‘3'» 0m

...-.,_ --o éq'wfig') W. A

L7.
V.a_..,..

 

 

 

 

 

   
     
   
   
   
    
     
  

 
 
 
 
 
  
  
    
  
  
    
    
  
  
  
 
  
  
   
  
 
   
  
 
 
 
  
  
   
 
   
    
  
 
  
    
   
 
 
  
  
  
 
  
 
  
 
  
  
  
  
   
  
  
  
 
  
  
 
  
  
  
  
 
  
  
   
  
  
   
  
 
  
  
   
     
 
 
  
 
 
   
  
 
 
   
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
  
  
   
  
  
 
  
 
  
 
  
 
   
 
    
    
 
 
 
  
 
   
    
  
  
   
 
 
 
   
 
   
  
  
 
  
    
 
 
 
 
 
  
   
  
   
  
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
  
    
 

 

 

 

 

«stifle Bennett

 

 

 

THE BACHEIfiR'S ADVICE.

BY TOM P. MORGAN.

You think that girl‘s a fairy,
Because her ways are airy,
Because she looks upon you with lovely, sparkling
eyes,
But. as surely as you wed her,
Before a year you’ve had her,
You’ll think in Hyuien’s lottery you‘ve drawn a
doubtful prize.

I’lradmit that she‘s a “ daisy,”
But, let me ask, is she not lazy?
Does sheslit and throw you kisses across the window-
51 ?
You’ll find such things amount
To a very small account,
When you’re Old as lam, and have “been through
the mill.”

Of course her hair is golden,
Of course her eyes are blue,

And shine in all their radiance like
Diamonds ti ped in dew;

And then her orm is sylph-like,
Of course it is, my lad;

I, too, have been in love, my boy, and
Had it just as bad.

You may tliiuk that I’m a hold one,
But take advice now, from an old one,
Or you’ll surely be the sold one in the matrimonial
game.
And then she is so pretty,
Don’t you think ’twould be a pity
To ask the darling creature to change her angel
name?

Oh, I‘ve “been there," young fellow,
And though I'm “ sere and yellow,”
And perhaps a trifle mellow, my head is “level”
yet.
I’m a cynic: that is true,
And perhaps you’ll be one, too.
When you see scores of fools wed, and see the wives
they get.

 

Hom’s ” HgiLth-Buohly."

BY TOM P. MORGAN.

 

TRULY, as our friend, Horn W. McCord, re-
marks in his last letter from the metropolis, the
longer we live, the more we find out. I am
moved to coincide with this aphorism by an oc-
currence which took place just before the arrival
of Horn’s'letter.

About the middle of the forenoon, an irate
citizen from out near Rocky Comfort came up
with the avowed intention of mauling me for
stigmatizing him as a “sucker.” He had not
seen the cop of the Boomer in which the
libel was a1 eged to have appeared, but
a neighbor had told him that I had so
designated him. He wore a o three-foot
piece of scythe—snath in his right hand and
seemed determined to excoriate me therewith.
Yet, in tWenty minutes’ time, I had smoothed
his ruffled fur the right way’ with a lingering
swig from the bottle of Prick y Ash Bitters and
an emphatic denial of the charge, after which
he paid a year’s subscription in advance and
went on his way rejoicing.

In reality, it was a “ squirt ” that I called him,
and not a “ sucker.”

It is another matter to try to explain anything
to a woman. Hardly an hour later Mrs. Yaw,
one of our prominent society ladies, came up and
hurt my feelings by smiting me on the sconce
with something which at the moment I sup-
posed to have been a baby’s tombstone in a

ag.

She then asked me how I enjoyed that style of
cake. I do not ‘know what reply I made, for
she swatted me again as I was crawling out
from under the table where the first swat had
knocked me.

I remained under the table for some time
thereafter, and Mrs. Yaw explained, the while
she kept striking at my head and I kept bobbing
the same out of the way of her blows, that the
instrument of attack was a loaf of cake concoct-
ed according to a recipe found in the last issue
of the Boomer.

Iattempted to deny it, and Mrs. Yaw at-
tempted to overturn the table, which Iheld down
by the legs. Dickery had, in the mean time,
gone out of the window.

