HOW MRS. BEAN
MET THE CRISIS
Carried Safely Through Change :
cf Life by Lydia E. Pinkham’s
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—lire. E. H. Bean, E25 Joseph Avenue,
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Splitting His Face.
Senator Penrose was discussing n
turbulent element In the Itepubllcnn
convention.
“These men,” he said, "were ani
mated by the same spirit that posses
sed Pat.
"Put, a road mender, was observed
by a mate to be holding Ids heavy
sledge motionless high above his head,
ready to bo brought down the minute
the boss looked at him.
“ ‘What the dickens are ye doin’,
Pat?’ bis matte asked.
“‘Pst!’ said Put, In a low, reproach
ful voice. ‘Can’t ye let a clmp rest a
minute when the boss’ buck Is
turned?’ ”
Improved.
“The elnm chowder Is very flue to
day, sir,” suggested the waiter.
“I had some of that yesterday,” said
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it."
“You’ll find it better toduy, sir.
They’ve put another clam In.”
Re3tful.
“Who is that chap riding on the
hearse with the driver?”
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J. H. McFarland,
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The doctor’s medi
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ly temporarily and
when I hoard of
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! THE LONE
STAR RANGER
A ROMANCE OP THE BORDER
BY
ZANE GREY
Author of "The Light of Western Stare," ‘‘Rider* of the Purple Sage," eto.
HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS
NEW YORK AND LONDON
MCMXV
tjmmMiuiiiiiiii.mp'jgL'ieuimeiaBa———aeaa
CHAPTER XV.—(Continued).
Miss Dongstreth reeled and might
have la Hen had Duune not supported
her. it was only a few steps to a
couch, to which he half led, half car
ried her. Then he rushed out of the
room, across the patio, through the bar
to the yard. Nevertheless, he was cau
tious. In the gloom stood a saddled
horse, probably the one belonging to
the tellow lie had shot. His comrade
had escaped. Returning to the sitting
room, Duane found a condition ap
proaching pandemonium.
Tlio Innkeeper rushed in, pitchfork in
hands. Evidently he had been out at
, tiie barn. 11c was now shouting to find
out what had happened. Joel, the stage
driver, was trying to quiet the men
who had been robbed. The woman, wife
of one of the men, had come in, and
she had hysterics. The girls were still
and white. The robber Bill lay where
lie had fallen, and Duane guessed he
had made a fair shot, after all. And,
lastly, the thing that struck Duane
most of all was Dongstreth’s rage. He
never saw such passion. Dike a caged
11 n Dongstreth stalked aiul roared.
There came a quieter moment, In which
the Innkeeper shrilly protested:
“Man, wtiat’re you ravin’ about? No
body's hurt, an' thet a lucky. 1 swear
to God 1 hadn't nothin' to do with them
fellers!”
"1 ought to kill you anyhow!" re
plied l.ongstreth. And his voice now
astounded Duane, it was so full of
power.
Upon examination, Duane found that
Ills bullet laid furrowed the robber's
temple, torn a great piece out of his
scalp, and, us Duane had guessed, had
glanced. He was not seriously Injured,
and already showed signs of returning
consciousness.
"Drag him out of here!" ordered
Dongstreth; and he turned .to his
daughter.
Before the Innkeeper reached the
robber, Duane had secured the money
and gun taken from him; and presently
recovered the property of the other
men. Joel helped the Innkeeper carry
the Injured man somewhere outside.
Miss Dongstreth was sitting, white
but composed, upon the couch, where
lay Miss Ruth, who evidently hud been
carried there by the colonel. Duane did
not think she had wholly lost con
sciousness, and now she lay very still,
Willi eyes dark and shadowy, her fuce
pallid and wet. The colonel, now that
he finally remembered his womenfolk,
seemed to be gentle and kind. He talked
soothingly to Miss Ruth, made light of
file adventure, said she must learn to
have nerve out here where things hap
pened.
"Can I be of any service?" asked Du
une, solicitously.
"Thanks; X guess there's nothing you
can do. Talk to these (lightened girls
M illie I go see what’s to be done with
that thick skulled robber," he replied,
and, telling the girls that there was no
more danger, lie went out.
