the barn. “I just wanted to say,” he quietly ob- served, “that four days ago I found oil along the creek, and that this afternoon Bessie and I went to Justice Jordan and got married.” In reply Farmer Hurlburt got up and took young Beechman by the collar and slammed him up against the fanning miil and then jammed him up against the granary door and then walloped him ail over the floor and then ended by throw- ing him outdoors and sending a kick af- ter him. Then he turned to the newly made husband and held out his hand and said: “Joe Green, there’s only one fool In the Hurlburt family and that's me. Let's go in and have some cider and kiss the bride.”