Finally, Mrs. Yaw snatched the last Boomer
off from the files and read the recipe aloud. It
certainly was a villainous formula, calling as it
did for the mixing of an Ounce of pine tar, a
spoonful of sulphur and two of capsicum with
the flour, eggs, etc. A light broke over me, and
I tried to explain that by some oversi ht part of
the formula for curing colic in mu es had be-
come incorporated into the cake recipe. But
Mrs. Yaw would not listen to reason. She
whacked away at my bobbin head, until finally
she broke the cake into smal pieces, which she
threw at me with such excellent aim that none
of them hit me. Then she went away.

But, to return to McCord's last letter, which
is as follows:

' “ NEW YORK,
“ After the Ides of March, 1892.

“DEAR MORGAN:—

“ I take my pen in hand once more to tell you
that the longer a man lives the more he finds out.
That thar is a truth that has “been thundering
through my mind for centuries, you may say,
but it has taken me a right smart while to
tumble unto it, as we say yere in N00 Yoyk.

“ What I am gitting at is, that I’ve jest about
reached the conclusion that a teller, speshully
one from the free and boundless \Vest, can’t
scarcely Open his mouth yere in society without
putting his foot in it. If a feller has got any
tuck about him at all he’s bound to commit
solecisms. That thar word hain’t as bad as it
looks. It means, in plain, every—day American,
‘ Your foot in it ag’in, as usual.’

“This is how I done it upon one occasion:
Several of my shirts had laid entombed in my
grip-sack for some time, and when I dug down
to ’em, the other day, they ’peared to be suffer-
ing from mildew. Igazed sorrerfully at ’em
for a spell, and then a happy thought struck
me. About ten minutes later, three stylish
white shirts and three blushing red ones was to
be seen waving from as many second-story
front winders of my Cousin Marmaduke’s
viller, the sashes of the same being shet down on
the wristbands of the garments.

“ I chose the front winders bercuz the gentle
breeze dallied more promiscious, so to speak, up
the street as it did up the alley. I forgot to say
that the folks—I mean “folk,” for it hain‘t
ong wriggle (them words is French), yere to say
“folks :” I’ll never tell you why, but I ketcbed
that from reading the maggyzines—wal, the
folk was, or were, all away at the time, and I
was holding the fort alone except for the
canaz‘lle (more French) down in the kitchen.

“ Now, do you see anything criminal in hang-
ing your shirts out on your own vine and fig—
tree? I didn’t. But it don’t go yere in N00
Yoyk, none whatever.

“ Wal, in five or eight minutes, along comes a
couple of dudes on the other side of the street,
and they throwed up their hands like they’d
seen something hidjus. Pretty soon some more
people does the same, and some stops and stares
at the house like bassylisks. Bimeby, quitea
squad is gathered on the opposite side of the
street. and some on this side. And all of ’em
astaring this way. Thinks I to myself:

“ ‘ Whatever are them persons surveying of!
Mebbe the house is afire somewhurs l’

“ With that, I presently emerges out onto the
roof-tree, but everything is silent up thar. Then
I sasshays over to the front—this yere roof is
flat, except around the edges, which is Man-
sawed, or some sech word—and looks down.

“ More people are thar than previously was,
and all of ’em glaring at the sky. I’m looking
up, seeking the attraction, but hain’t seeing
nuthin’ new in the heavens.

“ ‘ Whurever is the balloon ?’ says I, throwing
my voice down like a ventriloquist. ‘What-
ever is the bone of contention a-sailing about
on high? \Vhatever is the focus of this yere
hoobly-boobly—’

“ And then a little German band whirls up
below and begins for to mash out mellerdy.
And I hollers down:

“ ‘ Hey, Vogleschnitzle, or Whatever your

name is, whur is the knub of this yere olla
podrida .”

“ ‘ Doan’ you vas t’row some brick-a—brack
down mit us, und ve vas scoot puddy rouscome l’
says the leader. ‘ Ve abologize, but you needn’t
schwear mit usl’

“ ‘ I wa’n’t!’ says I. ‘Got anything speshul
on hand to prevent you continnering this yere
serrynade? Yar’s a dollar that calls loudly for
more!’

“ With that, I heaves the scudi down to ’em,
and they let in and played ‘ Boomp-te—dah-dah!
Boomp-te—dah!’ in a way to make your hair
curl, the same carrying me away from this
world of care to sech an extent that I’m j‘ining
in with my voice about the middle and singing
to the bitter end.

“ But now the street is jest nacherly blocked
with ple.

