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JULY, 190?
Rebuilding Views of New San Francisco
'he Theatre of Oscar Wilde
BY ARCHIBALD HENDERSON
The "Barbizon" of California
BY JOSEPHINE MILDRED BLANCH
15 CENTS
SAN FRANCISCO
Te
resa
Carreno
During her 1907-08 American Tour
will exploit the merits of the -Efc^rtftt ijjJtmui,
which in its rich tonal quality its plenitude
of artistic and poetic beauty appeals to the
world's great artists.
The 1Efon>tt is the piano of GARRENO,
Neitzel, Reisenauer, Burmeister, Nordica,
Bispham, Gabrilowitsch, Gampanari and a
host of others whose places are secure in
Music's Hall of Fame.
The <b0ttt has but one standard the highest in both Upright and Grand
The Otbttttt warranty, given with each piano, covers not a few years but the entire lifetime
Df the piano.
Prices at Factory, Boston
Style 3 Upright . $ 450 00
Style 6 Upright .
Style 9 Upright .
Style 8 Upright .
Style 7 Upright .
Style 25 Grand .
Style 31 Grand .
Style 32-Grand .
Style 41 Grand
500 00
500 00
550 00
675 00
650 00
800 00
1000 00
1200 00
Special Art Cases from $1,000 to $10,000
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Style 92
CINCINNATI
THE JOHN CHURCH COMPANY
CHICAGO
Owners of The Everett Piano Co., Boston, Mass.
NEW YORK
The Overland Monthly
Vol. L Second Series
July-December, 1 907
The OVERLAND MONTHLY CO., Publishers
Offices 773 Market Street, San Francisco
INDEX
PUBLIC
DECATUR, 1LI
.ALDIS DUNBAR
FREMONT OLDER
ALOYSIUS COLL
.ERNESTINE WINCHELL
CLYDE EDWIN TUCK
MARY E. SNYDER
STELLA F. WYNNE
INA COOLBR1TH
PIERRE N. BERINGER
MARK TWAIN
JOSEPHINE MILDRED
HERBERT COOLIDGE
ADMONITION.. Verse. . . .
A GLIMPSE OF THE BATTLE
Illustrated with photographs.
A WARNING.. Verse
AN EPISODE OF THE FLOAT LANDS. Story
AUGUST. Verse
A TRIP TO CUERNAVACA . .
Illustrated with photographs.
AN IDYLL OF THE CIRCLE L. Story
Illustrated by W. R. Borough.
ALCATRAZ (A New Poem)
A NEW ERA IN THE PHILIPPINES . ..
Illustrated with photographs.
A MEDIEVAL ROMANCE . . . .
Illustrated with sketch by Alice Resor.
AT THE GOLDEN HORN AND THE GOLDEN GATE CLINTON SCOLLARD
Verse
"BARBIZON" OF CALIFORNIA, THE (III.) .
BUCKAROO JIM.. Story
Illustrated by W. R. DeLappe
CALL OF THE WHISTLE, THE. Story
CANDLE-STARS OF CHRISTMAS TIME, THE Verse
CONFESSIONS OF A STENOGRAPHER
Illustrated with photographs.
CLIMBING FUJI
Illustrated with photographs.
CAMPING OUT IN CALIFORNIA ....
CHRISTENING, THE. Verse
CHRISTMAS STORY, THE. Verse .
COLLEGE AND THE WORLD ...
Illustrated with photographs.
A BUSINESS MAN'S VIEW OF COLLEGE .
JUST OUT OF COLLEGE
WHY I AM GOING TO COLLEGE
COWBOYS ASTRAY. Story
Illustrated by W. R. Davenport
CALIFORNIA. Verse
DAISY FIELD, THE (Poem) . . . . .
DEATH VALLEY
DECORATING DEL MONTE HEIGHTS .
Illustrated with photographs.
DEFENDING THE PACIFIC COAST
Illustrated with photographs.
DEATH ON THE MARSHES.. Verse
DIGNITY OF DOLLARS, THE. Essay .
DUMFRIES: THE HAMLET OF ROBERT BURNS
Illustrated with photographs.
DR. TAYLOR SEVENTY YEARS YOUNG
DRAMATICS. The New World of the Play
Illustrated with photographs.
DREAMS OF ARCADY. Verse
DOWN AT THE WOMAN'S CLUB.. Verse
EUROPEAN HOTELS :
Illustrated with photographs.
EL CAMINO REAL. Verse
FORESTER AND HIS WORK, THE (III)
FREED FROM THE DESPOT OF DAGH (III.)
FAME TURNED FLIRT
FIGHTING A FORTY-POUND WEAKFISH (III.).
24
546
118
145
156
182
361
537
463
483
504
BLANCH 63
317
JOHN KENNETH TURNER
MARY OGDEN VAUGHAN
ANNIE LAURA MILLER
ROCKWELL D. HUNT
FLORENCE RICHMOND
MARY OGDEN VAUGHAN
HARRIS WEINSTOCK
DENISON HALLEY CLIFT
BERTRAM WELLS
HERBERT COOLIDGE
ALMA MARTIN
EMMA PLAYTER EABURY
ALFRED DAVIS
WASHINGTON DAVIS
ARTHUR H. DUTTON
RAYMOND SUMNER BARTLETT
JACK LONDON
KATHERINE ELWES THOMAS
L. B. JEROME
JULIAN JOHNSON
BEN FIELD
"JAC ' LOWELL
FRED GILBERT
BLAKESLEE
M. TINGLE
ALLEN H. HODGSON
FELIX J. KOCH
F. G. MARTIN
F. L. HARDING
603
602
101
221
236
610
586
270
270
274
278
285
509
80
81
119
199
292
592
596
542
379
417
482
123
384
20
41
49
53
FRONTISPIECE
FROM TOKIO TO KOBE '. .
Illustrated with photographs.
FRONTISPIECE. Statue of Father Junipero Serra
GIPSIES OF THE SEA. Verse . .i
"GRANDMA" VARNER and "TOMMY"
Photograph by F. P. Stevens.
HYPOCRISY. Poem . . . .
HIGH POLITICS IN OHIO . .
Drawing by R. W. Borougii.
HON. EDWARD ROBESON TAYLOR A PERSONAL
APPRECIATION
HOUSE OF SANTA CLAUS, THE. Story
HOW THE RECLAMATION SERVICE IS ROBBING
THE SETTLER
IN SANCTUARY. Poem
IN THE LAIR OF THE BEAR
IN THE CANYON'S DEPTHS. V erse
IN DEL GADDO PLACE. Story ....
Illustrated by Clyde Cooke.
IN NEW SUMMER LANDS . . . . .;
Photographs by the author.
IN THE CALCIUM LIGHT.
Delmas Always a Gentleman ....
The New Governor of New Mexico
IN THE CALCIUM LIGHT.
Mr. Hearst as an Employer
Illustrated with Portrait.
IN THE REALM OF BOOKLAND . . .
KELLEY OF THE TRANS-MOJAVE . .
Illustrated with photographs.
LETTERS. Poem
LITTLE MUSKY'S STORY. Story
Illustrated by Eloise J. Roorbach.
LOVE'S AWAKING. Verse
MY PLACE. Verse
MONTEREY WAKES UP ......
MY MYSTERIOUS PATIENT . . . .
NEGLECT. Verse .
NEW OIL WELLS AT MONTEREY ...
Illustrated with photographs.
ON SAN GABRIEL'S BANKS . . ,. . ^
ON THE HOME TRAIL. Story . . . ' T;
OVER THE HILLS. Verse . . . . . .''*
OBSCURITY. Verse
OUR SURFMEN
Photographs furnished by S. I. Kimball.
OCTOBER. Verse
ON THE OREGON TRAIL. Story ....
PEDDLERS AND PACK HORSES IN MEXICO (III.)
PATIENCE OF JOB, THE ......
PRESENTING JULY'S ACTRESSES AND ACTORS
PORTRAIT OF FRANCIS J. HENEY
Drawn by R. W. Borough.
PETER PAN. Verse
"PERSONALLY CONDUCTED" ....
Illustrated by R. E. Snodgrass.
PROTECTED CRUISER MILWAUKEE .
PERILS OF BIG GAME HUNTING 1
Illustrated with photographs.
REBUILDING OF THE BURNED DISTRICT OF SAN
FRANCISCO (III.) ....
REMINISCENCES OF SAN FRANCISCO
REFLECTIONS. Editorial Comment
RESTITUTION. Verse
RUDOLPH SPRECKELS THE GENIUS OF THE
SAN FRANCISCO GRAFT PROSECUTION
Illustrated with Portrait.
RUEF, A JEW UNDER TORTURE ....
Illustrated with Portrait.
SIEGFRIED OF THE CHICORICA RANGE Story
TACOMA FOR AMBITIOUS MEN ....
Illustrated with photographs.
"Railways for Tacoma," by R. F. Radebaugh. "A
roofe, A. R. I. B. A. "What Made Tacoma," by C.
City," by Arnott Woodroofe.
E RAWING BY L. B. HASTE 294
CHARLES LORRIMER 309
-. . 396
RAYMOND BARTLETT 168
ELIZABETH A. KELLY 255
SAMUEL G. HOFFENSTEIN 40
WASHINGTON DAVIS 209
PETER ROBERTSON 539
MAY C. RINGWALT 581
L. M. HOLT 510
CHARLES FRANCIS SAUNDERS 76
M. GRIER KIDDER 91
AD. H. GIBSON 144
EDITH KESSLER 170
FELIX J. KOCH
238
471
473
BY ONE OF HIS EMPLOYEES 557
1, .; . - . . ....... . . 520
FELIX J. KOCH 139
DONALD V. TOBEY 57
CLARENCE HAWKES 247
DONALD A. FRAS'ER 328
MABEL PORTER PITTS .;. 207
WASHINGTON DAVIS 391
BETTY PARKER SMITH 513
W. G. TINCKOM-FERNANDEZ 210
BURTON WALLACE 522
H. FELIX CROSS 19
MAUDE DE COU 128
HELEN FITZGERALD SANDERS 186
DONALD B. TOBEY 259
JOANNA NICHOLLS KYLE 260
MARION COOK 293
FRANK H. SWEET 367
G. F. PAUL 25
JAMES WILLIAM JACKSON 69
FRONTISPIECE
W. G. T1NCKOM FERNANDEZ
W. GILMORE BEYMER
188
190
COL. W. S. LANIER
FRONTISPIECE
455
CHARLTON LAWRENCE EDHOLM 56
THE EDITOR 194
337
ARNO DOSCH
"Q."
ETHEL SHACKELFORD
HENRY PEARSON
City of Homes," by Arnott Wood-
E. Ferguson. "Tacoma A Garden
477
I
514
587
561
INDEX.
THEATRE OF OSCAR WILDE, THE . . . ARCHIBALD HENDERSON
TANGENT OF A TIFF, THE . . . '.' LIZZIE GAINES W1LCOXSON
THE FIRST ASCENT OF MT. SHUKSAN . ASAHEL CURTIS
Illustrated with photographs.
THE PRINCESS. Verse ALPHONSO BENJAMIN BOWERS
THE SKY AND THE SEA AND THE EARTH. Verse S. M. SALYER
THE EXILE. Verse F. W. K.
THE MRS. AND I VISIT PISA .
Illustrated with photographs.
TO MT. TAMALPAIS. Verse .
THE LOVE OF CHANCE. Story
THE WESTERN CALL. Verse
THE SUCKERS' SATURDAY NIGHT. Story
THE ROMANCE OF TANKY GULCH. Story
THE PASSING pF THE BUFFALO .
Illustrated with photographs.
THE RED HEADED TWINS OF DOS PALOS.
Illustrated by W. R. Davenport.
THE LAND OF ART, SPORT AND PLEASURE
THE REVENGE OF THE BLUE HORDE. Story
Illustrated by W. R. Davenport
THE ENDING. Story
THE MAN WHp INSPIRED "RAMONA"
Illustrated with photographs.
THE GOLD OF SUN DANCE CANYON
Illustrated by Clyde Cooke
THE SA^-T OF EARTH
Illustrated by L. B. Haste.
WALT INGERSOLL
RUTH PRICE
A. E. LONG
MADELINE HUGHES PELTON
CHARLTON L. EDHOLM
ELIZABETH LAMBERT WOOD
. , JASON J. JONES'
Story FRANCES LA PLACE
ARTHUR H. BUTTON
CLARENCE HAWKES
JENNET JOHNSON
LOUIS J. STELLMANN
C. JUSTIN KENNEDY
- . ROBERT W. HARTWELL
ELOISE J. ROORBACK
THE BIG BASIN .- .-.
Illustrated by the author.
THE DES MOINES PLAN OF CITY GOVERNMENT
THE NEMESIS. Story
THE ICEBERG'S BIRTH. Verse . .
EDWIN MARKHAM AND HIS ART . . 'V .
Illustrated with portraits.
TEN CENTS TO THE FERRY . . . . -.-
Illustrated by W. R. Davenport.
THE SANTA BARBARA MISSION . . .. ...
Illustrated with drawings and photographs.
THANK GOD FER "CALIFORNY" . . . .
TO A WILD ROSE. Verse
THE ANGELUS. Verse .. ... . .
Heard at the Mission Dolores, 1868.
THE PACIFIC COAST AND THE PANAMA CANAL
Illustrated with photographs.
THE POET. Verse
THE VENGEANCE OF THE WILD ....
TO PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY. Verse
THE SHELL MAN
Illustrated with line drawings.
UNLIMITED ELECTRIC POWER ....
UNCLE ABE'S DAY DREAM. Verse
Drawings by R. E. Snodgrass.
UMEKO SAN. Story
Illustrated by R. E. Schad.
"UNTO THE LEAST OF THESE" ....
Illustrated with photographs.
VILLA LIFE ON CAPRI . . . .
Illustrated with photographs.
WILD APPLE BLOSSOMS. Poem ....
WITH OVERLAND'S POETS.
"The Muezzin," by James Berry Bensel. "Our Teddy." "To a Pioneer," by Helen
Fitzgerald Sanders. "How Vain is Life," translation by Blanche M. Burbank. "This is
Wisdom," by John Thorpe. "St. Christopher," by Raymond Sumner Bartlett. "I Had
a Dream of Mary" (III.) by Ruth Sterry. "A Melody," by Myrtle Conger.
C. S. COLEMAN
SIDNEY J. DILLON
DON MARK LEMON
CHARLOTTE W. THURSTON
HENRY MEADE BLAND
LEO LEVY
SAMUEL NEWSOM
ALICE D. O. GREENWOOD
FLORENCE SLACK CRAWFORD
JOSEPH R. KNOWLAND
DONALD A. FRAZER
HERBERT ARTHUR STOUT
LANNIE HAYNES MARTIN
AMANDA MATHEWS
BURTON WALLACE
JAY C. POWERS'
OLIVE DIBERT
KATHERINE M. NESFIELD
ALOYSIUS COLL
MARGARET ASHMUN
WEST, THE. Poem
WORLD'S GREATEST TELESCOPE, THE (III.)
WIND ON THE SEA. Verse .....
WAR AND THE COMMODORE
Drawings by R. E. Snodgrass,
WHERE THE ORIENT MEETS THE OCCIDENT
Illustrated with photographs.
WHAT THE CATHOLIC CHURCH HAS DONE FOR
SAN FRANCISCO
Illustrated with photographs.
WASTED SWEETS. Verse
WHAT THE BOY KNOWS. Verse ....
"YO NO QUIERO CASAR." Verse
FLORENCE CROSBY PARSONS
ARTHUR POWELL
HORATIO LANKFORD KING
HAL. JACKSON
HAMILTON WRIGHT AND
F. MARION GALLEGHER
HENRY WALDORF FRANCIS
AGNES M. MANNING
9
77
110
544
122
127
131
133
134
138
149
153
157
163
176
178
233
252
301
324'
329
331
333
350
360
377
395
419
454
486
492
505
322
343
549
493
32
68
73
246
371
385
397
461
470
475
Please Mention Overland Monthly in Writing Advertisers.
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Loving Cups
A large assortment of sterling silver loving cups in Tiffany & Co.'s
exclusive designs, not sold by the trade or through other dealers
English Sterling Quality, 925/1000 fine
4*4 inches high, 3 handles ------ $18
5 " 2 " 24
6 " 3 " 38
Others $45, $70, $85 upward
Special drawings, upon short notice, of prizes suitable for coaching
parades, motor boat races, tennis, golf, etc.
Bowls
for fruit, salads, berries, etc. Sterling silver with rich relief work
in substantial weights
9 inches diameter - $20
" " 28
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Photographs sent upon request
Comparison of Prices
Tiffany & Co. always welcome a comparison of prices. This ap-
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silverware, watches, clocks, bronzes, and other objects, on all of
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Tiffany & Co. 1907 Blue Book
A compact catalogue without illustrations 621 pages of concise
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Overland Monthly
An Illustrated Magazine of the West.
July, 1907
Rebuilding of the Burned District of San Francisco (111.) 1
Theatre of Oscar Wilde, The Archibald Henderson '. . . .9
On San Gabriel's Banks //. Felix Cross 19
Forester and his Work, The (111.) Allen H. Hodgson 20
Admonition (Poem) Aldis Dunbar .24
Peddlers and Pack Horses in Mexico (111.) . . G. F. Paul 25
Wild Apple Blossoms (Poem) Margaret Ashmun 32
Stuff that was in Him, The Ara Shane Curtis 33
Hypocrisy (Poem) Samuel G. Hoffenstein 40
Freed from the Despot of Dagh (111.) . . .Felix J. Koch 41
Fame Turned Flirt F. G. Martin 49
Fighting a Forty-Pound Weakfish (111.) .F. L. Harding 53
Reminiscences of San Francisco Charlton Lawrence Edholm 56
Letters (Poem) ' Donald V. Tobeij 57
Sea Foam (111.) E. J. B 58
Sheepherder's Nemesis, The Colin V. Dyment 60
"Barbizon" of California, The (111.) . . . Josephine Mildred Blanch 63
West, The (Poem) C. 8. Colem,an 68
Patience of Job, The James William Jackson 69
World's Greatest Telescope, The (111.) . .Florence Crosby Parsons 73
In Sanctuary (Poem) Charles Francis Sounders 76
Tangent of a Tiff, The Lizzie Gaines Wticoxsori 77
Daisy Field, The (Poem) .- Emma Playter Seabury 80
Death Valley .' Alfred Davis . . . ' 81
Ships, The (Poem) Aloysius ' Coll 84
Presenting July's Actresses and Actors ". 85
In the Lair of the Bear . .M. Grier Eidder . . .91
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The OVERLAND MONTHLY, an Illustrated Magazine of the West. Entered as second-
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Address all communications to
OVERLAND MONTHLY COMPANY.
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Copyrighted, 1907, by the Overland Monthly Co.
Please Mention Overland Monthly In Writing Advertisers.
iii
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FREEl-Valuable booklet on how to treat diseases.
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FACTS and FORMS
A HAND BOOK OF
READY REFERENCE
BY PROFESSOR E. T. ROE, LL. B.
A neat, new, practical, reliable and up-to-date little manual
of legal and business form, with tables, weights, measures,
rules, short methods of computation and miscellaneous infor-
mation valuable to every one.
Describes the Banking System of the United States, obliga-
tions of landlord and tenant, employer and employee, and ex-
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A saver of time and money for the busy man of whatever
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or the value of anything at any given price.
SOME OP WHAT " FACTS AND FORMS " CONTAINS.
Bookkeeping, single and double emtry. Forms of every kind
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How to write all the different forms of endorsements of
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LAWS GOVERNING
Acknowledgments, agency assign-
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rates, deeding of property, employer
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neighbors' animals, line fences, prop-
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trusts and monopolies, working on
Sundays and legal holidays, and many
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Painting and mixing paints, parlia-
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computing interest, finding the con-
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bins, boxes anything, the amount of
brick, lime, plaster, lath required for
building wall or cellar, the number of
shingles or slats required for roofing
and hundreds of other things.
A Swindling Note-Be On Your Guard-Hundreds Have Been Caught
bearer Fifty Dollars when I sell by
worth of hedge plants
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or value received, with interest at seven per cent,
payable at Newton, Kan.
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J Think of the number of typewriters
that seemed popular a few years ago.
^[ Think of the different ones seeking
public favor today.
<IThen think of the Remington,
which has been the Standard since
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CfThe man who seeks experience
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PURE AND WHOLESOME
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We supply everything that goes to make up the interior of a home Stained Glass, Relief,
Carpets, Furniture, Parquetry, Tiles, Window Shades, Art Hanging, Draperies.
RUSSIAN TAPESTRY
For Wall Hangings in colors to match all kinds of wood work, carpets, draperies. To
be pasted on like wall paper, 52 inches wide. It costs little more than Burlaps, and has
taken the place of Burlaps in private homes, being softer, smoother and more rich and
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GOBELIN ART CRETONS
For Wall Hangings. They are pasted on like wall paper. They are taking the place of
the latter, being softer and more artistic, costing very little more about the same as
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viii
Please Mention Overland Monthly In Writing Advertisers.
li
PREVENTING 6MOKE NUISANCE 1847
What Sixty Years Have Accomplished
Since 1847 the changes and improvements in every phase of life are almost inconceivable.
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Views of the
Re-building
of the
Burned District
of
San Francisco
o
o
2
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DC S
u. 3
< w
o,
fee
Q
UJ e3
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_
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o g
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REBUILDING OF THE BURNED DISTRICT OF SAN FRANCISCO.
The twelve-story Pacific building, corner Fourth and Market streets. When completed will be the
largest reinforced concrete building in the world.
Rebuilding on Mission street, between Third and Fourth. Monadnock, Crocker and Union Trust
Buildings in background. Photos by F. W. Prince, Pass. Dept. Santa Fe R. R.
Looking east and north from Kearny, between Sacramento and California.
Wells-Fargo Building, Second near Market streets.
REBUILDING OF THE BURNED DISTRICT OF SAN FRANCISCO.
Market street, from Second to Waterfront.
Geary street, from Stockton street to Market.
REBUILDING OF THE BURNED DISTRICT OF SAN FRANCISCO.
EBUILDING OF THE BURNED DISTRICT OF SAN FRANCISCO.
rhe rebuilding of Mission street from Fourth, showing St. Patrick's Church.
Removing the debris from the Palace Hotel site. The entire building was wrecked and removed by
^Lennan in ninety days.
Photos by F. W. Prince, Passenger Department Santa Fe R. R.
REBUILDING OF THE BURNED DISTRICT OF SAN FRANCISCO.
Rebuilding of Sansome street, from Market.
Rebuilding of Chinatown and Italian section.
Looking down Market from James Flood building.
Photos by F. W. Prince, Pass. Dept. Santa Fe R. R.
Mt. Tallac, from Tallac Pier, on Lake Tahoe.
JUL3
Overland Monthly
NO. 1
July, 1907
VOL. L
BY ARCHIBALD HENDERSON
IN" this age of topsy-turvydom the
age of Nietzsche, Shaw, Carroll,
Wilde, Chesterton criticism mas-
querades in the garb of iconoclasm; and
fancy, fantasy, caprice and paradox usurp
the roles of scholarship, realistic valua-
tion, and the historic sense. The ancient
and honorable authority of the critic h
undermined by the complacent scepticism
of the period. And the gentle art of ap-
preciation is only the individual filtration
of art through a temperament. The mania
for certitude died with Kenan, confidence
had its lost leader in Carlyle, and author-
ity relinquishes its last and greatest ad-
herent in the recent death of Brunetiere.
The ease of blasphemy and the commer-
cialization of audacity are accepted facts;
we have lost the courage and simplicity
for the expression of truth, unvarnished
and unadorned. "We know we are bril-
liant and distinguished, but we do not
know that we are right. We swagger in
fantastic artistic costumes; we praise
ourselves; we fling epigrams right and
left; we have the courage to play the ego-
tist, and the courage to play the fool, but
we have not the courage to preach." The
symbol of art is no longer a noble muse,
hut only a tricksy jade. Criticism, once
the art of imaginative interpretation, is
now mere self-expression the adventures
of a soul among masterpieces. We are ex-
pected to believe that the greatest pictures
are those in which there is more of the ar-
tist than the sitter. The stigmata of cur-
Tent criticism are well expressed by a bril-
liant Frenchman Charles Nodier, was
it not? in the opinion that if one stops
to inquire into the probabilities, he will
never arrive at the truth !
The world has never seen an age in
which there was more excuse for question-
ing the validity of contemporary judg-
ment. It would be the height of folly to
expect posterity to authenticate the vapor-
ings of an appreciation which, in shifting
its stress from the universal to the person-
nel, has changed from criticism into col-
loquy, from clinic into causerie. Indeed,
it is nothing less than a truism that the
experience of the artist in all ages, ac-
cording to the verdict of history, is iden-
tical with itself. In the words of Sidney
Lanier :
" * * * the artist shall put forth,
humbly and lovingly, the very best and
highest that is within him, utterly regard-
less of contemporary criticism. Wthat pos-
isible claim can contemporary criticism
set up to respect that criticism which
crucified Jesus Christ, stoned Stephen,
hooted Paul for a madman, tried Luther
for a criminal, tortured Galileo, bound
Columbus in chains, drove Dante into ex-
ile, made Shakespeare write the sonnet,
'When in disgrace with fortune and men's
eyes/ gave Milton five pounds for 'Para-
dise Lost/ kept Samuel Johnson cooling
his heels on Lord Chesterfield's doorstep,
reviled Shell ey as an unclean dog, killed
Keats, cracked jokes on Gluck, Schubert,
Beethoven, Berlioz and Wagner, and com-
mitted so many other impious follies and
stupidities that a thousand letters like
this could not suffice even to catalogue
them?"
It was Mr. Bliss Perry who charmingly
10
OVEELAND MONTHLY.
revealed to us the shades and nuances of
literary fashion. And yet the dicta of
literary cliques, the voice of literary predi-
lection often ring false to the ears. The
verdict of the intellectuels is a veritable
stumbling block in the path of genius. "It
is from men of established literary repu-
tation," asserts Bernard Shaw, "that we
learn that William Blake was mad; that
Shelley was spoiled by living in a low set.;
that Eobert Owen was a man who did not
know the world ; that Ruskin is incapable
of comprehending political economy; that
Zola is a mere blackguard, and Ibsen is
Zola with a wooden leg. The great musi-
cian accepted by his unskilled listener, is
vilified by his fellow musician. It was the
musical culture of Europe which pro-
nounced Wagner the inferior of Mendels-
sohn and Meyerbeer/'
It is not enough to say, with the bril-
liant author of "Contemporains," that
contemporary criticism is mere conversa-
tion; it is often little more than mere
gossip. One is often inclined to question,
with Lowell, whether the powers that be,
in criticism, are really the powers that
ought to be. Especially is this true of a
time uniquely characterized by its ten-
dency to relentless rehabilitation. No dia-
bolic sinner in literary history is now
safe in his grave. He is in perpetual dan-
ger of being the innocent victim of our
pernicious habit of sainting the unsainted,
of saving the damned. The immoral
iconoclast of a former age becomes the
saintly anarch of this. The jar of lamp-
black is exchanged for a bucket of white-
wash; and in this era of renovation the
soiled linen of literary sinners emerges
translucent and immaculate from the
presses of the critical laundry. The True
William Blake, the True Jean Jacques
Eousseau, the True Byron, the True
Shelley, the True Nietzsche, are risen
from the dead. And we are darkly and
irretrievably given over to the pernicious
palaverings of those whom Mr. Eobert
W. Chambers has aptly termed "repairers
of reputations."
I.
In view of the premises, it may appear
at once paradoxical and perverse to at-
tempt any criticism at all, especially of
the works of a decadent like Oscar Wilde,
whose mere name is a synonym for the ap-
palling degeneracy of an age lashed by
the polemics of Ibsen, the abjurgations of
Tolstoy, the satire of Shaw, and the in-
vective of Nordau. All that pertains to
Wilde has for long been res tacenda in
polite society; and he himself, to use his
own phrase, has passed from a sort of
eternity of fame to a sort of eternity of
infamy. The current revival of interest
in Wilde finds its source in many recent
brochures and biographies. In general,
these have been fatally marred by wrong-
headed, unhealthy defense and attempted
justification of certain indefensible epi-
sodes in his life. Only in Germany, in
the hands of Carl Hagemann, Max Meyer-
feld and Hedwig Lachmann, and in
France through the balanced appreciation
of Henri de Eegnier and Jean Joseph-
Eenaud, has Wilde met with critical and
discriminating judgment, not of his life
and progressive degeneration, but of his
mentality, his mind, and art. The fatal
flow of current criticism, as Brunetiere
says, is that we do not see our contempor-
aries from a sufficient height and distance.
That we are unable to profit by what
Nietzsche terms the "pathos of distance,'"'
is a deficiency that can't be remedied. But
at least it is the prerogative of art, pe-
culiarly of the art of criticism, to make
the attempt, if not to fix the position, cer-
tainly to express judgment upon the work
of our contemporaries. The grievous error
of Wilde's latest biographer is found in
the fact that, in his effort to reveal to us
Wilde the man, he was forced into count-
less recitals and admissions which, despite
any plea however speciously worded,
could only prove damaging and disastrous
to the already infamous reputation of
his subject ("The Life of Oscar Wilde,"
by E. H. Sherard; Mitchell Kennerly,
N. Y.) If there is any spectacle more
disquieting than what Macaulay called
"the British public in one of its periodical
fits of morality," it is the spectacle of an
Englishman speciously attempting an eva-
sion of the fundamental precepts of just
conduct and right living. Indeed, the
only raison d'etre of any treatment of
Wilde is the conscientious proposition of
the question whether the work, and not
the life, of Wilde, is worthy of genuine
critical study. If we are to accept the
judgment of the art centers of Europe,
there is no mistaking the fact that their
THE THEATBE OF OSCAR WILDE.
11
verdict is unhesitatingly in the affirma-
tive. Many of Wilde's works have been
translated into a number of foreign ton-
gues; and certain of his plays have taken
the European capitals by storm. In
France, Germany, Austria and Spain, his
essays have won a laudation little short of
panegyric. "I)e Profundis" has already
taken its place as a marvelous evocation of
an etat d'ame; and "The Ballad of Read-
ing * Gaol" is generally recognized as a
great achievement, conspicuous alike for
sombre realism and tragic horror. Wilde's
fairy tales are unusually accepted as
dainty mirrors of the imaginative, poetic
artist at his highest and best.
The tendency of humanity, after a
sufficient lapse of time, is to overlook
many faults in the man who possesses the
virtue proper to his own profession to
overlook dissipation in the brave soldier,
intolerance in the compassionate priest,
harshness in the successful ruler. One
might even recall that frail woman in the
Bible who was forgiven because she
loved much. In art, as in life, much vir-
tue inheres in the professional conscience ;
and the peccable artist in all ages has
been granted a hearing on account of his
unfaltering love of art. "If one loves art
at all/' Wilde once wrote, "one must love
it beyond all other things in the world,
and against such love the reason, if lis-
tened to it, would cry out. There is noth-
mg sane about the worship of beauty.
It is something entirely too splendid
to be sane. Those of whose lives it forms
the dominant note will always seem to the
world to be pure visionaries." And with
all his affection of singularity, his as-
sumption of the "dangerous and delight-
ful distinction of being different from
others," his joyous treading of "the
primrose path of self-exploitation," his
esthetic posturing, charlatanry and
blague Wilde was assuredly a personality
of whose life art formed the dominant
note.
II.
In any study of the works of Wdlde es-
pecially of his plays, which have not re-
ceived any save casual and desultory treat-
ment in English it is desirable, in so far
as may be possible, to isolate the man
from his works. Thus one may be enabled
to view them, not at all in relation to
Wilde's life, but solely from the stand-
point of their validity and authenticity
as works of art. "Bernard Shaw has
naively confessed that the chief obstacle
to the success of his plays has been him-
self! For totally different reasons, the
chief obstacle to the study of Wilde's
plays has been himself. The "insincer-
ity" of this artist in attitudes was, in his
own words, simply a method by which he
could multiply his personality. "Man is
least himself when he talks in his own
person. Give him a mask and he will tell
you the truth." There is no means of es-
caping the everlasting return of life upon
art art, the mirror which the Narcissus
of artists holds up to himself. Let us,
however, remember with Novelis that he
who is of power higher than the first is
probably a genius, and with Nietzsche,
that "all that is profound loves a mask."
And even if, occasionally and unwittingly,
we traverse the circuit from art to life, at
least we may have the satisfaction of
making the attempt to dissociate the
merits of the dramatist from the de-
merits of the man.
In 1882, Wilde wrote to Mr. R. D'Oyly
Carte, manager of the Savoy Theatre,
London, that his play, "Vera; or The
Nihilists," was meant not to be read, but
to be acted. This opinion has never re-
ceived any surjport from either critic or
public. Written when Wjilde was only
twenty-two years old ("The New York
World, August 12, 1883). this play early
enrolled him under that drapeau ro-
mantique des jeunes guerriers, of which
Theophile Gautier speaks, yet the time
doubtless came when Wilde regarded
"Vera/' as he certainly regarded his first
volume of poems, merely in the light of a
perche de jeunesse. Unlike Ibsen, Pinero
or Phillips, Wilde was fortified by expe-
rience neither as actor nor manager; there
is no record that he ever, like Shaw, acted
even in amateur theatricals ! A cousin in
near degree to W. G. Wills, the dramatist,
painter and poet, Wilde may have derived
his dramaturgic gifts in some measure
from this source. In youth he learned the
graceful arts of conversation in the bril-
liant salon of his mother, Lady Wilde;
and his predilection for the dialogue form
was early revealed in certain of his criti-
cal essays. The play "Vera" ushers us
into the milieu of Henry Seton Merri-
12
OVERLAND MONTHLY.
man's "The Sowers," but it bears all the
fantastic ear-marks of the yellow-backed
fustian of the melodramatic fictionist,
Marchmont. One might easily imagine
it to be the boyish effusion of a romantic
youth in this present day of Von Plehve,
Gorki and the Douma. "As regards the
play itself/' wrote Wilde to the American
actress, Marie Prescott, in July, 1883, "I
have tried in it to express within the lim-
its of art that Titan cry of the peoples for
liberty which in the Europe of our day, is
threatening thrones and making Govern-
ments unstable from Spain 'to Russia, and
from north to southern seas. But it is a
play not of politics, but of passion. It
deals with no theories of Government,
but with men and women simply; and
modern Nihilistic Russia, with all the ter-
ror of its tyranny, and the marvel of its
martyrdoms, is merely the fiery and fer-
vent background in front of which the
persons of my dream live and love. With
this feeling was the play written, and
with this aim should the play be acted."'
Despite these lofty and promising words,
the play warrants no serious consideration
even though it won the admiration of
Lawrence Barrett himself. A pseudo-
V oiks drama, "Vera" images the conflict
between despotism and socialism, between
a vacillating, terror-obsessed Czar and a
Russian Charlotte Corday. The "love in-
terest" inheres in the struggle of the
Czarevitch, in sympathy with the people,
between his duty to the Empire and his
love for the Nihiliste Vera. But instead
of creatures of flesh and blood, looming
solid in a large humanity, we see only thin
cardboard profiles bloodless puppets
shifted hither and thither, as with Sar-
dou, at the bidding of the mechanical
showman. One-sided in the possession of
only one feminine role, the play is largely
taken up with interminable longeurs of
pointless persiflage between superfluous
characters; and this is destructive for a
Wilde who has not yet mastered the arts
of epigram, paradox and repartee. The
denouement, in which Vera, chosen by lot
to assassinate the young Czarevitch now
become Czar, whom she passionately loves,
turns upon her own breast the dagger
meant for him, and then tosses it ove^
the balcony to the ravening conspirators
below with the cry "I have saved Russia"
this is the very acme of the theatric in
its worst sense, the very quintessence of
Aclelphi melodrama. Not inapposite,
perhaps, was the characteristic paragraph
in "Punch" (December 10, 1881), under
"Impressions du Theatre:"
"The production of Mr. Oscar Wilde's
play 'Vera' is deferred. Naturally, no
one would expect a Veerer to be at all
certain; it must be, like a pretendedly in-
fallible forecast, so very weathercocky.
