The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, December 20, 1903, Page 12

NN \\ “\\. )] /, /&2’7){, . BY ELWIN 1 OR some months the boys of the HOFFMAN. Ber X outfit had heard the rumblings of the gathering sto: The sheepmen wers dafly encroaching upon what the cattle- e to believe was their pri- though the same was of which Incle The sheep- men had co vate property, the unfenced pra Sam was the men had as good a title to the range be cattlemen, but the cattlemen there first, end—they hated sheep and sheepmen. Eo the storm had been gathering over the cattle country, and owner. now that a man named Curtiss had “thin five miles of began to add its ng of the other * what said Foreman ed the other boys the boys,” as he joi after a prolonged interview with old man.” “These here sheepmen hev jist got to git out or the cow business s gone plumb to emash. Th’ old man sez he ain’'t golng to stand It any nger. He's been ridin’ round th’ range, an’ he sez s’ sheep 1s fist devastatin’ tk e works. An’ now’ Reddy took hew of tobacco and spit before he finished—"1 reckon there's g to be somethin’ drop.” What's 307" they asked It's us fe X do it. We're to ride over t blamed sheep camp an’ jist teet t up. What do yo' say to e A good deal wa 1 to it, but most of it was in the way of approval. Long Dan, to be sure, objected to the san- gulnary side of the propesition, but then Long , as Reddy contemp- tuously observed, “h t no more backbone than a caterpillar.” After which remark Long Dan subsided into slience and the p s for the raid were talked over, I afternoon a week cow-punchers turned out of the corral at the Bar X and start- Late later Reddy and one his ed for Curtiss’ forth in & : meant to stay together, and there was no loud ta A new rope, coiled and s saddle, was signifi- can conspi and each man car- ried his guns w they would be handiest. The December sky was dark and dreary, and the wind blew keenly over the treeless prairie. So they trav- eled on, their hats pulled down against the wind, The first mile of the five had hardly been covered, when Long Dan suddenly pulled up his horse. “Listen. fellers,” he called. “What was that?” The party stopped. “Thought yo' beard & sheep ba-a, Dan?" inquired Reddy, with an open sneer. “Guess he's gittin’ skeery already, boys Better send him back home.” This latter with & comtemptuous motion of the head to- ward Long Dan, who seemed to be lis- tening intently. Just then all of them beard the sound—a sort of childish cry, off to the side of the trail. Long Dan spurred away in the direction of it and the rest followed. What they saw brought them up again suddenly in a bunch. “Well, I'm derned!” “Fellers, it's & kid!” “It shore is,” said Long Dan, and swinging from his bronce he went for- ward wth awkward strides to meet this amazing phenomenon. The child had been crying, but the tears had ceased at the approach of the horsemen, and the youngster met Long Dan with & “Hello, mister,” that was most reassuring. He didn’t intend these strangers to think he had been lost for several hours—no, sir; that would never do. But when they crowd- ed around him and began asking ques- tions, his temporary bravery wilted down, and twe large tears and & weak quiver in his voice told them that he was & very tired and discouraged little oy. 4 "y)(y name’s ‘Runny’ Curtiss,” he told them after awhile, “an’ I comed t' find Santy Claus, an’ walked ev'rn ev'r 80 far. You haven't seen Banty Claus, mister, have you?” Reddy shook his head slowly and then there was the silence of a tableau. The boy was & slenderly bullt child, not more than § years old, with a white face and eyes that looked up at them wist- fully. Beside him stood Long Dan— tall, lank and awkward even when per- fectly motionless; while in a haif-circle sround them Reddy and the others leaned silently over their saddle-horns end chewed tobacco like men in a @ream. Long Dan was the first to break the spell. “Ain’t yo' kinder cold, kid?" He ed on from Reddy. had noticed the child shiver. The boys stirred themselves. “I reckon he is cold, Dan,’ id Reddy. *“We'd better git outer here.” Dan lifted the child to his saddle and swung himself up with him. Reddy ranged alongside, and they started. “Curtiss’ kid, Reddy,” sald Long Dan, tentatively. “¥ep,” answered Reddy, and agaln silence fell upon them. IIL The “old man” had no stomach for a THRE SAN FRANCISCO HSUNDAY CALL—CHRISTMAS NUMBER.' il nght, even with despised sheepmen; so he had taken that day to go to town, and in consequence was not at home when the boys returned. For this Red- dy was grateful, for thereby he was saved the trouble of making explana- tions; and in the old man’'s absence the warming and feeding of “the kid"” seemed less of a treason. And under the influence of the warmth and food “Runny” became quite talkative. So it was that before long “the kid” was tell- ing a circle of grave-faced cow-punch- ‘\"\:r( ers all about the wonderful being known as Santy Claus, embellishing the narrative with several fancles which were distinctly original with himself. They hadn’t been so Intimate as this with a child for many long days, and the experience was wonderful. They smoked and eyed the marvel before them; and when “Runny” began to tell them about Bethlehem and the wonder- ful star that the wise men saw, they were, to a man, pictures of attention. Most of them, with the exception. of AR R Reddy, were more or less famfliar with the Bible story, though they had heard it in the days of their youth, and now the days of their youth were far behind them. When “Runny” came to the part about the shepherds, however, Reddy interrupted with a sudden oath—for which