“ ‘ dies and gents,’ says I, ‘ mebby I ort to
apologize for this yere outburst of song, for I’m
plenty aware that I’m no cockatrice. But still,
this yere is a free country, and I reckon a man
can vocalize on his own roof-tree if he is so
moved. Let her go ag’in, Vogleschnitzlel’

“ According, the band smashes out another
tune that is p’intedly gallus, it’s that rollicky.
And I’m moved to dance a hurd -gurdy to the
same all alone on the roof-tree. he mouths of
the populi is open by this time, but they ’pear to
be enjoying it all. And so I heaves another dol-
lar down to the Kaisers, and then I makes the
populi another talk.

“ ‘ Remain right where you’re at as long as
you pleasesl’ says I. ‘ This yere is all free, and
you’re plenty welcome.’

“ ‘ Say!’ hollers out a young chap with a note.
book. ‘ Who are youl’

“ ‘ Wal,’ says I, ‘if an body asks you, tell ’em
I’m Ward McAllister. ut of! a few more bars,
Vogleschnitzle l’

“ By now the street is packed with poo le for
half a block each way. The band is b owing
their born out straight, when thar is a tremen-
jus hoobly-boobly and clanging and whanging,
and up the street swirls the patrol-wagon {on the
dead run.

“ The populi scatter and the band levants; the
chariot whirls up and about a dozen policemen
swarm out, rush up the steps and begin to shake
sticks at me.

“ ‘ Hi-yarp l’ says I.‘ Whatever is the defew-
culty down thar?’

“ ‘Kim down out av thot!’ roars a policeman,
who ’pears to be a furriner. ‘ Kim down, yez
crazy omadhaun!’

“ ‘ Whatever is the matter with you person-
ages?’ says 1. ‘I hain’t done nuth’u’ unlawful
this time, and I’ll berhanged if I’m coming down
till I git good and, by gosh: ready. Savvy?’

“ And then they busted the door open some
wa , and swarmed up through the house, and
he. me mighty hard to ketch or a spell.

“ By the time they had got me cornered and
was beating my blamed brains out, as usual,
Cousin Marmaduke and the family arriv, their
hands held toward heaven with horror. Thar
was a mixed yell by everybody at once about a
crazy man, shirts, Ward McAllister, German
band, and what-not, and then finally I was
turned loose. -
“ And, when we was alone, gee-fuzz, but
Marmy did haul me over the coals!
“ Wal, one thing certain, I’ve learned that it
hain’t the fashion yere in Noo Yoyk to flaunt
your shirts from your front winders.
“ N o more at present from

“ Yours truly,

“ Hons W. McCoan.

“ P. S.—Somebody opened them winders while
the hooraw was going on, and let every last one
of them shirts fly. I hain’t see’d hide nor hair
of any of ’em since.

 

 

love’s Work.

BY FRED F. FOSTER.

 

“ CHARLES Wnsr committed suicide last
night," was the announcement which, one
October mornin , swept like wildfire through
the village of Hi ton, creating the most intense
amazement and regret—the former because his
prospects of future happiness and prosperity
were so bright; the latter, because he was one
of the most highly esteemed young men in the
place.

That morning, as he failed to appear at the
breakfast-table, his boarding mistress, fearing
he might be ill, went to his room, to find the
door locked and the key on the inside of the
lock.

Her raps upon the door were not responded to;
so, climbing into a chair, she peered through
the transom-window over the door and saw him
sitting in a chair With his head bowed upon a
table. She calledto him several times, but he
made no reply. Then she gave an alarm, and
when the door was burst open by the men whom
the alarm called to the spot, he was found to be
dead.

At his feet lay an empty vial, which emitted
the odor of peaches, and the coroner, who was
immediately summoned to the scene of the
tragedy, said:

“ His death was produced, at least ten hours
ago, by prussic acid, contained in this,” indicat-
ing the vial, “ and was instantaneous.”

As the boarding mistress had found the door
locked, and the key—which gave no indication
of having been turned with pliers—as above
stated, while the only window in the room was
furnished with a wire screen that was fastened,
as it alone could be from inside the room—it was
evidently a case of suicide.

On the table, near where his head had fallen,
was a slip of paper, upon which. in printed
characters, “ Margins did it,” appeared. This
naturally led to the inference that he had been
engaged in disastrous speculations which had
ruined him, pecuniarily; an inference that
seemed the more reasonable when it was learned
that, a few weeks before, he had withdrawn his-
savings—some two thousand dollars—from the
local bank.

