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About The frontier. (O'Neill City, Holt County, Neb.) 1880-1965 | View Entire Issue (Dec. 26, 1907)
_._ THE MRRRTHOH RlYSTERY A STORY OF MANHATTAN._ BY BURTON E. STEVENSON Author of “Tha Holladay Case,” -'Cadets of Gaacony,” Eto. CHAPTER III, A STUDY IN PROBABILITIES. For a moment I thought that Godfrey was joking. How could that tangle of hphaznrd clippings tell any story? And If Ihey did, how could It be con nected with the one which we were trying to decipher? Then, at a sec ond glance. I saw how In deadly earn est he was. There could be no doubt ing It; he had read Into them some meaning which I had failed utterly to see. I sat down in my chair again, my nerves a-quiver; at last, we were on the verge of success. "Well, let’s hear It,” I said. "I intend that you shall—wait till I get them arranged. I'll build up the story as I go along, and I want you to ask any questions or point out any defects that occur to you. Of course, It will be only a study In probabilities; but between us. I think we can get it pretty straight,” He got up from the desk with the clippings in a neat little pile, and sat down in tire chair facing mine. He took a meditative puff or two before he began. '•We’ll have to start with a few gen eral observations,” he said, at last. It's evident that Thompson wouldn't have carrtod these clippings around with him Mr so long unless they in some way concerned him. It’s evident that Miss Croydon would never have dared to take them unless she was pretty certain that they somehow vital ly concerned Iior. It's evident that Tremaine woiddn't have taken so much troulfte to look for them unless he was mighty anxious to find them. We arrive, fhen, at our first conclu sion, namdty.thftt these clippings neces sarily shed some light upon the tragedy TOeerrtty enacted in this room, and upon the connection of these people with each other.” 1XD# It I WU , Ulllton till UiCDC people were mistaken In their estimate of the value of the clippings." “That, ef course, Is possible; but I don't think ft probable. At any rate, let us disregard that suggestion for the moment, and proceed along the oth er tide. What light is It possible for these dippings to shed on the murder of Thompsen. Obviously, it must be only by explaining motives. The ma jority ef them seem to be concerned with the adventures of a Frenchman, who goes under various names, but who. I am sure, la one and the same person. He must, then, be either Tre maine or Thompson. But Thompson was evidently not a Frenchman, nnd Tremaine pretty evidently is, though hls contact with the world has served to rub away a geod many of the marks, l thhtk we're pretty safe, therefore. In assuming that the Frenchman of these clippings is Tremaine. As we go on, I believe wotn find some Internal evi dence ooBtlrming this. You agree with me thus tart" “Perfectly," I said, "admitting your first premise that these clippings are redly concerned with the cose." “That, too. I believe, we'll soon be abte to prove toy internal evidence. Of course, If they haven't any connection with it. ttoey** soon lead us Into chaos. But there's another thing; we mustn't expect too moch from them. We mustn't expert a story complete In all Ita ports—MV hound to be fragmentary. The wonder ts that Thompson succeed ed tn keeping this many links In the chain. Maybe in hls more prosperous days he had a mania for clippings. At best, wo mustn't be disappointed If there are long gaps In the story." "Yea.” I agreed again; "that's evi dent enough.” i "Very wOR: we'll begin with the clip pings, then, substituting Tremaine’s name for the one used. The first clip ping la merely a marriage notice, an nouncing that on the 23d of August, 1883, Tremaine married one Therese Berttgny, at Dieppe. Let me see; Tre maine was then probably about 20 years of age. No doubt he was born at Dieppe, so that the name given here, Victor Charsntc, Is hls real one. You’ll notice that he’s retained the first name —-which Is a bit of corroborative evi dence.” "Or a mere coincidence," I supple mented. “IH wire our correspondent at Dieppe to look up this Charente—perhaps he can get a photograph. That would set tle the question." I nodded. Yes. that would settle It, > for Tremaine at 10 was probably not “ greatly different from Tremaine at 20. "Tho second clipping," proceeded Godfrey, "sheavs us that our hero soon i wandered from the straight and narrow i path, and gives us. too, a little light upon hls personal history. In the spring following hi* marriage—April 16, 