The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, March 25, 1906, Page 4

am simply outdoing myself that way. I but I am going to be very good toda; BOWw. “] trust my regenezation is not being accomplished at too great s sacrifice,” he very considerately L 3 “Oh, no!” she laughed. “I quite enjoy it, even if I do offer an occasional &pology for myself, You may consider this the first of the serles in your course of re- generation.” Wizard's behavior for the most part had been fairly commendable. To be sure he had made several attempts to indulge his restless and high-strung spirits, and only prompt and decisive action on the part of his rider had forestalled an im- promptu ’'cross-country run or two. On the whole, horse end rider had ar- rived at & fairly good -understanding when they drew up in front of the house at the conclusion of the ride. There, John, you will find your charge a little more tractable and amenable to reason,” id Waldron, as he handed Wizard over to the groom, who ex- pressed honest satisfaction that no harrum” had been done. I possessed a well-defined intention of asking you to call an evening next eek,” said Cathalee, “but I fear that I ve talked you into & state of depres- sion from which you sre too pleased to be delivered to again surrender your- self. However, if you feel equal to the ordeal you may come end see me Thurs- day evening. Very well—Thursday evening. And believe me, sir, you have done Wisard and his mistress a very great service for which they are truly grateful—at Jeast one is, and the other has not expressed himself to the con- trary.” CHAPTER XXIL “Only a Mani” “Your ocoming this evenl: is lttle less than an act of mercy,” she told him, with & gracious warmth of greet- g, as she led the way into a small d cozy room off the hall, where a eerful fire blazed in the grate. T ve been sitting here all alone, think- & the omiest thoughts that a mor- bid mind could well concelve, and as a resglt T am quite but of conceit with myself." The thought might have occurred to the guest that the mood of his fair hostess and her environments were not in full accord, for surely If physical »mforts were conducive to peace of »ne should be happier or more n she. take that easy ve designs upon it t for you, and one for my- is side of the grate,” I arranged self o him, with simple frankness. venture to hope that you may be very comfortable ai honestly glad you you may smoke.” esy. Please to re- regeneration that you have undertaken.” “Quite right. Still you may smoke— you are the master of your destiny after all is said and done.” “Why not concede as much for your- Or is it a prerogative of your sex reatures of circumstance and— “] presume you think it strange that I d be other than perfectly happy, you chance to be philosophically , in which case you will under- E that one may possess ell the crea- ture comforts, yet lack the one great es- —I know not what it may be—with- one may never find content- am given to iais sort of thing and I am glad that you ment occasionally, chanced to find me In such a mood. Per- haps you can dlagnose my weakness, and suggest a remedy. Besldes, you will know that I can be serious upon occasion, and am not always the rattle-brained creature you have just cause to belleve me “I fear I am but a poor philosopher.” “I am not so sure. I have an idea that u would underrate yourself, and permit others to do the same, so little do you concern yourself with many things which seem to be the sim and object of most men. I am at a loss to understand whether it is indifference, pure and sim- ple, or a self-contained assurance of strength and abllity to cope with the world, regardless.” “I fear our subjects have become con- fused.” “1 am inclined to think that I have yet to make the acquaintance of the real she continued, apparently uncon- s of his remark, “although if I mis- not, T saw him that terrible night in the mountains, and again—just a ficeting glimpse—when he took my horse in hand and quietly but firmly broke his stubborn will, his as he would have broken pretty neck or some portion of his omy, had he nmot obeyed him. On whole, I rather like obscure possibili- ies which may pop out at any moment and prove intensely interesting.” of which is a lamentable fall from interesting to & very commonplace subject. This mood—has it taken wings already?” he inquired, with Kkindly in- terest “Very well, sir, since you insist upon returning to my moody self, the respon- eibllity be on your head. I believe I have not told you that much of my time is given to charity work. Know, then, that m interested in the general work, and ittle haven of rest is entirely depend- ent upon me for its sustenance. I took up this work originally, I fancy, because I was fitted for little else. A mere passive existence never appealed to me. Soclety, very well in its way, eventually became id and inane, and a continued exist- without definite purpose secemed as arrantable as undesirable. ‘I throw open my house each year and glve a sor: of