In the event of such ruin, the motive for his
suicide was apparent. But there were two who
persisted that he had not been guilty of self-mur-
der—Thomas Kelley, the senior member of the
firm, whose bookkeeper and confidential clerk
young West had been for four years, and Mabel
Eames, his affianced.

Other Hiltonites entertained a similar opinion,
but so strong was the circumstantial evident:
that he had taken his own life, the authorities
of the town deemed an investigation of the case
by a detective unnecessary.

Mr. Kelley, h0wever, sent to a detective
bureau for assistance, and, within thirty-six
hours after the tragic event, a member of this
bureau reached Hilton.

In a conference with his employer, the detect—
ive, having learned the salient features of the
case, asked:

“ Have your books been examined carefully
since Mr. West’s death?” a

“ They have," was the reply. -

“ They show no evidence of defalcatiou on his

rt?"

“ Not the least.”

“ Did he have any rival in his love affairs?”

“ As the most attractive young lady in this
vicinity, Miss Eames has had innumerable ad-
mirers—any one of whom would have been glad
to win her affections. But she has never in-
clined to flirtation nor manifested an especial
regard for any gentleman except Charles,
whom she has seemed to love with her whole
heart since they played together as children.”

“Have you any idea what disposal he made
of his money, after withdrawing it from the
bank?”

“ I have not.”

“ Can you conceive any motive that would in-
fluence a person to desire his death f"

“ 1 cannot.” '

“ Hence, you suspect no one?”

“ I have not the slightest'reason to suspect any
one, and candidly confess that my belief
that he did not commit suicide is merely an
‘ impression.’ "

The conference terminated at this point, and

the detective entered upon his work in a most
determined manner—his vocation unknown to
any one in Hilton except Mr. Kelley and his
pprtner, Miss Eames and the lady with whom
’est was boarding at the time of his death.

For two weeks he labored indefatigably, and
then, going to Mr. Kelley, he said:

“If Charles \Vest’s death was a murder, it
baffles my ability to solve the mystery. There-
fore. I renounce the case.”

 

As Richard Duncan—the bookkeeper and the
teller of the Hilton bank—stood looking out the
window through which he was wont to receive
money from or pass it to depositors, a lad en-
tered his presence and handed him a sealed en-
velope, bearing his address in an unknown,
feminine hand.

The messenger at once took his departure,
and the teller removed from the envelope a
note whose contents were as follows:

“ MR. DUNCAN:—
“ DEAR. sz—If other engagements do not prevent
your doir g so, I shall be pleased to have you call
upon_ine this evening,

“ Respectfully yours,

, ‘MABEL EAXES.
“AT HOME, Nov. 14, 1888.”

Having read the missive, he muttered:

“ What can it mean, her inviting me to ‘call
upon’ her i” in a tone of satisfaction rather than
0 displeasure.

At quite an early hour, that evening, he rung
the door-bell at her home and was conducted to
a room where she received him in a cordial
manner, though her sadness was visible upon
her countenance. She assumed a cheerful de'
meanor, however, and a lively conversation—of
a desultory character—began betWeen them
which continued some time, when, irrelevantly
to anything that had been said, she interroga-
tivel remarked:

“ on were in his room with him, but a short
time before Charles’s death?”

“How did—” he tremulously began, intend-
ingto complete the sentence with “ you learn
that?”

Instead of this, he hesitated for a moment,
and then rejoined:

“I was. His door was open as I was on the
way to my room,and, seeing me, he asked me to
‘ dro in,’ as I did.”

“ id you notice any indication of despond-
ency on his part, such as one would naturally
manifest if intending to take his own life?”

“ He said he was not feeling very well, but I
attributed his ill-feeling to the toothache, from
which he complained that he had been sufiering
several hours. ’

“ He passed the first part of the eventful eve~
ning with me, to whom he also mentioned his
toothache—a trouble that would not be likely
to cause one afflicted with it to commit suicide.
“ Do you,” she continued, “think he squan-
dered his savings in speculatin Wand, as she
asked the question, she looked directly into his
eyes, causing him to feel uncomfortable, 'udg-
ing from the manner in which he turn and
twisted in his chair.

“ He always seemed to me decidedly conserva-
tive ” was the reply.

“ What time did you leave his room ?”

“ It must have been nearly or quite ten
o’clock.”

“ Doctor Prescott vieWed the remains about
eight o‘clock in the morning and declared that
‘ his death was produced at least ten hours ago.’
So, his death must have occurred directly after
you left him, or was he dead when you made
your exit. from the room ”—the last words
were in a tone that made Duncan tremble from
head to foot. but not as did what followed——
“ by way of the transom«cindou- .17”

“Great God!” be fairly shrieked, his face as
white as snow.

