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About The McCook tribune. (McCook, Neb.) 1886-1936 | View Entire Issue (Feb. 3, 1893)
S. M. COCHRAN * CO.. ARE AGENTS FOR THE CELEBRATED Union Press Drills and One Horse Hoe Drills, WAGONS AND BUGGIES. ALSO KEEP REPAIRS FOR ALL KINDS OF MACHINERY. B Their prices on all goods are as low as the lowest possible. S. M. COCHRAN & CO., AYeiiIIl*ou Street, .... AicCOOK, NEBK.1SKA. w. C. BULLAED & CO. ■—:oi— ____ • • LIME, “ HARD CEMENT, - | ■ mm ■■■ AND WINDOWS, LUMBER, so™ BLiNDS. __COAL. 6 • -IoW—— BED CEDAR AND OAK POSTS. J. WARREN, Manager. IB. &, M. Meat Market. FRESH AND SALT 1 MEATS, BACON, BOLOGNA, CHICKENS, TURKEYS. AC., Ac. F. S. WILCOX, Prop. M-^tary Public. Justice of the Peace. s. X3coi_,-vi3sr, REAL-: ESTATE, LOANS AND INSURANCE. Nebraska Farm Lauds to Exchange for Eastern Property. Collections a Specialty. 2k£oCOO BE. - - - 2STEBSAS3CJ.. I Mexican Mustang Liniment. A Cure for the Ailments of Man and Beast A long-tested pain reliever. Its use is almost universal by the Housewife, the Farmer, tlu. Stock Raiser, and by every one requiring an effective liniment - N,-, other application compares with it in efficacy. ‘t his well-known remedy has stood the test of years, almost generations. • K medicine chest is complete without a bottle of Mustang Liniment. Occasions arise for its use almost every day. All dnifiSSf*8 and dealers have, i: 1 * % THE WITCH MAIDEN. I had never loved. From my earliest years I had always evinced a pronounced aversion for the •‘petticoat interest,” as Kenelm Chilling ly so facetiously dubs that sneaking re gard for feminine charms. I took a pride in my defensive attitude and plumed my self on every possible occasion with my Stoical invulnerableness and scornful in dilierentism toward the blind god of lac quivers. And since 1 had just attained to the eminently sensible age of thirty I fan cied—aye, felt positive—that I might lie pronounced "out of danger,” so to speak, and that 1 need no longer fear the art fulness of the weaker sex. The gay and reckless period of youth —from eighteen to twenty-eight—I ha i passed quietly and happily, Having ex perienced none of the "pangs of dispri d love nor the infinite (?) bliss of an selec tion returned.” To insure my safety 1 had not lived the life of a recluse and refused all con course with the adorable fair. On the contrary, I had first made a study of the sex, and in order to do this effectually and successfully I must needs mingle with them, lavishly flatter them, hypo critically worship at the shrines of beauty and a meager intelligence, rush the fashionable tunc;ions, talk society chitchat until I felt a driveling idiocy creeping on, and live in such epicurean style that I finally fell a sore victim to indigestion. Venly, this butterfly life is not what it’s cracked up to he, soliloquized 1—and so, without further ado or ceremony, I dropped out of the madding crowd and sought the level of commonplace. Ah, these social castes! What hollow mockeries, what monumental lies! The eocial wraters glisten with a clean, sparkling surface; there are beautiful, clear cut waves that flash a thousand blinding lights; the white billows roll on in magnificence of state, and the view to one standing on the hot, burning sauds is one of awe and a grandeur unrivaled. But when ono leaps into those tempt ing deeps, lured into them perhaps by the siren voice of some false Lorelei— what a delusion! Ach, Himmel! It is all mud and weeds beneath. The cur rents are cold, and they are the currents of public opinion and conventionality. Huge monsters clasp us in the death grip of their savage tentacles, and these we call avarice, jealousy, hypocrisy, ambi tion and vainglory, each with its thou sands of fiendish allies. Ah, it is a mis erable specter—this social apparition! Occasionally one comes upon a coral cave, rich in its purity and stainless beauty, and one wonders how such a marvel can exist in all this ugly filth and loathsome decay. All honor be to him who seeks to drain away the dregs of social sins and brings a sweet whclesomeness to unhealthful life! But, ye gods! what a herculean task, what a chimerical fanaticism, holy though it he! Wearied and disgusted with the hor rible sham, I quit its slimy deeps to lay myself down upon the sun bathed shores of simplicity and unworldliness. Some said I had been disappointed in love. I, a scoffer at the grand passion, as the eternal enemy of marriage! But what cared I for the senseless babble of the world—1 was no longer of it. I lived in the quiet of my own thoughts—nature my only mistress. At thirty t was a bachelor and—a cynic, though by no means a misan thrope. I took life luxuriously and com placently. College days had come and gone. 1 had wandered aimlessly about ’neath blue Italian skies, amused myselt for