1884. to be exert—while assistant manager of the ship supplies house of Briquet Freres, he ntXrtmds with 60,000 fruncs. It D {Uncovered that he kept a mis tress at Rouen. He is believed to huve gone to Amoira-to have been smug gled out of the harbor by a friendly Amertran captain. Surely, It Is not Im possible," toe added, ’’that this friendly American captain was Thompson." "Very few things are Impossible," I commented; I began to be impatient with Godfrey. He was permitting hls prejudice against Tremaine to warp Mb Judgment. « tiii wi: u Rcrji uuu aii a iiypumcs Is, anyhow," mul he turned to the third clipping. "This," he continued, "shows us that he Indeed came to America. It is dated July 23, 1886. and states that a young Frenchman and a trump skipper named Johnson—ah, you see?" I did. Indeed, see—here was the tlrst appearance of Tremaine's zombi—of his familiar devil. I looked at Godfrey with the liveliest admiration. This con stroolive reasoning was something which I, certainly, was quite Incapable of. "So that J on Thompson’s arm was Iho initial of hts real name." observed Godfrey. "I thought Is was —It had l*ecn there a long time, and an effort had been made to erase It. After a man lias started on the crooked path, lie doesn't want tiny tattoo marks on him—they make idem meat ion too easy. For Juhuson, then, we'll hereafter read Thompson.” I nodded; I was beginning to be con vinced. "Writ” continued Godfrey, "Tremaine nn:1 Thompson, then, wire arrested in New York. July -3. 1885. at u low re tail t tv here they were having a carouse. They had beaten and robbed another n:nlor. U stems that nothing was left of Ih.e rixty tbousnnd francs, and nat urally Tremaine found it dlculfllt tc t;n honestly to work again. The fourth ’ clipping, undated, but probably some ■norths later, shows that Tremaine and Tliouvscn were sentenced to three yco.rs each in Sing Sing. But thej 'didn't slay there so long." he added turbine; t* the next clipping, "at least S‘« main-' dtln't. On the night of Jan uary 2, 1886, In the midst of a tre mendous snowstorm, they managed to hide themselves In one of the work shops. and afterwards to scale the out er wall. In the morning Thompson was found at the foot of the wall with his head cut open and nearly frozen. Tre maine got clear away. Thompson was brought around with the greatest dlffl < ulty and would say nothing except to indulge In terrible Imprecations against his companion. You see," concluded Godfrey, looking up, "we begin to get at the motive.” "Yes,” I agreed, “It’s very plain, now you’ve started on tho right track. It’s a good deal like Columbus's egg.” Godfrey smiled and turned to the sixth clipping the longest of them all. “It’s that way with most mysteries,” he said, "and here's the internal evi dence that all this theorizing Is pretty straight. It's the clew, too, which we’ve been seeking so long.” "It explains Miss Croydon’s presence here?" I asked, Intensely Interested and deeply stirred. "Just that!” he said, and shot me a triumphant glance. “Let us see If you can catch it. Tho clipping is In French, and though my French Isn’t of the highest order, I can get the sense of It pretty well. It Is dated Suresnes, and Is evidently a letter from a provincial correspondent to a Paris newspaper, who like most other provincial corres pondents, Is delightfully vague. How ever, I gather from It that on the night of September 16, 1891, a beautiful young English girl— name not given—ran away from the convent school of the Sacred Heart at Suresnes and that the next morning she was safely married to a ‘gallant Frenchman’—Tremaine. of course—by the cure of the little village of Petits Colombes. The marriage was quite regular—though no doubt the cure’s fee was larger than usual—for the banns had been published as re quired. ’Thus,' concludes the eloquent correspondent, 'does the grand passion onee more prevail over the hypocrlses of the cloister.’ Evidently the corres pondent Is a rabid anti-clerical." “But, still," I objected, "I don’t see that that explains anything.” "Let me help you. It was this clip ping I happened to look at first the night we found the body. I read two or three lines aloud, then Slmmonds put It back In the pocket. It must have been those few lines which told Miss Croydon the nature of the clippings and their importance to her. The date line would have been enough to do that. Besides, If she’d already known of them she'd have taken them before we got here." xv»w mean luiao nuyuuu IB uie ««ri who ran away with TremjUne? But then, she couldn't have been more than 10 or 12 years old In 1891.” "Eleven," corrected Godfrey, and I was struck by the radiant expression of his face as he took a yellow paper from his pocket. "Let me read you two sentences from this old report concerning the Croydon family—you ought to have recalled them, my dear Lester.” “Go ahead," I said helplessly. “ 'Eldest daughter, Edith, born In France, August 26, 1874. Educated at school there, but broke down from overstudy and returned to Beckenham. Religion, Catholic.’ Now," he demand ed, "do you understand who It was married Tremaine at Petits Colombes In 1891?” At last I saw It, and I could only sit and stare at him, marveling at my own • stupidity., This wus the key—the key to the whole enigma. Miss Croydon had taken her sister's place, had tried to buy him off, to get him out of her slster'a way. It was Tremaine who had opened the door—It was Tremaine whom she had come to the Marathon to meet. But—and I started upright— since they were Catholics, only hts death could release Mrs. Delroy. Per haps It was Thompson, after all, and his death had released her. But no; and In an Instant the whole terrible position of the elder woman burst up on me. She was not Delroy's wife, she was • » • "So." I said hoarsely, "Tremaine la then the true husband of Mrs. Ddiroy.” "Let us finish the story of the clip pings before going into that," sug gested Godfrey. "I confess, 1 I don’t quite see the bearing of this next one. It’s a New York dispatch, perhaps to a London paper, under date of Feb ruary 18. 1892, and chronicles the loss of the bark Centaur, with all on board, off the coast of Martinique. The Cen taur was bound from Marseilles to Fort-de-France with a cargo of wines and muslins. Let us leave it, for a moment, and pass on to the next one, which Is the last. "This Is dated Sydney, Australia, Oc tober 23, 1896, and relates how a daring scheme to rob the Bank of New South Wales was frustrated by a sailor who had been a member of the gang, but who got frightened and Informed the police. The ringleader, a Frenchman, Was captured and would receive a term of years In prison. There are four copies of this dipping, which no doubt means that it Is the one which Thomp son was some times In the habit of sending to Tremaine, to remind him of that Australian experience. "Now, don’t you see, we reconstruct the whole story. Tremaine, starting out as a defaulter and robber, escapes from prison, leaving his partner In the lurch, treacherously, no doubt, since it awakened his violent anger—there Isn’t any hatred more vindictive than that of one criminal for another who has betrayed him. Tremaine finally goes back to Fiance and succeeds In entangling Edith Croydon, then only about 16, In a marriage. We know how fascinating he Is, and It’s not won derful that he should bo able to mis lead an Inexperienced girl. Of course what he wants Is money, and so she writes to her father. He cornea for her and takes her home—no doubt paying Tremaine a handsome sum to take himself off—In fact, mortgaging his home to do It. “Miss Croydon gradually recovers; but she is Tremaine's wife. Yet in 1900 she marries Delroy. She must therefore have had good reason to be lieve Tremaine dead." "Don't you see?" I cried. "That’s the meaning of that Item about the found ering oi the Centaur, with all on board. Tremaine was a passenger and she knew It.’’ "Good!" nodded Godfrey. "That's undoubtedly it. Let me see." and he turned back to the clipping; "that was In 1892. His name, perhaps, appeared among the missing; she waited eight years, and at last, believing his death established beyond a doubt, married a™aln. "Now, let us see what Tremaine was doing. Ill 1896 he was In Australia planning a bank robbery. He meets Thompson, descended from his estat of captain to that of common sailor. Tremaine takes Thompson In on the plan; and Thompson, to get even for that treachery at Sing. Sing, gives him away. Tremaine, no doubt, got a peni tentiary sentence. He probably broke Jail again, for in 1899 he appears at Martinique, supposedly from South America. He has considerable money, which he no doubt stole somewhere, and perhaps he chose St. Pierre as a safe place to stay in hiding until the hue and cry after him was over. He would have some acquaintance with the island, if he landed there from the wreck. "Thompson learns where- he is—per haps even sees him at St. Pierre—and puls a bouquet to his revenge by driv ing him into fits of rage by reminding him of that Australian treachery. Hut at last he sends him a message, which brings hiin