At this juncture, a man—a sheriff—stepped
into the room from behind a portiére and
asked:

“ Have you, Richard Duncan, any reason to
offer why you should not be arrested as the
murderer of Charles West?”

Duncan uttered not a word.

“Certain things in connection with Charles’s
death, if a suicide, from the first seemed very
singular to me, as they did to many others,”
Miss Eames resumed.

“In the first place,” she continued, “why

should one intending to take his own life leave
an explanation of what induced him to do so in
printed characters rather than in his own
chirography?
“ Again, why should the vial containing the
poison by which his death was produced be
without a label—indicating its contents and
where it was purchased—when the law compels
sellers of poisonous articles to thus label the
vessels containing poisons? An intending sui-
cide would not be likely to remove such a label
or pour the poison into another vial than that in
which it was obtained.

“ Thoroughly searching the room occupied by
Charles at his boarding place, hoping to dis-
cover some clew to the perpetrator of what I
believed to have been a brutal murder—in-
fluenced to do so by my love for the victim—I
finally found a few woolen threads attached to a
nail that slightly protruded from the sash of the
transom window.

“ Aware that it was possible for a man, of the
average size, to crawl through this window, I
felt assured that a ‘clew ’ was mine, though I
did not reveal it to any one—not even to a de«
tective employed by Mr. Kelley to investigate
the affair—preferring to follow it up myself, un-
aided. '

“ Ere long, I learned that in one of your costs
were threads such as I had found: that in this
coat a small hole had been torn—how, ou did
not know; that you had writing paper ii 0 that
on which ‘ margins did it ’ was printed.

“ Not wishing to make the least publicity of
my suspicions until I was assured that they were
correct, I acquainted Mr. Brown—the sheriff—
with what I had learned: informed him that I
had invited you to call upon me this evening,
when my parents were to be away from home—
an invitation which I was confident you would
comply with; requested him to come here, and,
watching the effect upon you of the last question
I have asked you—from the place where he has
heard our entire conversation—judge therefrom
whether or not you are responsible for Charles’s
death. I have no doubt that you are. though I
cannot imagine your motive for the crime.”

“ Nor I,” added Mr. Brown.

When he was able to control his voice, Duncan

began:

“In that fatal evening, Charlie told me that
one of his teeth ached terribly, and I informed
him that I had some drops which I thought
would at once ease his pain.

“I went to my room,” he continued, “and
gota bottle of prussic acid—purchased for the
sole purpose of killing him, one of the kindest
friends I ever had—out of which he, unsuspici-
ously, allowed me to pour enough into his mouth
to cause his instant death.

“ Then, having arranged things—including the
‘ Margins—did—it’ paper, which I prepared
while in my room for the ‘ dro ’—in his room
as they were found by those w o broke into it
the following morning, I made my exit from the
apartment as you have said.

“He never withdrew a cent of his deposits
from the bank but, in the forenoon of the day
when his dead body was found, I ‘fixed’ the
books of the institution—of which] had charge
—in sucha way as to make it appear that no
balance was there due him—having stolen his
bank-book the previous evenin g.

“ What influenced the conception and perpe-
tration of the infamous crime? My love for you,
Miss Eames—of which not even you had the
faintest suspicion—and the hope that, in time, I
might win you for my own.”

He is, to-day, serving an imprisonment-for-
life sentence, with periods of solitary confine-
ment.

 

CONSIDERING Mr. Gladstoue’s achievements
with the ax, wouldn’t it be mOre appropriate to
call him the “ Grand Old Feller”?

 

 

SIMPLY AWAY.

BY E. CLIFFORD WADSWORTH.

 

 

Is she dead? I surely say nay,
There is nothing that ever dies—
Only this, she’ll not pass this way
Again, she‘s safe in Paradise.
Dead? I surely say nay.

Some say that it’s an “ unknown land.”
I look on her beautiful face,
I feel the touch of her gentle hand,
Can I believe there’s such a place
As an “ unknown land ”?

“ Unknown land?" Years doth not suffice
To solve the simple things of earth,
The mysterious force we call life,
Its origin, whence came it forth?
Knowledge doth not suffice.

No, she whom we so dearly love
Is at home where the angels stay;
In visions we’ll see her above;
She is not dead- sim ly away,
She whom we fond y love.