'Vera.' is about Nihilism; this looks as if
there was nothing in it. But why did
Mr. 0. Wilde select the Adelphi for his
first appearance as a dramatic author, in
which career we wish him cordially all the
success he may deserve ? Why did he not
select the Savoy? Surely where there's a
donkey cart we should say D'Oyly
Carte there ought to be an opportunity
for an 'Os-car?' r (On the point of be-
ing produced in London in December,
1881, under the management of Dion
Boucicault, with Mrs. Bernard-Beere in
the title role, "Vera" was suddenlv with-
drawn, possibly for political reasons.
Shortly afterwards, Wilde made his lec-
ture tour in America and endeavored to
place his play on the boards during his
stav in this country, but without success.
Produced in New York on August 20,
1883, with Marie Prescott, G. C. Boni-
face, Lewis Morrison and Edward Lamb
in the leading roles, the play proved a
complete failure, and was never after-
wards revived. Compare Decorative Art
in America (Brentanos) pp. 195-6, and
R, H. Sherard's "Life of Oscar Wilde"
(Kennerly), p. 221.)
In the Wilde of the "third period," as
he described himself in 1883, is revealed
a strangely different man from the apos-
tle of aestheticism. If he has not learned
to scorn delights, at least he has learned
to live laborious days. He takes up his
quarters at the Hotel Voltaire in Paris,
and though still guilty of affectation in
his assumption of the cane and cowl of
Balzac, yet he takes the great French mas-
ter for his model and disciplines himself
to that unremitting labor which, in Bal-
zac's view, is the law of art. Recall the
precious anecdote of Wilde over his manu-
script deleting a comma in the fore-
noon and re-inserting it in the afternoon.
In these days of the comet, the theatrical
star, for whom parts are especially writ-
ten "Cyrano" for Coquelin; "Vanna' 7
THE THEATRE OF OSCAR WILDE.
13
for Mme. Maeterlinck; "The Sorceress"
for Bernhardt, and "Cicely" for Terry
Wilde thought to play his part in writing
"The Duchess of Padua" for Mary An-
derson. (This statement is made on the
authority of Mr. R. H. Sherard, but Wilde
himself once wrote (Letter to The Times,
London, March 3, 1893) : "I have never
written a play for -any actor or actress, nor
shall I ever do so. Such work is for the
artisan in literature, not for the artist.")
This was a play laid in the 16th century-
century of Paolo and Francesca, of
Dante and Malatesta century of tears
and terror, of poetry and passion, of mad-
ness and blood. It is a tale, in five acts,
of the love of the gentle Beatrice, Duchess
of Padua, and of the young Guido Fer-
ranti, sworn to avenge the inhuman mur-
der of his noble father at the hands of the
old and heartless duke, the husband of
Beatrice. In milieu and accessories, the
play is laid out along the lines of Eliza-
bethan drama of "Romeo and Juliet,"
for example or more properly of Brown-
ing's "Luria," of Maeterlinck's "Monna
Vanna," of D'Annunzio's "Francesca da
Rimini." Its interest and charm consist
far less in its subject than in its spiritual
and emotional content the violently
transitional moods of romantic passion.
Ferranti and Beatrice have just confessed
their love for each other, when the pre-
arranged message comes to Ferranti that
the hour to strike down the Duke is come.
He tears himself away from Beatrice in
definitive farewell, with poignant agony,
crying out that a certain insurmountable
obstacle stands in the way of their love.
That night, as he pauses outside the door
of the Duke's chamber, meditating upon
assassination, there comes to Ferranti the
belated recognition not only that he can
never approach Beatrice again with the
blood of the murdered Duke upon his
hands, but that such a revenge is deeply
unworthy of the memory of his noble
father. "But as Anael comes forth from
the murder of the Prefect to her Djabal,
comes forth Beatrice to her Guido. Under
the tyranny of her love for Guido, she
herself has slain the Duke, to whom she
was ever but a worthless chattel the
Duke, the sole obstacle to the fulfillment
of her passion. Guido recoils from her
upon whose hands is the blood which he
himself had solemnly refused to shed.
And although Beatrice is transformed,
like Juliet into a very "Von Moltke of
love," she cannot, with all the mustered
array of her forces, storm the bastion of
Guide's soul. So sudden and so supreme
is her own revulsion of feeling that she
denounces Ferranti to the passers-by as
the murderer of her husband. Follows
the trial of Ferranti for his life >a scene
memorable for its undulation of emotional
process, the conflicting fears and hopes of
the heart-wrung Duchess, and the crisis,
Ferranti's confession, against which the
Duchess has fought with every available
weapon in fear of the truth Ferranti's
false confession that the murderer is none
other than himself. Visiting the con-
demned Ferranti in his cell, the heart-
broken Duchess, in the excess of her spirit-
ual agony, takes poison, and Guido, real-
izing at last the inner, essential nobility
of her character, avows for her his undy-
ing love, and dies upon the point of his
dagger.
"The Duchess of Padua" is remarkable
for instrumentation of feeling, its glow
of youthful fire, the delicate and rare
beauty of its imagery. It links itself *o
Hardy and to Whitman rather than to
Shakespeare in its intimation of "purity
of purpose as the sole criterion of deed ;"
for here Wilde, concerned less with the
primitive bases of individuality than with
the fundamental impulses of human
nature, reveals life as fluid and self-con-
tradictory. "In every creature," writes
Hedwig Lachmann, "lurks the readiness
for desperate deeds. But when all is over,
man remains unchanged. His nature does
not change, because for a moment he has
been torn from his moorings. The river
glides back into its bed after the stormy
waters, which forced its overflow, have
run their course." Like Maeterlinck's
Joyzelle, Beatrice is forgiven, not because
"Who sins for love sins not," but because
she has loved much. In Wilde's own dan-
gerous words in "The Soul of Man un-
der Socialism," written some eight years
later : "A man cannot always be estimated
by what he does. He may keep the law
and yet be worthless. He may break the
law, and yet be fine. He may be bad
without ever doing anything bad. He
may commit a sin against society, and vet
realize through that sin his true perfec-
tion." As Maeterlinck has told us, jus-
14
OVERLAND MONTHLY.
tice is a very mysterious thing, residing
not in nature nor in anything external,
but, like truth, within ourselves.
In "Vera," Wilde, with 'prentice hand,
unsuccessfully attempted to picture the
dramatic conjuctures and crises arising
when
" * * the giant wave Democracy
Breaks on the shores where kings lay
couched at ease."
"The Duchess of Padua/' his next play,
is endowed with poetic qualities of rare
opulence, imbued with resonant emotional
instrumentation. It is in this play, as
Mr. William Archer has justly said, that
Wilde reveals himself a poet of very high
rank. Nothing is easier, and therefore
possibly more misleading, than to say
ce n'est pas du theatre, for the tests of its
suitability for the stage have been incon-
clusive. It is true that, to Wilde's intense
disappointment, this play was refused by
Mary Anderson, but it was afterwards
produced in the United States by Law-
rence Barrett with moderate success. (Al-
though announced as in preparation in the
Publishers' List of 1894, "The Duchess of
Padua" was actually not published until
ten years later in the fine German trans-
lation of Dr. Max Meyerfeld of Berlin. In
addition to its production in America with
Lawrence Barrett and Mina Gale in the
leading roles, there have been two produc-
tions on the Continent. At Hamburg,
Germany, in December, 1904, where it
was produced under the most adverse
circumstances, the play proved a failure,
being withdrawn after three nights. And
when it was produced in Berlin early in
1906 it was killed by the critics, resulting
in a heavy loss for its champion, Dr.
Meyerfeld. The play is now to be pro-
cured in the original English version (The
Plays of Oscar Wilde, 3 vols., John W.
Luce Co., Boston.)
The play which, by reason of its imagi-
native coloring, naturally falls into the
category of "Vera" and "The Duchess of
Padua," rather than into that of the
society comedies, is Wilde's meretricious
one-act drama, "Salome," which fur-
nished the libretto for the gruesome and
perverted music-drama of the great com-
poser, Eichard Strauss, recently with-
drawn from the stage of the Metropolitan
Opera House in New York. One may re-
call that it was Wilde's pleasure, during
his frequent visits to Paris, to delight the
French world of art and letters with bril-
liant causeries. The masterly ease and
exquisite purity of his French were a mar-
vel to all who heard him. Wilde once
explained the idea he had in mind in
writing the play of "Salome" in French:
"I have one instrument that I know I
can command, and that is the English
language. There was another instrument
to which I had listened all my life, and I
wanted once to touch this new instrument
to see whether I could make any beautiful
thing out of it. * * Of course, there are
modes of expression that a Frenchman of
letters would not have used, but they give
a certain relief or color to the play. A
great deal of the curious effect that
Maeterlinck produces comes from the fact
that he, a Flamand by grace, writes in an
alien language. The same thing is true
of Rossetti, who, though he wrote in Eng-
lish, was essentially Latin in tempera-
ment," (The Pall Mall Gazette, June 29,
1892.)
Wilde was strongly influenced by Hero-
dias, one of Gustave Flaubert's "Trois
Gouts," in which the death of Jokanaan
is the result of the insatiable hatred of
Herodias; it is at her instigation that
Salome dances for the head of the prophet.
At the time he was writing this play,
Wilde said to the Spanish critic, Gomez
Carillo: "If for no other reason, I have
always longed to go to (Spain that I
might see in the Prado Titian's Salome,
of which Tintoretto once exclaimed : 'Here
at last is a man who paints the very
quivering flesh !' ' And Carrillo men-
tions that only Gustave Moreau's portrait
unveiled for Wilde the "soul of the
dancing princess of his dreams." But
whatever alien influences may have been
at work upon him, certain it is that he
has given the story an interpretation in-
dividual in its abnormality. Like Poe,
like Bandelaine, like Maeterlinck, he has
sought to reveal to us, with masterful,
if meretricious artistry, le beau dans I'hor-
rible.
Salome is a fevered dream, a poignant
picture it is like one of those excursions
into the macabre with which Wilde suc-
ceeded in fascinating the Parisians. In it
one discerns, as in a sheet of pale, quiver-
THE THEATRE OF OS CAR WILDE.
15
ing lightning, the revolting decadence of
an age when vice was no prejudice and
sensuality no shame. As in a piece of
music, we hear the resonance of passion,
and the reverberations of obscure, half-
divined emotions; as in a picture, we feel
rather than see the decadent genius of its
tone and atmosphere; as in a lyric poem,
jangled and out of tune, we shudderingly
shrink from the spell of its mood what
Hagemann calls "eine bezwingende, satte
Stimmung." The characters stand forth
in chiseled completeness from the rich
Galilean background like the embossed
figure of the malady of that age; and
insatiable, sensual Herodias, symbolic
figure of the maladv of that age; and
Herod, the Tetrarch, obsessed with pro-
foundly disquieting inclinations to unlaw-
ful passion, who ultimately .cuts at a
single blow the Gordian knot of his prob-
lem, for the untying of which he lacks
for the time being both courage and moral
power. Like Hebbel's Daniel, Jokanaan
is a wonderfully realized figure the in-
carnation of a primitive, intolerant pro-
phet commanding rapt attention far less
by what he says or does than by what he
is. And then there is Salome young,
fair, impressionable, upon the very thresh-
old of womanhood. Recall the young
Syrian's description of her, hauntingly
reminiscent of the Maeterlinck of "Pel
leas and Melisande": "She is like a dove
that has strayed * * she is like a narcissus
trembling in the wind * * she is like a
silver flower * * her little white hands
are fluttering like doves that fly to their
dove-cotes. They are like white butter-
flies." At first, she is unmoved by any
strangely perverse, nameless passion for
the forbidden. But as in a dream, a mem-
ory of forgotten, yet half-divined reality,
love wakens .under the mystic spell of
Jokanaan's presence, and his scorn, his
anathemas, his obiurgations, rouse to
life and to revolt within her the dormant
instincts of an Herodias. She will sing
the swan song of her soul in the paean of
the dance, and for the sake of revenge will
so ensnare the weak, unnatural Herod in
the meshes of her perilous beauty that he
can refuse her nothing even though it
were the half of his kingdom. But when
her revenge is sated and the head of Jo-
kanaan in her hands, the world swims in
a scarlet haze before her eyes ; and though
lust, scorn, revenge and death meet in that
terrible kiss, the hour of her own fate has
struck. Impressive, awful, imperial,
Herod speaks the words: "Kill that
woman!" Salome, daughter of Herodias,
Princess of Judea, is crushed beneath the
shields of the soldiers, and her death
sounds the death knell of a decadent and
degenerate age. A new epoch of culture
is at hand.
In Salome, Wilde depicts a crystallized
embodiment of the age, rather than the
age itself. The influence of Maeterlinck is
inescapable in the simplicity of the dia-
logue, in the iterations and reverberations
of the leit motifs. As Wilde himself said,
Salome is a piece of music (with its pro-
gressive crescendo, emotional paean and
tragic finale. To the naturalism of sen-
sation is super-added stylistic symmetry,
and, in places, what Baudelaire called la
grace supreme litteraire. But the effect of
the play, even in the reading, is to focus
attention upon abnormal states of feeling,
indicative of decadence, and degeneracy,
and this impression is doubtless multiplied
a thousand-fold by the "argument of the
flesh," and the potent instrumentalities of
music and the stage. (There seems to be
no foundation for the statement of E. Go-
mez Carrillo, in his "El Origen de la
Salome de Wilde," the preface to the
Spanish translation of Salome, that this
play was written for Sarah Bernhardt.
The play was written in Paris at the turn
of the year 1891-2 ; and Wilde himself said
to an interviewer (June, 1892) : "A few
weeks ago I met Madame Sarah Bern-
hardt at Sir Henry Irving's. She had
heard of my play, and asked me to read it
to her. I did so, and she at once expressed
a wish to play the title-roll." For infor-
mation concerning the marvelous success
of this play upon the Continent, compare
"Decorative Art in America" (Brentanos,
N. Y.) ; "Oscar Wilde," by Carl Hage-
mann (J. C. C. Brans' Verlag, Minden
in Westf ) ; "Oscar Wilde, by Hedwig
Lachmann (Schuster and Loeffier, Ber-
lin and Leipzig) ; "Oskar Wilde," by
Halpdan Langgaard (Axel Juncker Ver-
lag, Stuttgart), and "The Life of Oscar
Wilde," by R. H. Sherard (Mitchell Ken-
nerly, N". Y.) See also Wilde's letter to
Robert Ross (De Profundis, German
translation by Max Meyerfeld, S. Fis-
cher, Berlin, pp. 101-2) of date March
16
OVERLAID MONTHLY.
10, 1896, in which he expresses his pro-
found appreciation for the production of
''Salome" by Lugne Poe at the Theatre
de FOeuvrej Paris. "Salome" was trans-
lated into English by Lord Alfred Doug-
las, and quite fittingly illustrated by the
exotic artist, Aubrey Beardsley.)
III.
The four society comedies which Wilde
wrote in rapid succession, which immedi-
ately gained huge success in England, and
have since been played to vastly apprecia-
tive audiences in America and in Europe,
are so similar in style, treatment and ap-
peal as to warrant discussion as an unique
genre. (These four comedies are "Lady
Windermere's Fan," produced for the first
time at the St. James's Theatre, London,
on February 22, 1892, by Mr. George
Alexander and his company; "A Woman
of No Importance," produced for the first
time at the Haymarket Theatre, London,
by Mr. H. Beerbohm Tree, on April 19,
1893; "An Ideal Husband," produced for
the first time at the Theatre Royal, Hay-
market, London, on January 3, 1895 ;
"The Importance of Being Earnest," pro-
duced for the first time at the St. James's
Theatre, London, on February 14, 1895,
by Mr. George Alexander and his com-
pany.)
In the category of the great drama of
the day qua drama Ibsen, Hauptmann,
Sudermann, Hervieu, Schnitzler they
have no place, in that they are in no sense
conditioned by the fundamental laws of
the drama. They are utterly deficient in
masterly portraiture of character, the
play and interplay of vital emotions, and
that indispensable conflict of wills and
passions without which drama is mere
sound and fury, signifying nothing. By
reason of his esthetic idleness and luxury
as a faineant, Wilde was incapable of sus-
tained and laborious pre-occupation with
his art work; it was true, though sound-
ing like the vainest of poses, that even
when his life was freest from business
cares he never had, as he put it, either
the time or the leisure for his art. In
the deepest, sense, he lacked what Walter
Pater called the responsibility of the artist
to his material ; although this is not to
say that he failed to recognize, from the
standpoint of style, the beauty of the
material he employed, and to use that
beautv as a factor in producing the es-
thetic effect. Like Thomas Griffiths
Wainewright, he sought to put into prac-
tice the theory that "life itself, is an art,
and has its modes of styles no less than the
arts that seek to express it." And the
great drama of his life, as he confessed to
Andre Gide, was that he had given his
p-enius to his life, to his work only his
talent.
Indeed, there is no term which so per-
fectly expresses the tone of Wilde's come-
dies as nonchalance. The astounding
thing is, that in his sincere effort to amuse
the public, he best succeeded with that
public by holding it up to scorn and ridi-
cule with the lightest satire. One of the
most self-revelative of his paradoxes is
the opinion that life is far too serious ever
to be discussed seriously. "If we are to
deliver a philosophy," says Mr. Chester-
ton, in speaking of contemporary life, "it
must be in the manner of the late Mr.
Whistler and the ridentem dicere verum.
If our heart is to be aimed at, it must be
with the rapier of Stevenson, which runs
through without either pain or puncture."
If our brain is to be aroused, he might
have added, it must be with the scintillat-
ing paradox and enlivening epigram of
Oscar Wilde. Horace Walpole once said
that the world is a comedy for the man
of thought, a tragedy for the man of
feeling. He forgot to sav that it is a farce
for the man of wit. It was Wilde's creed
that ironic imitation of the contrasts,
absurdities and inconsistencies of life, its
fads and fancies, its quips and cranks, its
follies and foibles, give far more pleasure
and amusement than faithful portraiture
of the dignitv of life, its seriousness and
profundity, its tragedy, pitv and terror.
His comedies are marked, not by consis-
tency in the characters, continuity of pur-
pose, or unity of action, but only by per-
sistence of the satire vein and prevalence
of the comic mood. Like Flaubert, Wlilde
gloried in demoralizing the public, and
he denied with his every breath Sidney
Lanier's dictum that art has no enemy so
unrelenting as cleverness. His whole lit-
erary career was one long, defiant chal-
lenge to Zola's pronunciamento :
"L'Homme de genee n'a jamais d'esprit."
While the dialogue of Wilde's comedies,
as the brilliant Viennese critic, Hermann
Bahr, has said, contains more verve and
THE "THEATRE OF OSCAR WILDE.
17
esprit than all the French, German and
Italian comedies put together, nevertheless
our taste is outraged because Wilde makes
no effort <to paint character and employs
a conventional and time-worn technique.
Wilde's figures are lacking in vitality and
humanity; it is impossible to believe in
their existence.
They are mere mouthpieces for the
diverting ratiocinations of their au-
thor, often appearing less as personalities
than as personified customs, embodied
prejudices and (conventions of ^English
life. By means of these pallid figures,
Wilde has at least admirably succeeded in
interpreting certain sides of the English
national character. The form of his
comedies approximates to that of the best
French farces, but his humor sounds a
genuine British note. There is no es-
caping the impression, however, that his
characters are automatons and puppets
masks which barely suffice to conceal the
lineaments of Wilde. Here we see the
raisonneur as we find him in Dumas fits,
or in Sudermann. It is in this way that
Wilde identifies his characters, not with
their prototypes in actual life, but with
himself.
As Bernard Shaw may be said to have
invented the drama of dialectic, so Oscar
Wilde may be said to have invented the
drama of conversation.
Jean Joseph Renaud and Henri de Reg-
nier have paid eloquent tributes to Wilde
as a master of the causerie. A great lady
once said of him : "Wlien he is speaking, I
see round his head a luminous aureole."
The mere exaggeration of the phrase is
testimony to Wilde's maestria in utterance
of golden words. He was a slave to the
Scheherazade of his fancy, and was un-
sparing] v lavish in the largess of his wit.
He realized that he was a past-master in
the gentle art of making conversation, and
he nonchalantly ignored Goethe's pre-
cept: "Bilde, Kunstler, rede nicht!" The
result is, that he does not construct, but
only sets off a mine. His art is the ex-
pression of his enjoyment of verbal pyro-
technics. To use Baudelaire's phrase, he
wrote comedies pour etonner les sots, and
the height of his pleasure was epater les
bourgeois. The result in his comedies,
while vastly diverting, is deplorable from
the standpoint of dramatic art. For the
conversations are disjointed, and, in the
dramatic sense, incoherent, in that they
live only for the moment, and not at all
for the sake of elucidation and propul-
sion of the dramatic process. The com-
parison with Shaw in this particular im-
mediately suggests itself, but the fun-
damental distinction consists in the fact
that whereas in Shaw's comedies the con-
versation, witty and epigrammatic to a
degree, is strictly germane to the action,
with Wilde the conversation, with all its
sparkling brilliancy, is in fact subsidiary
and beside the mark. As Hagemann has
justly said, in Wilde's comedies the accent
and stress is thrown wholly upon the epi-
grammatic content of the dialogue.
What, after all, is the secret of Wilde's
success? What is the quintessence of his
art as a dramatist? For, say what one
will, Wilde's comedies were and are
immensely successful; and his plays,
whether comedy or tragedy, are art even
if they are not always drama. Hermann
Bahr refused to consider Wilde as frivol-
ous, maintaining that his paradoxes rest
upon a profound insight into humanity.
"Wilde says serious and often sad things
that convulse us with merriment, not be-
cause he is not 'deep,' but precisely be-
cause he is deeper than seriousness and
sadness, and has recognized their nullity."'
Perhaps the name with which Wilde's is
most frequently coupled is that of his fel-
low countryman and fellow townsman,
Bernard Shaw. And it is interesting to
read Shaw's characterization of Wilde,
with whose unique artistic views and liter-
ary methods he has many points of con-
tact :
"Ireland is, of all countries, the most
foreign to England,, and to the Irishman
(and Mr. Wilde is almost as acutely Irish
as the Iron Duke of Wellington), there
is nothing in the world ouite so exquisite-
ly comic as an Englishman's seriousness.
It becomes tragic, perhaps, when the Eng-
lishman acts on it; but that occurs too
seldom to be taken into account, a fact
which intensifies the humor of the situa-
tion, the total result being the English-
man utterly unconscious of his real self,
Mr. Wilde keenly observant of it, and
playing on the self-unconsciousness with
irresistible humor, and finallv. of course,
the Englishman annoyed with himself for
being amused at his own expense, and
for being unable to convict Mr. Wilde
18
OVERLAND MONTHLY.
of what seems an obvious misunderstand-
ing of human nature. He is shocked, too,
at the danger to the foundations of society
when seriousness is publicly laughed at.
And to complete the oddity of the situa-
tion, Mr. Wilde, touching what he him-
self reverences, is absolutely the most
sentimental dramatist of the day. The
Saturday Eeview, January 12, 1895.)
At bottom and in essence, Wilde is a
master of the art of selection. He is
eminently successful in giving the most
diverting character to our moments as
thev pass. His art is the apotheosis of the
moment; and what mav not be said, he
once asked, for the moment and the "mo-
ment's monument ?" Art itself, he averred,
is "really a form of exaggeration, and
selection, which is the very spirit of art,
is nothing more than an intensified mode
of over-emphasis." Wilde was a painter,
Neo-Tmpressionist. From the palette of
his observation, which bore all the radiant
shades and colors of his temperament, he
selected and then laid upon the canvcis
manv brilliant yet distinct points of
color. When seen in the proper light and
from the just distance, the canvas takes
on the appearance of a complete picture
quaint, unique, marvelous. It is only by
taking precisely Wilde's point of view that
the spectator is enabled to synthesize the
isolated brilliant points into an harmoni-
ous whole. Oscar Wilde is a Paintilliste.
Wilde called one of his plays "The Im-
portance of Being Earnest." In his in-
verted way, he aimed at teaching the world
the importance of being frivolous. Only
from this standpoint is it possible to ap-
preciate, in any real sense, Wilde the
comic dramatist. Wilde is the arch enemy
of boredom and ennui; we can always
enjoy him in his beau role as a purveyor
of amusement and a killer of time. "I
took the drama the most objective form
which art recognizes," he said in De
Profundis, "and made of it an individual
genre, like the lyric poem or the sonnet;
thereby I widened its scope and enriched
it with new characteristics." This is true
of "Salome," the exotic, decadent flower
of that art which Maeterlinck tentatively
initiated in 'La Princesse Maleine," but
subsequently resigned in "Monna Vanna."
It is also true that his comedies approxi-
mate to a new genre, peculiarly Wilde's
own invention. But we are warned by his
own confession not to take Wilde, as
dramatist, too seriously. "The plays are
not great," he once said to Andre Gide.
"I think nothing of them but if you only
knew how amusing they are!" And the
author of "The Decay of Lying" added:
"Most of them are the results of bets !"
BY H. FELIX CROSS
Where the river rushes swift
Thro' the canyon's rocky rift,
Go I angling 'neath the tangling alder trees that skyward lift,
And with rod and willow reel,
Soft to some deep pool I steal,
Cast, and lo ! the crystal waters yield a leaping, finny gift.
the wild joy of it all
By the splashing waterfall,
While from out his piney cradle sharp the tree squir'l sounds
his call;
Wjhile the sunshine thro' a rent
In the alder's dark, green tent,
Flashes, glancing on the dancing, swirling pool below the fall.
While the eagle, soaring wide,
Swift the roaring blast does ride,
Circling round sky-piercing peaks green-clad with pines on every
side ;
And the mocking-bird his song
Blithely warbles clear and strong;
And the locust sends his echoes ringing from the mountain side !
In the waning light of day,
Back to camp I wend my way,
And the shining sun reclining sends a slanting golden ray.
Stealing o'er the peaks it glides;
Pink and purple color tides
Softly fading, darker shading, and in the dying of the day.
Bound the camp-fire's flick'ring gleam,
Smiling, happy faces beam,
In the glancing light the dancing shadows dusky spectres seem;
And old songs and stories old
Are remembered, sung and told,
While the fairies hold their revels in the moonlight on the
stream.
Now the moon does vigil keep,
Twinkling eyes of heaven peep
Thro' the leaf-bow'r of the camp, around the peaks the night
mists creep,
Song and laughter now are still,
Silence echoes from the hill,
And sweet dreams flit softly round us, for the camp is locked ia
sleep.
Monrovia, Col.
BY ALLEN H. HODGSON
A view of Mt. Lassen.
THE early forests of America were
the result of nature's unaided
forces working for countless ages.
Their grandeur and magnitude were un-
surpassed by any other country. This
condition did not last, however, for with
the coming of the early pioneers, whose
only thought about trees was to cut them
down, there began a gradual destruction
of the forests. The indifference of the
past Americans toward the preservation
of the forests for the benefit of future
generations is being realized. The greit
business and forest interests of the nation
have been joined together. The American
people have at last begun to value their
timbered regions, and desire their protec-
tion. Forest reserves have been estab-
lished, and the necessity of preserving the
public forests permanently is leading to
a national policy concerning them.
The needs of the nation demand that
the forests should thrive and flourish, for
the manv national industries are directly
and indirectly dependent upon them. The
rain fall is increased, floods are held back,
soil is kept in place and the flow of rivers
equalized because of the forests, and were
they destroyed the wild game could not
live. These uses, in addition to many
others, show the value of the forests to
a country and its advancement. Since
more wood is used in our own land at the
present time than ever before, a timber
famine is inevitable unless the present
rate of forest destruction in America is
checked. The cuttir- of timber, for what-
ever purpose, should be under the most
careful supervision. Not only should the
older forests be protected, but new ones
started and cared for. The accomplish-
ment of all this great work of saving the
forests lies in the hands of the forester,
and it is he who is and will continue lo
be one of the great influences ensuring the
prosperitv of this and of the future ages.
The forester of to-day is highly edu-
cated, not only along one line, but along
several. He understands botany, geol-
ogy, physical ^eography, chemistry, hydo-
graphy, as well i as technical civil en-
gineering, and is able to handle all busi-
ness dealings with lumber. It is for him
to helr> the foreat render its best service
to man, in such a way as to increase rather
than to diminish, its usefulness in the
future. The demands which mankind
have made unon the forest must be met
steadilv and permanentlv : therefore, it is
the prime object of the forester to make
the forest produce wood of the best kind
continually. The essential condition for
the best health and productiveness of tim-
bered sections is the timely removal >f
mature trees, and it is the forester who
THE FORESTER AND HIS WORK.
knows just when certain trees are ready '. )
be cut down, and how to cut them. Al-
though the forester works from an eco-
nomic point of view in fact, he wishes
to secure the greatest amount of the most
useful material in the shortest time, he
accomplishes his purpose by a wise use
of the forest, and in no other way.
All life in the forest is under the for-
ester's care the game, insects, fungi and
trees. As a bontanist, in order to rear
and protect trees, he knows all about their
life and habits; he understands the re-
quirements of each particular variety from
the time that the seed falls to the ground
and germinates, through its various stages
as it is applied to the composition of wood
and the transpiration of plants and trees.
The forester looks after the reproduction
of his crops systematically. He knows
what trees are undesirable and removes
them in order to make room for the use-
ful ones. Artificial replanting of a for-
est is sometimes necessarv, but natural
regeneration is nearly alwavs possible. j.n
the reproduction of a forest, it is very
important that the forester should know
all about the various means of seed dis-
tribution, and how to transplant young
trees. The tasks involved in the refores-
tation of sand-dunes and barren moun-
tain sides are hard ones, and the forester
A forest ranger.
until in old age it dies, decays and falls
to the ground. He is familiar not only
with their lives individually but collec-
tively, as most of his problems are con-
nected not with single trees, but with
great forests. For this reason the for-
ester must be conversant with many .f
the laws of nature. The great struggle
for existence, and the survival of the fit-
test, are among the most important of
these laws. To combine these and learn to
make them brin~ forth the best possible-
results, is the art of science. It is also
the art of the forester. Directly associated
with his knowledge of botany, is the for-
ester's knowledge of chemistry; especially
who is able to successfully accomplish
them possesses a marked degree of skill
in his work.
Possessing a ffood working knowledge
of physical geography, geology and hydro-
graphy, the forester is able to meet and
conquer many difficulties. He knows the
relation the mountains and streams have
to the forest, and is able to note the in-
fluence the forest has upon the atmos-
phere and climate of a locality. He dis-
covers in what way it affects the rainfall
and evaporation, and can determine how
the various earth and rock formations and
constituents of the soil may increase or
retard the growth of forests. The forester
22
OVERLAND MONTHLY.
understands and is able to use all of the
instruments for measuring the tempera-
ture and evaporation of water, and can
describe or form maps of streams and
lakes, showing, not only their geographical
position, but their position with reference
to the climatic conditions and forest
growth, from which many valuable and
interesting problems can be drawn.
As an engineer, the forester has much
to do. If thoroughly competent, he is able
to make line surveys, as well as topo-
graphical maps of forest property. Engi-
neering ability is required in building
roads, railroads, flumes and other perma-
nent means of transportation. To get the
forest products transported as cheaply,
ting it in skidways, and he also takes care
that the trees are not cut too high. After
the timber is cut, the forester knows how
much per thousand feet it will cost to get
it converted -into lumber.
The work required of the forester of
private. State or national property calls
for practically the same amount of edu-
cation and experience along the lines men-
tioned. Having sufficient knowledge of
all the necessary subjects that come in his
work, the forester is ready for business.
After making a preliminary cruise of the
land he is to take charge of, the first thing
to be done is to make an estimate of the
actual amount of useful timber upon it.
The forester accomplishes this by con-
in the logging- camp.
but as efficiently, as possible, is the for-
ester's aim as an engineer.
The forester, as a practical man of busi-
ness and executive ability, knows his for-
est thoroughly, and is capable of man-
aging all work done by his subordinates
in the field. He knows the lumbering
business from beginning to end, and is
fully competent to take charge of the saw
mills and lumbering camps in the forests
under his control. It is his duty to select
sites for camps and to make working
plans for the proper cutting of the tim-
ber. He does not allow valuable timber
to be used in wasteful ways, such as put-
ducting valuation surveys, which perhaps
is the most important part of all his
work.
The next important thing in the man-
agement of a forest is the analyzing of the
stems or trunks of various kinds and sizes
of useful trees. This work is done by
parties of from five to ten men, and is
exceedingly interesting, as well as in-
structive work for beginners in forestry.
The condition of each tree, whether sound
or not, the soundness of its trunk, and
the length of the logs into which it could
be best sawed, is recorded. It is the for-
ester's object to find the average rate of
THE FORESTER AND HIS WORK.
growth and then compute how long it will
take a tree, under certain conditions, to
realize a desired diameter. The age of a
tree is learned by counting the number
of annual rings of growth at its stump.
All points in the history of a tree are
definitely found out and their character-
istics learned.
The final success of a forester is large-
ly dependent upon his knowledge of silvi-
culture, which is nearly as important as
the data gathered from the surveys and
stem analyses. As a part of that know-
ledge, he knows under just what conditions
the seeds of trees will best germinate and
grow. Unless all of the forester's specifi-
cations concerning timber are upheld by
a thorough knowledge of silvics, they are
not likely to prove of value.
After 'the field season is over, the for-
ester still has much office work, and from
the conclusion he draws, a working plan
is made for the lumbering of the forest.
He also writes recommendations concern-
ing the prevention of soil erosion, the
best means of preventing and overcoming
forest fires, which, by the way, is his great-
est obstacle, and ways of fighting the
many other enemies of the forest, such as
insects and certain kinds of fungi. In
addition, he also determines the methods
for the grazing of stock, of various kinds,
and at what seasons it will be most profit- i n the logging camp.
The virgin forpst.
OVERLAND MONTHLY.
able and cause the least amount of dam-
age. With all the data he has collected,
he makes maps representing the rise in
height of trees with their increase in di-
amiter, and also their rise in height with
the increase in age. All this work is done
before the real facts of the field survey
can be determined. When this has been
accomplished., the true results of the man-
agement of the particular tract or forest
claim under his care is known.
The development of such practical for-
estry is universally a national question,
and few governments are without a per-
manent forest commission. The benefits
derived from the application of proper
forestry principles, under the manage-
ment of trained foresters in the Govern-
ment service, is constantly leading private
timber owners to seek the help of effi-
cient men to take charge of their forests.
Forest management, therefore, has opened
a wide field for the employment of men
of strong character and ability men who
are not afraid to meet difficulties and en-
dure hardships.
Although the life of a forester is not an
easy one, and requires constant mental ac-
tivity, there is something about it that
appeals to the nobler, finer self of every
man. Not every one has the privilege of
that enjoyment of the wild, which is so
great a part of the routine of the forest-
er's daily life.
There is always something new in his
profession something about the trees to
discover untrodden regions to explore.
By continual association with nature and
the spiritual influence and inspiration of
the forest, he is made a better man one
whose life counts for something in the ad-
vancement of all humanity.
To this end his whole life is given, and
there lives no one more worthy of our
honor and respect or more deserving of a
nation's pride and homage than the for-
ester the man of this and of all ages to
come.
BY ALOIS DUNBAR
"Take heart o' grace/ 7 The counsel wise
Glowed on her lips and in her eyes.
"Never be downcast. Hear my creed :
'Who keeps on trying must succeed!'
Honest endeavor dignifies !
"Persist ! I think you sure to rise,
When once your foes who criticise'
Are proven wrong no more I'll plead-
<Take heart !' ' : Oh, Grace !
Take heart I will ! That word applies.
Just what My Lady doth advice
Will T achieve f In truth and deed,
What man could fail to win the lead
If she but let him as the prize
Take heart o' Grace?
BY G. F. PAUL
A mountain Indian.
THE traveler speeding southward
through Mexico is roused at Ira-
puato by the cry of "Fresas, fre-
sas !" and on opening the window, a dozen
fragrant baskets of tempting strawberries
are held up to tickle his eye and to tap his
pocket-book. This is a daily occurrence
the year round, and of course with the
passing of the months, the venders learn
that the largest berries should be placed
on top, so as not to be crushed by the
smaller ones. Twenty-five cents in silver
will, however, buy enough berries to feed
a family, while the unique basket that
holds the fruit will answer a dozen pur-
poses. As Irapuato is famous for its
strawberries, so Aguas Calientes is the
place for drawn work, Leon for leather
work, and Apizaco for carved coffee canes.