to New York.” “Yes," I said, “and I have cudgelled my brain in vain trying to imagine what that message could have been.” “Well,” remarked Godfrey, “while we can’t, of course, give its actual text, I don’t think it very difficult to guess its general tenor. We know what Tre rnaino came here to do—he came to blackmail Mrs. Delroy. It's pretty safe, then, to suppose that the message told him that she was blackmallable—In other words, that she had married a rich man. No doubt, Tremaine's money was running low, and he jumped at this chance of replenishing his purse. Thompson was working his way toward St. Pierre to Join him, and actually reached there on the Parima Just as Tremaine was leaving. Perhaps Tre maine had tried to play Thompson false a second time. “Now,” he continued, "let us see how nearly we can reconstruct the scene which occurred in this room. Tremaine supplies Thompson on the voyage up with whisky, and agrees to keep him supplied, believing that he may be use ful—not daring, at any rate, to make an open enmy of him, lest he spoil, his game here—Thompson had only to speak a word to the police to put Tre maine back in Sing Sing to serve out his unexpired term. Arrived at New York, he establishes himself in the suite across the hall, and spends a week or two in loosing over the ground, ostensibly boosting his rail road scheme. Thompson, who has been in jail, joins him and takes these rooms. "At last Tremaine Is ready—or per haps hls lack of money foytes him to act. He writes a note to Mrs. Delroy, telling her he's alive and wishes to share In her prosperity. He demands that she meet him in these rooms, ask ing for Thompson—that leaves him free from suspicion shoudl she show the note to her husband and should ho attempt to have the writer arrestfed for blackmail. But she Isn’t so sensible. Perhaps she disregards hls first note; perhaps she’s unable to decide what to do. She has, of course, been thrown Into a panic. He writes again; In de spair she seeks thq advice of her sis ter, and Miss Croydon, who is by far the stronger of the two, offers to come here herself, see the man, and find out what he proposes to do. key, given him some money, and sent | him out to get drunk. But for Jimmy the Dude he would have stayed away— probably In the lockup—but Jimmy brings him home. Tremaine has to make the best of It, since there Isn’t time to get Thompson out of the way j again. Anyway, he’s so dead drunk, that Tremaine anticipates no Interfer ence from him. He shuts him In the bedroom, and sits down to wait for ; Miss Croydon. "She arrives promptly, despite the I rain, and we can Imagine that the dia logue which followed was not of a milk and-water kind—both of them are full of fire and they made the sparks fly. "Thompson Is aroused by the voices, or perhaps wakes naturally—coma* Into the outer room and Interferes. He is still half-drunk; perlfaps he threatens Tremaine. At any rate. Trfemalne picks , up the Iron pipe and kn,ooks him down; I then, In a sudden black frenzy of an ger, remembering Australia, seeing how Thompson will always stand In his way, he draws his revolver and shoots him through the heart. That done, he walks out. closes the door, goes to his room, and, at a favorable moment, leaves the building.” He leaned back in his chair and ap plied a fresh match to his cigar. "That,” he concluded, “is my Idea of the story. There's one person who can fill In the details. I’m going to apply to her as soon as I get back from Bos ton.” "You mean Miss Croydon?” "Yes,” he nodded, "and I think Tre maine Is pretty near the end of his adventurous career.” “There’s one thing,” I remarked, af ter a moment, “that diamond I found on the floor here didn’t come from Tre- j malne's pin. I tried it last night and ' It didn’t fit." Godfrey smiled as he placed the clip pings carefully in his pocketbook. "I know It,” he said; ”1 meant to tell you. It came from the ring belonging to Jimmy the Dude. I saw him tonight across the street—Slmmonds had him In for another sweating—Slmmonds Isn’t quite convinced yet that Jimmy’s Inno cent—and I noticed a ring on his Anger containing a cluster of little diamonds. I One of them was gone, and when I ' questioned him, he said he’d lost It somewhere the night Thompson was killed. He probably dropped It here as he was helping Thompson to bed." "That’s it, no doubt,” I agreed; "but It breaks one thread of evidence.” (Continued Next Week.) Pointed Paragraphs. From the Chicago News. Men who always look before they leap seldom leap. It Is harder to beat a poor carpet than a good