something—never quite the ence in name, and the name is fre- quently a misnomer. The essential fea- tures, however, are maintained with commendable persistency, and consist primarily and principally, in compeiling everybody to stand and deliver—hands up—frenkly and cordially. I provide something I the way of entertainment, music for dancing, and refreshments. All my friends take tickets, and sub- scribe various emounts according to the state of the market they tell me— their extravagance and dissipations, they don’t tell me—ail of which have to be reckoned with before charity. They are really very generous, although some, I fear, contribute under inward protest and outward compulsion. I tell them that I am their good angel and literally shower blessings upon them in thus giving them an opportunity to perform & gemerous and kindly act for so werthy a cause. I do not think that they all quite agree with me and some would doubtless prefer to bargain for their own blessings and more than ik consider me a nuisance. All of which,” she econtinued, after a short pause 10 note the effect upon her guest of this very positive declaration, “is apropos of telling you how I chanced to be in my present mood. For the most part my excessive spirits and abundant good health enable me to per- form my work with little or no em- barrassment, and only occasionally do I lose control of myself and become— Y 4 2} well, moody. At such times, however, I am utterly unable to throw off the feeling of depression that comes over me and I am only less miserable than the unfortunates themselves.” “I understand—I quite understand,” he said, as she paused a moment. “What God—what conception of & Deity—can you men possess that per- mits you to bring such misery—such pitiable miserable misery—into the world? Have you no better—no loftier conception. of a Deity than the savage? Is your God of no finer parts than his hideous monstresity? Do you, too, think to purchase immunity from the righteous wrath of your God by drop- ping reluctant tribute into the temple plate, even as the unlettered savage casts burnt offerings at the shrine of his grinning joss, congratulating your- self that the reckoning is paid in full, and that your {ll-gotten gold is a recompense for the bodies you have maimed, the hearts you have broken, and the lives you have destroyed? Tell me, pray, what have you to say for yourself?” “Guilty, I fear—gullty without extenu- ing circumstances.” “Ah, yes, gullty! We know that—but why? Why are men so cruel—so selfish— 8o unrighteous?” “Unfortunately the essentials of an alitbi for my sex are sadly lacking. Your arraignment is as justified as it is scath- ing—more could not well be sald. More- over, your queries involve some of the great problems of life, and I fear I am too little competent to adjust those pro- found matters to your satisfaction. More- over, again’— “I don’t want any more ‘moreovers,’ ' she petulantly interrupted. ‘‘Please be serious—I am, quite. 1 don't like you to say sarcasilc things when I am in earnest, and I fear you are terribly ca- pable.” “The general subject {s prolific of count- less theories. We should doubtless fail to agree and fall to arguing; result, bad tempers and dissolution of friendship. Discretion is not the least of wisdom.” “Please don" she protested. am not compelled to agree with you, and may not, as you suggest. Nevertheless I should like to know vour ideas. Your life has béen so radically different from that of the men I know it is only fair to as- sume that you possess ideas consider- ably at variance with theirs as well.” “Man offefs little movelty for intro-* spection; he iz a too well thumbed vol- ume to afford new sensations,” he briefly observed, apparently not inclined to be drawn into argument. “Besides,” she continued, with engaging frankness, “I really wish to know more about you—your real self. There is some- thing which persists in eluding me— something of which 1 am intensely con- sclous at times, yet am unable to ex- plain to my satisfaction—my curjosity is quite aroused, you see.” ““The situation is rapidly becoming in- volved. Curiosity—a woman’s curiosity is not to be lightly regarded.” “Nor ignored,” she declared very posi- tively. “And now you are going to be very civil and tell me how you came to be so big and strong; why you are so indifferent to things and people; how you know so many things you are not supposed to know anything about; and— and who you really are,” she told him, with a directness of purpose not to be mistaken. “What you ask is no more than is just- ly due you,"” he told her, more seriously, after an interval of quiet contemplation of the flames, “and I will gladly tell you anything that can be of any possible in- terest to you. I hardly know where to begin,” he said, very simply, “but if there be anything of interest in my life it must necessarily date from my advent into the Western country, as my career up to that time differed not materially from that of the average New York youth.” “Ah!" she