Queretaro, the place of Maximilian's exe-
cution, is the great opal town. Before
the passenger alights, he is beset by a
swarm of opal merchants, who carry their
stores with them in little black papers,
and cannot be held in check, even by the
high iron railing.
Every toothless woman on the streets
will try to rival Tiffany, the street car
conductor will proffer a few opals as he
politely collects the fares; the waiter will
try to say a word about a few choice opals
that a friend has just left with him, while
the straight-haired "mozo" will let the
light fall on his little assortment, as he
leads the way to a longed-for resting-
room.
But if Queretaro has more opals than
fine-toothed combs, Celava is the great
candy town, where gallons of milk and
tons of sugar are daily made up into
dulces, and very toothsome are these
sweets. They are reputed to be the best
in Mexico, which is saying a good deal,
when it is considered that most delicious
candies are made at the extensive French
dulcerias in Mexico 'City. In Puebla,
sweet potatoes are turned into candies; at
San Luis Potosi, the same thing is done
to the cactus, while at Vera Cruz the
squash is used to satisfy many a sweet
tooth. A woman declares that dirt and
dulces make a combination altogether too
overpowering for an American stomach.
"Dulces!" she exclaimed to a persistent
vender of the dainties. "Dulces in all this
filth !"
A fringe of beggars usually adorns
the candy vendor. From these lugubri-
ous creatures come continuous cries for
centavos. The wonder is where they can
put a penny in their ragged clothes after
their eager fingers have clutched it. The
term pordwseros is applied to these whin-
ing mendicants. In plain English, they
would be known as "for-God's-sakers."
And when their penny has been cast them
for their song or grimace or mute appeal,
they usually add with unintentional
irony, "May God give you more."
OVERLAND MONTHLY.
Candy vendor.
If peddlers abound at the railway sta-
tion, their number is legion at the market,
the one institution, with the church, that
furnishes the average Mexican town a
reason for existing. In planning for mar-
ket days, a pack of scrawny vegetables Is
culled with the greatest care. With this
upon her back, the Zapotec woman starts
for the market nlace, be it twenty, thirty
or even forty miles distant. The trip is
so planned that she may sleep after reel-
ing off a score of miles at a fox trot; then
on again shortly after midnight, that she
may arrive on the scene of action with the
peep of day. At these markets chile and
charcoal vie with tortillas and tamales.
Little pyramids of peaches and pome-
granates rise haughtily up from populous
blankets, sandals mingle on friendly
terms with sweets while the brooms and
the beans fill the gap between a pept>er
and a V In manv cities, vegetables,
fruits and nuts are counted out in little
heaps, and only by buying each pile sepa-
rately can large quantities of a desired ar-
ticle be obtained. Wholesale dealings are
stoutb r over-ruled.
In Mexico, the burro is stiDnosed to '>e
At the market place.
The national wheelbarrow.
the beast of burden, and on its back are
fastened packs of everv description. The
Mexican is a ^ast-master at doing up a
load for his burro. Such things as bricks
have a decided tendency to resist all efforts
to tie them together into hundred-pound
oundles by means of ropes, yet burros, or
even boys, may often be seen plodding
Cargadores with piano.
6s
OVEBLAND MONTHLY.
'along under such a burden. How the
bricks ever hold together is a mystery.
The burro's great rival as a pack-animal
is the Mexican peon himself. That this
omnipresent burden-bearing has been go-
ing on in Mexico for at least a century is
khown by the statement of Baron Hum-
l boldt, who says of the tenateros in the
:mine he visited, that they were "carrying
for six hours a weight ranging from 225
to 350 pounds on their backs, in a very
high temperature, ascendino- eight or ten
times, without rest, ladders of 1,800
rounds." The famous savant adds that
this might well confute the belief that the
tropics are enervating. History is dotted
with instances where the equipment and
many of the timbers of inland churches
and other structures, were practically car-
ried hundreds of miles overland.
The most notable feat, perhaps, was
that performed by eisrht thousand Tlasca-
lans. These trusty allies of Cortes car-
ried on their shoulders timbers for thir-
teen brigantines manv leagues across the
mountains, that he might recapture the
City of Mexico, then held by the prince,
Ouauhtemoctzin. No doubt, many de-
scendants of these very Tlascalans work
in the Pachuca and Guanajuato mines.
What with a string of rickety ladders,
where every foothold is slippery with
Meat cargadore, City of Mexico.
water, and what with the frontera, or
brow-band, pulled tight with the dead
weight at his back, no wonder the peon's
poor brains are molded into a pear-shaped
peak that will not hold a hat.
In answer to the query as to why some
enterprising firm did not start up in the
draying business in Mexico City, an
American resident said: "It wouldn't pay
them. These greasers would put them out
of business in a few days. These men are
old hands at the work, and can get around
in out-of-the-way places where a big dray
couldn't budge. Just the other day a man
told me of one of these cargodores carry-
ing a safe for half a mile that weighed
nearly half a ton, and after he'd made the
trip he lit a cigarette and tramped off,
looking for another mountain to move.
There's a story going the rounds about an
American contractor at Zacatecas who
tried to introduce the use of the wheelbar-
row. The Mexican laborer loaded it and
then managed to put it on his knotty head
and carried it into the building. The
contractor tried to show him how it should
be run, and the greaser soon caught on;
but after he'd dumped his load, he insist-
ed on putting the wheelbarrow on his head
and carrying it back to the brick-pile.
For personal appearance the charcoal
vendors must be awarded the palm. These
carboneros have a lucrative profession,
for charcoal is in great demand through-
out Miexico. Their bodies are usually so
begrimed as to make perfect blackamoors
of them. Some of them have a curious
custom of wearing one trouser leg rolled
high, revealing a slender, shining limb.
l asked why he wears his trousers so, the
carbonero will probably reply, "Es cos-
tum'hre del pais." (It is the custom of
the country.)
It is not to be expected that the hun-
dreds of vendors will pass along the
streets without crying their wares. Each
call, or grito, is distinct from the other,
and is an ancestral inheritance. Their
common characteristic is the prolongation
of the various notes, which are sung,
rather than shouted.' Whether it be. the
vendor of cut-straw or the milkman, the
seller of sheep's heads or the more plain-
tive t-fimalera, each cry will have about it
a charming originality. No more pleas-
ing matin can be found than the melodi-
ous words of the gardener, "Compra usted
Pack train returning from market.
A light load.
Water carriers at Querataro.
PEDDLEES AND PACK HOESES IX MEXICO.
31
Water carrier of Guanajuato.
jitomate, chicharos, ejote, calabacita?"
(Won't you buy tomatoes, peas, beans,
pumpkins. )
Guanajuato has in its aguador or water
man, the most picturesque provider in the
Bepublic. While his usefulness is being
narrowed by the laying of prosaic water-
pipes, yet tie will always play an import-
ant part in many Mexican households.
The Guanajuato aguador tramps along,
bearing on his back a four-foot jar, not
made of earthenware, but of leather.
"The hills are so steep and the streets are
so narrow,
He can't carry earthen jars on a wheel-
barrow."
The water carrier in Mexico City wears
such an elaborate armor of helmet,
breastplate and thigh-pieces that nothing
can work him injury except the sudden
breaking of one of the two nicely balanced
jars that he carries fore and aft. Some-
times he has a pouch of red beans with
which to keep tally of his trips.
If there is a senorita in one of the
houses he supplies with water, a coin and
a smile may transform him into one of
Cupid's postmen. It must be remembered
that a strict censorship over such corre-
spondence -is maintained in many Mexi-
can homes. It may be, however, that the
aguador is made an unknowing helper in
the love-match. The artful young don
may fasten the missive to the bottom of
the chochocol, o"r water-jar, by means of a
little wax. Consuelo, previously warned,
is in waiting at the gateway when the
aguador appears, and is, of course, de-
lighted to see him. She pays the postage
with a thousand kisses, but the letter
gets them, not the aguador. And then in
secret she will read a hundred times the
words of the ardent lover.
After several appearances of the lover
a blissful telegraphy of signs and smiles
in a side street in Mexico city.
32
OVERLAND MONTHLY.
and countless sighs will be established.
From then on, the aguador and the car-
bonero may play important parts in the
courtship, being subsidized by the novio
to carry to his mistress bouquets within
whose depth a tinted missive lies con-
cealed.
The evening hours are delightful in
Mexico throughout most of the year, tak-
ing compassion upon such young men as
have engagements during this period out-
side a grated window or just below a pro-
jecting balcony. Gradually traffic ceases
along the narrow thoroughfares, the stars
come out, and the moon smiles down se-
renely. Little is heard, save the rattle oi
a stray cab or the barking of a watchful
dog. These sounds, too, die away and
give place to the whistle of the slim
policeman at the street corner, and the
clicking tread of the night watchman go-
ing his rounds. And through it all, Con
suelo listens to sweet nothings from
Emilio, who stands dallying with his
broad sombrero and inwardly execrating
the immovable gratings or the dozen feet
of space that separate him from his
A Mexican senorita.
no via.
BY MARGARET ASHMUN
Among the rocks that bound the river's brawl,
The wild crab's straggling branches freshly teem;
Far o'er the bank its ragged shadows fall
Its glad pink blooms rough-mirrored in the stream.
Not meet are they for this late age of ours ;
Their strange, sweet fragrance speaks an earlier date;
The primal world is theirs ; they seem the flowers
Wherewith some nymph might crown her satyr mate.
m Him
BY ARA SHANE CURTIS
NO telegraph operator employed on
the Eantoul district in the spring
of '92 has forgotten Dispatcher
John W. Raiferty, who handled the "sec-
ond trick" at Rantoul from four o'clock
p. m. until midnight, during that season.
I say this with more certainty because
of the fact that he was exceedingly un-
popular. He had been brought to Ran-
toul by Superintendent Thurston to suc-
ceed Dispatcher Brooks, who was dis-
charged upon a quibble at the instance
of the superintendent to make room for
Rafferty or so we choose to believe, and
we were prejudiced accordingly. Then he
was not favorably regarded by either
Trainmaster Bement, or Chief Despatch-
er Lorton, who looked upon him in much
the same light as did we.
But he had not been long at Rantoul
before we discovered that he was a par-
ticular pet of Thurston' s, or we thought
so when the latter pushed him to the po-
sition of second-trick man after barely
two months' service.
"Got better stuff in him than any
other man in the office !" growled the sup-
erintendent, when Bement remonstrated
against this mark of open favoritism.
Thurston's argument was unanswer-
able. Rafferty's ability to get trains
over the road was exceedingly manifest,
and Bement said no more then. It was
later, when talking the matter over with
Lorton, that he waxed profane concerning
the stuff that was in the second-trick des-
patcher, damning it roundly.
Rafferty's unpopularity seemed to
trouble him little. He might have dis-
sipated the prejudice against him had he
niade any effjrt in that direction; but he
was silent and unsocial by nature; rarely
speaking during the eight hours which
he daily spent in the office. His compe-
tency only aggravated the situation. For,
in spite of our dislike, we were forced
to recognize that a better dispatcher than
Rafferty never handled a key.
He had need of all his skill, for there
were heavy rains in that section for
weeks before the final catastrophe, and
landslides were of almost daily occurrence,
while, owing to the sodden condition of
the road-bed, other accidents were fre-
quent. In addition the wires were almost
habitually "in trouble", because of the
dampness, and the stormy winds.
But Rafferty was a fair electrician, as
well as a train runner; and directly the
first trick man's transfer was complete,
he would go to work and patch up a de-
cent wire circuit. In this respect, the
wire-chief declared he could accomplish
wonders. And, no matter how serious
the condition of affairs, provided the
track itself was intact, he managed to
keep trains moving, and bring them
through with no undue delays.
Though I was a mere lad of seven-
teen. I had been night-operator in the
despatcher's office for some time; and,
as I was ambitious to make an efficient
train handler of myself, I began to study
Rafferty's methods closely.
This did not long escape him, and he
manifested a disposition to aid me, after
a surly fashion of his own. He dressed
me down savagely for any mistakes I was
so unfortunate as to commit; but I soon
learned that his reproofs covered valuable
hints, by which I was not slow to profit,
and grew to rather welcome them than
otherwise.
Thus an odd sort of friendship was fin-
ally established between us; and, as I
grew to understand him better, my liking
for him increased proportionately. But it
was not until the 6th day of May, when
the curtain fell upon the last stormy
scene of the tragedy of Rantoul, that I,
in common with the rest, learned what
Rafferty really was.
Rantoul was not a large town. It was
a strange stage for a tragedy that little
division station, clustering in a flat just
bellow the junction of the Champaign
and Obion Rivers. Ordinarily, these were
insignificant streams enough ; but, on the
OVEELAND MONTHLY.
date mentioned, they were swollen by
heavy rains, and looked formidable and
sullen. A rough levee held them in
bounds, and protected the valley, which
would otherwise have been overflowed.
Back of the town rose a tall, ragged slope,
bristling with trees and undergrowth
the last of the wavering chain of hills
through which Champaign made its way
to its junction with the Obion east of
Eantoul. Ways Bluff, the last station on
the Champaign division, was situated on
"this river at the point where it buried
itself among the hills, some ten miles
north of Eantoul. The railroad, entering
Eantoul from the northeast, skirted the
Champaign for some distance, partially
rounded the foot of the slope, ran parallel
with the switch-yard to its limit, fifty
yards east of the despatched office, and
bent sharply away over the Obion upon
an iron bridge. Across the river it curved
boldly away from the long bridge ap-
proach down a steep grade to a level plain
over which swarmed Eocky Ford, the first
station south of Eantoul; and then shot
away south toward Forbes, the terminal
of the Eantoul division.
The building in which the general of-
fices were located, including the despatch-
era', was situated in the southwest quar-
ter of the town, within a stone's throw of
the Obion. Midway down the switchyard,
stood the yard office a tiny box car af-
fair, but important, as it marked the
junction of the Champaign and Eantoul
divisions.
The work was heavy, as the operator
was required to handle the telegraphing
for both divisions a rough enough place
for an experienced man.
Consequently I was surprised when,
early in March, I learned that a lady a
Miss Burke had been ordered by Lorton
to relieve Teague, the night operator at
the yard, who was discharged for drunk-
enness.
Miss Burke was a newcomer on our di-
vision. She was young not more than
nineteen exceedingly pretty, and we
were all exercised by Lorton's locating
her at such a point. She was a fairly
good operator, but was unaccustomed to
heavy work, and her inexperience be-
trayed her into many blunders.
Incompetency was an unpardonable
sin in Eafferty's eyes, and she had trouble
with him the first night after her in-
stallment. She reported No. 53 ready,
giving the signature of the conductor to
several orders.
Eafferty completed the orders, telling
her at the same time to hold the train for
another. She misunderstood him, and
some minutes later, when he called the
yard office to put out the order, 53 was
already puffing over the Obion. Eafferty
was furious.
"You've fixed it now damn you !" ho
snapped, the instrument clicking angrily
as he handled the key. "You've played "
"Hold up, Eafferty !" I cried. "That's
a girl you're talking to."
All the blood in Eafferty's body seemed
to rush to his face. For a moment he
glared at me speechless; then he bent
low over his desk.
"Its d d dirty of Lorton to put a
girl down there !" he said, emphatically.
But I noticed that he used no more
rough language in working with the yard
office; and the next day, to my astonish-
ment, I learned that he had called at the
office on his way home that night, and
apologized personally to Miss Burke.
Then it soon became apparent that,
from the moment he first laid eyes upon
Nora Burke's pretty face, it was all up
with Eafferty. Though jhe remained
crusty as ever with other operators along
the line, he was never cross with her.
Even did his best to shield her from the
consequences of her manifold mistakes;
and on one occasion when she failed to de-
liver a train order 'thereby entailing a
long delay at a "blind" siding upon a
banana train he went so far as to de-
stroy the record of the order, thus tacitly
taking' the blame to himself; and was
later severely censured. I alone was privy
to this unheard of proceeding, and when I
ventured to remonstrate, I was gruffly
told to keep quiet.
The girl seemed strangely indifferent to
his kindness. She was probably unaware
of its extent. She certainly treated him
with the utmost coolness; and a rumor-
soon crept through the office that she
favored Jerry Mathis, a stalwart young
engineer, in no small degree.
Matters stood thus on the 5th day of
May. There had been a steady down-
pour of rain all day, and a black squally
night had set in. Third-trick Despatcher
THE STUFF THAT WAS IN HIM.
35
McGuire had been taken ill suddenly that
day; and; as there was no extra man to
relieve him, the chief despatcher had no-
tified Bafferty that his watch would com-
mence at seven o'clock that evening, and
terminate at seven the following morn-
ing,, when he would be relieved by Walker,
the day man.
Seven o'clock was the hour at which I
reported for duty, and Bafferty and I re-
paired to the office together. He was in
a savage mood, and we walked the whole
way in silence. All Eantoul was indoors,
save those who, like ourselves, were com-
pelled to exposure.
For some time a growing fear had been
seeping through the town that the levee
might break, and the gorged rivers flood
the town. Within a few days, this fear
had merged into a dread so positive that
it had occasioned the exodus of nearly
half the population; and we passed sev-
eral lighted windows at which anxious
faces were whitened against the panes.
We pressed forward with difficulty
against the strong wind, and when we
reached the office, paused a minute with-
in the outer door to recover our breath.
It was not yet dark, but night was
closing down in visibly deepening shades,
and only those objects near at hand could
be distinguished. The sky was heavily
overcast, and the lights flickering down
the gloomy length of the switch yard,
showed like pale red smears through the
dashing mist of the rain.
A ribbon of fierce lightning tore sud-
denly across the sky, and disclosed two
figures making their way down the main
track, the fitful gusts threatening to
sweep them away with every step.
I recognized Miss Burke, and Mathis,
the engineer, and I saw that Bafferty did
too. The next flash threw his grim pro-
file in strong relief against the dark back-
ground of the door.
"Callahan, they're engaged; I heard it
today." His voice was a husky growl.
"that so?"
I looked after the pair with a feeling
of indignation which it would have been
hard for me to explain. There was a
brief silence. It was broken by Eafferty.
"Look there!" he said, abruptly, point-
ing to the Obion, which stretched away on
our right like a pallid mist, blending con-
fusedly with the twilight. "If these rains
don't hold up, we'll have trouble, kid.
I walked down by the levee today, and
the water was washing over it in places.
If it should give way now, this town
would be wiped off the map."
"You don't think there's any imme-
diate danger, do you?" I asked anxiously.
"If this continues it'll have hard work
to hold to-night," replied Eafferty.
He turned and went up stairs, I fol-
lowed him, a chill creeping over me.
Hitherto I had scouted the possibility of
danger, and had met the fears of others
with open ridicule. But I knew that it
was almost impossible to excite Eafferty,
and his opinion of the staying powers of
the levee troubled me not a little.
It was half past six when we entered
the office, though it seemed much later,
owing to the gloom without.
Walker looked up from his train-sheet,
and greeted Eafferty with a tired smile.
"You'll find things in a mess to-night,"
he said. "I was just getting 'em shaped
up, when Sixty- two's engine died at
Creel man, and I had to undo every
blanked thing I'd done, and do it over."
"Things are always in a mess," growled
Eafferty; "but I don't mind work the
more, the better. How are the wires?"
"We have had this wire patched with
the No. 16 wire at Kosciusko. Its all
right for moving trains," replied Walker.
"You'll have all kinds of work, if that's
what you're hunting for. They're going
to Forbes to bring out a race-horse train;
and there are all kinds of trains out on
the pike all of 'em late and getting
later."
He turned over to Eafferty instructions
from the trainmaster to run one of the
engines the huge 890 in charge of en-
gineer Mathis and conductor Eyan, to
Forbes as the first section of No. 53. The
race-horses were due to reach Forbes at
ten-thirty, and they wished to head them
north without delay.
Within a few minutes after Eafferty sat
down before his desk, he had "fixed" first
53 at Bantoul. At seven- thirty the pow-
erful 890 glided majestically down the
main line ; and swept out over the Obion,
on her way to Forbes.
Soon afterward, the operator at Eocky
Ford, the first station south of the river,
reported a very rough place in the track
at the end of the bridge approach. Eaf-
36
OVERLAID MONTHLY.
ferty shrugged his shoulders, and put out
a bulletin warning all trains to run care-
fully over the track in question.
He battled against fearful odds that
night bad track, swinging wires, and
late trains; but he soon held his stupen-
dous game well in hand, and, at nine
o'clock, he closed his key, and leaned back
in his chair.
"Got 'em straightened out sooner than
I expected, kid," said he. "See if you
can raise Champaign. I want some fig-
ures on Number 1. They are sure to be
late."
No. 1 was the south-bound fast mail.
They were due at ten-twenty, but for two
weeks past had been arriving from one to
five hours late, owing to washouts on the
Champaign division. I began calling
"CH", the despatched office at Cham-
paign.
Rafferty arose and went to the window
a large, black square, save when illumi-
nated by occasional flashes from the dark-
ness without. The wind was swooping
down into the valley from the southwest.
and the panes were slurred by long, slant-
ing spits of rain.
He gazed anxiously toward the Obion.
A flare of lightning disclosed the railroad
bridge and the levee, still intact. After
another lingering look, this time in the
direction of the yard office, he returned to
his seat.
"Can't you raise Champaign?" he in-
quired.
I shook my head. No. 16, the regular
train wire was spliced with No. 8, which
was a "through' wire, at Kosciusko Junc-
tion ; and we were using No. 8 wire north.
All other long-distance wires were
grounded north of Rantoul; and No. 8
was evidently in difficulties somewhere
south of Champaign; for, though Raf-
ferty and myself continued calling Cham-
paign at intervals until No. 1 was over-
due, we received no response.
At ten-thirty, the race-horse train,
with its cargo of living freight, was de-
livered to the Rantoul division at Forbes,
and, almost immediately, the operator at
Forbes reported them ready to leave.
"Tell him to sign up and hike," di-
rected Rafferty. "No.l not here yet, and
I can't get any figures on 'em the darn
wires all down! I'll "
There was a sharp flash of lightning.
The giant switch-board cracked like a
pistol, and the wire "went down."
Rafferty went to work on his instru-
ments. The current was heavy, and he
adjusted with difficulty. Some one was
working the sounder was ticking indis-
tinctly, and under the despatcher's skil-
ful fingers the confused clicking gradu-
ally resolved itself into his office call.
"RN RN RN CH " It was the
despatches' office at Champaign.
"I RN", responded Rafferty, quickly.
"Unable to get you sooner account wire
trouble," explained Champaign, unneces-
sarily. "No. 1 behind a landslide on this
division, and will reach Rantoul four
hours late CH."
"OK RN", replied Rafferty. He call-
ed Forbes and issued an order that No. 1
would run four hours late from Rantoul
to Forbes. Scarcely twenty minutes later
Martin, the first station north of Forbes,
reported the race-horse special by.
A season of comparative quiet ensued.
Now and then the wires would fail, and
we had considerable difficulty in keeping
our instruments adjusted, because of the
fluctuating current. There had been no
cessation of the wind. An uneasy fear
possessed me, deepening with each tem-
pestuous gust.
My apprehensions were not unshared.
A spirit of general disquiet prevailed
throughout the building. The operators
in the adjoining telegraph office, grouped
themselves anxiously near the windows
during leisure intervals. The clerk at the
trainmaster's desk moved restlessly, and
now and then a pale-faced employee from
the superintendent's office would come in,
exchange a few words with the clerk, and
gaze with perturbed face toward the Ob-
ion. All looked forward to the issue of
the stormy night with evident uneasiness.
All but Rafferty. Save that he called
the yard office once, and asked Miss Burke
if she was frightened, to which she re-
plied in the negative, he sat silent, ap-
parently unmoved; occasionally taking up
his pen when some station reported a
passing train, and noting the time on the
train-sheet before him.
Shortly after midnight, the operator at
Rocky Ford reported water running over
the dangerous section of the track south
of the river. I looked at Rafferty. He
was frowning.
THE STUFF THAT WAS IN HIM.
37
"Isn't it rather risky to run trains over
that track now?" I ventured
"Its criminal," he replied, emphati-
cally. "But if I tied 'em up on account
of the track, Bement "
He did not finish the sentence, hut I
understood. A silence ensued which was
broken only at long intervals, until two
o'clock, when the little sounder on the
train-wire abruptly raised its voice, and
addressed Rafferty.
"Special 890 wants to know if you
can't give him more time on No. 1. He
can't reach Eantoul on what he's got
KO".
It was Kosciusko Junction. Rafferty
looked up at the clock. The special had
pulled into Kosciusko only a few minutes
behind their schedule time. Mathis was
a good engineer, and they were making an
excellent run, considering the weather,
and the condition of the track.
"Wait, 111 see," said Rafferty. "CH
CH CH RN CH "
"I CH," answered Champaign. "No.
1 running five hours late CH".
"OK EN"" returned Rafferty, "to K
Copy 3. Order No. 180 to Spl. 890,
north, KO.
"No. One (1) Eng. 1120 will wait at
Eantoul until three-thirty (3:30) a. m.,
for Special Eace-horse train, Eng. 890
north. Sig).
F. G. B."
Kosciusko Junction repeated the order
and Eafferty made it complete.
"Tell him I want him here by three-
twenty-five, sharp," said Eafferty. "No.
1 may be right on the figures, and I don't
want him to fall down and block the
game. Hurry's the word!"
He commenced calling Eocky Ford, but
before the latter could answer, the opera-
tor at Champaign took the wire ab-
ruptly, as follows:
" To EN Just got new figures on No.
1. They will reach Eantoul about 2.45
CH."'
Eafferty frowned savagely.
"That's only 4 hours and 25 minutes
late," snapped he. "This is not good biz !
I can't run trains if you don't give me
good figures!"
fr We," began Champaign, but Eaf-
ferty seized the circuit. He called Kosci-
usko Junction, and ascertained that the
ipecial had already gone. He began call-
ing Grand Pass, the only night office be-
tween Kosciusko and Eocky Ford, using
"9," the train order signal.
But the operator at Grand Pass was
not prompt. Rafferty continued calling
impatiently for ten minutes or more, be-
fore he finally broke in with
"I GS Spl. 890 by 2:22 GS"
FD FD^EN 9 FD FD RN"
called Rafferty. "FD FD RN 9 "
It was Ways Bluff, the first station
north of Rantoul on the Champaign di-
vision.
"Get out!" flashed Rafferty furiously.
99_FD FD "
But the operator at Ways Bluff broke
in again :
"To RN WOB I'm holding No.l here
cloudburst just below, and water coming
down river. Run for your liv "
That was all the wire circuit remain-
ed open.
Rafferty bounded to the switch board,
and applied the ground wire north. It
closed the circuit, but, before he could
reach his key, Rocky Ford took the wire
with:
"To RN track washed away south of
river to bridge-approach, and one span of
approach gone. Section men trying to "
Rafferty flung open his key and started
to his feet.
"Everybody get out !" he shouted. "A
cloudburst at Ways Bluff, and water com-
ing down the Champaign!"
But the operators in the telegraph of-
fices had heard Ways Bluff, and the news
was already spreading like wild fire. The
wildest confusion reigned. The clerks
and other employes, rushed into the hajl
pell-mell. They poured down stairs and
out of the building. The sound of
hoarse shouts and warning cries floated
up in distinctly from below .
I had started up to follow the others,
when I saw that Rafferty had reseated
himself and was calling Rocky Ford
frantically.
"Go on, Callahan !" he cried, seeing me
pause. "I must tell that fellow at Rocky
Ford to hold the 890 am afraid to take
any chances."
I grasped the situation at once. The
track and part of the bridge-approach
south of the river had been swept away.
Rantoul itself would soon be under water.
38
OVERLAND MONTHLY.
The operator at Rocky Ford was inex-
perienced Rafferty could not trust him
to hold the race-horse train without in-
structions. And unless 'she was held at
Rocky Ford she was doomed.
I sat down, a feeling of shame partly
banishing my terror. Something was
wrong Rocky Ford did not answer.
"For heaven's sake, see if you can't get
him on some other wire!" exclaimed Raf-
ferty, without pausing.
Before the words were out of his
mouth, I was in the telegraph office. But
it was useless. I could get no induction
on any wire except No. 16, and Rafferty
was using that. I returned to the des-
patchers' room.
FD FD EN 9" continued Raf-
ferty. "FD FD RN 9! My God!
PD FD "
At last:
"I FD," replied Rocky Ford.
"Hold "
A stream of lightning poured into the
office. The switch-board was transformed
into a huge, twisting sheet of flame. There
was a terrific report, and long, crashing
roll of thunder. It was as if a cannon
had suddenly exploded in our midst.
I staggered back, blinded and deafened,
mechanically raising one arm to ward off
the white, intolerable glare. There was
little need. It had vanished, leaving to-
tal darkness. That terrible flash had cut
off the electric light and grounded every
wire in the office.
A moment later, while I clung to my
chair, dazed, a hundred vivid snots danc-
ing -against the blackness before my eyes,
a hand grasped my shoulder.
"Come, kid quick!"
It was the voice of Rafferty. But I
could only cling to him stupidly, as I had
clung to the chair, and he dragged me
from the room.
The storm had at length reached its
climax. The darkness was intense, and
we could hear the rain without striking
the building in driving, horizontal sheets.
We paused in the hall, and Rafferty
lighted a white signal lantern two or
three were kept on hand in case of emer-
gency. We hurried down to the outer door
the cold wind struck upon me sharply,
and my stupidity vanished.
We made our way with extreme diffi-
culty toward the crossing, east of the
office. It was almost impossible to main-
tain our footing in the teeth of the gale,
and we were half-suffocated by the flood-
ing rain. Fortunately, it slackened
abruptly. A glimpse of lightning gave
me a fleeting revelation of the streets,
filled with a drenched, frightened throng.
At the crossing, Rafferty broke from my
clasp.
"Make for the hill, and you'll be safe !"
he shouted.
He fled down the tracks, through the
yard. I followed.
"'Where are you going?" I cried.
"Go back!" he answered savagely. "I
am going to the
The remainder was carried away, but I
understood. He was going to the yard-
office to Nora Burke.
"For one moment I hesitated. Then,
in obedience to an impulse stronger even
than the love of life, I set my teeth and
tore after him blindly.
The switch-yard was transformed into
a shallow ponid. All. of the tracks were
partially submerged, and those nearest
the river were totally obliterated. The yard
skirted the Obion, and the lightning
showed a thin sheet of water curling over
the levee, as the waves were driven against
it by the wind. All the lights were ex-
tinguished except one, which still glim-
mered a mere bright blur through the
rain.
We dashed forward, clambering now
and then over broken freight cars and
other debris which blockaded the way
hurled down by the storm. I ran my best,
but I could not keep up with Rafferty. He
ran as I had never seen a man run before
as I did not know a man could run.
We were both hatless and coatless, and
a few large, scattering hailstones dealt
us stinging blows. Luckily, the hail
passed in a few seconds.
There was not a sign of life anywhere.
The yard men had fled. We passed one
of the deserted yard engines, steaming
faintly. A moment later the little yard
office was revealed by the lightning, near
at hand.
In a second Rafferty was at the door.
He tried it, but it was locked. He flung
himself against it desperately. With a
loud crackling, it gave way, and we en-
tered.
At first we could see nothing. Then
THE STUFF THAT WAS IN HIM.
39
Eafferty raised the lantern and we saw
the girl forgotten by all but himself
crouching by the desk, her white, fear-
stricken face turned toward the door.
As he darted forward, calling her by
name, she sprung to meet him, with a
wild cry, and clung about him sobbing
convulsively.
Flinging down the lantern, he gathered
her up, and ran from the office. I caught
up the lantern fortunately it was not
extinguished and followed. Together we
half-led, half-carried the girl around some
refrigerator cars piled like crushed egg
shells across the storage tracks, stumbled
through a wide waste of wreckage, splash-
ed through a ditch full of racing water,
and paused at the foot of the hill for a
moment's rest.
"We'll soon be safe now," panted Eaf-
ferty.
I could hear his heavy breathing. I my-
self was open mouthed, unable to reply.
The wind had died down, except for an
occasional huffle ; but the black clouds
overhead were again closing down, and it
lightened with merely momentary inter-
missions. Miss Burke clung to Eafferty,
and he bent over her, trying vainly to
shield her from the ceaseless spray of rain.
Suddenly a long, deep, sad cry, faint
and far distant, but -unmistakable, was
borne to us from the South.
Eafferty straightened suddenly.
"Good God! The special!" he ex-
claimed.
His words smote upon the senses of the
girl, dulled by fear and exposure, like an
electric, shock. She started forward with
a wail of agony, and then stood wringing
her hands in helpless despair.
With the swiftness of the lightning it-
self, the awful peril of the special race-
horse train flashed back upon my mind.
They were trying to reach Eantoul by
three twenty-five Mathis had the mighty
890 on her mettle. If they were not
stopped by the operator at Eocky Ford
I was aroused by Eafferty. He had
seized my arm and was pointing to Miss
Burke.
"Take care of her, Callahan!" His
tone was a command. "I am going back/'
"'Going back! What for?" I cried,
staring stupidly.
"That was the 890 at Ford Crossing-
she must be held at Eocky Ford !"
He caught the lantern from my grasp
and turned. I laid hold of him in des-
peration.
"My Lord, Eafferty it's too late!
Even if you got there in time the wires
are burned out! You shan't do it it's
death !"
He shook me off and turned toward the
draggled, shuddering figure of the girl.
The incessant lightning revealed his face.
It was white and worn and beaten, but
the iron look upon it was not the look of
one who fails.
"I'll manage it," he said grimly.
Mathias is pulling the 890. Good-bye,
kid!"
He was gone.
I tried to call out words of further
remonstrance, but something arose in my
throat and choked me. The knowledge
of his purpose overwhelmed me. He was
staking his life on the mere chance that
Eocky Ford might not hold the special.
He was measuring his strength against
that of the destroyer, which, hemmed by
the hills, was rushing down the Cham-
paign. And, whether the unequal race
was won or lost, I knew that death waited
surely for Despatcher Eafferty at the end.
I strained my eyes after him until the
spark of the lantern disappeared. Pres-
ently it flashed out again like a star, only
to pass out of sight, and I saw it no more.
The sobs of the girl recalled me to my-
self, and I remembered that I was ex-
posing her to useless danger.
"Come ! We must hurry !" I cried. She
turned obediently, and passing my arm
around her, I hurried her up the steep
incline.
The ground was a mere sponge the
yellow mud inches deep. Our feet slid
in the slippery mire, and our ascent soon
degenerated into a desperate scramble.
But we struggled on until we reached a
small hollow more than half way up the
long slope, partially sheltered by a clump
of tossing, beaten trees.
We stopped here. Miss Burke sank
. upon the ground, panting from the ardu-
ous climb, and weeping convulsively.
As for me, I forgot everything but the
queer, silent man, for whom until that
night I did not dream that I cherished any
particular affection. I groaned 'aloud,
and flung myself down beside the girl,
a^bbiug outright like the boy I was.
40
OVERLAND MONTHLY.
It seemed an age that we two sat there,
sobbing in company; but not many min-
utes covered the time from the moment
when Rafferty left us until the final catas-
trophe.
A deep, swelling roar, like the uprising
of a strong wind, struck upon my ears.
I was on my feet my heart leaped to
my throat with one great, suffocating
bound. I gazed down the murky length
of the Champaign, rendered plainly visi-
ble by the ceaseless glare from overhead.
The sound grew momentarily louder,
more appalling in volume. There was a
confuted, shrieking noise, intermingled
like the onrush of resistless waters. Then
1 distinguished what seemed to be a black,
wavering line, far down the river. A
minute later, a wall of water, widening
as it came, shot down the Champaign,
and swept into Obion river, carrying
everything before it.
Some black blotches that were wreckage
appeared upon the surface of the swiftly
ebbing lake below. Well, Rantoul was
deserted, with the exception of one grim,
white-faced man, who ran a race with
death that night and was victorious; who,
to shield the life of his rival, flung away
his own like a handful of waste.
For that night, Despatcher Rafferty
achieved the impossible. How he effected
a wire circuit, we did not know we shall
never know.
What we do know is, that at three-four,
the operator at Rocky Ford heard the
dumb-sounder on the No. 16 wire tick
faintly.
He adjusted hastily. It was Rantoul
calling his office, and he responded quick-
ly: "Special by you?" clicked the
sounder.