Saved by the Dead.

BY JOS. E. BADGER, JR.

 

 

 

”STEADY, now, boy—hold ’er level an’ true.
Them dirty imps is a-gittin’ too durned fa-
miliarl”
A wild and thrilling scene enough. Two white
men, garbed in skins and Woolen, dashing at
wondrous speed down the bank-full river, fleeing
for dear life from nearly twosoore vindictive,
bloodthirsty Indians.
Both were men who were well known among
trappers and mountain-men, and concerning
whom many an exciting adventure has been
narrated, without the half being told; Old Mark-
head and young Dick Wooten.
For two days and nights they had fought the
Apaches, who had surprised them in their
rocky cache beside the Gila, and durin that
time had lessened the numerical force 0 their
assailants nearly one-half. But then their pow-
der and lead grew 10w, and they took the only
chance that remained: stole out from their well-
defended retreat during the darkness that im-
mediately preceded dawn, and launching their
frail bar canoe, dared the countless dangers of
the winding canyon through which the waters
of the river roared.
Unluckily, they were discovered by a red-skin
just as they succeeded in launchin the canoe,
and the alarm was instantly given. he Apaches
had suffered too heavilyto easily resign their
coveted revenge, and speedy pursuit was made,
by land as well as by water.
Bold and reckless though the trappers pro-
verbially were, neither of them cared ever to
speak about that wild ride through the canyon
in the darkness. A warm spell of weather had
caused the heavy snows to melt very rapidly
and now the river was “booming,” rendered
doubly swifty and dangerous by being pent up
within the narrow walls of the canyon.
How they passed through, they could never
tell. Eyesight availed them little, and the pad-
dles were useless in their hands. They could
only hold their breath and cling to the sides of
their frail craft as it danced along like some
bubble. But perhaps this was all for the best.
Could they have seen the thousand perils that
surrounded them, their very efforts to avoid
such, would most likely have precipitated the
catastrophe.
The canyon was cleared, but as the gray light
of day dawned, the fugitives saw that they were
far from being out of danger. They had been
followed through the pass by three canoes, full
of red-skins, while others rode along the river-
bank, yelling and shouting at the swiftly-descend-
ing‘ canoe and its contents.

he trappers immediately veered toward the
other shore, putting a distance between them-
selves and the horsemen that insured them
against any shot, unless a chance one, while
both target and marksman were in such rapid
motion. And by plying their paddles steadily,
they managed to hold their own against the
enemy in the three canoes behind.
Thus the chase continued until about mid-
afternoon, when a war-party of Apaches sud-
denly made their appearance on the right shore
of the river, joining in the man-hunt with sav-
age zeal.
Fortunately for the pale-faces, this party did
not strike the river until after the canoe had
passed by the point, and though ‘One feathered
shaft quivered between the shoulders of Old
Markhead, while another gashed the bronzed
cheek of Dick \Vooton, the majority of the mis-
siles passed harmlessly behind the fugitives,
who promptly pushed out to the center of the
river.

Fortunately there were some natural obstacles
to be overcome by the horsemen. At times
they were forced to make detours more or less
wide, and again there were portions of the
ground over which they were obliged to pro-
ceed slowly, else they could have ridden far
enough ahead to gain time sufficient in which
to surely block the further flight of the trap-

pers.

As it was, by taking ‘_‘ short cuts ” where the
river made a curve, the Indians, on first one
side and then the other, would get in advance
of the fugitives, and preparin themselves,
force them to run the gantlet 0 their arrows
and bullets. But the trappers were cunning
enough to give these pointsa wide berth, and
thus far neither of them had been more than
scratched.

Favored by a long stretch of unusually smooth
ground on both sides of the river, the horsemen,
by pressing their mustangs to the utmost, had
gained the advance and were now preparing to
give the fugitives a general salute, doubtless
hoping that the race would be ended forever by
some of their many missiles.

And it was this prospect that drew from Old
, Markhead the words already recorded.

The young giant in the bow of the canoe re-
plied by a short nod of his head, then plied his
paddle with long, steady strokes that caused it
to almost leap clear of the water. Thus. until
a sharp word from the veteran told him he was
ready, when the paddles ceased.

Old Markhead chose his time well, leveling
his long rifle just as the Apaches on the right
bank were about to open fire. They had al-
ready experienced the fatal accuracy of his aim,
and doubtless each brave felt that he was being
singled out. -As a natural consequence, their
aim was disturbed, and Old Markhead yelled
forth his mocking war-cry as he dropped his
smoking rifle and caught up that of his comrade.
Quick as thought that also was discharged, and
a second savage bit the dust.