softly sighed. “I had completed but a small portion of my university course when the loss of both my parents—one following the other in quick succession—and the fur- ther loss of all my worldly possessions, threw me upon my own resources. For the first time I was made to feel the hand of misfortune, and not a few were the rough edges and sharp corners I ran agalnst in making the acquaintance of that new world to which I almost immediately betook my- self. In those troublous times was laid the foundation of such character as I possess—a process which meant the making or the breaking of the youth. “This new country was a never fail- ing source of interest and wonderment to my young mind, and many lonely hours in the saddle, on the trail, and in the guiet of the night, were spent in silent contemplation of its wondrous beauties and awe-inspiring mysteries. The marvelous mountain ranges raising their heads high into the clouds with majestic and appalling grandeur held for me a peculiar fascination. And when from some high peak I gazed Into boundiess space in any direction my eyes chanced to roam but to discern new wonders limited only by the range of my own small yision, a great awe and veneration would steal into my soul—a mute tribute to the wondrous greatness of which I was the merest atom. Instead of passing from my mind as these thoughts and scenes be- came more familiar, my mentalities be- gan to expand and groW richer and stronger in the contemplation of these wonderful works of nature, and the secret processes by which she wrought in her various kingdoms, The rela- tion of man to these great laws was a :nding source of interest to me, this untrammeled life I came with primitive in close communion nature, and seemed to breathe and ab- sorb the simple truths which had been into denied me in the artificial life from which I had lately emerged.” “Yes—yes!” she gently breathed. “By degrees the littleness and nar- rowness of my early life dropped away. The countless envies, cravings, passions, jealousies and strivings, which 1 had once looked upon as co- existent with life, disappeared one after the other, and in their stead came a depth and breadth of thought, health and strength of mind and body as free and untrammeled from the confines of my earlier existence as the very air I breathed. Have I taken up the par- ticular thread of interest to you?" he paused to Inquire. “Please be frank, as I seek only to gratify your desires.” “Ah, yes! Those are the things above all others I would know,” she impul- eively declared. "I begin to see—to understand. Please go on!’ “Man possesses possibilities of which he has little conception, and even less understanding, and it is only occasion- ally, perhaps by the merest chance, that he catchies even n passing glimpse of his real self—the self he persists in hiding even from himself. I do not know that I am altogether clear. Per- haps 1 can give a stronger point to my meaning through the medium of two incidents which came under my notice not long since. Each incident is more eloguent, more comprehensive, more — ,’./’6" D\ i o > el S ey convineing of the truth than velumes which might be written to prove or disprove the same assertion. Do you mind if I walk? I am more accus- tomed to keeping pace ith my thoughts—this inactivity is demoral- izing.” “Indeed, no! Take the floor by all means. I fear you are much too com- fortable to be long interesting. We are an unfortunate lot.” “Life in the mining camps and frontier towns of the West affords little in the way of amusement, and the advent of an itinerant Uncle Tom’'s Cabin Company is hailed as the event of the theatrical sea- son. Ou such an eventful occasion oc- curred one of the incidents to which I refer. This particular company was nel- ther better nor worse than others of its kind, which is equivalent to saying that it was pretty bad; yet they serve a cer- tain and distinct purpose. At some stage of the proceedings—I was paying little heed to what was transpiring on the stage, but you must know that every loyal citizen owes it to himself not less than to the community at large to be present upon these auspicious occasions— & girl, as uncouth and uninteresting as' may well be conceived, slouched out upon the stage. As she came into the uncer- tain glimmer of the tallow footlights she epproached dangerously near the ludic- rous—in fact, she quite arrived. She held a battered old cornet in one hand, drew the back of the other across her mquth, grotesquely distorted her begrimed fea- tures, stood ypon first orle foot and then the other, the while she contemplated her audlence with manifest discomfiture. The old horn-under most favorable conditions seemed capable of emitting little more than a few wheezy tones, and an already afflicted audience resigned itself to suffer further inflictions at the hands of this grotesque individual. She had hardly sounded the first note, however, before the audience was made aware that too hasty judgment had been accorded. She played several