one. Being in love furnishes a girl with one more excuse for crying. Speaking of dogs, a pointer should have more than one good point. Some people find fault wit- a bad man because he Isn’t worse. It's the easiest thing In the world for a widower to marry a widow. A woman will honor her husband as long as he Is willing to loye and obey her. Which goes the faster after being broken—a thoroughbred colt or a $10 bill? He Is a wise man who doesn’t let his business Interfere with his pleasure at all times. Feminine curiosity originated with Mother Eve when she took the first bite of that apple. A woman has lost her chief attrac tion for a man when he ceases to won* der what she will do next. Billiards Defined. John Hnrgan, the champion pool player, told at a dinner In St. Louis a billiard story. "Billiards Is a tame amusement be side pool." Mr. Ilorgan began. "Two Hindus were once discussing the game in Calcutta, and 1 think that their Idea of It was pretty near the right one. " ’What Is this white man's game of billiards that 1 hear so much about?' said the first Hindu. " ‘Don't you know?" said the second. •• 'No. Tell me.’ ‘Well,' said the second Hindu, ‘bil liards Is a very simple game. Two men armed with long sticks poke at a ball on a green table, and one says 'Mam” while the other says "hard lines.' " With the exception of Britain and America, there are no two countries In which the mile Is of eitual length. i A New Year Conquest I By Charles Moreau Harger. j j A Story of the Great Southwest, j - - ---- - - —- - ——#4 Great clouds of yellow dust, a dazzling sky, sweeping winds, long reaches of level lands—the midwinter southwest and on the siding the palatial train of the cattle king who was now off among the ranches looking after sleek and well-bred herds. The cattle king’s daughter, whose pros pective wealth entitled her to the rank of princess, sat under the striped awning on the rear platform of the train, gazing wearily at the monotonous landscape. “How long are we to stay here?” she demanded of the porter who was indus triously trying to keep the leather-covered chairs clean. He did not answer—he did not know. She went back to the parlor Df the other private car and accosted the quiet woman who sat by the window sew. ing. “Auntie, how long is this to last?” “Until your father gets back or there are orders.” "I’m tired of it—I’m going out of doors.” She seized a jacket and cap, slipped flown the side steps and disappeared be hind the squalid depot. A dilapidated liv- , Biy stable stood in the sunshine. “I want ft riding horse—quick!" The man fairly trembled in his anxiety to serve the city girl, and in a moment she was cantering over the sand and sage brush, headed straight for the green hills in the distance. Away and away she sped, delighting in the free rush of the wind, the swish of her pony's hoofs through the grass and the ex hilaration of the open lands. At last she turned the horse’s head— where was the station? Nothing but a rolling plain, not shining with sunlight,; but dampened by shadow. With a little cry of terror she sent her mount racing ahead and strained her eyes for the engine smoke on the horizon. "Ah, there it Is—but so far away!” She surmised what had happened—her father had reached a station farther down the line and wired for the train to join him, and they had not discovered her ab sence before starting. As she looked she saw off to the left an other rider—a wide-hatted ranchman—to ward him she rode. As she drew nearer her cheeks grew red and her eyes bright ened. Once she stopped and turned as if to leave him. Then he came close to her. “Oh, Mr. Mason, what shall I do?" Frank Mason, the handsome ranch su perintendent, scarcely recognized her, bowing so slightly that It seemed to be merely the motion of his horse. “What is the matter, madam?” “Don’t be mean”—the girl’s eyes were beseeching. “But you told me never to speak to you agaln—only this morning.” “Yes, I know, but you see how it la the train has gone—it is almost evening and here I am.” “It does look serious, doesn’t It? Where do they think you are?” “They don’t think. Aunty’s probably gone to sleep and won’t wake up until midnight—the others think I’m in my room, In papa’s car.” "It is serious—and nobody’s at the ranch to take care of you. I suppose they will come back tomorrow anyhow.” “Tomorrow!” The girl fairly screeched the word. “We must get them now—to night, don’t you understand—now!” “But it is fifty miles to the next tele graph station—how can the engineer get orders?” He looked toward the train, which