"Coming," replied Rocky Ford.
"Take this quick make 7 copies,"
came the swift command. "Order No.
181 to Operator FD, & Special 890, north.
Order No. 180 is annulled. Hold all
north-bound trains.
(Sig.) F. G. B.
The operator repeated the order rapidly,
gave his signature and waited for it to be
made complete.
"Complete 3 :08 a. m. J. W."
The sounder stopped abruptly. Them
there came a few unintelligible clicks,
made by no earthly hand, and then
silence. Death had written an eternal
"complete" to the life of Despatcher Raf-
ferty. The Great Superintendent had
called him in.
BY SAMUEL G. HOFFENSTEIN
How many a fane with Orient splendor crown'd
Its proud, marmorean beauty rears on high!
Sweet, sculptured shell of incense and sweet sound,
And sensuous ease, and gorgeous luxury
What carven pride and flaunted pageantry!
As't were the magic triumph of a dream,
Or charmed haunt of enfin revelry
Ensconced in the midnight moon's pale gleam !
Aye, these are glorious to the ravish' d sight,
These lairs of vice, and their gold-garnished brood-
And Pomp can blind the eye of Virtue well;
But let them revel in their transient might
They cannot stay Death's ruthless, rushing flood,-
Or cheat the quenchless, fiery thirst of hell.
In Dagh.
BY FELIX J. KOCH
THINGS did look bad now certainly.
Wihen we had come into the capital,
with the cordon of Turkish soldiery
sent out to do honor to one who bore let-
ters from that beloved of the Padi-shah,
the Turkish ambassador to Washington,
and the infantry had lined up either side
of the way 'that leads to the door of the
Pashalik walls, we felt we had entered
some bit of Arabian Nights country,
where genii might come on touching some
talisman, and houris danced to castanets,
and the fig and the pomegranate would
drop at our feet. Out there in the ba-
zaars the pomegranates were to be had,
and figs likewise, and the houris did dance
for the populace in the little theatre they
had established up near the gilded
Mosque but as for talismans, it did
seem as though we needed one badly.
The Despot of Dagh was feeling his
oats, to quote an Americanism.
One of the most powerful vassals of
the Sultan, practically absolute in his ex-
tensive domains, he had conceived the
brilliant idea that some day Dagh should
stand out alone on the map, without the
color being blended with that of Tur-
key. To do this, however, meant just a
few more troops and money than the Des-
pot had.
So when Miss Stone was captured in
his neighbor prince's estate of Bulgaria,
and he saw how easily Uncle Sam paid
hush-money and ransom and how com-
pletely the Macedonian Committee suc-
ceeded in convincing the world that the
Sultan was not a fit ruler for that region,
since the lives of foreigners were not
safe, he was resolved that let any Ameri-
4.2
OVERLAND MONTHLY.
can come to Dagh and he would soon be
an absolute monarch.
The only flaw in the plan was that
Americans and Englishmen do not make
a point of coming to Dagh. The people are
yeoman peasants, who raise wheat and
hemp, and some Turkish maize, a few
sheep, and some of them horses.
These, after the tax-gatherers have
taken a tenth for the Despot, and a third
more, from the Christians, because
they cannot serve in the army, and a
goodly squeeze for themselves, are then '
taken by said peasants, in the one case,
on the sides of their burrows, in long car-
avans, (as safeguards against the high-
way-men,) and, in the other, in hugh
combined flocks, to the same end, and
driven to the nearest town.
There some wealthy pasha corners the
market, buys them up and, after seeing
to it that the Despot gets liberal gifts,
and that his spies too, are quite well ap-
peased, sells where and when he will.
So you see, there is no cause for vis-
itors.
You are altogether in too great dan-
ger to make tourist travel pleasant. The
mountains are beautiful but you
see the same in the Alleghanies. The vil-
lages are picturesque, but if you want
Oriental pictures, you get them in Bos-
nia in safety. And, as for an American
commercial invasion, goodness knows,
fashions haven't changed since the battle
of Anslem, and the peasant wouldn't buy
if he could, which he can't.
As to missionaries, they, too, didn r t
stir so far into the back country, and
it would be only some correspondent who
ever dipped into Dagh.
Wihen he did come, the orders had long
stood on file, his coming should not be
interrupted.
Then when he was safely within the
pashalik, the soldiers which the neighbor-
ing Vali, or province governor, had sent
as his escort, should be ordered home with
excuse that the Despot wished to do tfte
honors himself and would provide an es-
cort of his own on the return.
The very earliest night thereafter would
find a letter thrown into the office of the
American minister at Belgrad, (this is
the nearest point where we hold diplo-
matic relations), that an American had
trespassed on some religious ground and
was held prisoner by the Despot of TJagh.
Nothing would be accepted short of ab-
solute freedom from Turkey and immun-
ity from arrest.
Didn't it sound easy and nice, though ?
En route.
Courtiers.
Dagh, the capital of Dagh, lies in a
secluded valley,, densely forested and
reached by a single trail. That trail was
commanded by heavy cannon, and could
hold huge armies at bay.
When the Sultan sent his forces to or-
der his vassal to obey, the vassal would
simply say : "One foot further and the
American will be put to death."
That would bring on what he wished.
So, when, the next morning we wished
to leave our bed chamber, not having
rested particularly well on the divan that
night, the sentry outside the leather por-
tiere blocked our way.
"You cannot pass," he said in Turk-
ish, "these are my orders."
Thinking it some local etiquette, that
one might not leave the room until called
for, I sat down at the window to fill out
my journal..
By and by a liveried servant entered
with the usual trays of Turkish coffee, in
a beaker, sugar and hot water to dilute.
This, and the soft, grey unleavened bread
of which one becomes so fond, and the
candied figs. That was my breakfast.
The sun was rising higher and higher,
it must be ten by our time. Turkish
time is different, there are twelve hours
from sun-up to sun-set, varying accord-
ing to season.
I had come to Dagh to go through their
ceremonials, but I did not like this delay.
More than that, the window looked down
into an enwalled court where there was
only a scullion, lazily washing the dishes
from some previous banquet, careless
whether the coating of lamb-fat, in which
all things are cooked, adhered or not.
Then, by and by, there were foot-steps.
The sentinel put hand to mouth, eyes
and brow and came to salute.
A higher officer in navy blue uniform,
contrasting strangely with the thread-
bare brown of the private, entered.
He greeted in French, the official lan-
guage of south Europe.
"His Excellency, the Despot, bids you
good day, and desires to state that he
wishes you personally, no harm."
The way the man said it showed he
was of good breeding, probably some
wealthy aga's son, who had gone through
A bridge.
the mens' schools at Salonica, and later
Constantinople.
"Certain circumstances, however, have
arisen, of which I am not permitted to
tell you, which causes him to be forced
to take you a prisoner.
"So long as you comply with his will,
and your friends do your bidding, he bids
me assure you you will suffer no ill. If,
however, that is not done, you will surely
be put to death for to release you
would then set a precedent, and, there-
after any attempt of the sort would be
scoffed at."
Familiar with the Stone episode, I
knew too well what he meant.
The only question in my mind was,
what the ransom would be.
We calculated on that chance when we
arranged with the newspapers sending us,
it was simply a business proposition.
If we were captured, held, say a week,
released, it might come dear, but it would
put such a premium on our letters, that
people would buy papers who never did
before, and later, when it came to book
publication, we$, they saw their way
clear to reap a fortune.
Only, of course, it wouldn't do to let
him know this. Furthermore, we re-
called how Miss Stone had been dragged
through the very mountains which we had
crossed by burro, and the prospect was not
overly delightful for us to contem-
plate.
So we put on an air of consternation,
simulated innocence, and asked what he
meant.
"The Despot, my master, is badly treat-
ed by the Sultan, he will have his revenge.
Were he well treated he would not need
to do this.
"You are a college man?"
I nodded assent.
"You took la logique?" (logic).
Again I answered affirmatively.
"Then you see the argument. Were
Turkey well goverened, the local govern-
ors would not need to make foreigners
suffer, to avenge their own wrongs. But
Turkey is not well governed, and so they
do this. What happens to you may hap-
pen to any American citizen, any foreigner
coming here.
"You see the reasoning?"
"Perfectly."
He was quiet, sauve, unimpassioned,
as are all Turkish officials, courteous
throughout.
"Now then you, personally, have no in-
terest in Turkey except as a traveler.
What matters it to you if we are a number
of small states, instead of this unwieldly
one?"
FREED FROM THE DESPOT OE DAGH.
45
I had to admit none, as lie awaited my
answer.
"Europe, however, will not help us to
this. Not because she does not see how
badly we suffer, but because each state
of. Europe is waiting to swallow us up.
And all are so jealous of the others and
so sure they will each get the whole, they
will do nothing.
"Your country, however, would not
care. We would get fair treatment.
What is more, we know how powerful
your navy is, and could be made. So,
just a threat from you would do us as
well as would actual war. And threats
cost a government nothing, but the price
of cabling, which the grateful Despot
would certainly repay."
I followed him closely.
I was dealing with one of those subtle
Oriental diplomats, of whom I had read
and heard.
"Very well"
He tendered me a cigarette, adding he
didn't suppose that I cared for a hook-
ah.
"Now then; here you are, absolutely in
our clutches. Escape is impossible. The
only way into the capital is that pass lead-"
ing off and in through the canyon, and
through it an army must come single file.
Those mountains are well defended, look,
and you will see the cannon here and
there.'"
He pointed some out from the window.
"You haven't but one life to lose. Why
lose it, to gain nothing ? Writ your gov-
ernment what we demand. That it force
Turkey to give up Dagh, since its mis-
government is such that an American
cannot travel without molestation. This,
and to insure the Despot immunity.
"Or, if you prefer, write it to force
Turkey to give up Dagh and pay your
ransom, which we set at the original one
of Miss Stone two hundred of your dol-
lars, payable in gold.
"Otherwise " and he drew his finger
across his throat, indicating the bow-
string.
And from his tone I knew he meant it.
"Supposing, however, the United States
government does not do what you ask.
Am I to die for no fault of my own?"
The Moslem in him sprang to his Ko-
ran.
"'If Allah wills you to die, you may die
this instant, though every physician in
the world be about you. If Allah wills
you to live, not the Sultan of Sultan?
can cause your death."
It was uncontrovertible, and besides,
The Despot's band.
46
OVERLAND MONTHLY.
arguments of theology are useless and
dangerous.
I asked an hour to think it over.
"There is nothing to be thought over.
You write your government, and tell
them what we demand. Add that if they
refuse, the penalty is your death."
"Come: here is paper and ink."
A soldier stood, noiselessly, just out-
side the portiere.
He entered and handed the little ink-
horn with the purple inks, the salt cel-
lar filled with sand to strew over, by way
of blotter, and then filter back in the cup,
and the thin Turkish paper.
There was nothing to do but write
and I did.
It would take two days by fleet courier
to carry that le'tter out of Dagh, up
through Rila and then Dupnitza, where
Sandansky, who had planned the Stone
capture lives, to Radomir which was the
point of railway connection. Then it
would take another day to get to Sofia
and on to the heart of Balkans railway
transportation, and still another to Bel-
grade. In other words between five and
six days each way was the fastest pos-
sible travel.
The answer would come a bit faster,
since from Belgrade they could wire that
to Sofia, thence to Dupnitza, where the
telegraph ended, and couriers, riding day
and night, could come in two days later.
But short of twelve days or two weeks,
there was no hope of action.
Meantime, like an ox fattened for the
slaughter, I lived on the best of the land.
And evenings the Turkish official came
to keep me company.
Time and again he begged me to know
that he was simply carrying out the will
of his master, and trusted I bore him no
hatred. He must be sure of spies at
the walls himself.
We- grew fast friends, and he told- of
Turkish rites and customs, while I filled
him with the wonders of America.
Then on the eighth day there seemed
pandemonium let loose at Dagh.
Contrary to all expectations, the Turk-
ish army not the vassal troops from
here, were pouring down the mountain
sides, hundreds and hundreds strong.
The Despot's sentries, on the routes had
been murdered in the night, the guns on
the mountain sides had been suddenly
spiked, and made useless.
The Despot of Dagh feared for his life,
for the Sultan shows little mercy.
The passes were closed to him, there
was no hope of escape.
Still, he would be revenged.
He suspected that some one had played
spy, and sent the news to his arch enemy,
the Governor of the next Turkish satrapy,
who had sent it on to the Grand Vizier.
I must die !
Natives.
Despot of Dagh.
Breathless my friend, the officer rushed
into my room.
"Come ! Come ! For your life, and
be brave. They will kill you otherwise/"'
We passed through endless passage-
ways, that led ever toward the earth.
Suddenly we began to ascend and
reached a flight of winding stairs.
"Run, fast, fast as you can," he called.
"Hurry, hurry !"
And we ran.
Upward ! Upward ! Upward !
At last we were on a narrow platform
over-looking all Dagh.
Just beneath were the city walls, with
the sentinels.
They saw us on these battlements, but
by the blue they knew a superior officer,
came to rest and saluted.
Then he pushed me in a chair.
"I am your friend " he hurriedly
whispered, "if worst comes to woist, do
not forget me. It was I who summoned
the Sultan's troops, for I do not love the
Despot. He stole the throne from my
cousin.
"You will be in safety in another mo-
ment."
He put me back in the chair, bade me
hold for my life and turned a lever.
As from a catapult I was shot into air.
Off, off, off, i by some wonderful spring
the chair was released. High into an,
on parabolic curve, never once turning
over, however. Then suddenly, there rose
from the back of the chair, a bag, as of
some huge balloon, that inflated itself
from the suction of our passage. It had
been calculated with nicety, and its power
to hold up in air was just a bit less than
the pull of gravity. So the descent grew
easy and I reached the earth with just
the slightest bounce.
Of course the soldiers on the ramparts
saw us, and at first they might have shot.
But they had had orders, years before,
under penalty of death to themselves and
their families, to fartherest extremes,
and this a death by the noose, where the
Moslem believes the soul cannot escape
from the body, and so must perish with
it, no one was ever to interfere with
The homes.
what was flung from that tower.
I landed far outside the walls of Dagb,
and in a nest of badly scared Turkish sol-
diers.
I was their prisoner instantly.
They led me to the colonel and I told
my story.
They might have given up the siege,
then and there, so far as the Sultan
cared.
But the Sultan had promised the post
of the Despot of Dagh to whoever
brought him the head of its present in-
cumbent. So the siege went merrily on.
I, however, did not stay to witness it.
The soldiers were but too eager to claim
the reward for my release, to permit me to
tarry.
Months later I heard from my friend,
the officer in Dagh. Through the pres-
sure brought to bear by the American
embassy he had been promoted. He was
the satrap of a province in Asia Minor,
and extended an invitation to visit his
court.
Some day, perhaps I will go. But I
shall take good care of chairs that prove
catapults, while there.
The guard.
BY F. G. MARTIN
{{TVTEYER heard how old Sim New-
1^ comb just missed breaking in-
* ^ to the Hall of Fame, did you?"
The speaker was Captain Winslow, for
forty years master of a steamboat on the
Tennessee Eiver.
Despite his seventy years and frosted
hair the Captain was no abandoned hulk.
The fire of youth was still in his eye and
the snap of virility in his genial voice.
He knew, like a schoolboy his geography,
every bend and depth and shallow of his
river, from Chattanooga to Ohio. Be-
sides he was a capital story-teller. The
Captain re-filled his pipe as he put the
question, a premonitory symptom of a
good story coming.
"No, I never heard about it," I re-
plied. ".Let's have the story."
Captain Winslow sat back at his ease
and the narrative flowed as smoothly as
the current of a meadow brook.
"It was back in '63, just when the civil
war was hottest in these parts. I reckon
those were not halcyon days for the peo-
ple in the little burg of Chattanooga.
Rebs and Yanks were playing battledore
and shuttlecock with the town. There's
many an old house standing there yet ven-
tilated by cannon balls in those days.
Well, I was in my prime then and was
captain of the Hiwassee, making two trips
a week between Chattanooga and Bridge-
port, Alabama.
"But to get down to Sim Newcomb.
Sim was a young man then, a strapping,
well-built, a-thletic piece of flesh. No-
body about Chattanooga ever knew his
pedigree. Mrs. Grundy had it that he
was a professor in some college down in
Georgia and, becoming crossed in love,
he soured on life and decided to turn
his back on the world and go it alone
in the woods and mountains.
So he came up to Sand Mfountain,
built himself a rude hut and made com-
panions of the birds and squirrels.
"Well, along in the fall of '63 things
were getting pretty lively at Chattanooga.
A band of 'Fighting Joe' Hooker's men,
sweeping up the Wauhatchie Valley one
afternoon, passed close to Sim Newcomb's
retreat. Sim got scared up. He feared
Hooker's men would take him for a sharp-
shooter or guerilla. Without bag or
baggage, he put out as fast as his legs
would carry him. Rushing down the
Tennessee river, out of breath, quicker
than you could say Jack Robinson he
jumped into a small skiff which lay under
some willows. Without stopping to con-
sider that he knew nothing about rowing,
he shot out into the river.
"Now, the Tennessee is wild and
ungovernable at that place as one of these
untamed East Tennessee mountain gals.
The water falls seventeen feet to the mile
and is so swift it makes the hair of every
river man who plies this stream, stand
on end.
"A mile below where Sim Newcomb
started across, the river breaks through
the mountains. The water has cut a way
through solid rock, and the south side
shoots down like a mill-race and, strik-
ing the wall of rock, veers off in a sharp
bend. It is worth a man's life to go in
there in a light boat.
"Before he had calmed down from his
scare Sim had drifted into this swift
descent. He got his bearings too late to
save himself. He was whirled along like
a straw on a flood, helpless even to
steer the skiff away from jagged rocks.
Ninety-nine chances in a hundred he
would hit the mountain side and go to
Davy Jones' locker in a jiffy.
"Sure enough, the skiff, like a scared
bird, fairly flew into the mountain side
where the water turns. Sim was knocked
unconscious and fell sprawling into the
bottom of the skiff.
"How long it was before he came to
his senses Sim never could figure out.
He's told me about it many a time. When
reason came back to him it was gloomy
and dark about him, and the air was
damp and stifling. He tried to remem-
50
OVERLAND MONTHLY.
ber where he was and how he got there.
I reckon he felt something like Rip Van
Winkle when he woke from his twenty
years' sleep.
"Sim sat up and peered about.
Through the midnight blackness shot a
little gleam of light. It seemed to him
a long way off. Groping about he found
he was on solid earth on the edge of a
pool or lake of water. He then recalled
his perilous experience in the skiff. At
the thought of his situation he shook with
fright, like a darkey with the ague. He
was in a great cave. The country about
Chattanooga is honey-combed with them.
But how he got -in the cavern is what puz-
zled Sim.
"Feeling his way along, he went toward
the little stream of light. He found that
it trickled through a narrow aperture in
the rocky wall. And there lay the skiff
on the subterranean lake.
A little exploring cleared up the whole
situation to Sim. After the skiff struck
the rocky river bank and he had conscious-
ness beat out of him, the skiff evidently
had drifted swiftly on, hugging the moun-
tain wall until coming to this opening.
The water poured into this hole in a small
stream, and the skiff was catapulted by the
swift river current right into this cave,
and, lighting on the lake in the cave, it
sped across to the opposite side and
dumped the unconscious Sim on the bank.
Here is where he found himself when rea-
son returned.
"Well, Sim thanked the Lord for sav-
ing his life, and started to find his way
out. Robinson Crusoe had his troubles,
but Sim soon found he could give point-
ers to that worthy adventurer.
"That cave simply had no beginning
and no end. It proved to be a circular
basin with no outlet except the small open-
ing through which Sim had so unceremo-
niously entered.
"This underground Crusoe explored the
cavern, groping through the slime, keep-
ing close to the wall and picking every step
of the way. He could see nothing, and
the solitude was maddening.
"After walking, he judged, two miles,
Sim came back again to the aperture. This
narrow hole, then, was his only hope of
escape. That hope hung by a hair, for
the opening was ten feet above the floor
of the cave, and the rushing current out-
side made him a helpless prisoner.
"But Sim was game. He would give
Death a merry race. The big lake was
swarming with fish, and the dank walls
and bottom of the cave were covered with
some kind of edible fungus. On raw fish
and this fungus, Sim kept soul and body
together, but it was no Delmonico fare,
you will agree.
"'Sim was of an inventive turn, and
how to get into communication with the
outside world now tested his talent in that
line. The only hope, he decided, would
be some means of hailing a passing steam-
boat. There was not one chance in ten
thousand for him to do that. To succeed
would spell rescue. To fail meant death
in its most doleful form, far beyond
knowledge of any human being. Sim had
elected to be a hermit, but he was not quite
ready to shuffle off this mortal coil.
"How long he could live in this damp
and vitiated air on raw food was another
problem. Sim knew a deal about science,
and the discoveries relating to the proper-
ties of minerals. He began to experiment
in the hope of finding some substance that
would strike a light and throw his distress
signal to the outer world.
"While striking stones together this
way, suddenly there came a flash and a
brilliant glare of light shot past him.
Startled, Sim turned his face to the wall,
and there, against the slime, stood a liv-
ing image of himself, as if the very air
had been fused by volcanic heat. Every
feature was perfect, and it stood out in
such relief, it looked so like a live man,
it struck terror to Sim, and, turning, he
fled from it, quivering like an aspen leaf.
Not until he was on the opposite side of
the lake did he dare look back. There stood
that model of Sim silhouetted apparently
in living flame against the cavernous wall.
"Sim was sick with fright. He became
as nauseous as a land-lubber at sea, his
knees smote together and he sank to the
ground. That figure fascinated him. He
began to doubt his senses. Wjas his mind
off tack, he wondered? Or was he killed
in the skiff accident on the river, and was
this an ante-chamber of Inferno, and was
his Satanic Majesty ushering him into tor-
ment by easy stages ?
"Gradually the figure faded away, and
with it Sim's fright. Then his thoughts
turned to the cause of this hair-raising
FAME TURNED FLIRT.
apparition. Plainly it was in the pulpy
substance which he still held in his hand
for he had struck a flinty rock against
this substance.
"Was it possible, he mused, that he had
discovered some new mineral or element
with strange, almost supernatural proper-
ties, which would not only be the means
of his rescue, but make him famous as its
discoverer as well ?
"Again and again Sim struck that pre-
cious substance, and each time flashed
forth a counterfeit of himself so strikingly
life-like that he recoiled lest the phantom
figure move toward him and speak.
"Sim now worked out a plan to escape
from this living tomb. The plan hung on
scanty support, you must admit. But,
treasuring that bit in his hand like a
precious gem, he stationed himself at a
point near^ the opening into the cave" and
began throwing these spooky pictures of
himself into the outer air.
"His eye could command a small stretch
out over the river, and he kept it riveted
on that stretch, day after day, hoping
against hope that a boat would pass with-
in the range of his vision, and by flashing
out a living likeness of himself to the boat
he could pave the way for his discovery
and rescue.
"Late one afternoon, several months af-
ter Sim Newcomb had disappeared from
his mountain hut, I was coming up
through the mountains with the Hiwassee.
The water was low, and the pilot kept in
closer than usual to the south wall. I was
on the hurricane deck, looking at some
ferns growing on the steep, rocky bank.
Quick as a wink, out of the solid rock a
long, luminous stream of light, like a
comet's tail, gleamed.
"I looked down to the water's edge, and
there for the first time noticed a narrow
opening into the rock. I thought strange
of the mysterious light, but as we were
nearing our landing place, it passed from
my mind.
"We were at the Market-street wharf,
Chattanooga, and the darkies were carry-
ing barrels and boxes across the gang
plank, when all at once I was startled by a
negro deck-hand rushing into the cabin,
his whole body a-tremble the worst-
scared darkey I ever saw.
" 'For heaven's sake, what is the mat-
ter, Jim?' I asked.
" 'Cap'n,' came from between his chat-
tering teeth, 'dere's han'ts on dis boat. T
wants my pay. I done tired of dis work
anyway.'
" ' Now, what bad whisky have you been
guzzling?' I exclaimed in impatience.
" 'Cap'n, I done tole you dere's han'ts
on dis boat. Jes' you come and see.'
"1 followed the negro to the gang-
plank and he pointed to the side of the
boat. Just above the water line, in the
gathering darkness, was the perfect outline
of a man, looking as if it had been burned
right into the wood, and as if the fire was
still burning. Every feature was there as
plain as day. The hair was disheveled,
the cheeks sunken, the eyes wild and ap-
pealing, and the whole ghostly figure had
the appearance of a living man in the
most abject distress. It looked weird and
uncanny, and yet so life-like that I invol-
untarily expected the 'han't' to walk across
the water and onen conversation with me.
1 tell you I w r as as scared as any darkey
about me they had all run like stampeded
cattle from the boat.
"I reckon old Belshazzer and his lords
were not more worked up over that spectre
handwriting on the wall than was I, and
mv darkies, at that ghostly picture.
" 'I reckon dis is no place for me !'
yelled one of the negroes, and away went
the whole pack of them, pell-mell up the
bank.
"I, too, shuffled up to the office on dou-
ble-quick. There was nobody there. I
went on home. Try as I. would, I could
not shake off that phantom picture. Its
clammy hands, beckoning in pitiful ap-
peal, haunted me all night. The next
morning I was nervous and could not eat.
I- hurried to the office. I found Mr. An-
drews, the manager, in a great rage.
" 'Winslow, why in thunder ain't you
unloading that boat?'
"I had to invent an excuse.
" 'Came in too late last night, and I
overslept this morning. I reckon the dar-
kies are at work down there now.'
. " 'Well, I reckon they ain't/ grumbled
Mr. Andrews, 'and that's what makes me
sore. There's not a living darkey down
there.'
"I pretended surprise and anger and
started out to find my crew. Not a
mother's son could I find. Coming across
some negroes on the street, I tried to hire
OVERLAND MONTHLY.
them to unload the boat, but they would
not go for love or money. I found my dar-
kies had filled the town with the story of
the 'han't.'
"The situation was very vexatious to
Mr. Andrews. Merchants were clamoring
for their goods, but nobody could be found
to unload the boat.
"I told Mr. Andrews the ghost story,
and made light of it, not owning up that I
had seen it, and was as badly scared as the
negroes. Then I told him about the flash
I had seen coming from the rocky shore in
the mountains.
" 'There's the place to solve the mystery
if there is a mystery,' I ventured to sug-
gest.
"Mr. Andrews scoffed and fumed, but
as we could not hope to get a negro to
work on that boat again until it was given
a clean bill that there were no lian'ts'
aboard, he finally consented to take a
party to the spot where I had seen the
mysterious flashing and investigate.
"I went to pilot the party. In a small
tug we picked our way close up to the
opening. As we passed alongside it, out
came another flash, just as I had seen it
from the Hiwassee, and there, on the
side of the tug was another picture of the
same distressed, apuealing figure, but
dim in the daylight. The party all saw it
and even skeptical Mr. Andrews bit his
lip in perplexity.
" 'I reckon we'll have to hunt down this
spook and put out his searchlight, if we
ever get a darkey to nass here again/ he
said. 'Let's trv to get in there.'
"Easier said than done. Material had
to be brought, piles driven and the water
diverted, then with dynamite we blasted
out a larger opening and entered the
cave.
"The sierht that met our eyes gives me
the creeps to this day. There stood a fig-
ure human, apparition or goblin we
could not make out emaciated, with its
profile to us, and mechanically striking
its hands together, at each stroke throw-
ing out that luminous trail of light which
made such unearthly snap-shots.
"We shouted to him or it. Turning,
the figure faced us, glanced at the open-
ing we had enlarged, and fell in a
swoon.
"That settled it; this was a man. Nei-
ther ghosts nor goblins faint.
"We gathered up this creature, his face
pallid and pasty, his hair damp and mat-
ted and white as a snowball, and his body
so thin and gaunt he seemed a model for
a statue of Hunger. His left hand
clutched a small particle of earth or stone,
which, I noted, fell to the ground as we
carried him to daylight and the tug.
* * * *
"I met Sim Newcomb, bent and feeble
with age, in the streets of Chattanooga a
few days ago.
" 'Winslow,' he said, 'do you know the
keenest disappointment of my life has
been the fact that I lost that little parti-
cle I had clutched in my left hand when
you found me in that cave. I would have
ranked with Edison and Mlarconi to-day
if I had not fainted then from weakness
and excitement.
"Do you know what it was that threw
out that life-line for me that saved my
life by throwing those ghostly pictures?
I am sure it was radium, in more perfect
form than yet discovered. I know that I
just missed fame and fortune by fainting
at the wrong time. Fame turned flirt, led
me to the point of embracing then jilted
me.'
"This," said Captain Winslow, knock-
ing the ashes from his pipe, "is how old
Sim Newcomb came within an ace of
breaking into the Hall of Fame."
mm A
BY F. L. HARDING
FOR any other purpose than fishing,
it was disgustingly early to be out
and afield. As red dawn began to
tint the grey horizon, I was telling my
grievance to a sordidly sympathetic boat-
man. How two years before my line had
been wet daily for four unbroken months
in pursuit of a rare species of fish known
to Southern California only- and was
granted never a nibble. How, too, I had
planned, explored, experimented, prayed
and finally cursed my luck when depart-
ing in defeat.
The elusive quarry was a sort of weak-
fish, much like we Eastern chaps round
up in Jersey waters. But this odd fellow
had forgotten to stop growing when he
properly should have, according to Jersey
standards. He often scaled a half-hun-
dred-weight all grit, muscle and devilish
temper.
I wanted one as a child wants the moon
and my chances of success seemed about
equally promising.
The fish were erratic, capricious, with
a chronic reserve of manner that froze
the warmest overtures of well-disposed an-
glers. They spurned a juicy bait on prin-
ciple, except at dawn or early twilight,
when a wayward member of the tribe
would at times fall from grace. 'Twas a
halcyon day when the good rod felt the
steel on their onslaught and the tussle
was invariably heroic.
My launch captain had somehow drifted
West with the proverbial "course of em-
pire," from Yorkshire, bringing his un-
der-done speech with him. On hearing
my tribulations, he shook his grizled head
resignedly, impaling a fresh, still-living
sardine upon mv hook. He glanced
around at the Catalina hills as though
seeking consolation within their tawny
heights. He threw the bait over and fast-
ened his keen eyes upon me. They were
the kind of eyes that go right through you
and button up the back.
"Aye, lad, thee has fared ill, thee has.
This bein' early April, like as not a bonny
stretch o' weather will bring 'em around.
Thee'll be fair amongst 'em an' I canna
bethink as thee'll miss the bleedin' beg-
gars again/'
I exhorted him to do his utmost. "Make
good, Jerry, old man: cut out the pre-
liminaries get busy."
"Aye, lad, that's so. Mayhap a few
stragglers is in already. Yon sends a
sprinklin' of scouts afore the crowd
shoves aroun' the island." That sounded
good to me, and that shadowy attribute
that "springs eternal in the human breast"
began to look up a little.
The spring at Catalina is the "spring-
iest" weather one ever lived in it makes
the sober citizen feel like standing on tip-
toes, shouting. The air felt like wine to
the lungs, the water, sky, mountains, were
fresh and clean as though the creation of
the world had just been finished. In the
exquisite half-moon bay we were alone,
the other anglers were bustling about the
beach in the grey haze of daybreak, pre-
paring for the day's sport.
Leaning over the boat-side, I could,
from my seat .in the stern, see a lively
army of sardines darting and shooting
about in pale green water, transparent as
plate-glass to a depth of thirty feet. Now
a seal or a diving shag would suddenly
cut a wide path through the panic-stricken
ranks. At once, they re-assembled, to
continue their frantic," futile game.
While thus idling, my reel gave tongue.
Instant as this had been, a premonitary
tremor of the sensitive rod had antici-
pated it. Bracing myself involuntarily, I
struck back while recovering my position,
and then braked down upon the whirling
core of line in the reel with the leather
thumb-pad. The Cutty hunk streamed ir-
resistibly out upon the arched rod, a gray
live-wire whipping viciously through the
guides. It dipped down Hke an arrow
yards and yards of it into that innocent
face of the bay beneath which a mighty
animal had been electrified to desperation
by a stinging fire in its cheek.
OVEBLANP MONTHLY.
The battle was on ! Expecting the cus-
tomary tactics of a Yellowtail, I settled
back for a royal tugging match, a long
contest of give and take, with little fancy
work or trimmings.
But this clever fish for his wit showed
early to extraordinary veered off at an
acute angle and struck out across the sur-
face under forced draught. With an
abandon bordering upon hysteria, he
raved all over the place, plunging like a
rocket, For three hundred feet he gal-
loped away, towing our heavy launch at
a perceptible pace.
The strain was cruel, but the tackle
out for him, the doublings were wonder-
fully sudden, and the old fellow was soon
puffing and profane.
I sat facing the stern, the rod butt
thrust into a leather cup between my legs.
When the first dazzling spurt had been
somewhat controlled, the old trick of
pumping the fish was tried. Eeeling in a
few turns until the rod tip neared the
water the fingers of the right hand left
the reel-handle and grasped the rod below
the reel-seat with the thumb tight upon
the leather brake-pad. Throughout the
whole maneuvre, the left hand remained
at its position about six .inches above the
The launches are well adapted for the sport in every detail of construction.
did better than it knew how! Galled to
a frenzy by this new check upon his free-
dom, the marine free-lance grew deliri-
ous with pain and fright.
The angler must now act like a flash,
guessing at every move, anticipating each
violent burst of flight. So speedy were
the dashes at times that he won a space
of slack line, it must be confessed. But
the hook was in the gristly jaw, and his
advantage proved fruitless.
Old Jerry got out his oars, endeavoring
to keep our launch stern on to the con-
testant in the water. His work was cut
reel. It raised the rod until the tip point-
ed skyward, the motion being as even as
the fish would allow.
This has quietly dragged the puzzled
quarry some four feet nearer the boat
without greatly exciting him. Still at
hazard, vibrating in air between agate-tip
and water, was this precious span of line.
Now to stow it safely away upon the reel
bobbin. Gradually lowering the rod with
left hand, the right took in the line inch
by inch on the descent, and I was again
ready to "work the pump handle."
Patient repetition of this is a death
FIGHTING A FOKTY-POUND WEAK-FISH.
Forty- one pound Catalina weakflsh caught on
rod and reel.
warrant to any fish, if the rig holds out.
This analysis of a few simple movements
looks like child's play but the practice is
terrifically complicated by the pitching of
the boat, the snapping nerves of the fish-
erman, the bewildered terror of the
fish.
Gad, what a fight that old fellow put
up ! He was in a sprinting mood and a
pack of fox-hounds would have found a
maze in his trail. Circling entirely
around the boat, he forced me to scram-
ble to the bow, pass my sorely straining
rod about the mast and battle with his
fury on the other side. Our launch was
now at sea; he was -seeking deeper water.
"Thee'll snub 'im now, lad," councilled
Jerry, the acute, "Thee's had a quarter
hour, 'tis time enow. Have done, 'es
failin' fast." His failing symptoms were
not apparent to me as yet. In fact, the
puffing at my end augured well for his.
escape. But Jerry was wise in his day
and generation.
The next run melted away to a dead
halt under steadv pressure. Now to force
the fighting !
Five attempts at rushes in confusing
rapidity of succession were each nipped
in early youth. A half circle was then
tried but it lacked the early brilliant vig-
or. Now indeed the fish began to weaken
but the outcome was no certainty. I
was far from as fresh as twenty minutes
before, before the whirlwind had begun.
Pump. Pump. ZEEEEEE! Pump,
now a brief respite, then at it again.
A huge pink, white and brown form of
graceful strength rose slowly through the
clear water. The huge jaws closed vic-
iously upon the hook shank. He bore off
in a curve, his body pulsating with ex-
citement and distress. Up, up under the
merciless rod work, up to the side of
the boat. The sun threw off brightly
from five feet of rare magnificence, a
bar of opal.
Ah, steady, Jerry, boy! Such a beauty!
With a last dash of despair, the great fel-
low strove to flash downward. But in a
splash of spray, the gaff shot out, and the
steel hook sank home.
BY CHARLTON LAWRENCE EDHOLM
IT was ten o'clock, a foggy, lowering
night, as I strolled up California
street from Dupont, arm in arm with
the ghost of the late Sherlock Holmes of
blessed memory.