famliliar airs creative of interest on the part of her auditors, grad~ ually developing into manifest enthu asm as she proceeded, and when, with a grand flourish of clarion tones and mar- tial strains, she swung into the grand old ‘Star Spangled Banner,’ she seemed to strike an answering chord in every breast, which reverberated again and again throughout each human organism, and communicated itself to the very atmos- phere. In an instant the rough little au- dience was in transports of joy, and when she finally concluded her performance with ‘Home, Sweet Home,' every man, woman and child was under the magic spell of her song—joy was unconfined. rizzled old miners grasped hands and hugged one another like long lost broth- ers under the influence of this sudden out- pouring of spirit, and tears rolled down rough and hardened faces long since strangers to such emotions. The few who possessed wives became suddenly conscious of a greater appreciation for their helpmates. Children were grasped in strong arms and held aloft, and vari- ous other antics indulged which could only be performed by human beings un- der stress of a strong innate volition. “It was good to see—more—it was grand and glorious, and never to be forgotten. It was not a mere demonstration of rough and uncouth men and women— ploneers and wanderers in that wild country who chanced to be amused—it was the real man and woman within—the spirit of nature, of God—the same that is within you and me, suddenly awaken without volition of the individual by tl clarfon tones and sweet refrains. . mattered not whence came those soi That they were blown through a tered horn by & freak of a girl possessed no meaning. It was the song they sang that spoke to the man within, and souls burst forth in quick response and glad acclaim, freed from the bondage of the sordid, the artificlal and attuned for the time to the inspiration of love and fra- ternal spirit—the real—the true—the nat- ural. “For days after the effect upon the dwellers of the little hamlet was mani- fest. Hearts were lighter and work seemed less irksome. Whistle and song were in the very alr. Hearty good will rang in the salutations of man to his fel- lows. Even the sun seemed to cast a softer and a warmer rad brighter glow on old earth. The cornet girl had gone her way, but the joy of her song still lingered in the hearts of men. “The other incident. Some weeks later a revivalist came to the camp. Meetings were held and a religious fervor was stimulated according to preseribed forms. The exhortations continued with unabat- ed vigor for a week or more. Converts were made, others interested, excited or frenzied to varylng degrees. Doubt and anxiety were soon depicted upon the features of young and old who were iden- tified with the movement. There was no whistle and song, or hearty laugh and passing joke. Hearts were heavy and tense. The spring of natural and joyous spirit had been dammed at its very fount, and eternal damnation awaited those un- fortunates who refused to accept in blind faith the bigoted and blasphemous doc- trine of pagan superstition and idolatry— the sole salvation of the children of a wise and beneficent Creator. The vain reasoning—the conflict of hope and de- spair—was pitiful to behold. There was nothing tangible—nothing real. No in- ner consclousness pointed the way—noth- ing appealed to the self within. All was forced and unnatural—everything dark and mysterious, One small child—poor soul—took her religion so seriously that her sleeping as well as her waking hours were given over to piteous lamentations. Her parents simplified matters somewhat by withdrawing from the movement; they might be wiliing to suffer themselves, but could not belleve it their duty or even their privilege to torment thelr child. “Note the difference. Which was the true—which was the false? Which was the natural—which was the artificlal? Which was common sense—which should never be lost sight of—and which was devold of sense? The spirit of life, of Jove—the great universal spirit—should be allowed a free and natural expression in every human being; anything less is a flagrant perversion of the primary es- sentlals of human existence. “Yes, we shall become masters of our destinies when we work as hard and as conscientiously to develop those same innate possibilities as we now labor to pervert and to stultify them. When we realize that there is a higher law than the will of man; that there is a greater victory than the triumph of one human being over another; that there is no su- perlority of sex, but that each has its own part to perform in the great univer- sal plan, then shall we have begun the development of the real man, and to the extent we succeed shall we become mas- ters of ourselves and our destinles. Man's education has put him in bondage to the almighty dollar—he 15 the expres- sion of his soclal condition rather than his manhood. His higher facultles, of which he is hardly consclous, have been sacrificed to unnatural ambitions, and to the