was disappearing in a cut between some creek bluffs a mile or two below the station. “You see it’s New Year's day and every body but the stable boys and st&tlon agent has gone to the county seat to a celebra tion. There’s a dance tonight, so they won’t be home—yes, it Is serious.” Their horses were moving slowly to ward the station, yet a long distance away. They were talking earnestly and did not notice the curious movements of a herd of cattle that had strayed from the grasslands toward the station and now, hundreds and hundreds of them, were pushing close to the two figures. The girl’s bright jacket and the Hashing red of the cap that topped her brown curls may have caused their exceeding Interest. When a huge fellow trotted in front of her weary horse, the girl stared about her in alarm. “Oh, Frank—Mr. Mason—look!” The young ranchman seemed much ex cited. “Hurry!” he exclaimed and urged his horse into a run. She cantered by his side, alarmed by the strange apparition o( the herd, which it seemed had risen out of the sod. The ranchman saw something else that the girl did not—a cluster of earth mounds thrown up in the level of the plain, the work of prairie dogs or some other bur rowers of the plains. Before he coulc caution the girl, her horse stumbled, fell THE DEATH OF THE OLD YEAR. Full knee-deep lies the winter snow, And the winter winds are wearily sighing: Toll ye the church-bell sad and slow And tread softly and speak low. For the old year lies a-dying. Old year, you must not dlej You came to us so readily, You lived with us so steadily. Old year, you shall not die. He lieth still: de doth not move: He will not see the dawn of day. He hath no other life above. He gave me a friend, and a true true-love. And the New Year will take 'em away. ( Old year, you must not go; So long as you have been with us, Such joy as you have seen with us. Old year, you shall not go*. He froth'd hfs bumpers to the brim; A jollier year we shall not see. But tho’ his eyes are waxing dim. And tho’ his foes speak ill of him. He was a friend to me. Old year, you shall not die; We did so laugh and cry with you, I’ve half a mind to die with you. Old year, ft you must die. He was full of joke and jest. But all his merry quips are o’er. To see him die, across the waste His son and heir doth ride post-haste. But he’ll be dead before. * Everyone for his own. The night Is starry and cold, my friend, And the New Year blithe and bold my , friend, ' Comes up to take his own. How hard he breathes! over the snow *1 heard just now the crowing cock. The shadows flicker to and f*o: The cricket chirps: the light burns low: ’Tis nearly twelve o’clock. Shake hands, before you die. Old year, we’ll dearly rue for you: What is it we can do for you? Speak out before you die. His face !s growing sharp and thliu Alack! our friend is gone. I Close up his eyes; tie up his chin: Step from the corpse and let him ln> That standeth there alone. And walteth at the door. There’s a new foot on the floor my friend, _ And a new face at the door, my mend. A new face at the door, i —Lord Tennyson. staggered, went tumbling in a heaip* with a broken leg. Now it was serious. The cattle, more curious than ever, scampered faster to ward the object of their interest: the fall en horse plunged and snorted; the skirt* of its rider held her prisoner. In an instant Mason was by her side, tugging at the fair burden. When she was free he found her helpless from a strained ankle, ana with tenderness he lifted her in his arms and to hisr own sad 1 die. Then jumping beside her he turned the nervous animal, drew his revolver and shot unerringly the struggling beast on the ground—then away toward the sta tion resting on the broad and dusty plain. Arrived there, he lifted her gently to one of the benches which stood in the tiny waiting-room: he transformed it Into a settee with blankets from the livery stable; he heard with pleasure her words of satisfaction. “That pin you wear—where did you get It?” she asked, irrelevantly. “It looke like Harvard/’ "It is Harvard—I graduated mere. "And you are herding cattle’" “I am superintending a ranch—my fath er owns it—10,000 head." "And you live?" "In Chicago—my special train is at St. Louis now with my sister and mother aboard, bound here.” So this was the “cowboy” she had pat ronized and made fun of as he came to the train day after day to see her father. She had been amused by his assurance and had quarreled with him that very morning. Now she was at his mercy— and she found it rather pleasant. “This is a strange