In the midst of our animated conversa-
tion, shop-talk of royalties, copyright
laws and the profits and losses of author-
ship, we paused suddenly, for out of the
lighted upper windows of a shabby man-
sion, but a few doors ahead, proceeded
that most blood-curdling of sounds, the
voice of a woman wailing in the night.
The voice was very piercing and feline
in quality, the pitch ranging from a shrill
scream to a low, hollow moan. Its flow
of lamentation was seemingly intermin-
able, nor was there any slight pause for
catching of breath; just one continued
plaint of countless variations.
Immediately before the dilapidated
portal, two carriages waited at the curb.
In the days of gold, when the mansion
had occupied .the center of San Fran-
cisco's fashionable neighborhood, scene of
lavish entertainment and new-found opu-
lence flung to the winds, many a smart
equipage must have stood before those
doors of a night, but surely never so
strange a coach as the two we saw that
night waiting before the house of lamen-
tation.
They were mere hacks, of the shabby
variety that stand all night at the plaza
corner, waiting for any disreputable ad-
venturer or tipsy prodigal who may stum-
ble into them, and the drivers were taci-
turn, seedy fellows, with frayed ulsters
and slouch hats; but the scarlet bunting
that draped . their vehicles was of the
brightest new silk, caught into rosettes
and adorned with bouquets of gilt paper
flowers.
The coach lanterns were huge paper
spheres, through whose oiled and vermil-
ion-inscribed surface glimmered the
flames of red candles. A little cypress
tree, growing in a pot, stood on the seat
by the driver of the first hack.
All these details were hastily scanned
by my ghostly companion, whose fond-
ness for the lucrative profession of deduc-
ing saleable plots was not dimmed by
death. These piteous wails, the coaches
adorned as for a sacrifice, the grim and
silent coachmen, all appealed to him as
first-class "copy."
"Watson," he began "I beg pa'don,
me deah fellah, Edholm, I meant, of
course, I would be alone. Come to me
chambers at 'ahlf after seven to-morrow
morning, and I will hand you a typewrit-
ten solution of this mystery ready for
publication, at current rates of payment,
of course."
"Mr. Sherlock Holmes," I answered,
"go to the devil. I'm not your faithful
Watson, and I'll not be patronized by a
dead one; furthermore, I'll stay here and
see the plot thicken."
"Spoken like a man!" exclaimed the
ghost of Sherlock Holmes, as he sought
to grasp my hand with his foggy fingers,
and his misty outline became luminous as
a searchlight in a cloudbank, so excessive-
ly did he beam upon me. "Watson was
really getting to be a deuced bore, don-
cherknow; I daresay you've guessed that
I died to be rid of the fellah. Beastly
thing to say, but it's a fact."
A wail of unusual poignancy interrupt-
ed our little love-feast, and we craned our
necks and listened. We were not the only
interested ones: from every be-grimed
window and doorway in the neighborhood
peered clusters of oval faces toward the
lighted upper room. Dark-eyed, saifron-
hued women and girls were these, moved
by the curiosity which is shared by all
the daughters of Eve, whatever their
color.
Maidens in rainbow garments, striped
and silken-pieced tunic, and trousers
adorned with bands of various delicate
LETTEBS.
57
hues, lingered and eagerly chatted along
the curb, anon inserting their elaborately'
coiffured and garlanded heads into the
dark passage-way, whence the uncanny
sound of distress was now proceeding.
Suddenly the heart-rending cry in-
creased in volume; a rapid crescendo of
grief that was drowned by a fusillade in
the hall, accompanied by a whiff of burn-
ing powder. Then in a cloud of sulphur-
ous smoke, a little fat woman clad in a
dark blouse, and with white socks peep-
ing from beneath her shiny black trow-
sers, rushed out of the doorway and sta-
tioning herself just outside, opened a gay
paper parasol with an upright bunch of
peacock feathers, projecting from the
ferule, and held it above the threshold.
More explosions followed in the pas-
sageway ; we could see the red flashes back
in the gloom, and just as the hubbub of
shots and screams reached its climax, a
second fat little woman, counterpart of
the first, dashed through the volley, bear-
ing on her back a bundle of shrieks and
groans.
Whatever else she carried under the
scarlet silk that hid her burden could only
be conjectured by the two human feet
that projected below the veil. Cramped
in a strange shape and stuffed into em-
broidered baby-shoes with pointed toes,
they were several sizes too small for the
scarlet figure humped over the back of
the panting beldam, but they were un-
doubtedly living, kicking, human feet.
With all haste, the girl for she sobbed
like a girl was dumped into the hack,
the door slammed upon her groans, and
the churlish driver whipped up his nags.
The second hack followed, but not be-
fore the ghostly eyes of my companion
had noted that two elegantly-clad gentle-
men (or villains), had taken places there-
in.
As the door of the mansion banged to,
and the neighboring windows were emp-
tied of curious faces, I said to my familiar
spirit :
"Is it an abduction we have wit-
nessed, kidnapping, New Arabian Nights
adventure, or just a fancy nightmare we
are sharing in common? And further-
more, is this the Western metropolis of
our great and glorious United States or
mayhap the city of Haroun-al-Raschid ?
Sherly, my boy, it's up to you!"
"Nothing like this has occurred before
in all my experience," answered the ghost
of Sherlock Holmes, "although my ex-
client, the Baroness Sapphira of Mun-
chausen, often related adventures almost
as strange. I have no clew, no conjecture.
But let us approach the two vagabonds
chatting at the corner opium users I
judge by their emaciated figures and sal-
low visages their remarks may throw a
light on the horrid mystery."
They did.
"Say, Joe, wuzn't the gal's brothers
togged up regardless ?"
"'Sure ! Them Chinks know how to
blow in the coin fer a funeral or a wed-
ding, same ez anybody."
"But say, Joe, on the square now, don't
it make you think of a white gal, hangin'
back an' lettin' on she don't want to tie
up, the way them Chinese brides squall
an' take on when they leave home ? You'd
think they wuz bound fer the slaughter
house !"
"That's straight, Bill. As Shakesbeer
sez, 'Wimmen is the riddle of the uni-
Terse.' "
When I turned, the ghost of Sherlock
Plolmes had vanished.
BY DONALD B. TOBEY
The world awaits with wistful, wond'ring eyes
The tidings of their constant carrying;
For one is bringing thrills of glad surprise
And one at Sorrow's door is tarrying.
I often think that we are much as they
Brief messages that neighbor-lives affect.
How are we missives written, grave or gay ?
And those that read what shall their eyes reflect?
Vigorous ,
restless,
, peaceful,
weditatm,
of t^ tne^dow
(9 KBIT
BY COLIN V. DYMENT
A BLACK figure from the night
loomed suddenly down the track;
my feet stopped instantly their
listless swinging over the platform edge.
My own apparition must have been quite
as startling to the figure, for it shied like
a scared cougar.
"Good evening/' I said, to reassure us
both, and the figure halted, seemed to
gather confidence, then advanced into the
light of the station doorway.
A man in the sheepherder's uncouth
garb stood there. He had the look that
comes so often to his class, when months
of loneliness in remote range districts
have unbalanced them. But this one was
not even a respectable looking herder. His
semblance of felt hat let a narrow fore-
head line show a streak of white above
bushy brows. Two months' growth of
black beard roamed from his bare throat
almost into his eyes. A ragged shirt, gap-
ing trousers and shoes of which the worn-
out toes let sand *and cactus in, completed
an equipment unusual even in the deso-
late Nevada lava beds.
A full minute I gazed at 'this strange
individual. The station agent had gone
to a belated supper. There were no pas-
sengers beside myself waiting the late
Overland, unless the bearded native, sit-
ting just out of sight around the corner
of the station, might be one. Except to
pass a gruff "evening, stranger," when he
first appeared, the Nevadan had said noth-
ing for an hour, and I promptly forgot his
silent presence as the new desert product
stood blinking beneath the station lamp.
Three times the herder tried to speak;
each time he seemed scared at his own
voice. He tried to peer into the dim out-
lines of sage and sand that blur away by
dav toward the Sierras, on the west, and
Great Salt Lake Basin to the east, appar-
ently saw nothing to alarm him further,
then turned appealingly toward me.
Broken, trembling words came first,
more to himself than me : "Komany ah !
It is far,"
" ? Tis a long way to be walking," 1 as-
sented finally. He shuddered ; I wondered
why. Perhaps because the night air had
blown up chill from the Sierra. "Going
that way?" I added.
"Oui, anywhere," and down he went in
a half-faint, beside mv drummer's cases.
* # * #
In trips through my desert territory
of Idaho, Nevada and Utah, I had listened
to many strange experiences, but none so
weird as the one this herder told me when
whisky had revived him. Neither thirst
nor hanger had brought him to this con-
dition. That was apparent, for his her-
der's wallet looked half full, and I could
hear the swish of water in his can. "Some-
thing funny here," I thought, as he slow-
ly opened his eyes and seemed to want to
tell his troubles.
"'Boss's band of sheep back in the
desert." He straightened to a sitting
posture and at first spoke haltingly. "Yah-
ah ! Their throats all tore now."
"Who is your boss ? What's your name ?"
I stooped to catch the answer.
"I I Pierre, Pierre Gaston. My
boss Winnemucca man, he tell me go out
Black Rock way with the band, an' it is,
ah ! you not know, so lonely back there.
The only two times I see a man them
whole four months was the campbov, when
he bring me one bag of grub. When he
throw it down an' ride away, I feel like
my head she whirl, whirl, like this."
'"What's the matter with the Black
Rock country, Pierre?" I asked listlessly,
for want of something better. "He's only
a crazy herder, after all," I thought.
"'Ah, Monsieur ! she go so fast, so still,"
he cried, half getting up in excited
strength. Sweat drops ran through the
thick dust on his face; his arms began to
gesticulate.
"I see her first last summer, Monsieur.
I bed the band for night, then I say:
'Jacques, Garcon, good dogs, watch the
nannies,' an' I climb a little butte an' lay
down an' look up at one star. I think
THE SHEEPHEEDEE'S NEMESIS.
61
about Eomany, 'way off there, an' I say:
'Jean Pierre, I mean maybe you
never see Eomany any more.' Then I
cry up there on my blanket an' go to
sleep.
"Mon Dieu, Monsieur ! Something
make me jump straight up. I look, three
wavs, like this, an' I see one great big
eye, 'way in the desert. It come for me,
an' I not know what. No one live in fifty
miJe, an' no one ever go this way. I say:
'Maybe some homesteader man, he lose the
trail. Where he get that big lantern, I
guess.' Then she get bigger an' bigger,
that eye does, an' throw light in the cou-
lee, this way and that way. Ha! I run
fast down to the band.
"I am not scared yet, Monsieur, no, no,
I think of them sheep ; just how I save
them, an' I say: 'What for you not run,
you sheep? What for you not bark, you
Jacques an' Garcon?' All time she keep
come so fast, so still, an' I stand by the
nannies an' start shake, like this. What
you think ? Not one lif her ear, just that
little bit.
'Then I not see the nannies, nor the
two dog, nor rock nor anything, only that
eye ; she look big as tub, and she not seem
more as three stone throws. I try turn me
to run. Sacriste ! Something hold me
fast, an' I scream : 'Go 'way ; go 'way'
my gracious. I make them nannies jump.
Ha ! I scare that eye, too. She stop, no,
she turn she miss me, she go past, but
Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu!"
"What was it, Pierre?" I asked incredu-
lously.
"Face at them windows."
"Wlhat windows? Eed-eye windows?"
"Ah, Monsieur! No laugh at me. She
was one train, an' those face "
"Well, you fool, you must have bedded
down by the railroad track, and didn't
know it," I said, and burst out laughing
in reality.
"Ah, I do wish, Monsieur ! but there is
only one track, two days' drive down that
way from Black Eock country. She is one
spirit train, an' those face
"Well, Pierre." I laughed, "all trains
have people, haven't they, and people must
have faces:"
"Oui, but these wear pity me, Mon-
sieur they wear white grave-clothes. Mon
Dieu ! I shall never forget me ! One sit
'at every window. Their face is very
white and their hands very skinny, an'
they rest the face on the hand. They
look like they feel awful. My heart, he
jump so loud! I make my knee take me
up the little butte again, clean to the top.
I look all round, like this, and I not see
that train any more. I go back to my
sheep, an' they are all settle down, so I
say: 'Sacre, Jean, you. like one drunk
man.'
"Next night I bed that band down
quick an' roll up tight, I sleep in half
a jiffy. All to once, quick, my eye stare
up straight again, this way, an' something
seem like it lif me right up. 'Sacriste!
them wolves again,' I say, an' I start for
the nannies.
"Ah, Mon Dieu ! She come again.
"I shake an' shake, Monsieur, for she
come over the desert like last night, out
Devil Coulee way. I put my hands in
front so I not see, like this. I think, may-
be, she not come near to-night. Then I
peep just a leetle through my fingers, an'
Mon Dieu ! she close up by the band. 'Oh,
Virgin, save me !' I think the boss may bo
he not believe I speak true by those sheep
when I tell him how they get kill. He
not know how the great big eye scare a
man, 'way in the lava beds he only think
why you not bring in the band safe, Jean.
''Ah, good Virgin; she turn an' we are
all save. I put my hand behind my ear.
Listen ! Ha ! I not hear even the wind
blow. What: Then face again! I see
maybe fifty, maybe hundred, one in each
window. I feel so happy they not look at
me. Ah! the last of them no, he not
gone^ he take his skinny hand an' he point
it. Mon Dieu ! straight for me. Then I
speak. Ha ! I scream an' scare the nan-
nies again, an' all at once, just like that,
Monsieur, I forget. The sun high up
again when I wake. My face like in the
sand, an' the nannies are 'way off, eating.
"I not feel like breakfast, Monsieur, an'
I say: 'Jean, you. better go down Eed
Butte country. Sweeter grass. You sheep
need moving anyway.' t say to myself
like that, an' I start ten, twenty mile.
Sometimes I look back, an' ha ! them coy-
otes come too. They sneak by rocks when
I look, but all day they keep come, come.
"That night I find homesteader man
shack an' stop. When it get dark, I keep
my two dogs close an' go in an' hide. Up
run them coyotes after a while an' I hear
OVERLAND MONTHLY.
the nannies bleat, bleat, an' the throats
tear, tear, like this. I not let Jacques an'
Garcon get out to drive them 'way. No !
No! I say: 'Lie down there, Jacques; lie
down there, Garcon: be still, I tell you/
an' when them dog scratch one door an'
howl 'cause the wolves tear sheep, I strike.
I not shoot my gun at them wolf, either.
One noise tell that spirit train man, may-
be, where I hide.
"Next morning, sacriste! half boss's
sheep dead. I get fresh meat, what them
wolf lef , an' we all hurry. The nannies
are scare like as me now. The sun he melt
me, an' the dust choke me, an' the nannies'
tongues hang 'way down, but I keep say
'Shoo, there ! shoo, there ! Jacques, Gar-
con, why for you not make them sheep
go quicker ?' I go on like that, Monsieur,
till it get dark again, an' I hide in a pot-
hole. I say : ' You dog, you two, mind them
sheep to-night, an' when them wolf come
up, Jacques he run him off; Garcon, lie
run him off, too. An' I roll my head right
up in my blanket so I not see something,
if it come. 'Ah !' I say next morning, 'you
safe now, Jean. It is good you lef' back
there!'"
My late train, the bill of goods I had
not sold, my tired condition, all had been
forgotten as I listened, almost breathlessly,
to the herder's story. While he was tell-
ing me, with many a gesticulation and
much pantomime, of the midnight spirit
train, sweeping noiselessly across the des-
ert with its load of ghostly beings, his
face was at times convulsed, as if by some
great pain. Even I felt spooky chills at
portions of his tale, and caught myself
glancing involuntarily out toward the
measureless arid area, to see if the creation
of his disordered imagination were not
just showing its "great big eye" out of
some coulee mouth. I did not notice that
the third man, whom the herder could not
see, and of whose existence I had long-
been oblivious, had come close to the sta-
tion corner and was standing where he,
too, could hear all that was said :
"Did it come again?" I asked.
"Ah, pity me, Monsieur. She come
again that night, an' the next night, an'
the next night. She come a leetle closer
every night, an' I never hear one sound
like the wind. One night all them faces
begin to look at me, an' I bury my head
in the sand, like this.
"Last time, Mon Dieu ! they all point
finger at me. Ha ! how I run. I put my
hand over my ear an' close my eyes, this
way, and never feel when I fall in them
cactus beds. I run till my head she near
bust. Oh, Virgin ! I fall over one rock
an' them cactus spines stick in all over,
an' when I wake up, my gracious ! that
sun he high up again an' my sheep and
mv dog Jacques an' my dog Garcon, they
all gone."
The herder stopped short and began to
look doubtfully at me, like a man who
has told too much. His wildness had gone.
His eyes gleamed bright; the unburden-
ing of his ghostly story seemed to have
relieved him. A look of craft began to
take the place long occupied by a hunted
look of fear.
I did not want him to stop now. "Then
what? You came here, Pierre Jean!
Sav! You told me your name was Pierre
and you. call yourself Jean !"
He looked a trifle defiant and said noth-
ing.
"Is your name Jean?"
He sprang up ,without a word and
would have passed into the night.
"Just a minute." It was the bearded
native behind the corner speaking, and
I rose in bewildered astonishment as his
big frame emerged from beside the shadow
of the station wall and his handcuffs went
around the herder's wrists.
"I'm the sheriff of Elko County, Jean
Brantigne," he said. "I was just going
up Black Rock way myself to look for you.
I heard you'd gone in there."
"What's he done?" I asked the giant
sheriff, when his prisoner was safely hand-
cuffed to the station bench inside, and he
had stepped out to see if the headlight of
the Overland was visible.
"Oh, last spring he unspiked a rail
and threw a train into a gully over in
Humboldt County. Ten poor devils were
killed right out, you remember, and half
a dozen more were burned up. This ghoul
was robbing bodies when they chased him
off, but he got away. That's 'what he
dumped the train for, damn him. Funny
how them passengers all come back to
haunt him, ain't it?"
Charles Dickman at work in his Monterey studio.
<f=n=^
iffln
Biatenssttni&g S&imdfos ff M
BY JOSEPHINE MILDRED BLANCH
JUST as the French artists, at a cer-
tain season of each year, leave their
studios in the crowded Quartier
Latin, and, with easel and paint box, find
their way to quaint Barbizon or some
other picturesque environment of Paris,
so the California artist feels that he must
spend a few weeks at least of the year in
the historic old town of Monterey seek-
ing subjects offered by the inexhaustible
wealth of beauty existing all around for
truly an inspiration to every beauty-loving
soul is this crumbling old adobe town.
Like an old and priceless jewel in a mod-
ern setting, it lies by the crescent bay. The
grayness of age overspreading its ruins
greatly enhances its beauty, in such per-
fect harmony do they blend with earth,
sky and sea, while around them, too, is
wrapped a mystery of romance and tra-
dition that gives wings to the imagina-
tion. As the after-glow of a sunset or
the aroma of ffading flowers do these
crumbling adobes appeal to one.
Both in and around Monterey the ar-
tist sees on every hand subjects that fas-
cinate him for Nature here is prodigal
of her allurements. The time-seasoned
rocks, .the wind-tossed cypresses, their
gnarled trunks bleached into ghost-like
whiteness by the strong, salt winds; the
sturdy live-oaks breathing vigor and
warmth, the restful grain fields with their
back-ground of dark pines, the glistening
whiteness of the sand-dunes, vivid with
light and color all as subjects attract the
artist to the place.
About thirty years ago, such men as
Tavernier, Julian Rix and Joe Strong
came with brush and palette to reproduce
64
OVERLAND MONTHLY.
on canvas its beauties, mixing with the
pigments of their paint their rare appre-
ciation. About this time came also those
of literary ability; here Gertrude Ather-
ton spent some time, and it was here that
Robert Louis Stevenson, storm-tossed on
the ocean of life as he was, ill, "a stran-
ger in a strange land," and awaiting a
literary fame yet to be won, found com-
fort and inspiration. His notes of the
life in this early Spanish town are among
he has painted some of the pictures that
have found an admiring public not only
in California, but in New York and Eu-
rope, and given him a world-wide reputa-
tion as a water colorist. Farther over the
hills, we come to the most beautifully lo-
cated studio in all M'onterey, that of
Charles Rollo Peters. It is a spacious
studio, built "far from the madding
crowd/' From its windows one sees the
sapphire bay stretching miles below, and
A very recent picture of Eugene Neuhaus "A Gray Day in Chinatown."
his choicest bits of description. WJhen
such rare natures have sought Monterey,
we cannot wonder that so many noted
California artists have pitched their stu-
dios here.
In a picturesque adobe over which a
rose-bush of enormous size reaches, and
which is called "The Adobe of the Rose-
bush," made historic by a romance of the
long ago, Francis McComas had his stu-
dio for many years. In this quaint place
the sleepy old town nestling in the valley.
Here, surrounded by nature, undisturbed
by sound, save song of bird or whispering
of pines, Charles Rollo Peters is king in
his "castle of dreams." It is here that he
dreams, on canvas, those beautiful moon-
light effects of sleeping adobes upon
which the moonlight falls as gently as the
blessing of a nun. Charles Dickman hits
one of the most charming studios in the
old town. He seems to revel in sunlight
The gate-way of William Adams' studio.
66
OVERLAND MONTHLY.
effects found hare. It can be said of
Dickman that he is the painter of Cali-
fornia sunlight. His canvases teem with
light and color, yet so true are his values
and such harmony of tone prevails, that
one i? convinced, of the exquisite refine-
ment that may ;exist with color. If he
paints an adobe wall, the sunlight gleams
against it, making it a mosaic of rare
beauty. If he paints the sea, under his
brush it becomes a tremulous rainbow full
of prismatic changes; if a field of grain,
over the yellow slope you see long, pulsing
waves of heat, aid color. The subject of
one of the most beautiful canvases he has
After her return from Paris some years
ago, Miss McCormick sought Monterey as
a field for work, and so conscientiously
has she applied herself to nature here that
her work is full of the character of this
locality. It is full of feeling and vibrant
with life and color. Evelyn McCormick
ranks with 'those California artists who
paint with intelligence and seriousness.
Among the studios recently added to
the list are those of William Adam and
Eugene Neuhaus. Eugene Neuhaus
comes from Berlin, and though having
been in California but a short time, has
found a place among the prominent paint-
The historic "Old Pacific House," in which Evelyn McCormick now has her studio.
painted is a country road scene near
Monterey. Long evening shadows tone
the canvas to the low key of the .lite af-
ternoon, the lowering sun sending
through passing clouds one glorious shaft
of Iigh1> -the day's good-bye.
Up a creaking flight of steps and
around a seemingly never-ending veranda
of the old historic hotel, "The Pacific
House," in a quaint room made most ar-
tistic by hangings of rare old shawls and
furnished with many interesting antiques,
we find the studio of Evelyn McCormick.
ers. His work is strong and virile, pos-
sessing that most essential quality, spon-
taneity. He has done much strong work
in and around Monterey, and has chosen
the "gray days" as the key-note to most
of his pictures. One of his most character-
istic sketches is "A Gray Day in China-
town." William Adam, formerly of Scot-
land, and a member of the Glasgow Art
Club, has a charming studio filled with
interesting work. Mr. Adam chose Cali-
fornia as his home about six years ago,
though during that time having revisited
The "Adobe of the Rose-bush," owned by Signorita Bonifascio, in which Francis McComas
paints his charming water colors.
68
OVERLAND MONTHLY.
England, Scotland and France. He has
brought with him excellent work. You
can wander with him in his sketches over
Scottish Moorlands, purple with heather,
through quaint English rural scenes and
charming bits of France.
Those are but a few of the many inter-
esting studios dotted here and there on
the hill slopes around the old town.
In a few years, "the old Monterey"
will have passed forever
in art, immortalized
have told her story
tare.
it will live only
by those who
by word or pic-
C. S. COLEMAN
Beside the mountains and the sea she stands,
While o'er her watch the kindly, happy skies,
A queen of mighty peoples, noble lands,
The glories of the future in her eyes.
For her no gods of dim, forgotten days,
No kings a-slumber where the long years smile
The past knows naught of her or of her ways
She dwelleth not in lang'rous lotus isle.
The East may keep the mysteries of the dead,
For her the secrets of the years to be,
She does not stand 'mid ruins with bowed head,
But gazes far into futurity.
The stars look kindly on her, and the sun,
While wide before her waits the joyous sea,
For well they know her way and Fate's are one
The Queen shall be the bride of Destiny.
And we, we children of the regal West,
Our toils are hers, our dreams are all of her,
For in our souls (thus we are trebly blest)
We feel the spirit of an empire stir.
'Tis true we dream, but we are workers, too,
And this the lesson through the years we learn-
We build an empire such as no man knew,
We gem a crown a Caesar would not spurn.
*u=^
BY JAMES WILLIAM JACKSON
44 y JNTIL Wednesday, at two
II o'clock, then; and I think my
^"^ promotion to the superintend-
ency, with fifteen hundred a year, will be
one of the wedding presents. Good-bye!"
Wednesday morning had come, and the
young engineer looked up for a moment
from the drawings on his desk and gazed
out of the shack window toward the curl-
ing smokes of the far-away city chimneys.
There, in the distant valley, was the dear-
est girl, and within a few hours he would
marry her.
Houghton was a fledgling engineer.
Away up here in the hill-tops his firm was
building a reservoir for the city. It had
been a long summer, miles away from the
girl; but the reward was coming now, and
on this crisp autumn morning Houghton
felt the jubilation of maturing happy
plans.
He resumed his work with as much in-
dustry as his truant thoughts would per-
mit. Just now his mind persisted in
dwelling on the coveted promotion. He
had found favor with his chief, nis work
had been eminently satisfactory, and he
knew somebody was going to get that
promotion very soon. He had no grounds
on which to prophesy his own elevation,
but the conditions were very favorable.
His meditations and work were inter-
rupted by the opening of the door. Look-
ing up he found his chief standing there.
"Houghton," Mr. Smalley began, and
Houghton afterward remembered that the
chief seemed a little embarrassed, "Thorn-
ton is not in this morning. I must ask
you to finish his drawings. I want you to
hurry them through before night."
For a moment, Houghton was speech-
less. Then, with a sudden sense of relief,
it occurred to him that Mr. Smalley must
have forgotten the day. Houghton al-
most laughed to think how funny that
was.
"Why, Mr. Smalley," he expostulated,
with a genial air, "you know I go oft 2 at
noon. This is my wedding day."
Mr. Smalley's brow contracted in a
large, unsympathetic frown. "I realize
that perfectly," he said, with a trace of
testiness. "But, my dear fellow, you
know the wisdom of work before play. I
can't lay of? half a hundred men just be-
cause the drawings are not ready."
"'But," and Houghton's voice rose to a
high pitch of protest, as he stood up and
faced his employer, "think of my situa-
tion, sir. I can't finish those papers be-
fore six o'clock to-night, and I am due
for the most important engagement of a
man's life at two. I simply can't stay
here all day. It it would be ."
He couldn't think of any better term at
the moment than "highway robbery/' so
the sentence broke in the middle.
"Very well," Mr. Smalley commented,
easily. "If you think it is out of the
question, I have nothing further to say.
I can command you only so long as you
stay in my employ. You understand."
Mr. Smalley turned to the door, leav-
ing Houghton in a figurative heap be-
side his desk, his mind troubled with a
drowning man's lightning-like review of
the situation. Only Sunday he had said
that he hoped one of the wedding presents
would be a promotion to the superinten-
dency at fifteen hundred a year. Now he
was on the verge of throwing over a situa-
tion at ten hundred. True, he felt justi-
fied in such a course after the preposter-
ous demand ; but could he think of mar-
rying without a situation. Love in a
cottage was all very well; but a thousand
dollars or fifteen hundred was much bet-
ter. He was just about to plead for a lit-
tle time to think when his employer fore-
stalled him.
"Better take a little time to make up
your mind, Houghton," Mr. Smalley sug-
gested from the doorway. "Then if you
feel that you can't stay, say so."
Houghton went savagely to work for an
hour before he allowed himself definite
thought on the subject. He knew, how-
ever, that it was useless to think of finish-
70
OVEKLAND MONTHLY.
ing his task at two o'clock, and at the
end of an hour he threw down his pencil
and considered the situation.
"Great Scott," he moaned, "where did
I ever get the notion that Smalley had any
milk of human kindness in his heart?
And as for giving me a raise, he is as
likely to cut down my salary in pure con-
trariness. But I can't help myself. Net-
tie will have to wait until I can get there,
after the work is done."
He drew a sheet of paper over on top of
his drawings and wrote enough of the
story to indicate an unavoidable change
of the wedding hour from two to eight
o'clock. "Believe me/' he concluded, "I
can't help myself."
He took the letter into the office of Mr.
Smalley, and found that ogre busy at
his desk.
"I've decided to finish the drawings,"
Houghton coldly explained.
Mr. Smalley merely nodded, without
turning his head.
"May I ask you to have this note sent
over to the town, sir?"
Houghton laid this note as he spoke at
Mr. Smalley's elbow. There was no ac-
knowledgment, no word. Apparently it
was too trivial a matter for the attention
of such a great man. Houghton stood
by irresolutely an instant. He was half-
minded to take the note back, put on his
hat and coat, and then leave the office. If
he could have telephoned, there would
have been no need of a note, but the only
means of communication with the city
was by carrier.
Houghton ended in leaving the note on
the desk. Then he went back to work.
For several hours he lost himself in the
intricacies of lines and plotting; but af-
ter a while a dispirited mood took posses-
sion of him.
"To think of a man's wedding being
spoiled in this fashion," he told himself,
"and Smallev supposed to be a close
friend of Nettie's father. Ugh! He
makes me sick."
The hour of two struck as he came to
a point in the drawings where some blun-
der had been made with the figures. There
was a short-line telephone in the office,
connecting with the work on the reser-
voir; and he crossed the room to call up
the field for the necessary figures.
He was just about to explain his dif-
ficulty, after receiving an answer to his
call. Instead his lips closed with a snap,
as if he had been struck suddenly dumb.
He was unable to speak until the voice at
the far end again demanded his attention.
"Thornton, what the dickens are you
doing over there? I thought you were
home, sick. Who sent you there?" and
there was both vehemence and undis-
guised irritation in Houghton's tones.
"Say," came back a good-natured
drawling voice, "how long you been boss
on this ranch? You don't mean to say
that old Smalley has died since this
morning and willed you his job? Other-
wise you better change the tone of your
commands, or I'll lick you the first chance
I get."
"I 'beg your pardon, Thornton," Hough-
ton murmured over the wire, too ruffled
to be gracious. "But I was so surprised
by your voice. Smalley won't let me off !
said you were not in and that I would
have to do your work; and here you are
down in the Superintendent's berth.
What does it mean?"
Thornton's voice was heard chuckling
in unfeeling amusement. Houghton
clenched his disengaged hand as he list-
ened.
"Sorry, Houghton," Thornton drawled
back, complacently; "I really thought you
were going to get this. Imagine my as-
tonishment when the old man sent me
here and told me to say nothing about it.
I haven't said anything, either, mind
you." But Houghton waited to hear no
more. With manifest irritation he pre-
ferred his request for the needed figures.
The long afternoon dragged out. It
was not until half past six that Hough-
ton breathed a sigh of relief and mut-
tered another malediction on the head
of Mr. Smalley.
Gathering up the drawings he took
them into the inner office and laid them
on the chief's desk in front of the empty
chair. They were well done, he knew;
at least there was that satisfaction to re-
deem the spoiled day.
"AVhen I get a chance to work for a
more reasonable master," he muttered,
"I'll take advantage of it and spoil your
miserable career. Your conscience will
smite you for losing such a talented sub-
ordinate, see if it doesn't."
Smiling grimly at his own vanity and
THE PATIENCE OF JOB.
71
somewhat refreshed by his apostrophe to
the empty chair he was about to leave the
office when his eye lighted upon a famil-
iar object. It was the note he had writ-
ten at nine o'clock that morning!
"By all the furies/ 7 Houghton ejacu-
lated ; "this is the limit of endurance.
Xot another stroke of work will I do for
this man."
He snatched u^ the note with a half-
formed determination to seek out his
chief and wreak out a satisfying ven-
geance.
"Before I take my tools away from
this place," he promised himself., "Smal-
ley shall hear from my lips what a low
down, miserable creature he is. The de-
mons take him,, if such a small soul ; s
worth the trouble."
He had torn the note into a hundred
pieces and thrust them into his pocket.
He threw on his coat with an angry ges-
ture that nearly ripped it up the back.
Jamming his hat on he passed out and
sprang into the waiting carriage.
"Drive !" he commanded ; "drive as if
the No !" he mentally thun-
dered to himself; "I won't swear on my
wedding day. I haven't lost my temper
yet, either; though I will when I meet
that conglomerated caricature of a -Oh !
what a poverty stricken language this is !"
He gave himself up to speculation.
What must the people think of him;
what must the poor girl be enduring all
this time? "Due for a wedding at two
o'clock. Here it is nearly seven and
and neither of us married yet/' he con-
cluded, lamely.
All his personal preparations for the
wedding had been made before he left the
office. When the carriage drew up at the
house he jumped out and ran up ths
steps without loss of time.
There were no acclamations. He was
admitted, without any tearful demands
for an explanation, shown to his room
and left alone.
After a little while he was ushered into
the presence of the waiting guests. The
unruffled minister was there; so was the
fiendish Smalley. Unconscious of the
damning denunciation that was to come
when there should be time, the wretch
posed as an honored, happy guest.
Then came the bride on her father's
arm; and the radiant picture drove from
Hough ton's mind all uncouth and un-
timely thoughts.
It was long after the ceremony before
leisure and quiet came to the young peo-
ple; and meanwhile Houghton, the hypo-
crite, had smilingly acknowledged the
congratulations of the hard Smalley.
But now they were alone and Hough-
ton allowed himself to look into the bles-
sedest eyes. They met his with the ful-
lest reciprocation.
"Dearest," she said, "wasn't it too bad
the Bishop should be delayed and have
to telegraph us that he couldn't be here
until evening? You must have been
dreadfully disturbed when Mr. Smalley
gave you my message."
She stopped for a moment to compen-
sate him.
"See," she added, then, holding up an
envelope; "a wedding present that we
haven't opened. Let's look."
It was a business letter he had, dated
and so forth. But the gist was:
" . . . . It gives me pleasure to enclose
a check and a two months' leave of ab-
sence for your husband. I have taken
the liberty to test him; and I know he
will make me a good and patient superin-
tendent. I am keeping the place for
him."
And it was signed by that contempti-
ble caricature of a Smalley.
Houghton sought an adequate ejacu-
lation, but the poverty-stricken language
proved as ineffective as he had found it
earlier in the day. Like the brave, pa-
tient man he was, he took refuge in action.
"You'll make a sterner-looking super-
intendent with your mustache shaved off''
was her irrelevant observation.
BY FLORENCE CROSBY PARSONS
WITHIX recent years, many hon-
ors have come to the great com-
monwealth of California,, none
of which outrank in splendor or in pro-
phecy the crown she has won as Queen of
climatic conditions, furnishing a superior
vantage ground for the sweep of the
"magic mirror' 7 when it shall swing to
the motion of the universe the largest
telescope the world has ever seen.
To the far south, the ramparts of the
Sierra Madre lift their serrated heights
forever to north and east above the famed
San Gabriel Valley, where, upon its loft-
iest peak, Mount Wilson, at an altitude of
6,000 feet, has been erected a fine solar
observatory 230 feet long, with steel frame
and canvas cover, giving it the appear-
ance of a splendid ship about to sail out
over the crags and steeps and voiceless
canyons, above the vast pine forests that
clothe the mountain-sides, away over the
fair valley with its vineyards and orange
groves ; away, away, into the limitless
blue of the vaulted sky.
This white-winged ship contains not
only a horizontal telescope, but is equip-
ped with a variety of other instruments
clocks, short and tall, photographic ma-
chinery and an array of scientific para-
phernalia that seems, indeed, the work of
a magician to the ordirary poor mortal
who follows the professor about in a dazed
and confounded condition, secretly hop-
ing he looks wise, and can manage to
stammer : "Oh, certainly !' "Ah, yes !" in
the right places.
The situation is relieved by the fact
that the courteous conductor, Professor
George E. Hale, never by word or look as-
sumes that you cannot understand his ex-
planations, or are not perfectly familiar
with astronomy throughout its heights
and depths.