gratification of appetites and pas- sions of his own cultivation—he is but the anomaly of his real sel 0=} “I knew it! I knew you were a good man—I felt it from the very first!” she cried, impulsively. “It is all clear to me now—you are a man! Only a man! I was confused by the very simplicity of the problem. Yet is it so strange, after all, when we are surrounded on all sides by human beings so bound and fettered by the artificialities of man-made laws, that we look askance—nay, almost with suspicion—upon one of God's creatures, who chances to be delivered from the er- rors and weaknesses of his fellows, and lives in the strength and fullness of his di- vine endowment—his own, his true posses- sions? Oh! that we might all shake off these burdensome chains and shackles and be ourselves—just true men and women.” And while the firelight danced and flickered and shed its warmth and glow, a silence fell upon the scene—a silence that spoke more eloquently than tongue or words. “Ah!” she gently sighed, gazing pen- sively into the flam “but you could help me so much—if you would. You are so big, so strong, so good, and you know the world and poor humanity so well. And just to think,” slowly di- verting her gaze from the flames, and looking up at him with a smile of sweet womanly confession, “just to think, all the while I flattered myself that I was the far more worldly wise. Truly it {8 my regeneration that should be un- dertaken. And I think,” she said, not without some confusion, Ler gaze again seeking the flames, perhaps to hide the telltale flushes, “I think—indeed, I am quite sure—my curiosity has been ap- peased at lagt.” CHAPTER XXIIL Orders. Excitement was once more running high in -the little mountain mining town. Notices had been posted at mid- day notifying all whom it might con- cern that after that day and date all the works operating under the man- agement of The Consolidated Proper- ties would be run on half time until further notice. That night down in tie town speculation ran riot as to the meaning of this sudden and unexpected move on the part of the directors of tbe company. The news spread like wildfire over the mountains and down into the valley and sent horseman after horseman galloping into town, ralsing a cloud of dust which hung over the little community like a funeral pall On the street corners, in the stores, restaurants, saloons and down in the dance houses it was the all-absorbing topic of conversation. Rumors flew thick and fast, some attributing the shutdown to the East- ern Syndicate, which had at last secured the advantage it had so long sought. Others suggested a depleted treasury owing to the inability of the company to remlize on its stock. Still others told of worked out veins, and a de- sire on the part of the directors to withhold this knowledge from the publie. Whatever might be the difficulty it was generally con- ceded that any misfortune to Consolidated Properties was a calamity to the com- munity at large, as the whole district would once more be at the mercy of its old enemy, the Eastern Syndicate. A gloom as heavy as the dust-laden atmos- phere had fallen over the little, commu- nity. Later in the evening a mysterious ru- . mor o' to galn currency that the pres- ent el rrassing position’ of the com- .. pany (be attributed to a deeply laid plot e part 8f the original promoters ‘ot the Properties to dispossess the pres- ent owners. No one seemed able to trace the rumor to its source, and the very mystery surrounding its’ origin seemed to give it greater credence. Other rumors of an equally mysterious origin began to make their appearance reflecting more or less discreditably upon the absent head of the company. Some very heated arguments resulted and bloodshed was averted only from the fact that no one seemed willing to openly stand sponsor for these rumors against a man who was not present to defend him- self. The directors of the company who were on the ground had nothing satisfactory to offer in reply to the oft repeated in- quiries and insistent demands as to the meaning of their actiom, and the silence they steadfastly maintained, even in the face of some very uncomplimentary ex- pressions reflecting upon their Manage- ment, was ominous In itself. It soon be- came evident that they could not, or would not, divulge the cause of their strange move, and the conclusion was re- luctantly accepted that the company was in finapcial difficulties, and that one or the other of the powerful moneyed in- terests had at last secured a death hold on the corporation. As the night wore on the excitement subsided somewhat, the conservative members of the community sought their rest, and things went their wonted way. Down in shanty town the fiddles squeaked and the pianos tinkled discordantly. The lights flickered and flared and seemed af- fected by the general air of depression. Along the main street a confusion of sound was wafted out on the heavy at- mosphere. Voices became thick and gut- tural, and an occasional hoarse laugh or wild yell told plainly that “Old Red Eye" and his rum companion “Forty Rod" were making their presence felt. Now and then one of the rough fellows would break away from his companions, mount his horse and ride away into the night. The dice rattled, the roulette wheels clicked and the fiddles droned on dismal- ly into the heavy morning hours. The orders to place the works on re- duced time came no less suddenly to the directors than to the townspeople, nor were ‘they any wiser as to the real cause thereof, or of the result to be accom- plished by this move. “Down she goes! Dave had unhesitatingly declared, when he had seen with his own eyes the brief instructions from the president of the company. 