Miss Dongstreth sat with one hand
holding her torn waist In place; the
other she extended to Duane, lie took
It awkwardly, and he felt a strange
thrill.
“You saved my lire, she sulci, in
grave, sweet seriousness.
“No, no!” Duane exclaimed. “He
might have struck you. hurt you, but
no more."
“I saw murder in his eyes. He
thought I had Jewels under my dress.
1 couldn't bear his touch. The beast!
I'd have fought. Surely my life was in
peril.”
"Did you kill him?” asked Miss Ruth,
who lay listening.
“i Hi, no. He's not badly hurt.”
"I'm very glad he's alive,” said Miss
Longstreth, shuddering.
“My intention was bad enough,”
Duane went on. "It was a tlcklisn
place for me. You see, he was half
drunk, and I was afraid his gun might
go off. Fool careless he was!”
"Yet you say ”011 didn’t save me,”
Miss Longstreth returned, quickly.
"Well, let it go at that,” Duane re
sponded. "I saved you something."
“Tell me about it?” asked Miss Ruth,
Who was fast recovering.
Rather embarrassed, Duane briefly
told the incident from his point of
view.
“Then you stood there all the time
with your hands up thinking of noth
in'.’, watching for nothing except a
little moment when you might draw
your gun?” asked Miss Ruth,
"i guess that's about it,” he replied
"Cousin," said Miss Longstreth,
thoughtfully, "it was fortunate for us
that this gentleman happened to bo
hero. Papa scouts—laughs at danger.
Ho seemed to think there was no dan
ger. Yet he raved after it came."
"Co with us all the way to Fairdale—
p ease?" asked Miss Ruth, sweetly of
fering her hand. "I am Ruth Herbert.
And this is my cousin; Ray Long
streth.''
"I'm traveling that way,” replied
Duane in great confusion. He did not
know how to meet the situation.
Colonel Longstreth returned then,
cn after bidding Duane a good night,
which scorned rather curt by contrast
to the graciousness of the girls, ho
led them away.
before, going to bed Duane went oul
cU .■ to aslt him a few questions. To
Dunne's surprise, ho was gone, and so
v '■ liis horse. The innkeeper was
dumfounded. He said that he left the
follow on the floor in the barroom.
"Had he come to?" inquired Duane.
".Sure. He asked for whisky.”
"Did he say anything else?"
"Not to me. 1 heard him talkin' to
the father of them girls.”
'"/on mean Colonel Longstreth?”
“I reckon. He sure was some riled,
want he? Jest as if I was to biame
for that two-bit of a holdup!''
"What did you make of the old gent’s
rage?” asked Duane, watching the inn
keeper. He scratched his head dubi
ously. He was sincere; and Duane be
lieved in his honesty.
"Wal, J’m doggoned if I know what
to make of it. But I reckon he’s either
t’-izy or got more nerve than most
' exans."
“More nerve, maybe." Duane replied.
•Show me a bed now. innkeeper."
Once in bed in the dark, Duane com
posed himself to think over the several
events of the evening. He called up
the details of the holdup and carefully
revolved them in mind. The colonel's
wrath, under circumstances where al
most uny Texan would have been cool,
nonplussed Duane, and he put it down
to a choleric temperament. He pon
dered long on the action of the robber
when Longstreth's bellow of rage burst
in upon him. This ruffian, as bold
14
and mean a type as Duane had ever
encountered, had, from some cause or
other, been startled. From whatever
point Dnane viewed the man's strange
indecision—his start, his . check, his
fear had been that of recognition.
Duane com pared this effect with the
suddenly acquired sense he had gotten
of Colonel Longstreth's powerful per
sonality. Why had that desperate rob
ber lowered his gun and stood para
lyzed at sight and sound of the mayor
of Fairdale? This was not answer
able. There might have been a number
of reasons, all to Colonel Longstreth’s
credit, but Duane could not under
stand. Longstreth had not appeared to
see danger for his daughter, even
though sho had been roughly handled,
and had advanced in front of a cocked
gun. Duane probed deep into this sin
gular fact, and he brought to bear on
the thing all his knowledge and ex
perience of violent Texas life. And he
found that the instant Colonel Long
streth had appeared on the scene there
was no further danger threatening his
daughter. Why? That likewise Du
nne could not answer. Then his rage,
Duane concluded, had been solely at
the idea of his daughter being assault
ed by a robber. This deduction was
Indeed a thought disturber, but Duane
put it aside to crystallize and for more
careful consideration.