a time in a German university and had now, in response to an unconquer able longing, returned to my native clime, here to suffer the one calamity of my otherwise tranquilly happy existence. Had I but known to what fate my steps were leading me! Could the impenetrable veil of the future but have been drawn aside and the vision of that impending gloom been for a moment visible! Ah, what misery spared, what heartache, what intolerable bitterness!” By one of those strange, inexplicable impulses so common to us all, I was urged to the scene of early youth. Thus it was that in the beautifully picturesque and popular summer resort known as Q-, on the shores of Lake Michigan, I found myself one glorious day in June— one of those rare, heavenly days in that dear month of roses. The old place had undergone a decid edly revolutionary metamorphosis since I had ceased to call it home. The lazy, dreamy atmosphere of the village had been quickened into a more vigorous ac tion. Old landmarks had disappeared with the influx of wealth. Old customs had been superseded by new flights of fashion, and old faces had been crowded out by the new. In a mood of morbid retrospection 1 had been winding my way through the tortuous paths of H- park, musing upon the had beens and the might have been’s. A haunt in the city of the dead had been a favorite one with mo in the old days, and unconsciously I found my steps directing me along the familiar walk. An ideal silent land it is. Som ber, yet intensely soothing, it seems al ways to speak a word of good cheer to the living and bid us fear not the scythe of the dread reaper. Wandering over the stupendous hills and down long ravines, I emerged at last upon a towering cliff looking out upon the waters of the great lake. There was a solemnity, a grandeur unspeakable in the view. I bowed my head in rever ence to the creator of such marvelous beauty. My soul was faint with emo tion. I sank down upon the earth and closed my eyes to shut out the dazzling light. I fell into a half wakeful, half sleepful dream—a dream of elysium. How long I lay in this delicious slumber I know not. Suddenly, impulsively 1 opened my eyes, to behold—oh, ye Fates! —an angel from heaven. So ehe seemed to me as I gazed into the lustrous depths of those unfathomable eyes. A divinity! A daughter of the gods! She stood majestically on the edge of the cliff, her perfect physique distinctly out lined ligainst the clear sky. She was clothed in pure white, with a single bunch of wild violets at her throat. Her features were startlingly classic; the neck and shoulder, partly bared, were like Parian marble, so' spotless in their ■ dazzling whiteness; her hair, unconfined, fell in shimmering waves below L r waist—“golden meshes to entrap the hearts of men;" her eyes, rivaling in color the violets at her throat, were brimming with a heavenly light, while a bewitching smile played about the cor ners of her perfect mouth. And 1? Awed, inspired by this glimpse of an Eve in paradise, I could not move, until, my divinity turning to go, I bound-1 ed toward hpr. But she was gone—li ma mist she fled before me. Over’.alls end hills 1 leaped, bruising my hands with harsh branches and hazarding my life in the mad chase. In vain! I had lost her. When the realization of the fruitlessncss of my search dawned upon me 1 sat down exhausted to collect my scatters] thoughts. ***** * Good heavens! what had 1 been doing? I, the hoary cynic, the irrepressible scoff er of love and its bold intrigues! Was it not all a wild delirium? it must be. I had been duped, enslaved, captivated by a mad, insane dream. Away with such bosh! I will go and eat a good dinner. The is nothing like a well cooked dia ller to bring one out of the realms of ro mance into the cruelly :■ o.j 11 ,..o of realism. The illusion has not been dispelled. The same phantom came to me in the night; the same thrilling eyes looked in terrogatively into mine; the same* irre sistible smile challenged my daring, and I awoke—alone. I felt out of patience with myself. With the desire to forget this tantalizing witch maiden I resolved to throw myself in the crowd of pleasure seekers at the resort. But oh, the resistlessness of fate! Pass ing through the flower stalls, I saw again the form of my divinity. The eyes looked worlds into mine and seemed entreating ly to draw me to her. I followed to where she stood behind huge bunches of purple piolets; but, laughingly throwing me a spray from a knot of flowers in her hair, she vanished again like a will-o’ the-wisp. 1 passed my hands over my eyes m per plexity. Surely this was no delusion. She was flesh and blood like myself. 