7 “Them’s the orders—plain as day,” Joe afirmed with equal positiveness, after a prolonged study of the letter. “There'll be the devil to pay down be- low,” sald another of the directors, who chanced to be present, nodding his head toward the to' ‘v’l:i'le nor him to pay up “There'll be here, if we ton’ sald Dave, with deep significance. “Get out the notices and we'll start her to goln'. Can't set things to bilin' too quick to sult me.” “Might as well touch her off ourselves if there's any blowin' up to be done,” sald Joe, with commendable resignation. *“I reckon somebody may be goin' 1p along with us—all this ain’t jest to a: wuse us.”” “Likely to please some folks a mighty sight, or I ain’t much at guessin’,” said ve. D"’rm‘moot and his pals, I 'low you mean?’ queried Joe, to which Dave nodded his assent. ““That's the rope he’s given' 'em,” said Dave. “All they've got to do now is to tangle theirselves up in it. Tenderfoot don’t dare show his head in camp, but he ain't far off, and he'll know what's goin' 7 on soon enough.” “I suspicioned Mister Bill wan't doin’ all that thinkin’ for nothin’, but I 'low that Tenderfoot business was too much for me. Has to be a hole in a grindstone for me to see through,” said Joe. Accompanying the orders concerning the ‘works was a well defined suggestion that Dave and Joe might feel inclined to pay the Hast their long anticipated visit. The writer would be able to devote consider- able attention to them, and all things considered, the opportunity seemed more favorable than might occur again. “What's that mean?” demanded Joe. “Means he wants us to come—them’s our orders—couldn’t be no plainer,” re- plied Dave, with gruff good nature. ““What do you reckon he wants us back there for? We can't do him no good."” “Dunno. Maybe he wants to get us away from here, seein’ as how there ain’t much of anything for us to do jest now except to get into trouble or talk too much—which aln't no ways unlikely.” “‘Guess you're right,” sald Joe, after thinking it over for a while. ‘‘That's jest his way of puttin’ it—mighty. perlite, ’pears to me.” ‘“‘He's too perlite to say what he thinks —maybe it wouldn’t sound so well to us, neither. A hint's good as a kick from some folks.” “Goin'?" queried Joe. “Sure—nothin’ else to do. orders.” “No use buttin’ agin that,” Joe solemnly conceded. The following morning when Dave ap- peared at the offiee somewhat later than was his custom he was in no very amiable frame of mind—strictly speaking, he was mad. “‘I "lowed Mister Bill knew what he was about when he wanted to get us away from here,” he growled. “All settled down below that we're dead ones. It's the hard- est work I've done in many a day to keep from runnin’ foul of some of them chaps that seem to know so much about our business, and are kind of dirty about it, jest 'cause they think we're done for. Strange how some folks get so much courage all at once when they think a feller has lost his grip.” “Don’t mean nothin’—not worth bother- in’ our heads about. Let 'em carry on for a speli—our turn’ll come afore long.” Joe philosophically observed, evidently thinking it desirable to maintain an equi- librium of tempers. “Daylight is jest achin’ to get into some of their hides. But that don’'t happen to be part of this 'ere game, as I understand it,” said Dave, more calmly. “Not as I know of. This 'ere is a gen- tleman’s game, and we ain’t supposed to do any mixin’. We're jest perlitely asked to do the \neavy lookin’ on, and I reckon we'd better try our level best to do it, even if it does go agin the grain,” sald Joe. “Reckon we had. I ’low Mister Bill has trouble enough without loadin’ him up with any of our makin',” Dave agreed. s “Better tell him his invite is taken up, and we’ll take the trail soon as we can round up our traps. He's done the handsome askin’ a couple of rough chaps like us to go back there—like enough we’ll put the kerbosh on him to the limit,” Joe seriously opined. Some liberties were taken with Dave's dictation, but as given to the stenographer, it would have read about as follows: “Old Consolidated is limpin’ along on half time 'cording to orders. It's took like the itch—no discountin’ that. There's plenty to say I told you so—they're allus on hand. Some are afeared may- be you've been caught in a trap. Kinder looks that way to a chap up a