Next morning Duane found that the
little town was called Sanderson. It
was larger than he had at first sup
posed. He walked up the main street,
and back again. Just as he arrived
some horsemen rode up to the inn and
dismounted. And at this juncture the
Longstreth party came out. Duane
heard Colonel Longstreth utter an ex
clamation. Then lie saw him shake
hands with a tall man. Longstreth
looked surprised and angry, and he
spoke with force; but Duane could not
hear what it was he said. The follow
laughed, yet somehow he struck Duane
as sullen, until suddenly he espied Miss
Longstreth. Then his face changed,
and he removed his sombrero. Duane
went closer.
“Floyd, did you come with the
teams?” asked Longstreth, sharply.
"Not me. I rode a horse, good and
hard," was the reply.
“Humph! I’ll have a word to say
to you later." Then Longstreth turned
to his daughter. "Ray, here's the cou
sin I’ve told you about. You used to
play with him 10 years ago-—Floyd
I.awson. Floyd, my daughter—and my
niece, Ruth Herbert."
Duane always scrutinized every one
he met, and now with a dangerous
game to play, with a consciousness of
Longstreth’s unusual and significant
personality, he bent a keen and search
ing glance upon this Floyd Lawson.
He was under 30, yet gray at his :
temples—dark, smooth shaven, with
lines left by wildness, dissipation,
shadows under dark eyes, a mouth
strong and bitter, and a square chin—
a reckless, careless, handsome, sinister
face strangely losing the hardness
when he smiled. The grace of a gen
tleman clung round him, seemed like
an echo in his mellow voice. Duane
doubted not that he. like many a
young man, had drifted out to the
frontier, whore rough and wild life had
wrought sternly but had not quite ef
faced tHe mark of good family.
Colonel Longstreth anparently did
not share the pleasure of ids daughter
and his niece in the advent of this
cousin. Something hinged on this
meeting. Duane grew intensely curi
ous. but, as the stage appeared ready
for the journey. lie had no further op
portunity to gratify it.
CHAPTER XVI.
Duane followed the stage through
the town, out into the open, on to a
wide, hard packed road showing years
of travel. It headed northwest. To
the left rose a range of low, bleak
mountains he had noted yesterday, and
to the right sloped the mesquite
patched sweep of ridge and flat. The
driver pushed his team to a fast trot,
which gait surely covered ground rap
idly.
The stage made three stops in the
forenoon, one at a place where the
horses could be watered, the second
at a chgck wagon belonging to cow
boys who were riding after stock, and
the third at a small cluster of adobe
and stone houses constituting a hamtct
the driver called Eongstreth, named
after the colonel. From that point on
to Fairdale there were only a few
ranches, each one controlling great
acreage.
Early In the afternoon from a ridge
top Duane sighted Fairdale, a green
patch In the mass of gray. For the
barrens of Texas it was indeed a fail
sight. But he was more concerned
with its remoteness from civilization
than its beauty. At that time, in the
early ’70s, when the vast western third
of Texas was a wilderness, the pioneer
had done wonders to settle there and
establish places like Fairdale.
It needed on'v n glance for Duane
to pick out Colonel Eongstreth’s ranch.
The house was situated on the only
elevation around Fairdale, and it was
not high, nor more than a few min
utes' walk from the edge of the town.
It' was a low, flat roofed structure
made of red adobe bricks, and covered
what appeared to he fully an acre of
ground. All was green about it, ex
cept where the fenced corrals and nu
merous barns or sheds showed gray
and red.
Duar.e soon reached the shady out
skirts of Fairdale. and entered the
town with mingled feelings of curios
ity, eagerness and expectation. The
street he rode down was a solid row of
saloons, resorts, hotels. Saddled horses
stood hitched all along the sidewalk
in two long lines, with a buekboard
and team here and there breaking the
continuity. This block was busy and
noisy.