Once more plying their paddles, the trap rs,
untouched by the storm 0 miss'les, sped (fifwn
the river at racing speed—but the end came
sooner than they expected.

The canoe passed over a water-logged tree-
trunk that floated just beneath the surface, a
sharp knot tearing a long gash through the bark
bottom, through which the water gurgled with
alarming rapidity.

01d Markhead stuffed his cap into the crevice,
but he saw that ten minutes more would sink
them, and with a grim sternuess, he gave the
canoe a decided sheer toward the right bank,
here high and broken.

“ A crick yender l” muttered Wootou. “ We
kin pull up it an’ so git to the rocks, then make
a font fer it!”

Into the little inlet they dashed, pressing
through a mass Of vines and foliage that over-
hung the stream, then uttered a simultaneous
cry of wonder as the canoe shot into the dark
mouth of what appeared to be a capacious cav-
ern.

It was no time then to indulge their curiosity,
however, and they leaped out upon the sand-
strewn rock, weapons in hand, expecting the
red-skins to close in at once.

They could hear them yelling without, be-
yond the leafy screen, but not a little to their
amazement, more than an hour passed Without
the expected assault. This puzzled them sorely,
for the Apaches are no cowards when the odds

 

are all in their favor, and they had pressed the
hunt with such fierce persistence that this delay
was doubly strange. _

And not only one hour, but the remainder of
the day was spent \in idle waiting. From their
ells and signals, it was clear that the Indians
ad completelg surrounded the' spot, but they
never venture beyond a certain line.

It was as though the spot was sacred to them.
And Old Markhead, who could never abide a
mystery, did not draw a free breath until he had
found out the secret.

Unwittingly the trappers had sought refuge
in an ancient burial—ground of the A be na-
tion! The cavern, composed of severa spacious
chambers, extending far under the hill, was one
vast catacomb, where hundreds if not thousands
of skeletons lay moldering amid the rude treas-
ures that had been buried With them.

This discovery assured the fugitives of safety,
as long as they kept within the cavern of the
dead, for no Apache would dare enter there with
weapons in hand and evil in heart.

Satisfied of this, they caught fish from the
pool within the mouth of the cavern, and kind-
ing a fire around the turn, ate heartily, then
took turns in sleeping.

In this manner they passed two days, during
which time the Apaches never molested them,
though closely environing the spot, seemingly
bent on starving them out. There was little
danger of this, for fish were plenty, but at the
end of the time mentioned, the trappers grew
sick of their confinement, and as the night set-
tled down dark and cloudy, Old Markhead si-
lently entered the creek, passing down it to the
leafy screen. Peering through this, he saw that
large fires were built on both sides of the little
stream, while a dozen red-skins were in view.
Beyond these, tied to stakes near the water’s
edge, he saw the three bark canoes floating at
anchor, and with a daring resolve shaping itself
in his mind, be cautious]?!' retraced his steps, in
a few words informing is comrade of the dis—
cOVeries made.

Dick Wooton was ever ready for any adven-
ture, no matter how perilous, and slinging their
rifles upon their backs, the two trappers entered
the water. Pausing at the leafy screen only
long enough to fully inflate their lungs, they
joined hands and diving, swam swiftly beneath
the surface, arising close beside the canoes.
Here their heads were in the shadow cast by
the boats themselves, and thus covered, they
coolly surveyed the enemy.

It was clear that these suspected nothing, and
making sure that none of the warriors were
near enough to overhear the slight noise they
must necessarily make, the bold fellOWS drew
their knives and cautiousl scuttled the two
largest canoes, making hoes in their bottoms
that could not be easily mended.

This done, and making sure that the third
canoe was well supplied with paddles, they cut
the rope that held it to shore, then sprung into
it, sending it far out upon the river with a single
vigorous shove. ,

They were almost instantly discovered, but
the volley of arrows and bullets did no harm,
so hastily were the discharged, and yelling
aloud in mocking de ance, the reckless trappers
plied their paddles vigorously.

The Apaches crowded into the scuttled ca-
noes, but ere they had gone a dozen rods, both
sunk, rendering the confusion doubly intense
as the savages were precipitated into the water.
To cut a long story short, the trappers plied
their paddles steadily all night, then took to
land, making their way safely to the settle-
ments in Taos Valley. If pursued, they never
saw any evidence of the fact, and always be—
lieved that they had, literally, been “ Saved by
the Dead.”