1 had seen her in a crowd of mortals. Farewell, cynicism! Welcome, love! 1 am conquered. And so. day after day l continued the search for my witch maiden, and day after day successfully she eluded me. One night while sitting cm the cool verandas of the hotel, she glided past me —spiritlike, radiant with the reflected light of the stars. I stretched my arms toward her—she was gone. And yet 1 hoped unceasingly. She had looked upon me not disdainfully, but ever with a teasing pleasure in her eyes. 1 would win her in the end. Life took on a new phase. It was no longer the dull, listless, half hearted thing it used to be, but an eager, am bitious, consuming fire. There was some thing to live for—something besides the mere gratification of my own selfish desires. I would live fc >r her—for my beautiful witch maiden. To make her happy—what a < tod given mission! New aspirations, new ideals, new hopes came surging through my being, filling me with a strange ecstasy—an exquisite yearning. Happiness! Ah. now I knew its meaning! How I laughed at my old time scorn cl' love, my condemnation of womankind! I was a fool then—now I am wise. What a heaven is open tome! Un worthy that I am, I dare to kneel before the throne and crave the love of its scep ter queen—my peerless witch maiden. *•. It was the full of the moon. A calm almost divine had settled upon the star • kissed tips of the hills, while all nature slept. Only the fond, caressing murmur of the waters as they touched the shores and again receded disturbed the weird enchantment of the night. I walked along the beach. My fancy reveled in pictures of the future. I saw myself in a sumptuous home, surrounded by all the elegancies and luxuries of life —my sweet witch maiden, the guardian angel over all, the dear companion of my joyous hours, the sympathizer of every ■ thought, my solace in all earthly trials. * if * «- j A sudden splash in the water and a cry of distress. 1 look up; I see—a nymph bathing in the moonlight. She has dared too far into the deep; she is struggling to keep her head above tho waves. It needs hut a glance to reveal her to me. It is the witch maiden. I make one desperate plunge; she is in my arms—my own, my beautiful Undine; I clasp her to me with fierce ardor. The long golden masses of hair, dripping and sparkling with the spray of the lake, coil about my neck. But her arms liaug limp; her face is pale and expressionless. 1 lay her ten derly upon the beach, chaff her cold hands and rain passionate kisses upon the velvet lids that cover her purple eyes. I implore her to speak. Breathlessly I wait the return of consciousness. Slowly the wondrous orbs open and look be wilderingly upon me. She rises—again she is close in my embrace—my heart is pom nut its burden of love. In .. .rrotlike voice she exclaims, with a furious scratch at my eyes: “Great guns! Hain’t you never got no mercy on nobody?” «- * * * * , I walk slowly back to the hotel. I am shivering with the cold and the shock of —ach Gott! I get to my room, mechan ically change my clothes, pack my lug gage and walk down stairs to pay my bill. As the clerk hands me a receipt she walks through the room, glancing back at me over her shoulder with the same mischievous laugh in her eyes. I have just enough energy, just enough curiosity to gasp, “Who is she?” Unfeelingly, unsuspiciously, comes the dread answer, “Our dishwasher.” Farewell, level Welcome, cynicism! j —Ethel Soper in Detroit News. MURFREE’S HEROISM. “There is not a particle of heroism about you, Ulysses," said Mrs. f.i . . rot as she brushed out her back hair in (rent of the dresser glass preparatory to r ir ing for the night. "Not a pa. tide,” .- lit emphatically repeated. “What on < a. !i your mother was thinking about when she named you I can’t imagine. I am sure that I never saw a man more un like liis namesake. 1 have known you t< be positively cowardly at times.” Ur. Murfree looked up in a weary way from the corner where he sat. “I'm sure, my dear." he began. “No, you’re not,” snapped his bottei half, giving the pincushion a whack with the hairbrush to emphasize lie: words; “you are not sure; you are neve: sure of anything—you only think. Bah I hate a man who ‘only thinks.’ ” And slit jerked the tangles out of a refractory auburn lock with additional force. “When Mrs. Jenks was telling tonight about that paragon of a husband of here I was simply consumed with envy. It shows how much to believe in names. Look at you two men; look. I say!" “Yes, my dear,” responded Mr. Mur free. pulling off his b<K>ts in a resigned way, “I’m looking.” “Bah!"retorted his wife, “I mean you: names—Ulysses Murfree, Peter Jenks— just t hink of t he difference, and yet Pe ter jenks knocked a burglar down stairs this week with one fist: one, 1 assure you; and you—you arc afraid to go call ing on the Simsongibbers after dark be cause they keep a dog.” "Well, my dear," feebly expostulated Mr. Murfree, "it is a very large dog and 1” Here Mrs. Murfree suddenly turned around, and through