From all outside appearances Fnir
dale was no different from other fron
tier towns, and Duane’s expectations
were scarcely realized. As the after
noon was waning he halted at a little
inn. A boy took charge of his horse.
Duane questioned the lad about Fair
dale and gradually drew to the subject
most in mind.
"Colonel Eongstreth has a big outfit,
eh?”
"Reckon he has," replied the lad.
“Doan know how many cowboys.
They’re always cornin’ and goin’. I
ain’t acquainted with half of them.”
"Much movement of stock these
days?”
"Stock’s always movin’,” he replied,
with a queer look.
“Rustlers?”
Rut he did not follow up that look
with the affirmative Duane expected.
I "Lively place, I hear—Fairdale is?”
"Ain't so lively as Sanderson, but
It's bigger/'
“Yes, X heard it was. Fellow down
there was talking about two cowboys
who were arrested."
“Sure. I heered all about that. Joe
Bean an’ Brick Higgins—they belong
heah, but they ain’t heah much. Long
streth's boys."
Duane did not want to appear over
inquisitive, so he turned the talk into
other channels.
After getting supper Duane strolled
up and down the main street. When
darkness set In he went into a hotel,
bought cigars, sat around and watched.
Then he passed out and went into the
next place. This was of rough crude
exterior, but the inside was compara
tively pretentious and ablaze with
lights. It was full of men coming and
going—a dusty booted crowd that
smelled of horses and smoke. Duane
sat down for a while, with wide eyes
and open ears. Then he hunted up the
bar, where most of the guests had been
or were going. Fie found a great square
room lighted by six huge lamps, a bar
at one side, and all the floor space
tuken up by tables and chairs. This
was the only gambling place of any
size in southern Texas in which he had
noted the absence of Mexicans. There
was some card playing going on at this
moment. Duane stayed in there for a
while, and knew that strangers were
too common in Fairdale to be conspic
uous. Then he returned to the inn
where he had engaged a room.
Duane sat down on the steps of the
dingy little restaurant. Two men were
conversing inside, and they had not
noticed Duane.
"Laramie, v/hat’s the stranger's
name?" asked one.
“He didn't say,” replied the other.
“Sure was a strappin’ big man.
Struck me a little odd, he did. No cat
tleman, him. Flow’d you size him?"
"Well, like one of them cool, easy,
quiet Texans who’s been lookin’ for a
man for years—to kill him when he
found him."
“Right you are, Laramie; and, be
tween you an’ me, I hope he's lookin'
for Long—”
“’S-sh!" interrupted Laramie. "You
must be half drunk, to go talkin' that
way.”
I hereafter they conversed In too low
a tone for Duane to hear, and presently
Laramie’s visitor left. Duane went in
side and, making himself agreeable, be
gan to ask casual questions about Fair
dale. Laramie was not communicative.
Duane went to his room in a thought
ful frame of mind. Had Laramie’s vis
itor meant he hoped some one had
come to kill Longstreth? Duane in
ferred just that from the interrupted
remark. There was something wrong
about the mayor of Fairdale. Duane
felt it. And he felt also, if there was
a crooked and dangerous man, it was
this Floyd Lawson. The innkeeper
Laramie would be worth cultivating.
And last in Duane’s thoughts that
night was Miss Longstreth. He could
not help thinking of her—how strangely
the meeting with her had affected iiirri.
It made him remember that long past
time when girls had been a part of his
life. What a sad and dark and endless
void lay between that past and the
present! He had no right even to
dream of a beautiful woman like Ray
Longstreth. That conviction, however,
did not dispel her; indeed, it seemed
perversely to make her grow more fas
cinating. Duane grew conscious of a
strange, unaccountable hunger, a some
thing that was like a pang in his breast.
Next day he lounged about the inn.