 

 

Telephone Echoes.

 

SOME one asks: “ Who is the really happy
man ?" Some other man.

THE man who is master of himself alwa) s has
“ help ” that he can depend upon. .

TEE politician who wrote an open letter
wishes now that he had kept it closed.
WOODEN—“ What a funny head that fellOW
has.” Wagg—“ Yes. He’s a humorist."

A MAN'S idea of being good to a woman is to
give her opportunities to be good to him.

THE deaf mute should express himself in
musical language; he uses a hand organ of
speech.

GIRLS should bear in mind that hauling
young men over the coals does not tend to make
them pop.

A CHICAGO clergyman says that “ the bullet
is on its last legs.” Of course—they wouldn’t
have the girls dance on all—feurs, would they?

LADY—“SO it seems, then, that you had a
new situation each month?” Servant—“Well,
$11159, that shows how much I was sought af-

r.

AN empty whisky cask exploded the other
day. This should be a warning to men who
make whisky casks of themselves never to get
empty.

“ JUST see that trombone—player. His face is
as red as a beet from blowing hard.” “ Yes, he
certainly ought to know what is meant by strains
of music.”

Wnsx Edison’s kinetograph comes into gen-
eral use, we shall at least be able to see what
that sweet-voiced operator at the central office
really looks like.

VISITOR (viewing the new baby)—“Do you
think he is going to resemble his father?” The
Mother—“ I should not be surprised. He keeps
me up every night.”

“ ARE you workingmen?” asked the lady who
had given them each a good big piece of pie.
“ Not jest at the present time, mum. We find
it easier workin’ women. Eh, Jim?”

“ WHAT a miserable day for a picnic,” said
Mrs. Cusmo, as a procession of children marched
b; in the pouring rain. “ It’s all right,” replied
. r. Cusmo; “ that’s a Baptist Sunday School.”

“YOUR son has been graduated?” “ Yes.”
“ NOW the question is, will he be able to make
his knowledge useful, to impart it to others?”
“ I guess so. He has begun to impart it to me.”

BANK PRESIDENT—“You will haveto go to
Canada alone; I shall give myself up.” Cashier
——“If you do you will go to State’s Prison.”
Bank President—“ Well, it’s a toss up; and I’ve
been to Canada.”

YOUNG GENTLEMAN (drops on his knees at
the feet of a lady)—“ My dear Miss X—, our
respective fathers having come to terms on the
money question, I new venture to, inform you
that I love you to distraction!”

“ How are you, Fogg?" exclaimed Fenderson:
“ I’ve been on a regular wild-goose chase, and
I’m glad I’ve found you at last.” Fenderson
thinks he must have said a good thing, the way
the boys laughed, but he can t for tbs life of him
tell what it was.

“ SCADDSBY is a suspicious fellow,” said
Brief, the lawyer. “ I did some work for him a
little while ago, and when he asked me for the
bill I told him it was all right—I wouldn’t
charge him anything. He thanked me cordial-
ly, but said he’d like to have a receipt.”

Miss SUMMERBY (on the beach)—“ See h0w
dreamy Mr. Vaycashun is! Oh, Mr. Vaycashun,
do talk! Are you listening to the billowsasthey
surge ?” Mr. Yacayshun (with a start)-—“ Serge,
serge? No, madam, we’re all out of serge: but—
Oh, I beg your pardon! Yes—er—delightful,
doncherknow! ’

AUNT JULIA (who has not seen her nephew in
ten years)—“ You must come up and visit me,
Henry.” Henry (whose recollections of the old
homestead involve early hours and strict puri-
tanism)—“ I’d like to exceedingly, but I‘m very
busy just now.” Aunt J ulia—“ I’m sorry.
Your _Aunt Martha and I opened a young ladies’
boarding-school a year ago, and the term opens
on the first.” Henry-“Come to think of it, I
shall have a little time on my hands along about
the second. Will it be convenient then ?'

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

.4: a::a‘5s:ztt§‘=;‘r.-* tetrefi‘a‘wéé ’. f ’n ‘f‘ ’

{an};

A Mr

  l. 5.4%,». goo...

:35”! mi  «7s

 

 

    

 

 

. d‘
d -)—/ n

‘ \
A x'miwn'h” :E‘ "
l‘k‘h' ‘