The observatory is in charge of this
genial professor, a man still young in
years, possessing rare charm of manner,
so modest, in fact, that he seems unaware
of his rank as one of the foremost astron-
omers in the country; that his fame has
gone abroad as inventor of the spectro
heliograph, an instrument for photo-
graphing solar phenomena, and for his
recent discoveries upon the sun.
When Mr. Carnegie gave ten millions
to establish the Carnegie Institution of
Washington, the largest grant accorded
to any one department, amounting thus
far to over $300,000, was allotted to as-
tronomy.
The observatory shops, built and main-
tained from this fund, and wherein are
made all the instruments for use upon the
mountain, are located in Pasadena, that
beautiful city whose name means "the
Valley's Crown."
Astronomers, especially, seem so filled
with a sense of the immensity of the uni-
verse, and of their own comparative in-
significance, that they are very modest
men, and oft-times retiring, keeping much
within the realm of their own thought.
All this wonderful work in the shops is
under the superintendence of Professor
George W. Ritchey, who possesses both of
the above-named attributes. Apparently
unconscious of the boast he might make
as standing among the leaders both here
and in Europe, in his chosen field of as-
tronomical photography, and the con-
struction for this work of reflecting tele-
scopes.
The great center of attraction just now
is the huge glass that was cast in St. Go-
bain, France, remaining in the Yerkes
Observatory optical shop for five years
awaiting funds for its completion, when
it was brought to Pasadena, where for
two years it has been under the eye of
Professor Eitchey during the long 'and
careful process of "grinding and figur-
ing."
Do not suppose that the public are ad-
mitted, even on visiting days, into the
very presence chamber wherein this splen-
did mirror rests upon its iron throne.
They must pay their court through the
medium of a glass panel.
Mt. Wilson Observatory.
THE WORLD'S GREATEST TELESCOPE.
75
The impression is of looking into an
operating room,, rather than into a shop.
The walls and floor are carefully washed
above the mirror is stretched a canvas;
directions, are given through a speaking
tube., the workmen don surgeon's caps and
aprons, performing their labor behind
closed doors all these precautions lest
dust from the Everywhere, the very motes
in the sunbeam, should gather upon the
delicate surface.
Notwithstanding constant vigilance,
particles will float upon the forbidden
ground.
This mirror is 60 inches in diameter,, 8
inches thick, and weighs one ton. As it
rests upon the turntable it resembles a
huge wheel of ice into whose green depths
you can look as if it were a frozen block.
This lovely coloring in green is a sur-
prise to the beholder, who thinks to see the
mirror clear or about as white as a win-
dow pane.
In the work of grinding, fine emery and
water are placed between the grinding
tools and the surface of the mirror.
When the surfaces are properly
smoothed, they are coated with pure sil-
ver, that metal furnishing highest reflec-
tive power. The concave front is the op-
tical surface, the other side being polished
approximately flat, and silvered because
the changes effected by the temperature
would otherwise be unsymmetrical.
Before it was decided where to place
this great telescope, various points were
visited and their merits considered. The
severe winters at Yerkes make the as-
tronomer's work difficult, and as the San
Gabriel Valley has a large percentage of
cloudless days, it is hoped to find much
advantage in the clear atmosphere and
altitude of Mi. Wilson, a peak destined to
be no longer unknown to fame.
And now the 60-inch mirror is to be
outmatched upon its own grounds. A
citizen of Los Angeles, Mr. John D.
Hooker, has placed at the disposal of the
Carnegie Institute fifty thousand dollars
wherewith to purchase and prepare a disc
of glass that shall be one hundred inches
in diameter the largest reflector lens in
the world. This mammoth wheel will be
eighteen inches thick, and weigh four and
one-half tons.
Professor Ritchey explains that "this
thickness is necessary that the glass shall
be sufficiently rigid to retain its perfect
form, and even then it is necessary to
support the back and edges by an elabo-
rate system of plates, levers and weights
to prevent the flexure of the mirror when
the telescope is in use."
The great French manufacturers of St.
Gobain have agreed to undertake the cast-
ing. Prof. Hale says : "It will be an ex-
tremely long and difficult operation to cast
and anneal such an immense mass, but
in view of their experience, we confident-
ly count on a successful outcome."
Meanwhile, larger shops must 'be built,
machinery for grinding and polishing
be designed and constructed, together with
apparatus for lifting the glass.
Prof. Hale asserts that this 100-inch
telescope will give seven and a half times
as much light as the most powerful pho-
tographic telescope in use, and two and
a half times as much as the 60 inch reflec-
tor now being made.
He further declares. "We cannot tell
whether atmospheric conditions even on
Mt. Wilson will be perfect enough to meet
the demands which will be imposed by the
great size of the telescope."
Although the 60 inch lens will be ready
within this year for its mounting, it will
require about four years to complete its
marvelous successor.
The work is by no means done when
the glass receives its coat of shining sil-
ver.
Think of taking 250 tons of metal,
huge iron castings, up a narrow mountain
trail, at its widest only twelve feet, pre-
vious means of transportation having been
the backs of sturdy little burros.
Even the stoutest of these strangely
wise and sure-footed creatures could hard-
ly be expected to climb eight miles up
those perilous steeps with the precious
mirror, weighing a ton, strapped upon his
back!
For months the famous trail has been
in process of widening and smoothing, at
a cost of $25,000, under the skillful hands
of Japanese laborers, who deserve unlim-
ited praise for the marvel they have
wrought. But at its best it is a dangerous
road, subject to disaster from mountain
rains and from boulders falling from
above. To carry such heavy materials to
that altitude, a special truck has been
constructed by the Couple-Gear Freight
76
OVERLAND MONTHLY.
Wheel Company of Detroit.
Much interest and enthusiasm was
shown when the long, red-painted auto-
mobile car appeared for its trial trip up-
on the streets of Pasadena. A storage
battery could not furnish power for four
motors, so (a gasoline engine of forty
horse-power is connected with a dynamo
which generates the electric current.
The direct transmission of power to
each wheel is effected by a series of elec-
tric motors, one in each wheel, which is
operated on its own axle so that shortest
possible turns may be made.
There is a separate gear for each set of
wheels, or the four may be steered to-
gether. The weight of the truck is eleven
thousand pounds. A trap door in its cen-
ter allows portions of the castings to sink
within its depths to bring the center of
weight as low as possible.
The 60 inch glass is not to be mounted
in the observatory now in use upon "the
peak," but will be placed in a metal
building having a steel dome 60 feet in
diameter, to be erected the coming sum-
mer by men sent from the Union Iron
Works of San Francisco, where all the
heavy castings were made. The fine at-
tachments and delicate machinery for ad-
justing the telescope, together with the
driving clock, have been fashioned in the
Pasadena shops. Next April the auto
truck will begin carrying up materials for
this dome., and last of all, some time in the
autumn the famous glass will make the
ascent. If the four years' work upon the
100-inch lens proves successful, another
and larger building will be prepared upon
the mountain top to receive it.
Since that day when "the morning stars
sang together," men have striven to in-
terpret the symbols blazoned upon the
vaulted sky by Him who sitteth "above
the circle of the earth."
Throughout the ages they have groped
amid the splendors of astronomical science
now and then discovering a marvelous
law, /i rolling planet, a burning sun.
The work of the astronomer is but dim-
ly comprehended, to a very large extent
unappreciated. Who stops to think of him
up there in his lonely watch tower fairly
wrestling with the spheres for science's
sake ?
He knows much of severe midnight,
yes, all-night toil, of solitude, oft-times
of bitter cold, of terrible stress upon
nervo and brain and muscle, as with the
world asleep, he sits motionless, yet with
every sense alert, his keen eye upon the
great glass which shall perchance reveal
ere the sun comes again from out his
chamber in the east, the path of some new
star, the orbit of some whirling planet.
Powerless to "loose the bands of Orion,
or to bind the sweet influence of the Plei-
ades," nevertheless, he can do his heroic
part toward swinging this old world up
into clearer light, into fuller knowledge.
"There is no speech nor language where
their voice is not heard." The faint, far
sound, mystic as the music of the spheres,
fell upon the ear of astrologer, magician,
divinator, among the ancients, gathering
volume when heard by astronomers in
Egypt, in Greece, in Chaldea, vibrating
yet louder as Copernicus. Galileo, Her-
schel, bent their heads to listen.
Yet none of these ever dared to dream
or prophesy or picture to the imagination
the wonders that may be within the grasp
of modern research, when away up among
the solitudes of the hoary mount, the
mighty lens turns its shining eye of silver
upon the starry heavens declaring the
glory of God, the firmament showing Hi<
handiwork.
inn
BY CHARLES FRANCIS SAUNDERS
The wind broke open a rose's heart
And scattered her petals far apart.
Driven before the churlish blast
Some in the meadow brook were cast,
Or fell in the tangle of the sedge;
Some were impaled on the thorn of the hedge
But one was caught on my dear love's breast
Where long ago my heart found rest.
MfflH 9 Y5[p> IHIirag
BY LIZZIE GA1NES WILCOXSON
WHEN it became a settled fact
that Mrs. Dutcher Lombard-
Hill's sister was coming to visit
her, Mrs. Hill began to look for a house.
During her two years' residence in San
Francisco she and her husband had occu-
pied apartments in a semi-private hotel.
Now, to find a house to suit her, and be
within her means, became the haunting oc-
cupation of her life. After three weeks
of search she gave up the idea of being
suited, and the question narrowed down
to something that would possibly do. Kent
agencies were her daily haunts. The clerks
thereof came to know her and wanted to
run and hide when she came in.
At last, in sheer desperation and weari-
ness of bodv, she chose a house on a
"twenty minutes' walk" recommendation,
and an assurance from the agent that he
would be most obliging in the matter of
repairs and sundry coats of calcimine.
The morning following her decision,
Mrs. Hill visited the place again. This
time she was unpleasantly impressed with
the nearness of a dilapidated little house
on the west side, and a double flat on the
east side. She had been so weary the day
before that these details escaped her, in
view of the fact that the house itself pre-
sented as few objectionable features as
any she had examined.
"Dear me," she sighed, "I .hope the
people in the flats will not have more than
half a dozen children to each family."
"They are very nice people," assured
the agent soothingly.
"Possiblv," rejoined Mrs. Hill, wearily,
"but that is no guarantee against large
families of small children."
As they made a tour of the west rooms,
Mrs. Hill again noticed the dilapidated
cottage on that side.
"That place is vacant," she observed.
"I do hope when it is let only quiet people
will live there."
"I am sure you will find this a very de-
sirable neighborhood," rejoined the agent,
with a slightly aggrieved air.
"I hope so," sighed Mrs. Hill.
At any rate, to hope for the best
was all she could do now, and the work of
preparing the house and furnishing it be-
gan and went briskly forward for a week
or ten days.
In the matter of cheap pianos and child-
ren the double flats proved less of a nui-
sance than Mrs. Hill's fears had antici-
pated, and it was with a feeling of real
satisfaction that she began to settle in
her new home.
"I like it much better than the hotel,"
she confided to Mr. Hill one morning at
breakfast.
"I always told you that you would, if
you would only try it," was the husbandly
rejoinder.
"I don't remember your saying anything
of the kind," answered M/s. Hill.
Then Mr. Hill cast some reflections up-
on the unreliability of a woman's memory,
which, in turn, brought forth an acrimo-
nious retort from Mrs. Hill, and the re-
sult was a smart tiff. When Mr. Hill left
the house, he shut the front door with
a bang that demonstrated that, after all,
a home is never really a home unless it
connects directly with a front door.
Mrs. Hill was too self-centered to be
more than temporarily unsettled by a
domestic difference, but nevertheless, the
disagreement 'had its aftermath. This
came, first, paradoxically enough, in the
form and likeness of a beauty-doctor.
Mr. Hill was a man of decided preju-
dices, but "prejudice" is far too mild a
word to apply to his utter detestation of
this feminine humbug. Mrs. Hill was
78
OVERLAND MONTHLY.
abundantly aware of his attitude, and up
to then had respected it, not so much, it
must be admitted, from a sense of wifely
duty as from the circumstance of having
an exceptionally fine complexion, bright
eyes and beautiful hair.
But the past strenuous month had told
on her. Miles of hard pavement, more
miles of noisy, wearisome street-car rid-
ing, had combined to haggard her. As
she raised the window shades, letting in
a harsh glare of sun, she caught a view
of herself in the sideboard mirror and
noted the pallor of her complexion and
dullness of eye. Peering in, she discovered
with a shock two tiny wrinkles under her
eyes, and another threatening her neck.
To look old Mrs. Hill considered the most
terrible affliction that life could possibly
hold for any woman. Owing io a good
constitution and a life of comparative ease
she had so far preserved herself from
alarming symptoms of age; therefore, she
was all the more overcome by these signs
of advancing age.
It was at this psychological moment
that the doorbell rang, and the maid
brought Mrs. Hill a card bearing the le-
gend: "Mme. Loraine, representing Mme.
Lippette, dermatologist; facial blemishes
successfully removed; traces of age ob-
literated; consultation free."
What took place at the interview be-
tween Mrs. Hill and the representative of
Mme. Lippette would not have been hard
to guess the next day as Mrs. Hill stood
before a small cabinet and carefully
placed therein one large bottle containing
a whitish liquid; one medium-size bottte
of pink buttermilk appearance; one fat
tin box of grease; one squatty white jar
of pomade; a package of medicated cha-
moise, and last, a flat, small box, con-
taining a limp, crawly little square, to
which was attached four little tapesi It
was a Face Beauty Mask. Mrs. Hill took
it out and gingerly unfolded it. As she
spread it lightly over her face and looked
at the effect in the glass, she did have a
vision of Mr. Hill when he should come
to kiss her good-night.
"Gracious me ! I wouldn't blame Dutch
a bit for getting a divorce if he
should see me with this thing on. I will
have to take my treatments and wear it
some time during the day while he is
down town. It would be a crime for any
woman to let her husband see her looking
like this."
This was the day after the tiff, and
Mr. Hill had brought home theatre tick-
ets and a new fan for his wife the evening
before as a peace-offering, and harmony
was once more restored. So MTS. Hill
locked the cabinet door, and instead of
boldly presenting the bill for the beauty
paraphernalia, as she had intended doing,
she took the more pacific course of charg-
ing it up to housekeeping sundries, and
keeping her transactions with the blonde
dermatologist a secret from her husband
* * * *
It was perhaps a week later as she lay
in bed late one morning that she gradu-
ally became aware of an odd bustle and
a wordy vibration without her west win-
dow. The sounds were singularly choppy
and unintelligible. They were accompan-
ied by slamming of doors and banging
of heavy articles. She arose and looked
out. What she saw filled her with amaze-
ment and anger. The dilapidated little
house so near her west window was inhab-
ited. Its tenants were scurrying here and
there in night-shirt-looking garb and san-
daled feet. Pigtails of varying length
and glossiness switched and undulated as
they moved and chattered. They ap-
peared like a colony of insects, each intent
on some individual task, and yet all work-
ing together. Before the steps stood a
black-covered wagon and a bony, rat-
tailed horse. Over the door was already
inscribed : "Yip Hung, Hand Laundry."
At the window directly opposite Mrs.
Hill, and into which she bent her aston-
ished and wrathful gaze, stood a gaunt
Chinaman in a white, scant garment, bare
legs and sandaled feet, busy at an ironing
board. Verily, a full-fledged laundry had
sprung up in the night iand was now in
operation.
"This is an outrage!" exclaimed Mrs.
Hill. "I shall speak to the agent about it
at once!"
The agent was attentive and full of
sympathy, and promised to do what he
could. But the next day when she called
again, he expressed his sorrow that he
was unable to influence the unworthy citi-
zen who owned and rented that particular
little house.
"Everybody ought to move off the
block!" angrily opined Mrs. Hill.
THE TANGENT OF A TIFF.
79
The agent gave a shrug indicative of
the futility of such a course.
"Such a thing is possible to occur any-
where in San Francisco/ 7 he commented.
Thereafter Mrs. Hill's life became one
great protest directed against things in
general, and one fat, placid, sphynx-like
Yip Hung in particular. She felt anew
a sense of outrage every time she looked
out of the west windows. Now and then
strong whiffs of opium smoke and gushes
of steam rose up to her angry nostrils.
At such times,, it but added fuel to the
flame to see Yip Hung sitting on a box
in the middle of the room, drawing deep,
contented puffs from a long-stemmed pipe,
serene, prosperous, giving one an impres-
sion of an immense, sleepy, fat, motionless
spider.
On Sundays another exasperating fea-
ture obtruded itself on the west view. It
was the shady side of Yip's laundry, and
a long line of Celestials would come out
and sit there the live-long afternoon and
comb and queue their hair.
In spite of Mrs. Hill's baneful looks
and ill wishes, Yip Hung's laundry throve
and prospered, and ever and anon a new
ironing board was added. In time, it re-
quired two black covered wagons to con-
vey the laundry, and Yip Hung, full of
peace and plenty, daily grew fatter and
richer.
After a period of this tranquil prosper-
ity, the tide turned. It may have been
that Yip was forgetting his gods; it may
have been an ill luck in that in his greed
for American dollars, Yip ground his poor
workers down to a point that forbade bod-
ily nourishment, and for this cause Li Wo
quite suddenly fell down beside his iron-
ing board one hot day and quite as sud-
denly died.
This untoward incident necessitated a
total suspension of operation in the
laundry for at least twenty-four hours, for
though callous indeed had prosperity
made him, Yip would not defy the tradi-
tional superstition that one must allow a
spirit time to take a leisurely departure
from the scene of its labors, from whence
it is unable to go as long as its customary
work is being performed by others. So
the fire died down, and most of the work-
ers went off to Chinatown and others went
to bury the dead. Yip waddled about the
deserted ironing room, feeling ill-used
and cursing his luck. He paused in front
of the mantel, and stood observing him-
self sulkily in the stationary mirror built
above the shelf.
So stood Yip; and his thoughts were
upon his tribulation. Suddenly, like a
flash a wink there lept into the clear
surface of the mirror a terrible face. A
most terrifying face. A ghastly, dead face
from which rolled two eyes like balls of
fire ! A horrible dead face without a
body.
Yip gave a strangled scream, and as the
face did not vanish, he screamed again,
and sank down from sheer weakness of
terror, and hid his face in his flapping
sleeves.
From that day disaster pursued Yip
Hung. Evil days fell uppn him. Valuable
pieces of wash became variously miscar-
ried. Several aggrieved customers took
away their patronage. Others threatened
arrest if the missing articles were not
produced. Some refused to pay for large
washes from which alleged articles were
missing, but gave him additional large
washes for which he sadly suspected he
would likewise get no pay. Families
moved out of his ken, leaving from two
to five weeks' bills unpaid. His helpers
struck for higher pay.
It was a chastened Yip who sat draw-
ing long puffs from his long stem pipe one
afternoon, some three -weeks after that
terrible day. Since the incident of the
awful dead face, Yip had kept a cloth
pinned across the mirror. Now as his
dull gaze rested unseeingly on the cloth,
quickly, as if an unseen hand had snatched
it loose, the cloth dropped from a dis-
lodged pin at one end. Yip uttered a
hoarse cry and half arose, pointing a pal-
sied finger at the undraped glass. A dozen
"pairs of startled, beady eyes followed the
movement. They saw nothing save the re-
flection of the ugly wall, the door space,
the stove pipe, and their own yellow vis-
ages. Nothing unnatural in that. Noth-
ing to so agitate their placid boss. In
obedience to a hoarse command to replace
the cloth, half a dozen of them sprang
toward the mantel. Lo ! In that second
flashed out and faced them the dead
face!
Every Chinaman in the room had a
glimpse of the horrible thing as it hung
a moment and then vanished.
80
OVERLAND MONTHLY.
Twice more, even before the terrified
workers could make a move, it flashed
back and re-vanished. Then like possessed
creatures, the Chinese clung together and
chattered like monkeys.
Oh, that ghastly face! Its living eyes!
Its awful dead flesh.
Some of them fled without ceremony.
Others fell to the floor calling upon the
gods among them Yip.
An hour later, Mrs. Hill heard an un-
common activity among her detested
neighbors, and went to the west window
to look out. What was her astonishment
to see half a dozen Chinamen tumbling
things out of the house in a conglomera-
tion, while another lot of Chinese gath-
ered them up and pitched them promis-
cuously and frantically into the two laun-
dry wagons. In less than an hour more,
the last queue, the last ironing board, had
vanished.
"It looked like some forcible eject-
ment/' commented Mrs. Hill to Mr. Hill
that night at dinner. "But thank Heaven,
they are out! I wonder what the next
will be. It can't be worse, that's one con-
solation."
The next day now no longer having
a prejudice against sitting by the west
windows Mrs. Hill re-arranged her west
chamber furniture, and in doing so, she de-
stroyed the angles the other position had
created with the mirrors in her room,
that, by the aid of a hand mirror occa-
sionally held in a certain position had
thrown her reflection across the way into
Yip Hung's mirror when she sat at her
dressing table taking her treatment and
wearing her beauty-mask.
BY EMMA PLAYTER SEABURY
Morning a daisy field, ripples of laughter,
Children asport like the fairies, with flowers.
Bobolinks bubbling their melodies after,
Childhood and beauty engarland the hours.
Gold and white daisies, tinted with clover,
Sky of azure, an afternoon ;
Clouds like foam flakes flickering over,
Balm and breath of the fragrant June;
Merry groups in the ambient glory,
'Scattering leaves of the daisy, in glee,
Telling each other, the sweet old story,
"He loves, she loves, or he loves not me."
Daisy field in the dusky gloaming,
Evening star and the late birds' trill,
Groups of twos in the daisies roaming,
Telling the sweet old story still.
Hush and the moon, and the soft June weather,
Daisies and clover, and summer and dream,
Souls drifting out to the future together,
With sails of gossamer-love supreme.
BY ALFRED DAVIS
DEATH Valley is ugly, ugly and ut-
terly desolate. Cactus and sand,
sand and cactus as far as the eye
can reach, to the north, to the south, to
the east and to the west. Not a single
tree or green bush is there in all that
dreary waste to vary the great monotony.
The sun above, usually riding in a clear
sky, pours down its fiercest rays upon the
sun-baked plain with unrelenting force.
Here and there a rattlesnake lies stretched
out in the torrid sand, while now and then
a skinny prairie dog will pop up from the
yellow dirt and then dart down again
with the rapidity of lightning. Once in a
while a buzzard wheels its dizzy flight
along the misty horizon. S>ave for these
no signs of life are found in all that vast
solitude.
Far to the north a great cloud of dust
might have been seen on a certain day in
mid-summer, hurrying along before a
breath of wind, lost probably in that deso-
late land. Out of the cloud as it swept
over the brow of a hill, the form of a
man appeared outlined against the deep
blue sky. He paused on the crest and
seated himself. A tall fellow he was,
dressed in a manner typical of the place,
calculated to render the heat bearable,
while his searchine: eyes that looked out
from two narrow slits bespoke the fron-
tiersman, through and through. He sur-
veyed the barren stretch before him with
the easy manner of one familiar with the
scene, and as his eye roved over the plain
it rested upon a dark spot which seemed
to be emanating from the haze of the west-
ern horizon.
The figure moved irregularly, frequent-
ly pausing as if bewildered, then again
moving on, on, until coming to another
abrupt pause.
"A man," thought the plainsman, "a
man as sure as hell, and coming from the
Funeral hills." And as he started down
the hill in the direction of the traveler,
he cursed the creature for a fool thus to
tempt the Almighty.
The wanderer, his head bent toward the
ground and his eyes red and blistered from
the intense heat, stumbled on, now in one
direction, then in another, as if uncertain
of his way. Then of a sudden, he threw
his head back and laughed long and loud,
but the laugh ceased when he beheld the
plainsman. He started towards him,
mumbling incoherently, then paused and
gazed unsteadily upon him. Again he
laughed, wild and hoarsely, and broke in-
to a tottering run, away from the ap-
proaching figure. Finally he stopped,
turned again, and again started on, but
his strength seemed suddenly to leave him
and he fell face downwards in the sand.
The plainsman rolled the wanderer up-
on his back and pillowed his coat beneath
the head of long unkempt hair. Then,
taking a flask from his pocket, he poured
the contents into the mouth of the suf-
ferer. The eyes opened slowly, as if in
pain, and when they fell upon the other's
face they seemed to start slightly, then
closed again.
"Which way was you headin', friend,
before you got mixed?" and the plains-
man repeated his question twice before the
feeble answer came.
"Never mind me, never mind. Let me
alone. I'm about ready to pass in and
there ain't no use of you staying here. You
know where there is water ; get there your-
self ; you can't take me."
"Sure, I know where there is water,''
and he gazed closely into the other's face.
"Water enough for both of us."
"But ain't you Jack Young?" The
eyes of the other opened half in joy and
half in pain. "There, I knowed you was.
And didn't 3^0 a save my hide a dozen times
from the Vigilantes, and wasn't it you
that I done on that mine deal ?"
"Never mind,* Lou ; that's ancient his-
tory, and it wasn't all your fault. Lou, we
will call it square," and as he tried to
offer his hand, he sank 'back again into
a swoon.
Lou Tobin stood for a moment looking
OVERLAND MONTHLY.
upon the man. "I reckon that will be
quite a bit of a pull," he muttered, glanc-
ing at the sun. "But, Jack, I played you
dirt once when you did the square thing,"
and he was silent again, the scenes and
days of other years crowding fast upon
him.
The sun ? s rays beat down with all the
intensity of their force when Tobin gath-
ered the mere shadow of a man in his
arms and started at a brisk pace across
the desert in the direction of the sunset.
Hardened as he was to the toil and the
heat, yet the burden caused the sweat to
fall in great drops from his face and hair.
Now he would fix his eye upon some dis-
tant knoll, and then with unceasing effort,
he made the summit and again his eye
caught upon a sand hill, but he never-
allowed it to survey the valley between.
His feet became hot and swollen and he
tried to spit, but it was a failure and he
smiled. "I reckon this would make a
pretty decent grave yard for Jack and
me/ the man remarked aloud. "We lost
our grub stakes here and I ain't been do-
ing much more since then, but losing
grub stakes." A snake rattled ominously
at his feet, but he passed over it, not
thinking. On, on he traveled until his
arms became cramped and he had to pause
in his way. Depositing the body care-
fully upon the ground, he took oft' his
hat and mopped the flowing sweat from
his brow.
The sun was still to live some minutes
but it was the great pile of black clouds
in the east upon which Tobin riveted his
gaze, and he yelled in sheer delight, but
the cry was strangely muffled and weak.
"Bain, damn you, Jack, it's rain; do
you hear?" but the man heard nothing,
and Tobin looked down again. "I'm a
fool, Jack; ma}^be it's rain and maybe it
ain't," and he raised the body from the
earth, but the burden seemed twice its
former weight. A mysterious haze cov-
ered the landscape, while the eastern heav-
ens were a mass of dark and rolling clouds.
Two coyotes followed at a safe distance
behind the wanderers, and like shadows
stopped when they paused and went on
again when they continued.
ff You ain't got no soft feet to deal with
here, you cyoteroes. Git out, both of
you," *and Tobin hurled a handful of
gravel toward them, and laughed to him-
self when it fell only a few feet from
him.
"I reckon we better wait right here for
that rain, Jack. I might make it alone;
but I don't believe I would find you here
on the way back. I reckon we better wait
for the rain," and taking a piece of bread
from his pocket, he ground it into pow-
der and poured it into the mouth of the
man.
The haze had grown thicker, and the
sun had dipped out of sight behind the
hills. A small pack of coyotes squatted
on their haunches back under the heavy
clouds. The heat was most oppressive,
and the plainsman's arms were strangely
stiff and sore while his tongue was grow-
ing parched and dry.
Suddenly the black pall was rent
asunder by a great blaze of light, and a
deep peal of thunder rolled over the soli-
tude.
"It's coming, Jack, old pard, it's coin-
ing," and he turned the man over that his
face might receive the first drops. Then,
rising to his feet, he lifted his hands in
silent supplication to the great storm.
He could see the rain falling in torrents
above him, and there just out of reach it
wasted away in vapor. His brain was
muddled and confused. He rushed to a
little rise in the land, and there, too, the
rain seemed only a few feet away, but
never reached the earth.
"'Damn it all, can't you see that we're
dying," cried the man, again raising his
hands toward the tantalizing clouds that
rolled on and on until at last they passed
down beyond the western horizon, and
the calm twilight, horrible in its very
serenity, rested upon the earth. Without
a word, Tobin turned back to his friend,
and with difficulty raising him in his
arms, he struggled on. He shook his head
violently when an unnatural darkness fell
before his eyes, and once he paused and
gazed intently upon the sand at his feet.
He sank to his knees. Yes, there rain had
fallen, a scanty bit indeed, but rain had
fallen there.
A new life thrilled him as he struggled
on, and the sand began to show signs more
and more of having been moist. His head
was bent to the ground, his arms were
shaking violently, when of a sudden and
without realizing it, he came to a hill-
top. There in a basin in the valley below,
DEATH VALLEY.
83
a pool of water lay, brightly sparkling un-
der the light of the moon that had now
risen. The heavy earth clung tenaciously
to his feet. Twice he fell and lay for a
moment,, pressing his lips to the damp
earth. He pointed to the water hole ahead.
"'Water, Jack, water. The old frog-hole;
you remember the old frog-hole, Jack,
where you held 'em off for me. Bemem-
ber the time, Jack?" and he patted the
breast of the man as it rose and fell like
a child's in sleep. "But never mind; I
almost fergot what we come after," and
he tried to rise to his feet, but the burden
was too heavy. Again he tried and the
struggle was continued. Once he stum-
bled on a cactus bush, and fell, the need-
les piercing his flesh.
The night was bright and sultry, even
for the valley. The pack of coyotes fol-
lowed noiselessly a few yards in the rear,
but Tobin saw nothing save the water,
which sometimes seemed only a few feet
away, then fully "a mile. He realized how
precious each moment was to him, but
try as he would, his stiffened joints re-
fused to obey him, and his arms seemed
to have been pulled from their sockets.
Suddenly, a dense darkness came over
him, and he fell to the earth. A huge
rattler passed over the prostrate bodies,
and Tobin watched it with a grin of ha-
tred. "We ain't good enough fer you, eh ?"
the man whispered huskily, "but we're too
good fer you, you sneakin' devils," and
he shook his fist at the pack of coyotes,
the silent spectators of many a tragedy in
Western life.
Again and again he tried to raise his
companion, and again and again he failed.
All at once his senses became most clear.
The moonlight bathing the landscape was
real, all that vast waste was to him as it
had been for years past, and there ahead
and swimming before his gaze, lay the
frog-hole.
He tried hard to get to his feet
but sank to the. ground with each effort.
At last he lifted the body to his back, and
started on all-fours ; a painfully slow jour-
ney to the hole. Unseen castus pierced
his hands, and one was so badly torn
that he wrapped his hat about it.
Foot by foot, yard by yard, he lessened
the distance to the water hole.
Again the deadly black was coming be-
fore his eyes, and his breath came hard.
He tried to raise a hand to his face. The
stars seemed shooting in fitful showers
about him, his brain became confused.
Then, with a shudder, he pitched forward,
forcing the body down upon the sand. The
coyotes cautiously approached, and there
about them set up a lonely howl that
shivered back and forth across that
mighty solitude.
BY ALOYSIUS COLL
Look on my studded bulk of steel,
The dent and painted scar!
Is this the drab intent of wrath,
The shadowy lust of war?
Nay, I am built for noble peace,
And kings have given me
A holy charge to guard and keep
The covenant of the sea !
Look to my tiers of mated guns
That gleam from deck and port!
Is this the challenge of the strong
To battle's deadly sport?
Nay, this is freedom's ponderous task
To train the bold and brave,
That love may bloom in every land,
And peace on every wave !
My voice a driven thunderbolt,
That tyranny may hear;
My glance the flash of lighted clouds.
That every foe may fear;
And every shell that blurs the targe,
A rainbow on the sea
That winds of blood shall break no more
Over the world, and me !
A threat in every port, a mute
Volcano in my keel,
A thousand leagues of surging foam
I fling my risk of steel:
Yet never a cannon lifts a toast
Of water from the barm
But drains a silent pledge of peace
To every gathering storm !
Latin and Hun, and Turk and Don,
Shall crowd the far-off strand,
And hear my thunders preach the price
Of war in every ]and
The blood of sons," the mothers' tears,
The woes that never cease
And, taught the awful scourge of war,
Will keep the gift of peace !
Presenting
July's
Actresses
and
Actors
:::
Miss Marlowe and Mr. Sothern in "Jeanne d'Arc" at the Lyric Theatre, Kew York.
Louis James as "Falstaff" in "The Merry Wives of Windsor." Hall, N. Y., Photo.
Aphie James, with Louis James.
Aphie James, with Louis James.
Geo. Parsons, in "Daughters of Men," at Astor Theatre, N. Y.
Photo by Kirkland Studio, Denver, Colo.
Charlotte Tittell.
BY M. GR1ER KIDDER
MAKKIAGE, without divorce, is
condition without the possibility
of change. I may want no change,
but if I do, I want to know just where to
lay my hands on it. As the Texan said of
the pistol: "I mout never want it, but ef
I do, I'll want it wus'n h 11." Tell-
ing my wife and me that we shall live to-
gether unhappily, is giving us hell to
guarantee us heaven. Marriage is a con-
tract, and until mortality puts on infalli-
bility, contract without reservation is
risky. I burn no bridge spanning a river
I can't swim.
I believe in the "sanctity of marriage"'
until it conflicts with the sanctity of com-
mon sense; and if my wife and I cannot
insure sanctification without a series of
mutual bickerings, we shall drop sanctifi-
cation for separation. Forbidding divorce
to the married who do not want to live
together is as absurd as forbidding mar-
riage to the unmarried who do. As to
the right of divorce impairing the respec-
tability of marriage, it is the only right
that marriage wants to perfect its respect-
ability. The old marriage was all rite
and no right.. A proclamation of eman-
cipation never hurt anybody.
The male sex is the oldest trust on earth
and woman has ever been its prey; but,
after all, slavery is more to blame for
tyranny than tyranny for slaverv. Arro-
gance rarely comes uninvited by humil-
ity; meekness is an eternal invitation to
insolence. Let the wife keep her individ-
uality, for as long as she knows that the
twain that became one can become twain
again, she will understand that "peace-
able secession" can do more to abolish
slavery than "war for the union."
Woman's body has been wrestling with
everything; her brain with nothing. She
proves her "domesticity" by the size of
her family; her "amiability" by her meek-
ness; her "masculinity" by talking sense;
her "unwomanliness" by "talking back";
the rudimentary state of her brain by her
inconsistency. Philosophy may be "ad-
versity's sweet milk," but the solace of
famininity is tongue. And after ten
thousand generations of tongue have sung
the lullaby of the female brain, who won-
ders that it sleeps? And, mark me,
woman will be a "grown child" until she
asserts her equality with him to whom she
has given life. Man's most difficult task
is bearing with her who has born him and
giving her a chance in the world into
which she has ushered him "with the
sweat of no vulgar agony and with groans
that cannot be uttered." He who stands
by her in that holy and fearful hour with-
out honoring the sex, good and bad, is
one "whom it would be base flattery to
call man."
Of course, woman's freedom will come
and be followed by a social reconstruction,
compared to which our political recon-
struction was a pleasant surprise. But we
shall have the destructive cause before the
reconstruction effect. In the dark days of
my childhood, "woman's rights" were
man's wrongs; no respectable woman
dared to seek refuge in divorce. Until
lately, I a.bhorred the thought of divorce
and woman suffrage, but I have changed
my mind. I may rechange it; there is no
telling anything about my mind except
knowing I mean what I say when I say
96
OVERLAND MONTHLY.
it. An opinion formed on impression
may justify a change, but when anchored
to conviction, nothing but mental weak-
ness condones variety.
Loveless marriage is a contract to peo-
ple penitentiaries ; an incubator for hatch-
ing idiots. There may be no marriage in
heaven, but there is heaven or hell in mar-
riage. I object to any union that counter-
feits that second place and raises the devil
and children together. A large number
of marriages are mistakes making more
mistakes. If you have been foolish enough
to make .a mistake, don't be too foolish io
remedy it. We hear that "divorce dis-
graces the children." Does parental squab-
bling confer especial honor on the off-
spring? anything particularly elevating in
one of these matrimonial duets whose re-
frain embraces evervthing from flattery to
flat iron? Wlhat do you expect when tyr-
anny beeets and hate conceives? As to
knowing each other before marriage, you
cannot do it; you must marry and pray
that the introduction be not too abrupt.