tree, so you can’t blame 'em so much. They sort of agree that we're broke—plumb worked out—and we ain’t sayin’ no dif- ferent. Folks are beginning to won- der what has become of you, and there’s some the same as say you were feared to stay and face the music and lit out— but they ain’t sayin’ it very hard. The chap as started that yarn must have took to the woods, leastwi: he ain’t takin' no trouble to make himself known, “Joe and me don't so much like the idee of diggin’ out jest this time, as it kinder looks like we might be runnin’ away from somethin’ were afeared of, but we're obeyin’ orders, and ain’t ask- in' no questions. We'll break camp tomorrow night, and you can figger out about the time we're likely to strike old New York. Maybe you'd best be on the watch for us seein’ as how we'll be the worst kind of tenderfeet. So long.” “I ain’t sayin’ so much as I might, but that's enough to give him an idee what's goin’ on,”” Dave explained, when he had finished his dictation. “More’n likely he knows it now—all he cares to know. Them cusses have been usin’ the wires afore now and tellin’ the crowd back there what's go- in' on. Mister Bill is watchin’ "em sharp enough to know whether they've bit or not—he 4in't’ waitin’ for Uncle Sam to tell him about that,” said Joe. ' “I reckon. Don’t make much differ- ence what we do so long as we keep our mouths shut and our fingers out of the dough.” About this time another letter relat tive to the same general subject was speeding on its way to the same desti- nation: $ . “Dear’ Mister Bill: Your letter was entirely llke a man. Why do men who are really deserving of serlous consid- eration persist in living so entirely within themselves? They make a grave mistake. No human being is or_can be so entirely self-sufficient that he can afford to exclude from his life those who are honestly interested in him and his work—he is simply defying a law that is greater than himself. On the particular subject which interests Orders are me the most, you hardly say a word. I- don’t think it quite fair. How- ever, I refuse to consider my- self personally affronted, and for the present shall attribute your apparent lack of confidence in me to the misfortune—from & man's standpoint—of my birth. Yet this is not altogether a satisfactory explanation, as I had some time since conceded myself the right of being judged by my own individual worth- iness, rather than by the standard of sex. But, alas! Do as she may, a woman never seems able to disassoclate herself from the incontrovertible fact that she is a woman, and must suffer the eternal congequences. i “Very well, sir, as you refuse to meet me hal! way, I shall take the middle ground, and regale you with a brief men- tion of some of the more conspicuous fea- tures of the situation as they appear to a disinterested observer. First and fore- most, matters seem to be rapidly ap- proaching a climax—dark forebodings are in the air. Something is about to trans- pire; what, when, where or how I haven't the remotest idea, except that it 1s to be the final act of & drama in which wth and innocence are to go down in 'eat unless, perchance, the hero turns the tables on his persecutors at the last moment. Will he? 5 ' “Your opponents maintain an air of mystery equal to your own—neither of you intend to be betrayed by a woman. They have become positively hilarious—_ asgressively so. Even dad seems to have become infected with the prevailing sen- timent. I am becoming quite concerned about him. I could almost think that he bad gone over to the enemy—I am seri- ously contemplating such a move m_ylelf. “I fear | am not very encouraging—I am In rather bad form today, I must ad- mit. But what can be expected of a sirl who has been calmly set aside and siven to understand tifat there is serious busi- ness afoot—or in hand—much too. serious to be intrusted to her. I have fallen con- siderably below par in my own estima- tion, and—well, you may as well know— I am angry. Oh, yes! I can see you smile—a woman’s anger is such a trifiing thing. “And now that I have said what I real- 1y irtended to say, I shall leave you to re- flect upon your conduct. I need not say that I wish you success most heartily, even it 1 do find it somewhat difficult to sign myself. Your sincere friend. EVIS GODDARD.” “p. S.