He did not make any overtures to the
taciturn proprietor. Duane had no need
of hurry now. He contented himself
with watching and listening. And at
the close of day he decided Fairdale
was what MacNelly had claimed it to
be, and that he was on the track of an
unusual adventure. Tlie following day
he spent in much the same way, though
on one occasion he told Laramie he
was looking for a man. The innkeeper
grew a little less furtive and reticent
after that. He would answer casual
queries, and it did not take Duane long
to learn that Laramie had seen better
days—that he was now broken, bitter
and hard. Some one had wronged him.
Several days passed. Duane did not
sucebed in getting any closer to Lara
mie, but he found the idlers on the cor
ners and in front of the stores unsus
picious and willing to talk. It did not
take him long to find out that Fair
dale stood parallel with Huntsville for
gambling, drinking and fighting. The
street was always lined with dusty,
saddled horses, the town full of stran
gers. Money appeared more abundant
than in any place Duane had ever vis
ited; and it was spent with the aban
don that spoke forcibly of easy and
crooked acquirement. Duane decided
that Sanderson, Bradford and Ord were
but notorious outposts to this Fairdale,
which was a secret center of rustlers
and outlaws. And what struck Duane
strangest of all was the fact that Long
streth was mayor here and held court
daily. Duane knew intuitively, before
a chance remark gave him proof, that
this court was a sham, a farce. And
he wondered if it were not a blind. This
wonder of his was equivalent to sus
picion of Colonel Longstreth, and Du
ane reproached himself. Then he re
alized that the reproach was because
of the daughter. Inquiry had brought
him the fact that Ray Longstreth had
Just come to live with her father. Long
streth had originally been a planter in
Louisiana, where his family had re
mained after his advent in tlie west.
He was a rich rancher; he owned half
of Fairdale; he was a cattle buyer on
a large scale. Floyd Lawson was his
lieutenant and associate in deals.
On the afternoon of the fifth day of
Duane’s stay in Fairdale he returned
to tlie inn from his usual stroll, and
upon entering was amazed to have a
rough looking young fellow rush by
him out of the door. Inside, Laramie
was lying on tlie floor, with a bloody
bruise on ids face. Ho did not appear
to lie dangerously hurt.
"Bo Sneeker! He hit me and went
after the cash drawer,” said Laramie,
laboring to his feet.
"Are you hurt much?” queried Du
ane.
"I guess not. But Bo needn’t to have
soaked me. I’ve been robbed before
without that.”
"Well, I’ll take a look after Bo,” re
plied Duane.
He went out and glanced down the
street toward the center of the town.
He did not see any one he could take
for tlie innkeeper's assailant. Then he
looked up the street, and he saw the
young fellow about a block away, hur
rying along and gazing back.
Duane yelled for him to stop and
started to go after him. Sneeker broke
into a run. Then Duane set out to
overhaul him. There were two motives
in Duane’s action—one of anger, and
the other a desire to make a friend of
this man Laramie, who Duane believed
could tell him much.
Duane was light on his feet, and he
! had a giant stride. He gained rapidly
: upon Sneeker. who, turning this way
and that, could not get out of sight.
; Then he took to the o' en country and
ran straight for the green hill where
Longstreth's house stood. Duane had
almost caught Sneeker when he reached
the shrubbery and trees and there elud
ed him. But Duane kept him in sight,
in the shade, on the paths, and up the
J road into the courtyard, and he saw
Sneeker go straight for Longstreth’s
! house.
Duane was not to be turned back by
that, singular as it was. He did not
i stop to consider. It seemed enough to
know that fate had directed him to the
j path of this rancher Longstreth. Du
; ane entered the first open door on that
; side of the court. It opened into a cor
j ridor which led into a plaza. It had
wide, smooth stone porches, and flow
I ers and shrubbery in the center. Duane
hurried through to burst into the pres
ence of Miss Longstreth and a number
of young people. Evidently she was
giving a little party.
Lawson stood leaning against one.
of the pillars that supported the
porch roof; at sight of Duane
his face changed remarkably, express
ing amazement, consternation, then
! fear.
In the quick ensuing silence Miss
! T.ongstreth rose W'hite as her dress.
, The young women present stared in(
astonishment, if they were not equally
perturbed. There were cowboys pres
ent who suddenly grew intent and still.
But these things Duane gathered that
his appearance must he disconcerting.