lips containing sun dry hairpins, combs and such trifling ax tieles hissed, “Don't talk to me!” in such an impressive and disgusted man ner that Mr. Murfree subsided at once and proceeded to finish pulling off his socks. He was not disturbed again until the moment came for retiring, when, con trary to their usual custom, Mrs. Mur free turned the gas entirely out, leaving the room in darkness, save where a streak of moonlight fell through the window, open for ventilation. Now, if there was anything that Mr. Murfree hated it was to have the bed room gas turned off at night, but know ing the defiant state of mind which prompted his wife to extinguish it, and fearing to provoke another outburst he climbed sadly into bed, and lay cogitat ing a plan whereby he should be able to shoot a burglar in the dark should one chance to visit his abode that night. “I don't see how I could do it." he sighed, turning uneasily. "Are you ever going to lie still and let a person sleep?” snapped the partner of his joys and sorrows as she flounced over, dragging half of the comfortable with her. and thereby causing small chills to chase one am ither down her hus band’s vert ebra?. Mr. Murfree laid still. He held his breath, figuratively, until the deep; not to say sonorous, breathing of Ills amiable companion told that peace and quietude had folded their downy wings upon the bosom of Mrs. Murfree. Tlieh he sighed again. “I do hope no one will come tonight,” lie? murmured sleepily. “Dear me—if— 1”— And here his thoughts floated vaguely off and lie realized no more. Quiet fi ll on the room for a time, broken only by the musical sounds from the alcove, where slept the pair, and an occasional snap as the willow rocker, objecting to the strain of the day, tried to contract to its former shape. Just as the city clock was striking 1 i Mr. Murfree awoke with it start and looked in a dazed way up into the dark- i ness. \V hat s tne matter with me? lie mut tered, a sensation of uneasiness creeping over him. “I think—ha! What's that';" And, broad awake now, with the cold perspiration starting from every pore, lie became conscious of a faint rustle in the room, the cause of which the heavy por tieres draping the alcove prevented him ! ascertaining. Cautiously he reached under the mat tress for his revolver, and to his horror 1 found that, after cleaning it on tlie pre vious day, he had carelessly forgotten to replace it in its wonted spot. “Oh, Lord! Oh, Lord!” he chattered to himself, trying to keep cool. “No re volver, no nothing, and a burglar, sure us fate. Samantha was right; 1 am a cow ard. What on earth shall I do? If 1 wake Samantha I will never hear the last of it; she will nag worse than ever; be side.'. she is sure to yell, and then we will all bo murdered.” And the jxior man shook so that the springs creaked and sent him into a fresh fit of trembling. Rustle, rustle, it came again, and then a soft thump and a clink. “He’s got my pants,” ejaculated Mr. Murfree to himself as he cautiously sat up in bed and tried to calm himself. Thump. “1 can’t stand this any longer,” said Mr. Murfree in a whisper, beginning to get huffy. “I’m a fool. No wonder Samantha said so. 1 will certainly find out what is outside of those curtains, and this time Samantha shan’t have a chance to brag over me. Perhaps I shall be able to do something for once.” Keeping well away from the separa tion between the portieres he carefully let one foot out of bed. As it touched the floor the rustle sounded again, and so near that Mr. j Murfree ir irly lost his balance with fright, and found himself on his feet the j next moment shaking with alarm lest he had provoked the marauder's atten- j tion to the alcove or awakened the sleep- j ing Samantha. But, no; all was quiet, and as soon as : he plucked np a sufficient amount of courage he peered cautiously through the curtains. With difficulty he repressed an excla mation of horror. The moon's rays fell across the dresser, bringing out each article on it with a weird distinctness, and just in the shadow before the cbeval glass was the stooping figure of a man. Ho was evidently searching the upper drawer, and Mr. Murfree gasped for joy as he distinguished on the top of the cab inet to the right of the glass the missing revolver. "If 1 can only reach him.” said Mr, Murfree to himself, "jump on him as he is bending over, and secure the revolver before he recovers himself—it’s u good plan and the only one. I’m getting kind of riled; I don’t believe I’m such a cow ard after all.” With a mighty effort he braced him- ( self and advanced cautiously, keeping his eyes on the bent figure. In the uncertain light the man looked unnaturally large and heavy, and seemed each second to be on the point of rising. Indeed, as Mr. Murfree reached the cen ter table he thought all was over, and shrank