he immediately apologized. “Shepherds, did you say, kid? Are yo' plum shore now they wuz shepherds?” “W'y, course they was shepherds! They was watchin’ their sheep at night Jist as my papa does, of'n an’ of'n; an’ wen they saw th big star—O bigger'nm any we ever ses here—they—" “Are yo' plum shore now? At yo meanin’ cattlemen, kid?" Runny’'s lips cugjed in rightecus ta- dignation. “Cattlemen! No; my mama's told me of'n an' of'n. They was shepherds, watchin' their sheep jest as I tell yo'. An’ w'en they saw the big, big star—’ Reddy drew a long breath and looked around him helplessly. “Ain’t that b—1, boys? Jest think — 'i : R IR Continued From Page Seven. of testimony. Tom would not say an- other word. His heart was almost bursting. He would not Iimplicate Sam, as he had no evidence, although he could not help feeling that somehow Sam was at the bottom of the matter. The principal gave him till the next morning to confess and proposed after that time to confer with Tom's father. There were no tears for Tom this time. He marched back to his room with set teeth and compressed lips, but never with prouder bearing or straighter form. He took his seat and opened his book, staring at it with unseeing eyes while his soul raged in turmoil within him. But out from the page looked the trusting eyes of the little Immanuel, and calm began to come. It was a long morning and by noon the story had so spread among the boys, helped by the industrious tongue of the gloating Sam, that Tom dreaded the hour of dismis- sal. With the utmost deliberation, how- ever, Tom adjusted his cap, and with- out an outward tremor made his.way down stairs and through the yard. Not & boy spoke to him and he spoke to no one. Here and there he heard the word “transfer” and now and then the word “thief.” His rage flamed high in heart and cheek, but he would have gone to the stake rather than reveal that every taunt stung him as no dagger could have done. Tom sat through lunch at home with the same stony exterior, escaping the notice of some of the family, while father and mother were wiser than to ask the cause in public. As they rose from the table Tom took his father's arm and steered him into the little “den"” beyond the library and shut the door. Lifting his arms to his father's neck and laying his head against his father’s breast, the pent-up feelings burst forth in one great sob. BSitting down in the great easy chair and tak- ing the boy into his lap, the father soon heard the whole story. He comforted the boy and promised to call later in the day upon the principal. Meanwhile Tom need not go to school that after- noon. S0 he went to his room while father telephoned to the principal, saying: “Tom mnever has told me an untruth. Give him the benefit of every possible doubt.” Tom was debating whether or not he ocught to go to school. If he did 80, the afternoon would be wretched, but if he stayed at home it would be almost a confession of gullt. He looked at the little Immanuel, and the loving eyes spoke sympathy and courage. Tom was no coward and so, with a last look at the boy in the plcture, he went on his way to school, some- what comforted and yet dreading every step. The boys were in the street prac- ticing fdr the final football game with the Brodericks next Baturday. Games were now tied, and the last one would determine the championship between the two schools. One member of the Bryant team was {ll and, for fear that he would not recover in time, Sam Mack was put in his place for practice. As Tom came down the street, SBam had just kicked the ball, which had landed in the midst of a howling group of boys. Bam, all intent upon the ball, was backing slowly up, expecting to see the ball emerge and return to him, according to the signal given. He did not notice that he was upon the car track, and that & car was rapidly descending the hill, toward him. The motorman was looking be- hind and carelessly talking With a pas- senger. Elvery one was watching the ball and no one seemed to see the peril in which Bam stood. The car was now only a few feet away, and Sam was in the very middle of the track. The nolse of the boys drowned its ap- proach and, even if the motorman had ndbw looked, he could not have stopped the car in time to avert the accident. The principal was watching from a second-story window, but his frantic shouts and motions were vain. On came the car and, without a word of warning, Sam was struck a terrifie blow in the side and thrown headlong upon the pavement. But it was not the car that struck him. Beside him in the street there lay another boy who had taken his life in his hands to save his enemy. It was Tom who had seen the whole thing and realized that there was no possibility of escape for Bam except as he himself should act. But could he get there in time? And, even #0, was he required to risk his own life to save = foe? All this, in an instant, went through Tom’s brain, and then the appealing eyes of the little Immanuel settled. it. ‘With swift prayer for aid and swifter feet to the rescue, Tom hurled himself in front of the car and against Sam, knocking him outside the track and away from its fatal path. Sam's head ‘was badly hurt, but anything was bet- ter than the certain death which otherwise would have been his. Tom was unhurt, except for a severe blow upon his leg from the passing car. Sam ‘was tenderly carried to his home and Tom took his place In school without a word. The bell rang and school was in session, very few having rightly understood what had happened. During the afternoon the pain in his leg, scarcely noticeable at first, became “IMMANUE L ~=By Rev. Louis J. Sawyer ¥ x-?