He was panting. He wore no hat or;
coat. His big gun-sheath showred
plainly at his hip. '
Sight of Miss Longstreth had an un
accountable effect upon Duane. He
was plunged into confusion. For the
moment he saw no one but her.
"Miss Longstreth—I came—to search
—your house,” panted Duane.
He hardly knew what he was say
ing. yet the instant he spoke he real
ized that that should have been the
last thing for him to say. He had
blundered. But he was not used to
women, and this dark-eyed girl made
him thrill and his heart beat thickly
and his wits go scattering.
“Search my house!” exclaimed Miss!
Longstreth; and red succeeded the
white in her cheeks. She appeared as
tonished and angry. “What for? Why,
how dare you. This is unwarrantable.”
“A man—Bo Snecker—assaulted and,
robbed Jim Laramie.” replied Duane,
hurriedly. "I chased Snecker here—
saw him run into the house.”
“Here? Oh, sir, you must be mis
taken. We have seen no one. In the
absence of my father I’m mistress here.
I'll not permit you to search.”
I Lawson appeared to come out of his
[ astonishment. He stepped forward.
“Ray. don't be bothered now,” he
said, to his cousin. “This fellow’s mak
ing a bluff. ™1 settle him. See hefe,
Mister, you clear out.”
“I want Snecker. He's here, and I’m,
going to get him,” replied Duane,'
quietly.
"Bah! That’s all a bluff." sneered
Lawson. “I’m on to your game. You
just wanted an excuse to break in
here—to see my cousin again. When'
you saw the company you invented
that excuse. Now, be off, or it ’ll be
the worse for you.”
Duane felt his face burn with a tide
of hot blood. Almost he felt that he
was guilty of such motive. Had he not
been unable to put this Ray Longstreth
out of his mind? There seemed to be
scorn in her eyes now. And somehow
that checked his embarrassment.
“Miss Longstreth, will you let me
search the house?” he asked.
“No.”
ihen—X regret to say—111 do so
without your permission."
"You’ll not dare!” she flashed. She
stood erect, her bosom swelling.
"Pardon me—yes, I will."
"Who are you?” she demanded, sul
denly.
“I’m a Texas ranger,” replied Duane.
“A Texas ranger!” she echoed.
Floyd Dawson's dark face turned
pale.
"Miss Dongstreth, I don’t need war
rants to search houses,” said Duane.
“I’m sorry to annoy you. I’d prefer
to have your permission. A ruffian has
taken refuge here—in your father’s
house. He's hidden somewhere. May
I look for him?”
"If you are indeed a ranger.”
Duane produced his papers. Miss
Dongstreth haughtily refused to look
at them.
"Miss Dongstreth, I’ve come to make
Fairdale a safer, cleaner, better place
for women and children. I don’t won
der at your resentment. But to doubt
me—insult me. Some day you may be
sorry.”
, Floyd Dawson made a violent mo
tion with his hands.
"AH stuff! Cousin, go on with your
party. I’ll take a couple of cowboys
and go with this—this Texas ranger.
"Thanks,” said Duane, coolly, as he
eyed Dawson. "Perhaps you’ll be able
to find Snecker quicker than I could.”
"What do you mean?” demanded
Dawson, and now he grew livid. Evi
dently he was a man of fierce quick
passions.
"Don’t quarrel,’ said Miss Dong
streth. “Floyd, you go with him.
Please hurry. I'll be nervous till—the
man's found or you’re sure there's not
one.”
They started with several cowboys
to search the house. They went
through the rooms searching, calling
out, peering into dark places. It
struck Duane more than forcibly that
I.awson did all the calling. He was
hurried, too, tried to keep in the lead.
Duane wondered if he knew his voice
would be recognized by the hiding
man. Be that as it might, it was
Duane who peered into a dark corner
and then, with a gun leveled, said
“Come out.”
He came forth into the flare—a tall,
slim, dark-faced youth, wearing som
brero, blouse and trousers. Duane col
lared him before any of the others
could move and held the gun close
enough to make him shrink. But he
did not impress Duane as being fright
ened just then; nevertheless, he had a
clammy face, the pallid look of a man
who had just gotten over a shock. Ho
peered into Duane's face, then into that'
of the cowboy next to him. then Into
Lawson's, and if ever in Duane’s life
lie beheld relief it was then. That was
all Duane needed to know, but he
meant to find out more if he could.