down behind it despairingly. But fortune was kind; the burglar still searched busily, and Mr. Murfree, gath ering himself for a grand effort and nerved to tl«9 point of desperation, made a flying leap, and lauding with terrific n,.ve upon the burglar’s shoulder! gabbed the revolver, yelling. ‘‘Police! tuieves! oh” Over lie went, bumpety bump, and as he found himself prostrate on the floor, with a chair and something soft and thick over him, he finished his exclamation with “-it!” “Oh, Ulysses! Ulysses!” screamed Mrs. Murfree, tangling herself up in the bed clothes in her efforts to rise. “Help! Where are you?” Mr. Murfree was on his feet in a flash, holuing in his arms the harmless cause of his fright and disturbance, Mrs. Mur free's fur cape, which she had hung over the chair back, in front of the dresser, and which, with its high shoulders and collar, had looked in the dim light, like a stooping figure. Men think quickly sometimes, and Mr. Murfree realized the situation with re markable speed, and being on his met tle determined not to be made a fool of. Knocking Mrs. Murfree’s jewel case from the dresser as he fled he rushed out of the room pellmell, stepping on the cat, the author of the mysterious noises that had first awakened him. With a savage kick he sent her ahead of him, as he flew down the front stairs. and banged the front door ojx;n and shut. Then he panted breathlessly up again, sinking on the top stair, sore, bruised and mad, just as his wife succeeded in lighting the gas. “Burglar,” lie gasped. “Where, oh, where?” the screamed ex citedly, half helping, half dragging him into the room. “Gone,” he managed to say; “knocked him over—got away—front door—see there?” pointing to the jewelry strewn around the floor. Mrs. Murfree gave one look, and then, with that faithful sense of obligation to the tradition of her sex which the aver age woman seems to possess in an emer gency, she proceeded to faint away. Mr. Murfree dumped her into a chair. He was too weak to hold her, and besides he felt a fiendish exultation in glorying in his superior strength of mind, so when slic recovered he was picking up the cleverly scattered trinkets with as bored an air as lie could assume. “Wliat tire you scared of?” he said scornfully. “Man's gone; I'm here; 1 rather think 1 have protected you even if 1 am a coward. Perhaps you will kindly leave the light burning after this so that I shall not l>o obliged to struggle for rny life in the dark,” and ho wiped from his forehead a few drops of blood trickling from a scratch he received in his encounter with the large pin on his cape burglar, making liis face as gory as possible with the small amount of mate rjai. Veritably the tables were turned. Mrs. Murfree looked at him a moment in a hysterical way, and then falling on his neck alternately implored forgive ness and wept over her former severity, calling him her hero and all Ihe de lightful names which Mr. Mur free's soul was thirsting for. “I'll never say such mean things again,” she sobbed, “never, never." “There, there,” said her spouse, straightening up and putting on a pa tronizing air to conceal the nervous shaking of his muscles—scarce over their recent shock. “You sit down and I will search the house, so that we can feel easy during the remainder of the night.” So that while Mrs. Murfree hid behind the bed curtains for fear of another visit or, her Ulysses went out into the hall and stayed five minutes in a dark corner, returning with a serious air and the as surance that all was well. Locking their door, the couple ouce more sought repose, but both were too excited for sleep. “Won’t I just gloat over Mrs. Jenks,” exclaimed Mrs. Murfree as she convul sively patted the pillow info a more ac commodating shape. “Oil, Ulysses. I'll tell every woman in the block.” Just then the ludicrous side of the thing struck Mr. Murfree, and he stuffed the comer of the sheet in his mouth and shook convulsively. “What's the matter, dear?” cried his wife. “What's the matter, Uly?” As soon as he could sjieak ho mut tered, “Only a chill—don’t bother about it—guess I took cold.” “Shan't I get you something hot?” asked his spouse anxiously. “Nonsense," he replied, controlling himself with difficulty; “just go to sleep. I'm tired.” “All right, dear.” responded she; “1 do hope yon won't be sick. It’s very funny, Ulysses, that the policeman on onr beat didn't hear anything or come running up to the house when that dreadful man made such a noise at the door. Dear me, if I didn’t know you * had a chill I should think you were laughing.” And Mr. Murfree was.—Carolyn Wade in Buffalo News. An Industrious Woman. Mr. Honeymoon—Did yon sew that button on that coat, darling? Mrs. Honeymoon—No, sweetheart; 1 wouldn’t find the button, but I sewed up the buttonhole. Is that all right?—Texa* ■liftings.