beginning for the New Year,” she broke out. “I wonder when the train will be back." “I think it is a good beginning—I'm sure I don’t know about that train—there is no connection with it yet.” "I'm sorry I was so rude this morning, Fr—Mr. Mason.” “Don’t worry, Anna—Miss Seamans." He smiled, cautiously, at her. "It Is fine of you to care for me and protect me this way." she went on, "and ’ I don’t know how to thank you." “Don't try. This Is not the first time I have seen you—I danced with you two years ago at your cousin’s ball." "I do not remember, but you have been very good now. I shall not forget it." “I know—but don’t you think It would be a fine thing to have me take care of you all the time?” She gave a pressure of her hand—but no more. Almost at the door was a rum ble, a high note "T-o-o-t!" and the striped awntng of the rear car came into \tcw a few feet away. "Quick—love, will you?" His words were sager, and as he lifted her In his arm* once more for a Journey to the train sh# whispered: “Yes.” Almost as soon from the opposite di rection came Mr. Seamans, and his fora men. He greeted the pair with smile* ffld laughed at the daughter’s Injuries when he found they were not serious. ’’Stay on with us,” he invited Mason. ‘■We'll bring you hack before we leav* lor Chicago.” "flow did the train come back so soon?” tsked Miss Seamans, rising from her 'ouch. “I thought it was fifty mtles to die next station!” "Wireless telegraphy,” suggested Ma lon. “Shucks," said the aunt, contemptuous y. "The engineer pulled it down to the meek to fill the boilers. We weren’t gone lalf an hour.” The girl looked quickly into the l&ugh ng eyes of the young ranchman. "I believe you knew It all the time,” sh* •xclaimed. "I did not tell you differently,” he plead ed. "You remember I was under orders.” She was rot satisfied. That evening a* hey sat out under the striped awning on he rear platform, and watched the land scape, glistening under the winter moon, is the train sped southward, she contln led: “Really, Frank, didn’t you bribe th* mgineer to run behind the hill eo it would icare me?” But he did not answer—nor has he an iwered yet, though his wife propounds tb* luestion every New Year’s day. NDIAN PROVERBS AND SUPER. STITIONS. From the Cincinnati Commercial, The coward shoots with shut eyes. A starving man wtlIY eat with th* wolf. There Is no' gut* tar the firewater’s ourn. When a fox walks lame, old rabbit lumps. Small things talk loud, to tb* Ita lian's eye. ’ * The paleface's arm is longer than hi* word. A squaw's tongue runs faster thaa :he wind’s legs. There ts nothing so eloquent a* a -attlesnake's talk The Indian scalps his enemy—tha paleface his friends. New Year's resolutions are now In order, ind while It i» not possible for all person* o live up to them, at least the mere fact that they attempt to accomplish some thing which they left out In the past year ahows enough of the good spirit to over come obstacles once In a whtle; If It 1* only New Year's when everyone turn* aver a new leaf. The quiet fidelity with which a woman will dish-wash her life away Is Just one thing that every woman who Is making that mistake today should resolve In the Innermost depths of her heart to abolish In the new year, says the Woman's Na tional Daily. By this It Is not urging peo ple to cease dlsh-washlng. but that dally grind which breaks a woman's health, her spirit and often her pride. Did you ever see an old work-horse pacing along the road like a well-groomed animal, petted, fed and kept In luxury? Of course not. And the woman w)io drudges all the time, forgetting she has her own Interests at stake, gives up practically every Inter est In life to keep up the routine of duties. If you can not give them up, then deter mine to have a little rest during the day when no one dares disturb you. ♦ 4 4- THE WOMAN IS NEVER 4 4- OLD. 4 4- 4 4- Who allows herself to think 4 4- only of pleasant things. 4 4- Who trains her tongue to utter 4 4- only pleasant words. 4 4- Who remembers that frowns 4 4- are unbecoming and that smiles 4 4- are better. 4 4- Who keeps her nerves well un- 4 4- der control and remembers that 4 4- they are not an interesting sub- 4 4- ject to any one. 4 4- AVho enters into the pla,ns, and 4 4- as far as possible, Into- the do- 4 4- ings ot the young people about 4 4 her. 4 4 Who never allows herself to> be- 4 4 come slouchy and careless In ap- 4 4 pearance. 4 4 Who treats others ap she .likes 4 4 to be cared for herself and never 4 4 demands too much from her 4 4 friends. 4 4 4 44 4 444444444444444-44444444