"Who 're you?” asked Duane, quietly.
“Bo Snecker,” he said.
“What d you hide here for?”
He appeared to grow sullen.
“Reckoned I’d he as safe in Long
streth’s as anywheres.”
"Ranker, what 'll you do with him?”
Lawson queried, as if uncertain, now
the capture was made.
“I’ll see to that.’ replied Duane, and
he pushed Snecker in front of him out
into the court.
Duane had eudf-tly conceived the
idea of taking Snecker before Mayor
Longstreth in the court.
When Duane arrived at the hall
where court was held there were other
men there, a dozen or more, and all
seemed excited; evidently, news of
Duane had preceded him. Longstreth
sat at a table up on a platform. Near
him Bat a thick-set grizzled man. with
deep eyes,, and this was Hanford
Owens, county judge. To the rh-ht
stood a tall, angular, yellow-faced fel
iow with a drooping sandy mustache.
Conspicuous on his vest was a huge
silver shield. This was Onrseeh. one
of Longstreth's sheriffs. There were
four other men whom Duane knew by
sight, several whose faces were fa
miliar, and half a dozen strangers, all
dusty horsemen.
(Continued Next Week.)
Bryan'* Modest.
From the Lawrence, Kan., Gazette.
William Jennings Bryan says that the
peace treaties he negotiated while he was
secretary of state will keep this country
out of war for the next 1,000 years.
Which emphasizes the fact that the chief
characteristic of Mr. Bryan is his mod
esty.
y
Denver.—Says Practically Every
Modish Garment Will Show Touch of
Fur.—Furs of every description in the
greatest quantities will be used on
practically every garment of milady’s
wardrobe this winter, according to H.
L. MacWhirter, of a Denver dry goods
store. Instead of confining themselves fl
to a few bands of narrow fur of various ^
kinds for trimming, the style makers
(he predicts) will use fur of all widths,
even up to 12 and IS inches, and in a
number of new ways this fall.
The very new broad bandings, owing
to their extreme cost, will be used only
for edging coats, or about the bottom of
skirts.'The narrow bands, however, will
be used on gowns, on waists and on the
new neckwear. Beaver, seal, coney,
mink, skunk and sable opossum, blue
fox. mole, wolf, French seal, squirrel,
ermine and lynx are a few of the count
less varieties which are being shown.
The narrowest bandings are a haif inch
wide. Practically no imitation furs will
be shown by MaiWhirter.
Closed Season for Seal Has Reestab
lished Great American Industry.—Hugh
M. Smith, in the National Geographic
Magazine, says:
‘ The bureau of fisheries is the official
custodian of the most valuable herd of
animals that any government of the
world possesses. This is the herd of fur
seals which roam over the eastern side
of the north Pacific ocean and return
for breeding purposes to the Pribilof Is
lands.
‘‘After being sadly decimated by in
discriminate slaughter at sea, the herd
lias been rapidly recuperating under the
influence of an international agreement,
and soon the fur seals may be as num
erous as when they came into the pos
session of tlie United States govern
ment with the purchase of Alaska.
‘‘The fact that the only land to which
these animals ever resort is two islets in
Bering sea belonging to the United
States gives our government a claim to
possession such as is exercised over no I
other wild creatures of water, land, or •
air This governmental ownership or
jurisdiction is the only reason why the
fur seal has not long ago succumbed to
the fate that it rapidly overtaking all
the other large marine animals.
‘‘In the summer of 1H16 more than
ICO,000 young seals will have been
added to the Alaskan seal herd, whose
total strength will tiien be upward of
400,000 individuals of all classes. For
some years only a limited number of "v
seals have been utilized for the food V
purposes of the natives; but after the •"
present close time law expires, in 1017,
there will be available for commercial
use many young male seals, which add
nothing to the reproductive capacity of
the herd and may properly be utilized
for their skins and other products.