Experience is the only thing that
starves simpering sentiment and nourishes
common sense, courtship is intoxicate!
theory: marriage, sober practice. And
though the first introduces to the second *
only association breeds familiarity. Until
you serve an apprenticeship to the thing
itself, you are just so much theoretical
cross trying to usurp a practical crown. I.
should rather be chained to the devil's
grand -mother with a cold chisel in sight
than be united to an angel with no possi-
bility of release. Tying me is tiring me
unless I can shift my anchorage when the
spirit moves me. Better hell with a re-
turn ticket than heaven without a neces-
sary furlough. Whether this arises from
my contrariness or my love of variety, I
have not determined.
I do not want marriage to die out, but
I want several to die out before marriage.
Too manv marriages mean too many child-
ren; too many children, too many pau-
pers; too many paupers, everything bad. .
Divorce has its evils, but the evils of lib-
erty are evils trying to be blessings.
License is counterfeit liberty, overgrown
freedom, runaway rights, and breeds won-
drous wickedness. But when license
springs from liberty, that very liberty
has been wrung from slavery. To prevent
immoderate libertv, we must moderate re-
strictions; expansion is born of contrac-
tion; revolution is only evolution making
up lost time. If I have to halter my wife
to guarantee her domesticity, I shall let
her go. Now, along comes a certain
prominent man and charges the social
evil to divorce.
As long as a demand for anything ex-
ists, it will exist. We cannot cure this
thing, but we may, in a measure, prevent
it. But sentiment is no preventive; there
is no more romance in this curse than in
the poverty that causes it. The social
evil is one of the many children of desti-
tution; its mother, poverty; its father,
man. The "poverty, not the will, con-
sents."
If I were a woman, I should prefer one
divorced husband to ten children. Until
I kept house and did my own cooking, I
laughed at woman's trials. I thought
"woman's work is never done" because her
talk is not. 1 had a bed room and a kit-
chen, and the more I cleaned the more
they needed cleaning. "Good Lord," I
said to myself, "what a wise provision it
is that keeps an old bachelor from having
a baby !" Yet how many women cook for
a large family and keep a house and a
half dozen children clean. The majority
seem to think that as motherhood is sacred
a woman's sanctity increases with every
baby. Now, I don't think so; I think
feminine sanctity neither increases nor
decreases with children. I have given the
matter my prayerful attention, and I be-
lieve the old maid is just as abounding in
grace as the sister who has multiplied and
replenished. An abuse is dignified by age
and custom, two almost invincible allies.
Most folks think an abuse stands' be-
cause it deserves to stand; when, in fact,
it stands because they don't understand
it. True veneration halts short of vener-
able humbug. Conservatism as naturally
opposes the new as it revives the dying,
resurrects the dead and baptizes the still-
born; but there is little knee-crooking be-
fore the healthy recent.
Divorce is woman's new and only
friend ; the only thing that arrays itself
on her side without design on her pocket
or virtue. And she is beginning to see it.
Of course, when that idea gets fairly into
her head, it will feel mighty lonesome till
it breeds others. It won't take much
abuse to make the coming wife the going
THE LAIE OF THE BEAR.
J7
wife. She is going to belong to herself;
she is going to see that while motherhood
is pretty good evidence of womanhood, it
is not all the evidence.
Of course, the improved woman won't
be perfect; at least, I hope she won't; I
have no fear of the future letting loose
upon us a flock of wingless angels. But
I look for a marked change domestically,
socially and politically; I believe that
when woman has the power, she will im-
rrrove several things in her own precipi-
tate wav. There will be just as many
mean women, but fewer meaningless ones,
less sentiment, less nonsense, too. Of
course, for a time, she will abuse her new
liberty as much as she abuses spasmodic
liberty she now tastes so rarely. But her
arrogance will be only the temporary re-
action born of slavery. She will act like
all the newly emancipated, till familiarity
with freedom teaches her that doing every-
thing she pleases may become as irksome
as doing nothing she pleases.
As she now is, I should rather be ruled
by old Nick than by her. In the first
place, he is used to authority, and goes
only so far; then, from long association
with him, I understand him and can to
a certain extent anticipate his wishes. Be-
sides, as the negroes say of an indulgent
over-seer, "he gives me time to ketch my
breflV' But when a *woman starts to
drive. God pity the driven; be he man,
dry goods clerk or horse. My greatest
pleasure is serving a woman till she con-
founds 'civility with servility. Woman
has little sense of personal responsibility,
and what her mind finds to do she does
with all her tongue. This is because every-
body takes her side. Nobody blames a
woman for anything until some man ruins
her character; then she is said to "have
encouraged him/' Her every fault is the
natural and necessary result of her out-
rageous treatment; her virtue, a sweet
flower that blooms in spite of it.
As to honesty, she is, when dishonest,
negatively so; man, when dishonest, is
positively so. Her dishonesty lies in keep-
ing; his in taking. Where one woman
cashier purloins money, fifty men cashiers
do. But a contract signed by a- woman is
prone to sink to the dignity of waste
paper. As she is in business, so she is in
love. I have tried her in both. She never
approaches a conclusion gradually; in-
variably jumps at it, and he who would
argue her out of an "impression" has
more time than judgment. Her convic-
tion does not depend on the logic offered,
but on the receptivity of her mind, in
love she must be carried by assault, "flags
flying and drums beating." Think of ar-
guing an indifferent woman into matri-
mony; reason has no more place in love
than mathematics have in romance. Do
. I know that to be a fact ? I should
smile! I have always attributed my sin-
gle state to the profundity of my logic.
Her mind is all anchor; her imagination
all sail, and the mental pap that nourishes
the infant sustains its mother. Her brain
has been digesting- trifles so Ion"- that a
sound idea gives its owner intellectual
dyspepsia. Her mental gastric juice is
like man's- moral gastric juice somewhat
diluted.
No breathing thing lacks the tendency
to tyrannize. Strength abuses weakness
as naturally as rascality bunkoes foolish-
ness, and the temptation to sit down on
something soft is one of the cardinal char-
acteristics of human nature. W/oman will
.as certainly equal man mentally as she
now surpasses him morally. "Keep her
from liberty till she learns to govern her-
self" has ever been the slogan of tyrants,
the motto of masters.
Slavery as a preparation for liberty sug-
gests lying as a kindergarten for truth;
pocket-picking as a qnarantee of future
honesty. We Southerners claimed that
God started negro slavery, as a necessary
step toward the conversion of the negro.
And the result? Nine hundred and ninety
negroes in a thousand will steal and all
the black women have the morals of white
men.
Mfin is divided into the caught, un-
caught and afraid-of -being-caught, and
when vou hear one of these bepanted ves-
tals hurrahing for his moral reputation,
attribute it to "good luck rather than to
good company." I do not claim that a
man may not be morally pure and alive
at the same time, but what is the use of be-
ing anything good if you can't make folks
believe you are it? Woman's safeguards
are her natural purity, her training, and
the merciless penalty following her trans-
gression. That divorce imperils these
safeguards, I most emphatically deny.
Simple separation, on the contrary, with
98
OVEBLAND MONTHLY.
no marriage in view,, I hold to be different.
The isolated wife occupies a position pe-
culiarly conducive to temptation. Driven
from one home and forbidden another,
she is a social exile, a domestic queen
without a kingdom.
'Tis to such as this that desperation,
that fierce consoler of the friendless, ap-
peals. I may be short on grace and some-
what deficient in reverence, but I hold that
a divorced person, by marrying again,
evinces a desire to profit by experience.
That good children may come from dis-
cordant parents I admit; heredity is not
.infallible ; the son of a cat may not catch
a mouse. I presume a prize puppy may be
bred from two mad dogs. But when such
takes place, I charge it to reversion,
rather than to immediate descent.
As to divorce tending toward free love,
you might as well charge infanticide to
marriage. The anti-divorce advocate
looks upon a fractured marriage as just
so much negative adultery ready to as-
sume the positive phase. I remember when
divorce was considered by everybody, but
the divorced as a disgrace. In those
days, the married quarreled until death
did them part; whom God joined together
the devil himself couldn't separate. Yet
I don't 'believe that the old folks were bet-
ter than we. Coerced love is half sister
to hate, and if perfect freedom is not the
essence of affection, I am greatly in error.
Two people living together because they
have to are hardly an improvement on
two who won't live together because they
don't want to.
Divorce laws can't warrant morality
any more than religious persecution can
guarantee religious unity.
Thousands would to-day be good hus-
bands and wives if they had remedied un-
happy marriage with divorce and re-
marriage. Is marriage so sacred that the
correction of its blunders is a sacrilege?
Should any contract be aught but a rope
of sand whose stipulations are adverse to
the happiness of the contractors? In my
judgment, happiness is the only aim, and
only what conduces to it is sacred. Wherein
lies the reason in legislating two people
endowed with cat and dog proclivities into
lasting matrimonial "bliss?" Marriage
should collapse with the love that sug-
gested it. It may have its trials, but it
should not be a trial. Think of a couple
priding themselves on their fortitude in
enduring forty years of married hell with
the divorce heaven in sight, with its offer :
"Come unto me, ye who do labor, and are
heavy laden, and I will give you rest !"
Please Mention Overland Monthly in Writing Advertisers.
USE
PEARS
SOAP
Pears' Soap is good for boys and everyoneIt
removes the dirt, but not the cuticle Pears'
keeps the skin soft and prevents the roughness
often caused by wind and weather constant
use proves it " Matchless for the complexion"
OF ALL SCENTED SOAPS PEARS' OTTO OF. ROSE IS THE BEST.
l rights secured. "
Please Mention Overland Monthly in Writing Advertisers.
Delicate Women -Delicate Laces
-BOTH need PEARLINE'S help.
LACES-because PEARL1NE cleanses
SAFELY-QUICKLY- Without Rubbing,
WOMEN-because PEARL-IN E makes coarse'
] things Easily washed by Delicate women and
j Delicate things Safely washed by Strong women.
i Ask your Brightest neighbor what Washing Powder
!she uses. Bright? one of the Millions of users of 1
iPearline.
Delicacy Demands Fkarline
I
HAVE unrivalled camping grounds, in
redwood groves, for sale.
HAVE lots for residence purposes, in
ideal suburban Marin County loca-
cations.
HAVE a large residence in the city
of Alameda, for sale or rent,, 18
rooms, suitable for residence, hos-
pital or sanatorium. Modern in
every respect,, easy of access, large
grounds, with garage.
Box B, Overland Monthly Co.
Many Merchants
have our goods in stocK
but you may not readily
find them. Send order
to us, then you will re-
ceive the genuine
"Goodform" .equip-
ments through the lo-
cal merchant or from
us by prepaid express.
Sold singly or In sets.
TROUSERS HANGERS GOODFORM
FLEXIBLE CLAMP FITS THICK OR THIN,
N0.32
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COAT HANGER
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Get the Genuine "Goodform"
Constructed for you to give order, capacity and convenience to the
over- crowded closet. How have you done without this so long?
"Goodform" Set for Men.
$4.50, Delivered.
6 Coat Hangers, No. 21, adjustable
6 Trousers Hangers, No. 41, cloth
lined.
1 each Shelf Bar and Door Loop
1 Shoe Rail, No. 27.
"Goodform" Set for Ladles.
$3.00, Delivered.
6 Coat Hangers, No. 21, adjustable
6 Skirt Hangers, adjustable.
1 each Shelf Bar and Door Loop.
1 Shoe Rail, No. 27.
Each set in separate box. Sample skirt hanger by mail, 15 cents.
Good garments need good care or money is lost. The new skirt is
held in form by our method. Shoulders of coats are reformed every
time they are hung up. Trousers are creased just right.
"This closet is twice as big now."
Booklet FREE. Merchants keep the goods. Ask for "Good-
form" and be sure you get it.
CHICAGO FORM COMPANY,
761 Garden City Block
Chicajjo, U. S. A
OOOOFORM SHOE RAIL N0.27
PATENT PENDING
Please Mention Overland Monthly In Writing Advertisers.
xl
Soups
Stews and
Hashes
See that Lea C& Perrins' sig-
nature is on wrapper and label.
are given just
that "finish-
ing touch"
which makes
a dish perfect, by using
Lea &. Perrins' Sauce
THE ORIGINAL WORCESTERSHIRE
It is a perfect seasoning for all kinds of Fish, Meats, Game, Salads,
Cheese, and Chafing-Dish Cooking. It gives appetiz-
ing relish to an otherwise insipid dish.
John Duncan's Sons, Agents, New York.
BEWARE OF IMITATIONS
LA DAMASK.
[Liquid Rouge. J
Ask Your Druggist.
Price, 25 cents.
Esthetic Chemical Co.
New York.
IRVING INSTITUTE
2126-2128 California Street, San Francisco
Boarding and Day School for Girls
CONSERVATORY OF MUSIC, LANGUAGES,
ART, ELOCUTION. ACCREDITED.
Telephone West 844
ENAMELS
Oak, Cherry, Mahogany, Walnut,
Rosewood or Transparent
FOB OLD OR NEW FLOORS, FURNITURE AND|WOODWORK
Wears like Cement Dries over night with Brilliant Gloss. Contains no
Japan or Shellac. Write at once for Free Booklet, Color Card and List of
Dealers. TRIAL CAN FREE [send lOc to pay postage]. Enough for a Chair,
Table or Kitchen Cabinet. ADDRESS: "FLOOR-SHINK" CO., 1ST. LOUIS. MO.
Sold by Hale Bros., Agents, San Francisco
and A. Hamburger Sons, Los Angeles
If you are a dealer write for the Agency
THE HAMLIN SCHOOL AND VAN NESS SEMINARY
2230 Pacific Ave.
For particulars address
cTWISS SARAH D. HAMLIN
2230 Pacific Avenue,
San Francisco Telephone West 546
The Fall term will open August 12, 1907.
What, School?
WE CAN HELP YOU DECIDE
Catalogues and reliable information concerning all
schools and colleges furnished without charge. State
kind of school, address:
American School and College Agency
384,41 Park Row, New York, or 384, 3I5 Dearborn St., Chicago
I HAVE been reading the "Keminis-
cences of a Sportsman/' by J. Par-
ker Whitney, and I have enjoyed the
book, for it is more entertaining than its
title would indicate. It is a large volume,
printed in clear type, and written in ex-
cellent English. Mr. Whitney is more
than a sportsman. He becomes at times
a philosopher and an historian of no mean
merit. The book possesses the additional
advantage over books by sportsmen- and
others who write "nature" studies because
it is written in the language of a man
who does not write of any period or of
-any event of which he personally has no
knowledge. You cannot help feeling that
everything that Mr. Parker has written is
truth, and because of this, some of the
episodes that are detailed in this volume,
and which might be garnished with much
sensationalism by a less careful or con-
scientious writer, possess a remarkable
charm in the reading.
Mr. Whitney's experience has ranged
through far territories, and beginning at
a time when little or nothing was known
of the country and up to the present of
which we know so much, he has been a
leader of men and an observer of events.
Tales of these men and these events he
has reduced into a sort of autobiography
and this is the volume he has called
"Keminiscences of a Sportsman." I
should say that the book would form one
of an anthology of the West, and its de-
velopment, and while much that is there
written is of the sport of the wide out-
doors that much is merely a piquante
sauce to make the rest appetizing to ths
reader. T have read many books of travel
and have rarely, indeed, found a book
by any one afflicted with the ."wander-
lust" that has held my attention through-
out as did this volume.
Forest and Stream Publishing Co., IS 7 .
Y. 1906.
* * *
The Overland Monthly is in receipt of
the Annual Eeport of the Smithsonian In-
stitution for the year 1906. This volume
is simply an index to the work done by
the Institution during the year, and a
recapitulation of the additions made to
the U. S. National Museum. It is is-
sued bv the Government Printing Office.
The Treasury Department has just is-
sued the report of the Life Saving Ser-
vice for 1906. We find an extended re-
port of the work of the life saving crews,
located near San Francisco, during the
strenuous days of the great fire. There
were 425 days' succor afforded to an av-
erage of sixty-six persons a day at the
stations at Point Bonita, Fort Point,
Golden Gate and South-side. During the
nights of April 18th to 21st, there were
one hundred and fifty people sheltered
by Keeper Varney. From April 19th to
May 31st the station at the beach issued
some 30,000 rations for applicants for
food. The life saving crews mentioned
were of great service to the city during the
fire.
* * *
"The Great American Pie Company"
is one of those little skits, the product -f
a brilliant mind, dashed off in an idle
moment, and brimful of cutting sar-
casm, trenchant, quiet wit. Ellis Parker
Butler will be accused of having written
the story for the purpose of belittling
the methods of some of the very top-
heavy industrial concerns in the country,
in their attempt to "hog" everything that
there is around that is not nailed down.
It is true, the comical ending of the great
trust does not carry out this idea, but
it is full of fun and logic. It is a little
bit oi a book, printed in large type, and
containing only fourty-four pages, but :'t
is worthy of thoughtful consideration by
young and old. It is illustrated by pen
sketches, by Will Crawford, and is pub-
lished by McClure, Philips & Co.,
York.
Please Mention Overland Monthly in Writing Advertisers.
xl
The
"Strong and Steady
Always Ready"
Kind
A Summer's Pleasure
Almost any Family Can Afford
This applies to keeping the car without extrava-
I gance, as well as buying it. With a Cadillac
single cylinder car the whole family will do more
traveling than you could afford to do on a train,
more evenly distributed and with far greater
enjoyment. Always ready, stanch and reliable,
with the style and finish of the higher
priced cars.
The Cost of
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by 147 Affidavits
on file in oar office, runs from practically
nothing to as high as ten or twelve dollars a month,
bat averages less than $2.50 monthly, exclusive of tires.
The average gasoline consumption runs from 16 to 23 miles
per gallon or less than Ji of a cent per mile for each passenger.
These 147 are owners of single cylinder Cadillacs in
| almost every state in the Union.
These cars either touring or runabout are the greatest
'combination of economy and efficiency in the world. They
truly afford ail there is in motoring except the troubles.
Dealers are always glad to demonstrate. Fully described
and illustrated in Catalogue "MX," mailed on receipt of
-equ:-st.
CADILLAC MOTOR CAR CO., Detroit, Mich. **
MODEL K
Mrs. Helen Freese
For many years with the S. & G. Gump Co..
has opened at 947-949 Van Ness avenue, an
establishment which will be known as the
finest Art Galleries in this section. The same
attention given to her patrons and the public
in general in the past will be a feature of the
New Art Establishment, which is now open
for exhibition and public view.
The new firm are direct importers of Original
Oil Paintings, Water Colors, Old Prints, Mar-
ble and Bronze Statuary, Objects of Art, odd,
quaint and beautiful things not to be found in
any other establishment.
A cordial invitation is extended to the public
to call. A feature of this business will be the
taking of import orders for any Works of Art,
Rugs, Furniture, Draperies or appointments.
Resident representatives in New York, London,
Paris, Vienna, Berlin, Florence, Naples, Con-
stantinople.
Our buyer sails for Europe early in July, and
with a spirit of progressiveness which we pro-
pose to establish in this city, any of our clien-
tele who desire us to execute any "special com-
missions in the foreign markets, we will give
such orders our prompt and careful atten-
tion for holiday delivery.
Volz (SbFreese
947-949 Van Ness Avenue
READY FOR THE PRESS
CHICAGO CAVE DWELLERS
Not for Preachers
320 Pages, Cloth, CI.OO
POSTPAID Vl =
A Story of the Underworld
and the Overworld
By Parker H. Sercombe,
Editor To-Morroiv
Magazine^ Chicago.
Only a limited edition of
this remarkable book will be
printed. Each copy will be
signed by Sercombe Him-
self and automatically num-
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orders in will get the low
numbers in rotation except
No. 1, which goes to Mrs.
Sercombe.
Address
TO-MORROW MAGAZINE,
For the Superman and Super woman and The New Civilization,
2238 Calumet Ave., Chicago, III.
10 CENTS THE COPY. $i A YEAR, i
In "Shakespeare, England's Ulysses/'
"The Masque of Love's Labor Won, or
The Enacted Will/' Latham Davis has
given the world a wonderful book of the
works of William Shakespeare, Henry
Willobie, Eobert Chester, and Ignoto, all
of these being aliases for the second Earl
of Essex, Eobert Devereux. The author
wastes no time in useless argument, but
presents his case by the introduction of a
vast amount of documentary evidence. A
careful reading of the works presented
disturbs all faith in the authorship of
the poems and plays by the player, Will
Shakespeare or of any of the other au-
thors advanced by the cryptogramic evi-
dence of Donneley, or of any of those
others who believe that Bacon was the
author of the immortal bard's works.
This book offers more food for thought to
the investigator than any of the many
other volumes published on the "mys-
teries of William Shakespeare," and comes
nearer to convincing the sceptic that, at
last, an author capable of upholding the
dignity of his own reputation has been
found for Shakespeare's plays.
Throughout the book the minor chord,
the clandestine loves of Elizabeth, runs
alluringly, elusively along, and spurs the
reader to a quest after a storv that is lit-
tle more than hinted at by the compiler.
No Shakespearean library is complete
without this remarkable book, and no
student of English literature may count
his education complete without having a
full knowledge of the contents.
G. E. Stechert & Co., N. Y.
tuberculosis, has written a very interest-
ing book on the subject. He has called it
"The Labyrinthine Life." He says truly
that "the white plague, tuberculosis, has
invaded everv family of this country," and
his theme is the exposition of the life
of the camp in the desert. He advocates
a Government camp for the cure of the
dread disease. He says in his preface
that he wants the co-operation of the
newspapers in the work, and adds:
"'Considered solelv from the economic
standpoint, such a project as above out-
lined would pay handsomely. Under
favoring conditions, such as could .e
brought about in a Government camp, a
patient in the earlier stages could be cured
at a cost of, say, $400. If left to himself,
that patient would require at least $300
from some quarter before he died, losing
at least $2 per day because of loss of
work besides. A lar^e proportion of the
cases are voung men under thirty. Such
a man if restored to health should be able
to make at least $1,000 a year for twenty
years ; not a bad return for an investment
of $400. It is safe to say that he would
pay back in taxes far more than this dur-
ir- his subsequent life."
B. W. Dodge & Co., New York.
* * *
* * *
"The Shameless Diary of an Explorer''
is an unusual book, dealing mainly with
an account of the recent ascent of Mount
McKinley, and it may be called a fairly
spirited account and an absolutely frank
record of the happenings of the journey.
Nature books and books of travel are, PS
a rule, written from, the vantage ground of
a cozy seat in some comfortable library.
The spirit of the "trail" may be found in
Mr. Robert Dunn's new book. It is pro-
fusely illustrated with splendid photo-
graphs taken by the author. There is a
good map of the Mount McKinley country
as well as a sketch map showing the route
traveled from the coast.
Outing Publishing Company, N. Y.
* * *
George Alexander Fisher, who is a stu-
dent of the question of the eradication of
Paul Elder & Company have just pub-
lished a volume by Stanton Davis Kirk-
ham, author of "Where Dwells the Soul
Serene," and "As Nature Whispers." Mr.
Kirkham is a felicitous writer, and does
his work well as an apostle of optimism.
The author flings defiance to the super-
stitious by dividing the work into thir-
teen chapters. These are devoted to the
subjects of Beauty, Life, Religion, Phil-
osophy, The World-Message, The Heart of
It, The Tendency to Good, Work, Health,
Happiness, The Preacher, The Teacher,
The Poet. '
Mr. Kirkham's is a sweet philosophy,
and will appeal to young people who are
just stepping out into an untried world,
and to the old, who would desire to return
to the illusions of the age of adolescence.
It will come, this book, as a message to
all of the unattainable, the known, but
not the seen, the wished-for but the un-
experienced, and the world will certainly
be better for the uplifting courageous
prose-songs of this master optimist.
Paul Elder & Company, San Francisco
and New York.
Please Mention Overland Monthly in Writing Advertisers.
xv
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day every \x/ork day in the year. We are a money
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It's a dandy. Opens the tightest
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tight when hot. Pays for itself first
canning day. Sells at sight. Agents
make $1 .00 an hour. Sample post-
paid 60 cents. Money refunded.
Big Commission. Information and
circulars free.
The Selwell Company,
120 West Jackson Blvd., Chicago, 111.
A Skin of Beauty is a Joy Forever.
DR. T. FELIX GOURAUD'S
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and is so harm-
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to be sure it is
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Accept no coun-
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name. Dr. L. A.
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lady of the haut-
ton (a patient) :
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'Gouraud's Cream ' as the least harmful of all
the skin preparations."
For sale by all Druggists and Fancy Goods
Dealers in the United States, Canada and Eu-
rope.
Gouraud's Oriental Toilet Powder
An ideal antiseptic toilet powder for infants
and adults. Exquisitely perfumed. Relieves
skin irritation, cures sunburn and renders an
excellent complexion.
Price, 25 cents per box by mail.
GOURAUD'S POUDRE SUBTILE removes
superfluous hair without injury to the skin.
Price, $1.00 per bottle by mail.
FERD T. HOPKINS, Prop'r, 37 Great Jones St.
New York.
Bekins
Von and
Storage
968 Broadway, Oakland
Household goods shipped to and
from the East and South at
reduced rates.
SAN FRANCISCO
LOS ANGELES CHICAGO
Continental Building and Loan Association
of California
ESTABLISHED 1 1 889
Subscribed Capital . . .... $15,OOO,OOO
Paid-in Capital ...... . 3,OOO,OOO
Profit and Reserve Fund ...... 45O,OOO
Monthly Income, over _ " . . . . . . 2OO,OOO
ITS PURPOSE IS
To help its members to build homes, also to make loans on improved property", the members giv-
ing first liens on real estate as security. To help its stockholders to earn from 8 to 12 per cent per
annum on their stock, and to allow them to open deposit accounts bearing interest at the rate of
5 per cent per annum.
Church near Market St. San Francisco.
George Sylvester Viereck, author of
Nineveh and Other Poems, was born in
Munich, December 31, 1884. His father,
Louis Viereck, for years a prominent
member of the German Reichstag, came
to America about ten years ago as the
New York correspondent of a Berlin
newspaper, and is now the publisher of a
]^ew York German monthly, "Der
Deutsche Vorkampfer." His mother,
Laura Viereck, is a native of California,
and her husband's first cousin.
Coming to America at the age of twelve
Viereck attended the New York public
schools and graduated in 1906 from the
College of the City of New York. In
July following <he joined the staff.' of
"Current Literature," under Edward
Jewitt Wheeler, and is now associate edi-
tor, conducting the dramatic department.
He began to write for newspapers in
German at the age of thirteen, and has
contributed a great deal of prose, verse
and fiction to the New York Staats Zei-
tung," as well as to the Berlin papers. He
continued writing in German until three
years ago, when he definitely adopted the
English language. He collected his
German poems in 1904 and published
them under the title of "Gedichte." The
edition was a very small one, and had
little sale, but it instantly made him cele-
brated. His genius was recognized at
once throughout Germany, and to a less
extent America, and he became the sub-
ject of many articles in reviews and criti-
cal journals on both sides of the sea. He
began to receive personal letters from men
of celebrity, finding himself within a few
months after the book's publication, in
correspondence with a growing circle of
rare minds.
Wdthin a few months after the book's
publication, the celebrated house of Cotta
at Stuttgart, the publishers of Goethe
and Schiller, expressed an interest in the
young poet, and Ludwig Fulda took the
manuscript to Germany to show it to
them, the result being their publication
of a larger work, made up of the original
book, with many newer ^oems. This ap-
peared at the end of 1906, under the title
of "Nineveh und Andere Gedichte," Mof-
fat, Yard & Company, of New York, at
the same time having in preparation the
English edition, with the further addition
of poems written originallv in English for
American magazines. The first American
magazine, by the way, to publish a poem
by Mr. Viereck was the Century.
In the autumn of 1906, Mr. Viereck
published a small volume of plays entitbci
"A Game at Love," and there will appear
in the late autumn a psychological ro-
mance of a very unusual kind and qual-
ity. All his books will be published siin-
ultaLeouslv in English and German.
Nineveh and Other Poems bears the im-
print of Moffat, Yard & Co., New York.
* * *
One of the most useful of the Govern-
ment books issued this year is the Official
Congressional Directory. This book con-
tains an infinitely large amount of de-
tailed information of value to the general
public. There is no branch of our Gov-
ernment upon which it has no knowledge
to impart. In its pages may be found a
biographical sketch of every Congressman
of the 59th Congress, 2d Session, as well
as a similar list of the Senators. There is
a complete directory of the Federal Judi-
ciary, and a list of every foreign represen-
tative and attache.
* * *
Another very valuable volume has
reached the reviewer's desk in the shape
of the special reports of the Census Bu-
reau, issued by the Department of Com-
merce and Labor. These treat of "Wealth,
Debt and Taxation." It is hereby sug-
gested that no student of sociology and
practical science of politics has his ii-
brary complete without a copy of this ex-
haustive statistical treatise on, or com-
pendium of, our laws. This is a large
volume of 1234 pages.
* * *
"Prisoners of the Temple" is a path-
etic story of the children of the unfortun-
ate Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette of
France. It is to be translated into French
by the student in -that tongue, and notes
and a vocabulary are given to facilitate
such translating work. It will be an ex-
ceedingly interesting effort to the pupil,
and valuable.
Arranged by H. A. Guerber, Boston;
Published by D. C. Heath & Co.
DIVIDEND NOTICE.
The Continental Building and Loan Association.
The Continental Building and Loan Association,
Market and Church streets, San Francisco, Cal.,
has declared for the six months ending June 30,
1907, a dividend of four per cent per annum on or-
dinary deposits and six per cent on term deposits.
Interest on deposits payable on and after July 1st.
Interest on ordinary deposits not called for will be
added to the principal and thereafter bear interest
at the same rate.
WASHINGTON DODGE, President.
WILLIAM CORBIN, Secretary.
Please Mention Overland Monthly In Writing Advertisers.
xvii
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TO
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DIRECT
S. S. INDIANA
3335 Tons - - Graham, Master
FIRST SAILING FROM SAN FRANCISCO, MAY 28, 1907
four round trips direct during the
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postpaid.
Paper folding Boxes and Waterproof Signs a
specialty Write us for prices.
R. LINDLEY PAPER BOX CO. LOUISVILLE, KY.
To Cure All Skin Diseases* Ds.e
. T. Felix Goviraud's Oriental
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The
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The watch by which the
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Used by men of action
women of initiative people
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ELGIN NATIONAL WATCH CO.,
Elgin, 111.
The Garden Book of California is one
of those indispensable books to the dweller
in the country or the city who is a lover
of the beautiful, of flowers, and, in fact,
of nature in any guise. Belle Sumner
Angier tells us many things that we know
already, but she puts them in such a forn
as to make them attractive to the most
calloused individual. The illustrations of
this book are well selected to fit the text,
and are most exquisitely printed on lipMt
buff paper. The text is clear and large,
and the language is simple and to the
point. This book is an ornament to any
librarv. and a most useful household ne-
cessity.
Paul Elder & Company, San Francisco
and New York.
* * *
Eobert Luce's "Writing for the Press/'
the eleventh thousandth of the fifth edi-
tion, is a handy book for the beginner or
for the writer who has not gained his
knowledge through the hard experience rf
actual work. It is just what* its name
implies, and is an invaluable aid to the
newspaper man, the would-be author or
the advertiser. It was originally written
many years ago when Eobert Luce was
on the editorial staff of the Boston Globe.
It was meant to get better work from re-
porters or correspondents, and to save
time all along the line. The book has
grown with the varied experiences of th?3
author as newspaperman, editor, pub-
lisher, business man and legislator. It
is now seven times as large as at the
start.
Clipping Bureau Press, Boston, 1907.
* * *
Those that love the great outdoors, with
a healthy, every-day practical love, cann it
help but appreciate the book that Ernest
McGaffey has just given to the reading
world. It is appropriately called "Out-
doors," with a sub-title of "A Book of the
.Woods, Fields and Marshlands." There
are several chapters on fishing, and some
few on hunting, one or two of simple de-
scription, and all of them redolent .'f
woods, marshland, fields and lakes. Mr.
McGaffey is unusually happy in his
phraseology, sometimes reminding one \t*
Thoreau. No follower of Isaak Walton,
no disciple of Nimrod, can afford to pass
by this book of real experiences without
stopping to investigate its fine claim to
recognition as an authority.
Charles Scribner's Sons. New York.
* * *
"The Wonders of the Colorado Desert,"
by George Wharton James, easily over-
shadows all other volumes published on
this entrancing subject in point of va*t
research and as regards illustrations and
text. Mr. James has given us a text book
on the great American desert that is 3
interesting as a great story, an epic de-
scription of an extraordinary age or as of
some poem of the sagas of the Northland.
He takes you along step by step, and be-
fore you have gone far, you, too, are
chasing the mirage of the Southwest, or
studying at close hand the sensations and
emotions of the desert chucka walla. M,'.
James, in these two volumes, has not only
given us a truthful description of the
desert and its people, but has told of all
the natural phenomena, its flowers, its
cactus growths and the story of every lit-
tle living thing that grows or crawls in
the arid immensities of God's forgotten
land. Fakers like Lummis will strive to
tell you of the desert, but these men are
not students.' James towers head and
shoulders above the crowd of the dilet-
tanti that have attempted to paint the
glorious colors of the Colorado, or the
grandeurs of the Grand Canyon. Mon-
sen knows the desert, but he is no such
historian as George Wharton James.
There is a woman prose-poet in Los An-
geles, named Strobridge, who knows the
unfathomable mysteries of the land of al-
kali stretches, but she, too, is no student.
She is a mere writer, recording in fitting-
ly weird language the sensations she and
others have felt, when confronted by the
"I forbid" of Death Valley. George
Wharton James has stopped at no such
denial, and his knowledge of the de.id
land where so much there is that lives is
as sentient as life itself. He ha .3 fathomed
the unknowable of the illimitable hori-
zons of sand and sage brush.
Little, Brown & Co., Boston.
Please Mention Overland Monthly In Writing Advertisers.
xix
Save $50 t,o $100
<m Your Piano
By Taking Advantage of Our Special Intro-
ductory Offer
It will surely pay you to get full particu-
lars of our Special Introductory Offer on
our high-grade Lagonda Pianos before you
decide upon your piano. We make a re-
markable offer because we want an enthu-
siastic friend in every city, town and hamlet
of this country one who knows and plays
the Lagonda Piano.
We sell on easy monthly payments, covering
one, two or three years' time, and take old in-
strument* in exchange, at* liberal valuation, as
part, payment*.
"MAXIMUM VALUE'
Unquestionably the best value on the mar-
ket for the money. It has the real musical
value, sweet, rich tone, that always gives
lasting satisfaction. The artistic designs,
beautiful finish, perfect m vhanical con-
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economical purchaser. Fully guaranteed.
We can sell our high-grade pianos at
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Write today for our Latest Introductory Offer and large illustrated
catalog. It will pay you. Send now while it's on your mind. Yes, a
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SPECIAL OFFER-- W e will mail you FREE a set ohhree
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THE LAGONDA PIANO CO.
22nd Street* and J Avenue, New Castle, Ind,
THERE ARE NONE!
UUST AS GOOD
When the dealer tells
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KREMENTZ
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contains more gold and will
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E,t)erybutton insured.
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B
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manufacturers of self-rising Boston
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FLOUR.
All Grocers
Allen's B, B, B, Flour Go,
Pacific Coast. Factory, San Jose, Cal.
--Eastern Factory- -
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WARWICK JAMES PRICE.
A bargain is often the euphemistic
spelling adopted by a careless spender to
name a silly purchase.
It would be a witty world if every one
could sav at the right moment the smart
things he thinks of later.
You don't mind the barking of your
neighbor's dog so much when you have a
well-loved puppy of your own.
A guest may carry away an umbrella
from your hall, not because he is a thief,
but because he recognizes it.
It is graceful, even chivalrous, to kiss
a lady's hand, but may not such a kiss
properly be sooken of as out of place?