_+ severe, but he resolved to stand it tiil school was over. Late In the session the principal came to the room with a request that Tom go at once to call upon S8am, who could not be quieted otherwise. Tom could scarcely walk, and glad he was to meet his father at the school door and lean upon him dur- ing the walk home. They stopped to- gether at Sam’'s house and on going into the room where SBam lay heard the miserable story of the transfers as Sam told it in repentant sobs. “Tom, will you ever forgive me, and how could you risk your life when you thought I had done you that mean trick?” Tom thought of the holy eyes, but had no answer ready. He couldn't trust Bam just yet. The transfers ‘were given to Tom's father, who took his own boy home, where mother ten- derly cared for the bruised place and put the lad to bed where the face of the little Immanuel shone with joy Into the tired eyes of the hero of the day. Tom’'s father hastened back to the school and very gladly the principal heard the story of the transfers. There were the two bunches to speak for themselves. He went to Tom’s room and told it all and the whole room gave three cheers for the boy who could suf- fer injustice patiently and return good for evil. Bam was the first one of the invalids out. The wounded leg proved a more serious matter than the broken scalp. Sam was not mean at heart, but his training at home had not helped him to be true, He spent now much time ‘with Tom, and one day he asked again: “Why d4id you do it, Tom?’ Tom was in bed and Sam was lying, boy-fashion on the covers beside him. Tom pulled Sam’s head up next his own and, point- ing to the picture at the foot of the bed, said: “Sam, that's why.” Of course Sam didn’t understand, and so in that quiet room, under the tn- spiration of the loving eyes, the Christ. mas story was told from one boy's heart to another. After Tom had told his own resolve and Sam had thus found a reason for & good many odd things {n Tom's recent bebavier, Sam turned and whispered into Tom's ear: “Tom, do you suppose he'd let me try, too?"” And so three boys clasped hands over 2 new resolve that afternoon. Two of them would live on earth and the third would dwell in their hearts to belp them live as Jesus would. The picture of the little Immanuel went home with Sam as a gift from his new-foand. friend. A new one came to Tom, and 80 two boys grew into noble manhood under the holy gaze of the Boy Im- manuel. el e Juvenile Lese Majests. What aid that little boy do? He has been sent to prison for a month for lese majeste, and he has accomplished the gplendid crime at the age of 14. “The public were excluded from the court,” writes our Berlin correspondent, so that we are left to conjecture. Did he curl his mustache in imitation of ? But no, that could hardly be. ‘Was he play- ing at Emperors in the street? Or did he, perhaps, spell the Kaiser's name with a little “w"? Or was it some mon- strous precocity such as criticism ot the Kalser's portrait that brought the weight of an empire upon his little head? Anyhow, little Master Graf has accomplished the greatest crime that a Prussian can commit, and he has done it at the age of 14. We should dearly like to know exactly how he did it. And if we were the Kaiser we would send for Master Graf, put him on our knee and get him to explain his views. They would be interesting. —London Chronicle. of 1t{—a aern sheep outft! Put go on, kid I reckon I kin efand "most any- thing now,” and he folded his arms and was silent. “Runny” finished the story, and then even & deeper silence seemed to fall over the men of the Bar X. Presently Reddy walked heavily across the floor to the door and passed outside. Soon he returned with the extra rope that had hung at his saddle bow, and with rather unnecessary unction buried it deep under some trash In = cormer. Then he unbuckled his pistol beit and hung the same on a nall over his bunk. A broad sweep of his hand called at- i spedthy THH it's abou th’ proper here war fixin's of from betn’ i fx i | l 1k i f ; 8 i h 4 lost boy, and except for a single gleam of light in ome of ‘the cabins the place ‘was dark and silent. Reddy took a long breath, as though to brace himself for the ordeal of peaceadly approaching “a derned sheep outfit,” and them turmed to pick up “Runny.” whers he stood by the fence trying with cold Mitle fists to rub the sleep out of his eyes. They had bundled the boy up in old coats, and Reddy lifted him very much as one, would lift & bag of wool; and yet. In spite of the seeming rudeness, there was a deal of tenderness in his touch. “Well, kid,” he said, “T reckon mx-‘ is whers you comes in fer a heap o' palaver an’ salt water. I jest Imagines your mother's over thers where that light 1. Come on, you fellers. An’ don’t yo' hang back, neither, or I'll shorely do some hard shootin’ when I git back to my gun."” The thought of “salt water” was cer- tainly a fearful one, but each man gulped hard and determined to “stand up to th' deal.” This was not the way they had expected to approach the sheep camp, and one or two of them wondered what the “old man” would say when he heard about it “The ‘old, man'!” smorted Reddy. “Damn the ‘old man'! I'm a-leadin’ of this here procession, an’ you jest ropes t' me. An' now, kid. I knocks on this here door, an’ you takes y'r salt water bath an’ your sea-foam.” And it was even so that Christmas eve in the cow cotintry. And in the midst of the mother’s teary joy over the lamb tiit was lost and found agailn, Reddy turned and dug Long Dan hard in t‘ ribs. § “Stop y'r snivelin’, ye blamed fool!" he said in a hoarse whisper. “This ain’t no funeral—this here's a Christmas party!”