"In fact, the seal herd may be man
aged after the manner of a herd of
cattle or sheep, and if handled in a
strictly scientific way will add to the
federal treasury a very handsome reve
nue. which will increase yearly as long
as the existing international arrange
ment continues.
Meanwhke a revolution will have oc
curred in the world's fur seal trade, for
the department of commerce has
changed the old order of things, and, for
the first time, this American product,
belonging to the American public and
most largely used by American women, J
will be sold in an American market, in- ft
stead of being sent abroad for sale, and T
the peculiar dressing and dyeing pro
cess, which is necessary to bring out
the beautiful qualities of the Alaskan
sealskin, will likewise have been
brought from abroad and established in
America."
Submarines Soberly Considered.
From the New York Times.
Over in England they affect, somewhat
laboriously, to 'feel, with regard to the
voyage of the Deutschland, only indiffer
ence tinged with amusement. That, of
course, is much to underestimate the im
portance of Captain Koenig’s achieve
ment, but it is not so far from the truth,
perhaps, as are the comments to thoso
who see in his exploit not only the break
ing of an undersea commerce that is to
assume large proportions after the return
of peace to the world and its seven seas.
As a matter of fact, the blockade is not
broken; what has been done only shews
that in this blockade, as in all others that
ever were established, holes and cracks
can be found and utilized to a greater or
less degree. Just that is what the Ger
mans have done, and they deserve full
credit for their ingenuity and courage. v
But the talk about undersea commerce, at J
least with boats at all like this one, is §
mostly nonsense. Nobody would dream of 1
using such craft for the carrying of eith
er freight or passengers, except in condi- ■
tions precisely like those now existing for -f
the Germans.
For a merchantman, there is only one
known advantage in the ability to sub
merge and run under water. That ability
would enable her to escape destruction or
capture by enemy vessels on the surface,
stronger and better armed than a sub
marine can possibly be. The single ad
vantage, however, is secured at a cost 1
there would be no thought of paying ex
cept in time of war, for it involves the '
loss, but for a mere remnant, of the pow
er to meet any demand of ocean trafiic.
Just now there is an opportunity for a
German submarine to make a lot of
money by carrying back and forth a small
quantity of goods so much needed that
almost any price will be paid for them.
With tiie return to peace, the sorriest old
tramp steamer could scorn the rivalry of
the Deutschland and all her kind—could
carry freight far more cheaply and safely,
and no matter how poor her "aoeommod i
tlons” for passengers might be, they would
surpass those of a submarine.
After all. the submarine is not an’under
sea boat that can come to tlie surface; it
is a surface-going boat that in case of
necessity can disappear from sight. It
wisely travels, when it can safely do so,
precisely where other boats travel.
Women Under Firo In Present War.
War nowadays is not just an occu
pation for men, says a writer iu ilia
Woman’s Home Companion. Once a
young fellow could go and enlist with
some duke- or king, and travel abroad
and have all the lighting he wanted—
leaving his wife, mother and kids safe
at home in the castle. Now the war
comes straight home to women. In the
great war now going on, town after
town has been destroyed: women have
been In range of the big guns all the
time, and in range of something worse
than the guns. War will never be a
civilized thing; it is more horrible now
than it has ever been, and more women
are exposed to its horrors than eve?
before.
Jane, Her Books.
Edward W. Barnard, in Pulitzer's Review.
(1JS16)
Wisdom in staidest of prose,
Maxims serenely profound:
Wit—just the smartest bonmots
Strangely familiar in sound;
Verses that (some of them) scan.
All with a scriptural bent;
Counsel respecting a man
(Man in the abstract is meant).
Recipes page after page,
Jane must have been a good cook! >
(Jane doesn't mention her age!)
This is her commonplace book.
(1016)
Binding and paper and type
All hi the very be.-t style;
Inside a tale of a stripe,
Summed in the words, “not worth
while!'1
I.iasons bootless and bold,
People that ought to be shotl
Platitudes centuries old
Fearful involvement of plot.
Spoiled by friends far too polite, /*.
Jane rivals Tennyson's brook; r
Jana has a call (sic) to write— I '/
This l# her commonplace bookt u _
i j