—I am not real angry, but 1 should like to know woat is going on. nd [ don’t ifke my Iinformation second hand from the very people I do so dis- like.” Truly Story. - Dave and Joe arrived from the West on schedule time, and immediately set about making the scquaintance of the great city, and gratifying curiosities and de- sires of long standing. For the most part they maintained a mien of quiet imper- turbability, their rough bronsed counten- ances giving little inwcation of what was transpiring In_thelr minds. Their visit to the Stock BExchange, one of the first places to which their curiosity led them, ‘was productive of a fairly free expression of their Impressions of that particular institution. They had heard many strange and wonderful tales of this great money mart where the finances of the nation were turned topsy-turvy, and where men jumped from poverty and obscurity to Wwealth and renown in an incredibly short space of time. Besides, they felt gome- thing of a personal interest in the place which they understood would sooner or later be the scene of a “round up,” in which they would be vitally interested. By special request, therefore, Waldron took them up into the visitors’ gallery, from where they surveyed the throng of clamorous men and scurrying messenger boys for a full quarter of an hour with- out uttering a syllable, “Our scrap goin' to be pulled off down there?” Joe was finaily moved to inquire, and receiving a nod in the affirmative, again turned his attention below. “I've seen packs of gray-backs smap- pin’ and snarlin’ and yawlin’ over a car- cass afore now, but I never 'lowed to see human folks—them as is eddicated up to the top notch—goin’ through the same maneuvers,” Dave sgolemnly afiirmed, as he gazed upon the Strange scene. reckon there's a strain of the same blood that ome or the other of us ain’t out- grown—don't seem to be runnin’ out much neither far as I can see.” “I "low I'm kinder disappolpted,” Joe re- luctantly admitted. “It ain't jest what I expected to see considerin’ all the fuss made about it. If Tenderfoot or some no account chap like him was down there to start ‘em all to goin' disagreeable like, might be some sense in it.”" “if I was mad as some of them chaps *pear to be I reckon there’d be somethin’ doin’ besides hollerin’ the top of my head off about " gald Dave, with ill con- cealed disgust. ‘“Let's mosey,’~ he sug- gested, a few minutes later, his curfosity apparently satisfied. ‘No use gettin’ riled up over any argyment we can't take a hand in. This 'ere’s a gentleman’s game, and that lets us out—an’ I 'low my feel- in's ain’t much hurt,” he added, as he shot a parting glance below. “Guess they don't need our help no- how—nobody 'pears to be gettin' hurt. Looks like they're all tryin' to frightem each other to death—them as ain't settin’ around tuckered out like,”” was Joe's final observation, as he turned away. Miss Edith Winston had prompt- ly expressed an enthusiastic desire to meet these men of the West, when she had learned of their proposed visit. Her desire, s0 long possessed, to behold a real and truly Westerner, had not as yét been gratified. Mr. Waldron had utterly failed to sat- isfy the fastidious ideas of the young miss. She llked Mr. Waldron—very much, indeed, but she was speaking of some- thing quite different. Mr. Waldron might be a New Yorker, for all one could say to the contrary; and surely a real and truly Westerner must be a creature of entirely different parts. David Bishop and Joseph Sutter were truly typical Westerners; not, however, of the type commonly conceded to drink distilled lightning, shoot at sight, ride their horses into saloons and clean out whole towns. They were men born and bred in the West who early in life had discovered the necessity for a law-abid- Ing element even in that wild country, ‘and ranging themselves on the side of law and order, had steadfastly main- tained their ground and fought for it when circumstances demanded, which not infrequently happened. Joe Sutter knew little of the sex fem- inine, and was inclined to be rather il at ease in the company of “high class gals,”" 'so Waldron and Jack very consid- erately came to his rescue and took him for a tramp along the shore, which was more in his line, and vastly more to his liking. David Bishop, on the contrary, took to woman's society like a courtier, much to the wonderment of his friend Joe. who “’lowed Dave allus was a shifty critter.” As for the young miss, her wish was grat- ified at last. These men would do very well. They were quite all her fancy had pictured—they were the genuine article so far as her limited knowledge availed. Thelr forms of speech were certainly characteristic of the Western country, and conformed to her preconceived ideas as well as could be expected. A mutual interest seemed to spring up almost immediately between Dave Bishop and the little miss. “Never shied—kept me busy from start to finish. As purty a littie filly as I ever cast an eye over,” he afterward declared 'to Waldron. “I wanted to meet you and Mr. Sutter— and so did we all—for several reasons," she explained, in a burst of confidence, ‘You see, we all ke Mr. Waldron so very much we wanted to know you, be- cause you are his friends. And then [ thought if you were real good-natured— and 1 know now you are—you would tell me some real and truly stories about the things you have done. It will be so much nicer than reading about them becauvse [ ulu"l}:xnov tnuy are quite true. % . well, Missy!” laughed much amused at the enthusiasm 3‘ ;1', little Inquisitor, “and so. you've been waitin’ for Joe and Dave to tell about things Mister Bill can tell you a heap sight better than us?" (Continued next Sunday.) ) - & (&5 ! o S //" & 5 = (& 7 D 4, N