Many a will contest ends in the success-
ful litigant building a cottage while his
lawyer builds a marble villa.
True consideration is that self-restraint
which enables a man to ignore the presence
of a pretty bride and her bridegroom.
If it be true that the average of honesty
among fat men is higher than among lean,
may it not be because the stout fellows
find it harder to stoop to low things?
Few men can be cheered from depres-
sion by a new tie or waistcoat, but there is
seldom a time when a woman cannot be
distinctly revived by some new and pretty
thing.
Words are misleading. An autoist may
be arrested for scorching, and yet be far
from warm, while it is no proof that a fel-
low is a business man merely because he
happens to be in business.
* * *
Matter of Funds.
Salesman Let me sell you this coat,
sir. Very becoming to one of your figure,
I assure you. Just sold one like it to a
short man. Only fifteen dollars!
Fuinches Well, it's evident that he
wasn't as short as I am. Show me a
cheaper one.
Overlooked the Greater Criminal.
D. w. F.
"I see that thev sentenced the fellow
who robbed the guests at that summer
hotel to five years in the pen."
"Yes and let the proprietor go Scott
free!"
* * *
What Pleased Her Best.
Fair Parishioner That was a lovely
sermon you gave us this morning, Mr.
Lengthly. The Rev. Lengthly (flattered)
Ah, I am glad to hear it, Mrs. C. And
what part of my discourse did you par-
ticularly enjoy?
Fair Parishioner Oh, the closing sen-
tence. I never was so glad to hear any-
thing in my life.
* * *
The Reason.
"So," growled the newly-married man,
"You call this angel-food;
I S'DOSC because who eats of it
Is changed to one for good !"
* * .-
Going Carnegie One Better.
Why give such credit to a man
Because he should elect to
Express a wish that he die poor?
The rest of us expect to!
* * *
Natural Result.
"When I described the case to him, and
asked him for ten dollars for the suffering
poor, he gave it to me, and showed great
feeling."
"No wonder ; most any man would show
feeling when touched for that amount!"
* * *
The Meanest Man.
"They tell me he has buried five wives,
and hasn't mit up a single tombstone yet."
"I hear that he's waiting for the present
incumbent to die, because he can get
monuments cheaper in lots of six !"
Please Mention Overland Monthly In Writing Advertisers.
Four Lots in
CAMP MEEKER
Picturesque Surroundings
For Sale at* a Sacrifice
$150.00 for the Four
Address D. P. Box 39, Over-
land Monthly Office
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_ R. P. HALL & CO., Nashua, N. H.
The Overland Monthly's Big Four
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SUBSCRIPTION OFFER (See Page xxvi.)
Overland Monthly
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THE OVERLAND MONTHLY COMPANY, Publishers
Offices 773 Market St., San Francisco.
xii Please Mention Overland Monthly in Writing Advertisers.
AUTOPIANO
The ideal
instrument
for the home
The Autopiano
Is the ideal instrument for the home where all the
members do not play for themselves. It can be played
by anyone, with the aid of music rolls and, best of all,
it can be played with feeling and with the most accur-
ate expression. People of the finest musical tastes
are realizing the boon that the Autopiano is in the
home or in the club.
The Autopiano
has been the means of stimulating a liking for the bet-
ter classes of music. It has appealed to grown people
who never expected to be able to play for themselves
just as it has been warmly accepted by young people
because it has been the means of producing every
class of composition without the labor of constant
study and practice.
The Autopiano
is not a combination of a piano and a player mechan-
ism. It is a single instrument built in one factory of
the finest materials and by the most expert workman-
ship. There is but one genuine Autopiano.
A postal addressed to "Advertising Department" secures a beautiful Art Catalogue
EILERS MUSIC COMPANY
Please Mention Overland Monthly in Writing Advertisers.
Why and Because
There is only one player piano in
the country to buy and that is the
Melville Clark Apollo Player Piano
Why? You Will Ask
There are several unanswerable reasons why, if you intend to have a player piano
in your home, you should have the MELVILLE CLARK APOLLO and no other.
Here are the Becauses
1. Because the Apollo has an 88-note range, which includes every key on the piano
key board. No other player piano in the world has more than 65-notes or 5 octaves.
2. Because it has the effective transposing mouthpiece, which prevents the
annoyance caused by the shrinking and swelling of the music rolls due to climatic
alterations, and that changes the key of any music to suit the voice or accompanying
instrument. No other player piano in the world possesses this feature, which repre-
sents fully 95 per cent, of player piano value.
3. Because it is operated by either air or spring motor, and is extremely sensitive
in its action. No other player equals it in this respect. The Apollo spring motor is
so strongly constructed that atmospheric conditions, no matter how severe, cannot
affect it in the slightest degree. This motor also obtains a perfectly even
distribution of force, which enables the performer to achieve the most artistic
effects. No other player piano in the world has a spring motor.
4. Because every one of the 88 pneumatic fingers of the Apollo player
piano strikes a key on the piano. No couplers are used. The orchestral tone
thus attained permits the performer to interpret, in an impressive manner,
the larger musical compositions, and to gain a mass of sensuous tone color
that adds greatly to their beauty.
5. Because the Apollo player piano with its remarkable range of 88 notes plays
the greatest musical compositions exactly as they were originally written, interpreting
them in their full beauty, and as they are played by the greatest pianists. These
noble masterpieces of musical art are rearranged or transposed for every other player
piano on the market, and the pristine beauty of the work is marred.
6. Because the Apollo player piano is practically five instruments in one. There
Is a scale with a range of 58 notes, one of 65 notes, one of 70 notes, one of 82 notes and
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to
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1 rawn by R. W. Boron*}
I9C
Overland Monthly
No. 2
AUGUST, 1907
Vol. L,
CONFESSIONS OF A STENOGRAPHER
BEING AN ANALYSIS OF THE GRAFT IN SAN
FRANCISCO AND THE UNDERLYING
CAUSES THAT LED TO IT
PHOTOGRAPHS BY GEORGE HALEY OF THE SAN FRANCISCO "CALL/'
DURING the days when Abe Ruef and Mayor Schmitz were carrying out their
systematic plan of extortion and 'bribe-taking, there was one man in San
Francisco who was intimately associated with the leading figures in the graft
scandal. This former confidante of Abe Ruef was able to perceive from the in-
side the real motives which actuated the Curly Boss and the Mayor as he climbed
to fame and opulence. The following story is the story of that man, told from a
close personal knowledge of the inner workings of the graft, and it is published
here because it best analyzes the downfall of once-respected American citizens,
and treats of their ruin from its most vital standpoint that of intense, absorbing
human interest. EDITOR.
THE story of the graft scandal in San
Francisco, so far as I have observed
it from the inside and intend to re-
late here, is different from that of
similar tales of graft in other cities of
the United States. The graft was not
the result of an organization which has
existed for practically no other purpose
for years, as is the case of Tammany Hall
in New York. It has not come from the
preponderance of one party in power for
many terms of office; nor even from the
indifference of the people to the dishonesty
of their rulers, as in Philadelphia.
The men who, representing the city ad-
ministration, are under indictment for
Langdon
Cobb
Ileney
Oliver
THE PROSECUTION.
grafting in San Francisco, did not intend
to be dishonest when they assumed office,
and strange as it may seem from first to
last 'from their advent to power to their
ruin, the results have been just the oppo-
site of what might be expected from the
underlying causes which produced and de-
termined them.
Before the first election of Schmitz, the
city had been, as is usual with municipali-
ties, under the control of the politicians,
the citizens taking but little interest in
politics which is also unfortunately
usual and the choice of Mayor had been
much a matter of which party proved the
more energetic and adroit at the polls in
its manipulation of the voters. Phelan
had been several times Mayor, and at one
time had been extremely popular, but
during his last administration a strike of
teamsters had broken out, and in the
handling of the difficulty, he had managed
to displease both sides, the Labor Union-
ists by protecting the "scab" drivers with
policemen, and the business men by not
suppressing the trouble with more force
and energy. As his administration drew
to an end, and the nominations for his
successor were in order, the Democrats
felt that there was no use in making a
fight, so they hunted up a young man,
who was willing to contribute handsome-
ly* to the campaign funds for the honor of
the nomination, and allowed the Republi-
cans to name a man who not only had no
personal popularity, but who it was gener-
ally believed would be a pliant tool in the
hands of those who controlled his nomina-
tion. Dissatisfaction was general and
widespread, and several of the Republi-
can papers openly supported the Demo-
cratic candidate.
The Labor Union, party had been or-
ganized as a result of the teamsters' strike,
but it was without leaders or influence or
political sagacity, and it may be added
that from the ranks of labor unionism
has never yet been evolved a leader. The
party was looking for a candidate for
Mayor, and had discussed a number of
possibilities, many of most radical char-
acter, including one Casey, who was the
CONFESSIONS OF A STENOGEAPHEE.
103
leader of the Teamsters' Union. At this
psychological moment, Abraham Euef
appeared upon the scene.
Abraham, or, as he is better known,
"Abe" Euef, is a native Californian, who
made one of the best, if not the best, rec-
ords of any graduate of the State Univer-
sity. He speaks fluently seven languages,
is well read, does not smoke, never drinks
to excess, and if he has had any scandals
with the other sex, they have never at-
tracted public attention. Pleasant of ad-
dress, kind and courteous in his manner,
he was popular even among those who
might have had any race prejudice
against him, though politically he was
looked upon solely as an astute district
leader, and was not classed with the inner
political circle which lunched at the Pal-
ace Hotel, and which pretended and to
a very large extent did to regulate San
Francisco politics. Euef saw that there
was a chance for success politically in the
conditions which prevailed in his native
city. If he could find a candidate who
would at once appeal to the labor union
enthusiasts and the disgruntled voters in
the community of the Democratic and Ee-
publican party, he might win the election
and control the politics of the city. Casey,
of course, was not such a candidate; he
was too radical, too coarse, the business
element would not vote for him; but there
was a well appearing musician at one of
the local theatres, a man who could make
a fair speech, who knew how to eat with
his fork, who had some idea of how to
dress, from having seen good dressers at
the theatre, who, with a little experience,
could be made to present a very decent de-
portment when called upon on public occa-
sions, and who was, with all that, per-
fectly willing to "take orders" and be-
longed to the Musicians' Union. It must
not be supposed that Euef thought of
Schmitz when he first began to look for
a candidate for Mayor. His attention was
accidentally attracted to the availability
of the Mayor for the place he has since
filled while watching Schmitz at his fiddle
during an entreact. Euef thought the
matter over, talked it over with others,
and finally suggested it to Schmitz. No
man was more surprised than the prospec-
tive candidate himself when the proposal
was first made to him, but Schmitz has
Fairall
Schmitz
Barrett
Drew Campbell
SCHMITZ SURROUNDED BY HIS ATTORNEYS DURING HIS TRIAL.
104
OVERLAND MONTHLY.
never lacked self-confidence, and he read-
ily accepted the honor, was nominated by
Euef and the campaign began.
The Labor Unionists were asked to sup-
port him, because he was a labor unionist,
and with all the enthusiasm of novices,
they not only pledged themselves to vote
for the ticket, but they turned in to elect
it to a man. Meantime, Schmitz went
about making speeches. They were all
revised for him by Euef, and were intend-
ed to accomplish exactly what they suc-
ceeded in doing pleasing both sides. The
business men were told that Schmitz was
oonscrvniivo, nnd that if there appeared
shrewdness by taking hold of the cam-
paign at exactly the right moment, and
had secured the support of the thousands
of voters who desired to down the bosses
and to give the city an administration free
from bossism and ring rule.
In view of what subsequently has hap-
pened, that, of course, may seem very re-
markable, but its peculiarity does not alter
the fact. Mayor Schmitz, recognizing
that to Ruef he owed his sudden promi-
nence, wrote him a letter which, if poor
politics, yet showed that he was able to
appreciate the help Ruef had given him.
and was grateful enough to pub! id y nr-
A WAITING THE VERDICT.
to be anything radical in what he said, it
was simply intended to catch votes, and
meant nothing. If the unionists objected
that the pledges were not radical enough,
they were told that they had purposely
been made mild, so as not to alarm the
business men, who were willing to support
the ticket. Thus Schmitz was chosen
Mayor the first time as a protest on the
part of many of his supporters against
bossism in their own parties, and as an
exponent of the new element in politics-
Labor Unionism. Ruef had shown his
knowledge his obligation, a virtue which
it is . doubtful if all his critics possess.
When Eugene Schmitz first took office
as Mayor of San Francisco, he had not the
slightest intention of doing anything dis-
honest, and it was his earnest desire to
give his native city the best administration
it had ever had. As for Ruef, he had been
actuated only by ambition, the ambition
his race has ever shown, to rule when
possible, and it was love of power and not
of dollars which actuated him in his coup.
He had not rime to fullv decide upon his
ABE RUEF.. THE NAPOLEON OF CRIME.
106
OVERLAND MONTHLY.
future during the progress of the cam-
paign, and his mind was entirely centered
on an effort to win. When the victory
was won, however, he found himself at
once a very important character. His of-
fice was thronged at all hours by the most
polyglot aggregation of place hunters that
ever assembled in a politician's anti-room.
He was flattered, praised, and pointed out
as the great man of the town. While he
absolutely controlled the labor union
party, Jie was too shrewd to resign from
his position as a member of the Republi-
can Central Committee, realizing that the
Labor Union party was merely local, and
that it was only valuable as a political as-
set to any man who could throw its votes
for either of the great parties. But the
flattery and applause did not come solely
from his international following of wage-
earners, and would-be office holders. He
at once strange as it may seem became
a great potentiality in the ranks of the
Republicans, and no one had more influ-
ence and power in their local councils than
he. Naturally, he bethought himself
whereby he could personally profit by all
this power and importance, and his eyes
at once rested upon a seat in the Senate,
which, considering his personal ability
and the men whom this State, as a rule,
has sent to represent her in the upper
chamber at Washington, was not an ex-
travagant ambition. More than that, one
of his race had been, was, in fact, at the
time, a Senator from Oregon, and that in-
creased his ambition and hopes. He took
for his model Hanna, and his intimates
so far as any one can be called an inti-
mate of Ruef will tell you that he con-
stantly alluded to the Ohio leader and ex-
pressed intense admiration for him.
The first administration of Schmitz,
therefore, started in under the most for-
tunate circumstances. Everything was be-
fore him, absolutely nothing politically be-
hind him. He had been elected really as
a reform Mayor, and had the confidence
of both the business classes and the labor
unions. Of it little need be said. It was
neither surprisingly good or strikingly
bad.
He undoubtedly prevented or adjusted
many labor troubles and strikes, and his
appointments would compare favorably
with those of his predecessors. His fail-
ures were not conspicuous, nor his admin-
istration corrupt. But with his new posi-
tion came quite a different point of view
of the world from that which he had had
from the orchestra box of the theatre.
People who would never have thought of
chumming or dining with a fiddler in an
orchestra, were delighted to be seen with
the Mayor, and of course, as the chief offi-
cial of the city, he was a guest of honor at
the banquets with which the city greeted
its distinguished visitors, from President
down. The fact, too, that he was "a labor
union" Mayor had attracted more than
the usual amount of attention to him all
over the country, and those who fancy that
every wage earner eats in his shirt sleeves
on all occasions, or that overalls are the
dress suits of unionism, were surprised,
and frankly said so, when they met him.
Schmitz made an excellent impression,
was popular with the notables whom he
met, and in that lies his undoing. Wlien
a man associates with railroad Presidents,
United States Senators and prominent
foreigners, he naturally desires to do what
he sees his companions doing. Schmitz
ceased to eat at "the creameries," and was
to be seen nightly with large and more or
. less distinguished parties at the most fash-
ionable restaurants. Poached eggs on
toast and a small steak disappeared before
pate-de-fois-gras and Welsh rarebits, and
when he traveled, he must needs stop at
the very best hotels, and have the very best
accommodations, such as his millionaire
friends, Harriman or Dingee, are sup-
posed to enjoy. But all these luxuries
take money, and even the six thousand
dollars of a Mayor of San Francisco were
not enough to "keep up the pace," and
therein lies the secret of the graft, of the
dishonesty, of the holding up of first this
and then that business or institution.
With Ruef the same causes produced the
same results, with the further fact that, of
course, he had a natural tendency to make
money, and had acquired several pieces of
property by more or less questionable
methods before he became the chaperon
of Schmitz, if rumor speak true. He
wanted to be a Senator, and Senators, he
knew, were generally men of means. So
far as the rabble was concerned that
yelped at his door and cheered his every
act, he despised them to a man, and looked
upon them as simply a means to an end.
Schmitz was in the same category with the
CONFESSIONS OF A STENOGRAPHER.
107
other office seekers. He was useful, noth-
ing more. When the Mayor talked of be-
coming a candidate for Governor, Ruef
discouraged him, and secretly made an al-
liance with a San Jose millionaire to
boom the. latter for the executive chair.
Ruef did not care so much for the display,
the intimate friendships with millionaires,
the social elevation as Schmitz. He
wanted money, and he wanted power, but
he did not care whether he dined with Mc-
Carthy or Herrin, with a labor leader or
a Southern Pacific official. His family
had no desire to lead the fashions, and
he would never have made the mistake of
occupying the bridal apartments at the
Waldorf "Hotel, or of going to Europe as
though he were a newly created Nevada
millionaire. He saw the folly of the pace
that Schmitz was setting ; he urged him
not to build his elaborate home, which
every one knew could not have been erect-
ed out of the proceeds of the Mayor's sal-
ary; he begged him not to make the ill-
advised trip to Europe, where Schmitz
went to receive the applause and lauda-
tion of crown heads, and with an insane
fancy that he would even dine with the
Kaiser before he returned home. Bu k
Ruef's wise advice was disregarded, and
the Mayor even accelerated his pace.
He had been twice re-elected Mayor
again, owing to other combinations of cir-
cumstances, the first re-election being due
to the unpopularity of his Republican op-
ponent on the one hand, and to the
treacherousness of the politicians who se-
'cretly formed an alliance with him and
threw down their own candidate in his
favor. As for the Dprnocrats, the} nomi-
nated a strong candidate Franklin K.
Lane, the present Interstate Commerce
Commissioner but his party proved even
more treacherous to him than the Repub-
licans were to their candidate, and hav-
ing refused to bear the yoke of the would-
be dictator of his party, he was "knifed"
so badly that he only carried one precinct
in the city. Two years later the opposi-
tion endeavored to unite, but jealousies
were allowed to prevail, and every leader
had his hand raised against his neighbor,
until finally an inconspicuous young man
was suggested as a candidate for Mayor,
and was, of course, defeated.
Thus, events and circumstances which
had absolutely nothing to do with Schmitz,
which were in no wise controlled by him,
and to which he contributed nothing, have
twice re-elected him Mayor. Foolishly he
arrogated bo himself the success which had
attended his candidacy, and with pride
coming before a fall, he has continued up-
on his course, until it has accomplished
his ruin.
The exposure of the graft in San Fran-
cisco politics is due to causes as far-re-
moved from those that led to the expo-
ures in St. Louis, Minneapolis and Phila-
delphia as the corruption there differed in
its characteristics from the graft in San
Francisco. In those cities, the exposures
came either on the initiative of some hon-
est official who was elected to office, as in
the case of Folk, who became the prose-
cuting attorney of St. Louis, or else
through the indignation and uprising of
the people as in the case of Philadelphia.
But in San Francisco neither motive pro-
duced the results that to-day attract the
attention of the world. No public official
undertook of his own initiative to begin
and carry on the investigation; neither
was there any public demand for anything
of the kind. If the people were being
robbed, they certainly did not complain,
and it is worthy of note that in San Fran-
cisco the usual means of graft, such as
street contracts, or public buildings, have
not figured in the illegal gains of Schmitz
and his fellow boodlers at all.
The initiative of the San Francisco in-
vestigation belongs to Rudolph Spreckels,
son of the Sugar King, and one of the
numerous millionaires of the city, who
was influenced by business reasons, and
who associated with himself several other
wealthy citizens in the subscription to a
large fund, which they raised for the pur-
pose of carrying on the exposure. It has
been the policy of the Spreckels family for
many years in fact, they have made most
of their money by the method to take
up some public enterprise, associate them-
selves with it, under the plea that they
were helping the public, and then at the
proper time to drop out, always with a
handsome profit to the good side of their
bank account. In that way, they years
ago built a sugar refinery in Philadelphia,
which they subsequently sold to the sugar
trust, with an agreement that the trust
would not interfere with their trade on
this coast.
MAYOR SCHM1TZ, FOUND GUILTY OF EXTORTION.
CONFESSIONS OF A STENOGRAPHER
10!)
Later they took advantage of public in-
dignation against demands and extortions
of the Southern Pacific, and started a com-
pany to build a railroad down the San
Joaquin Valley, which it was pledged
would be a competing line for the farmers
of that valley, though, as usual, it was sold
years ago at a profit to the Spreckels, to
the Santa Fe. Again a competing electric
light company was formed, and in due
time sold out, and still later, even to-day,
there is much gossip about their manipu-
lation of the Oceanic Steamship Company
which has gone almost into bankruptcy,
its shares falling from a handsome figure
to almost nothing.
Just before the earthquake of a year
ago, the Spreckels Rudolph in 'particular
had organized a street car company,
which was to have put an underground
trolley system on several .of the streets of
the city, and which would have been quite
a rival to the present 'United Railroads,
until it followed the usual route of the
Spreckels companies, as outlined above.
But the earthquake came, and the com-
pany never completed its organization.
The United Railroads had been busy fight-
ing for a franchise to turn most of their
cable lines into trolley systems at the time
of the great disaster, and the Spreckelses
were among the most active opponents of
the measure. After the fire, however, the
United Railroads secured their franchise,
and of course that very seriously impaired
the value of the proposed Spreckels road.
Just at this point Mr. Spreckels suddenly
announced that he would guarantee a
fund of $100,000 to prosecute the city
boodlers. The money was raised, and the
brilliant Francis J. Heney (who had dis-
tinguished himself in the prosecution of
Senator Mitchell and other prominent
persons in Oregon for land frauds) was
engaged to take hold of the investigation,
and it was begun. Among the charges was
one that the franchise to substitute the
trolley for the cable by the United Rail*
roads had been obtained by fraud and
bribery, and of course, if that can be
proven, it may be possible to successfully
attack the franchise arid to have it re-
scinded. This would certainly be of im-
mense advantage to any rival road, espec-
ially as in many cases the cable road has
been torn up, and it would mean the sus-
pension of all traffic over many lines if the
United Railroads were forced to return
to the inadequate cable system of the past
decades.
The reader is as capable of deciding as
the writer, whether under the facts as
here set forth Rudolph Spreckels is a
patriot or no. No one will dispute that
the statements here made are absolutely
true. It is only fair to say that besides
Mr. Spreckels's interest in the street car
franchise there were several other inter-
ests, including the water supply, for the
city, which would profit by a conviction of
the city administration in the granting of
franchises, and the action it has taken
in granting privileges to companies which
proposed to supply different public utili-
ties ; and it is worthy of note that the ac-
tual bribe receivers, with the exception of
the Mayor, have all been granted immu-
nity from their confessed dishonesty, while
the gentlemen who, in the interests of the
public, have been exposing them have
even held them in office, while at the same
time every effort has been made to convict
and injure the business rivals of Spreckels
and his friends. Thus it can be seen that
the nature of graft in San Francisco is
entirely different from the graft situation
in the other big cities of the United
States.
**!
THE FIRST ASCENT OF
MOUNT SHUKSAN
BY ASAHEL CUKTIS
ILLUSTRATED WITH PHOTOGRAPHS.
NO CLEANER, fairer sport can be found under the heavens than the ascent
of some unclimbed peak, and he who plays the game must needs be patient,
sound of wind, and strong of limb. After days and nights of tramming,
when the last grim obstacle has been overcome, and som.e pinnacle of rock or ice,
untrodden since the dawn of creation, has been reached, no enjoyment can be
keener. This is the first of a series of articles on scaling the world's peaks, told
by those who have succeeded. Mr. Asahel Curtis tells in the following vigorous
article how he reached the summit of ML Shuksan. In September wv will pub-
lish the second, a strong and keenly descriptive account of the ascent of Mt. Fuji,
the famed peak of Japan. That article will be followed by vivid stories, of moun-
tain climbers of Sunset Mountain, an extinct volcano of Northern Arizona, and
of the Matterhorn. EDITOR.
THE lure and challenge of the un-
climbed, unconquered mountain,
with its wastes of rock and ice,
leads one into untrodden countries, by
strange trails, where deep blue valleys
wind away to the ends of the earth.
RTo finer or better sport can be found
than this contest with nature. It lead?
one into the wilderness where nature is
seen at her grandest. Where rock and
snow pile highest, swept by the winds of
heaven, where every obstacle of nature
has to be overcome, there the keenest
sport will be found. The challenge is
always there, but the season is short, for
with the first approach of winter these
THE FIRST ASCENT OF MOUNT SHUKSAN.
Ill
towering crags of earth withdraw into a
solitude. It is a sport that all can enjoy ^
and from which all can gain strength,
learning the ways of falling rock and
sliding snow, and how to avoid one diffi-
culty and overcome the next, until suc-
cess greets one at last.
It was such a challenge that led Mr.
W. M. Price and I to attempt the ascent
of Mount Shuksan, which we made during
the Mazama outing to Mount Baker, in
August, 1906. We had planned to make
the ascent even at the cost of the official
climb of Baker, for Baker had been
climbed many times. Shuksan is a rem-
nant of the great plateau from which the
Cascade range has been carved, and is the
all, as the mountain was a mass of great-
pinnacles sheeted in hanging glaciers.
Curious to see the mountain, and assure
ourselves that its very presence was no
myth, we started soon after breakfast to
climb the western slope of Table Moun-
tain, which lay between ' our camp and
Shuksan. In an hour we were on top,
watching the strange pigmies that were
moving in the little patch of green with
the white spots which we knew was camp,
but which, through the clear mountain
air, appeared but a few hundred feet away.
After many wild hallos we made the
sound carry to those pigmies, and were
greeted with cheers and wild waving of
handkerchiefs.
MT SHUKSAN, 10,600 FEET HIGH.
highest point left of the original upheaval.
It is situated in the northern part of
Washington, some fifteen miles east of
Mount Baker.
We could find no record of an ascent,
and were warned of the danger of an at-
tempt. Major Ingraham, who climbed
Baker some years ago, cautioned us par-
ticularly of the danger of avalanches
which their party heard, across the fifteen
miles that separates the two mountains.
Glasscock, who climbed Baker alone in
the spring of 1906, reported that the as-
cent would be very difficult, if possible at
To the eastward a wall of snow still
shut us in, but above its crest there rose,
into the blue sky, the point of a distant
finger of rock. Hurriedly we climbed the
snowfield, to see what lay below that fin-
ger, and, once on top of the crest, saw
the mountain in all its forbidding gran-
deur. Stretching away to the southeast,
almost from our feet, lay a long rocky
ridge, cut through by deep gorges, filled
with snow. Each succeeding peak of the
ridge rose higher and wilder, until a
great black mass of rock barred the way.
Down the sides of this, streams of ice
112
OVEELAND MONTHLY.
were flowing, falling from ledge to ledge
in their descent from the summit
snowfields. Between the two upper snow-
fields rose the rock finger we had seen
from below, a thousand feet above the
rest of the mountain, black and forbid-
ding, too steep for snow to cling to. Rest-
ing on the very top of this finger we
could clearly see a rock weighing tons, so
balanced that it appeared to overhang by
thirty feet. This rock at once became our
goal, and the challenge to make the ascent
was accepted as our own.
The first attempt to ascend the moun-
tain was made along this ridge, with a
hope that a way could he found from shelf
to shelf of the hanging glaciers and thus
To the south, loosened rocks rolled from
sight in a cloud of dust, but the roar sent
up from the void was ominous.
At many places we found tracks of
mountain goats, and had been keeping a
sharp lookout for a sight of one, but had
not been successful. Coming up the slope,
over soft snow, we made little noise, and
came out on the shoulder of a crag, when
suddenly a goat sprang from his bed not
fifteen feet away, and in curiosity, stood
for a full minute, broadside, with head
turned to see what curious animal had in-
vaded his home. Before a camera could
be unslung from the pack, he had van-
ished ur> the mountain side with a speed
and ease that seemed marvelous. Later on
t
SNOW FIELDS NEAR THE SUMMIT,
out onto the snowfields, at the base of the
pinnacle. These snowfields must be
reached some time in the ascent; it was
only a choice of routes. Hour after hour
we toiled up the peaks of the ridge and
into the gorges between. Each peak rose
higher than the last, timber growth dwin-
dled to sprawling shrubs, and we were
still not on the main mountain. Wlhere
the ridge ended and the real bulk of the
mountain began, a deeper gorge scarred
the rock, like a great gash, and we were
able to get into it only because of the
snow that lay deep on the northern side.
his tracks were seen on a snow slope at an
angle of 60 degrees, where we had to chop
steps in the frozen snow, but he had gone
apparently with ease.
After fourteen hours of ceaseless effo:t
a crag was reached, between two of the gla-
ciers, almost directly beneath the main
summit, but separated from it by great
glaciers, seamed with deep crevasses. A
way might be found through this maze,
but it would require days of work. No
camp could be made on the sheer crag-?,
and it was then five o'clock, with the sum-
mit hidden in rolling clouds, so reluctant-
THE SOUTHEAST SIDE OF SHUKSAX, WHERE THE ASCENT WAS MADE, SHOW-
ING THE PRECIPITOUS CHARACTER OF THE PEAK.
114
OVERLAND MONTHLY.
ly the attempt had to be abandoned.
Our work was not useless, however, as
we found what we thought would prove
an easier but longer route of reaching the
snowfields at the base of the pinnacle.
After a day in camp to rest, we started
once more for the mountain, planning T,O
try the southwest slope between two .-f
the lesser glaciers. We could not hope to
reach the summit in a single day, so made
a leisurely trip across the beautiful val-
leys that lie at the base of Shuksan ridge.
Blue-berries, just ripening, led us many
times from the trail; the sweet incense of
mountain grass and flowers charmed us,
and we were loath to leave, but over the
top of the ridge, faint in the afternoon
stunted ^rowth of mountain trees grew
up to the 6,000 foot level.
Here every possible route was traced,
everv glacier and snowfield searched for a
route up the mountain. We finally de-
termined to try a crevice that seemed to
cut across the whole face of one of the
rocky spurs.
Going then to the southward along the
base of Shuksan, steadily climbing, over
talus and the moraine of a glacier, under
a water-fall that plunged down from its
icy birthplace, we rose above the valley.
The route we had chosen appeared to be
the favorite one of goats, for many had
traveled it. It may have been their main
thoroughfare, but they are surely not fit-
AMONG THE CRAGS OF MT. SHUKSAN.
haze, hung the same grim mountain mass,
its challenge still unanswered.
Turning to the eastward, up a tribu-
tarv, we climbed a spur of the main ridge,
and from the pass saw the whole mass of
the mountain, which here rose 8,000 feet
above the valley. Directly in front of us
a cascade glacier crawled down the moun-
tain side. From its front, blocks of clear
blue ice broke away and fell until they
were ground to dust. Beautiful threads
of water fell over the cliffs, becoming
wreaths of spray in their descent, while
on the protected points of the ridges a
ting engineers to run lines for humans.
Sunset found us on a spur at timber-
line, the lower world lost in the haze of
forest fires. The ridges of the mountain
disappeared in the smoke, and we felt
that our camp was suspended above the
world. Across the valley, the rounded
shoulder of a foothill broke through, while
dimly outlined in the west the mighty
dome of Baker appeared like some fairy
creation in the heavens, rather than a
mountain of earth. Its foothills were gone
and the soft haze magnified the icy slopes
behind which the sun was setting.
THE FIRST ASCENT OF MOUNT SHUKSAN.
115
In the last light of day a brush shelter
was built and wood gathered for an all-
night fire. We had no blankets, the
weight of camera and food being all we
cared to take on such a trip, and the
nights were cold. The stars were out be-
fore our shelter was finished and supper
cooked, so with shoes for a pillow we fell
asleep. Countless times we were awakened
by the cold as the fire died down, or by
sliding into the fire. There was no diffi-
culty in telling when morning came, and
no reluctance about leaving our impro-
vised beds.
Thus far everything had proven favor-
able, and refreshed by a fair night's sleep,
we started up the snow slopes between the
glaciers. Ridges of rock divided the snow,
nacle that we had been seeking so long,
with nothing between to prevent our ap-
proach. The rock itself looked formidable
enough: only one small patch of snow
found a resting place on its side, but it
did not appear impossible.
In spite of the smoke the view was mag-
nificent. To the eastward a group of les-
ser pinnacles, unnamed, unknown, broke
through the ice capping. Beyond, seen
faintly through the haze, a thousand snow-
capped peaks or ragged rocky pinnacles
too steep to hold snow, rose into view. This
mass of mountains, the Cascades rising +o
meet the Selkirks, is the highest point left
of the primary upheaval in Washington,
and probably the most beautiful in the
State.
PRICE BUILDING THE CAIRN.
each succeeding one steeper than the laat,
but the rock cleavage afforded fair hand
and foot holds. The snow slopes were
soon too steep to be trusted without cut-
ting steps, and there was no time to do
this, so we were forced to follow the rocks
wherever possible. The slope ended
finally, just below the crest, in a clear
field of snow, and steps had to be cut io
the top. Once up this, and we knew that
the ascent could be made, for before us
stretched the great snowfields that cover
the main plateau, and which feeds a sys-
tem of glaciers flowing out on all sides ex-
cept the north. Across two miles of ice
and snow appeared the same black pin-
Our way now lay along the crest of the
ridge, near the northwest side, and we
could see, far down below, the crags we
had reached in our first attempt. Once at
the base of the pinnacle, the real rock
work of the ascent began. There was a
hundred yards of easy going, then straight
up the rock face, clutching a hand-hold
here, a foot hold there, we worked our
way. We were following the crest of the
ridge, little more than a knife edge, which
fell away in a dizzying descent on either
side. Crevices in the rock were scarce
and insecure, and in many cases pieces of
rock had to be chipped away with the back
of a hand axe to give any hold at all."
116
OVERLAND MONTHLY.
These gave a very uncertain hold, but
enough to take one up. We were next
barred by a smooth face of rock, and I
lifted Price up until he could get a grip
on a shelf above and slowly drag himself
up onto it and drop a line to me. Our
greatest danger lay in some piece of rock
giving away when our whole weight was
on it. This happened in spite of the
greatest caution, and in one case both a
hand and a foot-hold broke at the same
time, giving a quick, hair-raising fall to
the shelf below. A few moments' rest
was necessary to quiet the nerves, and
greater caution was exercised to prevent
a second occurrence. Price told me after-
ward that he spent the time thinking how
such a great mass could have been left
balanced on such a small summit.
We searched the entire summit for some
trace of a previous ascent, but found none.
There was no record of any kind, no
cairn had been built, as is the custom, and
we could find no rocks disturbed. Along
the entire summit the rocks lay so loosely,
so nearly balanced, that the slightest
touch would send them down the moun-
tain, and it seemed impossible that any
one had ever trodden on that summit. In
many places the rocks were fused and
burned, apparently by lightning.
Both felt that the return by the route
we had come would prove unsafe, and we
determined to try some other way. Cau-
PRICE AND CURTIS ON THE SUMMIT.
he could have taken me back to camp had
I missed the shelf.
It was here that we first saw the beauti-
ful moss campion, unknown on the lower
levels, which splashed the dark rocks a
beautiful pink with its flowers. Masses of
the moss clung in the slightest crevice,
with so little to nourish them that they
were already wilting in the sun.
A thousand feet of such climbing, and
we turned a corner of rock beneath the
last crag of the summit. On its very top
rested the overhanging rock we had seen
from below. For thirty feet its huge bulk
overhung, and it seemed marvelous that
tiousiy dropping from rock to rock, we
worked our way to the head of a chimney,
west of the crest by which we had climbed,
then down it, clinging to the sides as we
dropped from crevice to crevice. It was
necessary to keep very close together to
avoid the danger of falling rocks. With
only two this danger was not as great as
with a larger party, but the shower of
rocks never ceased. The descent was made
very rapidly, and in fifty minutes we were
once more on the snowfield.
A day's tramp still lay before us, and it
was then after twelve, so not a moment
could be wasted. Snow slopes that had
BEAUTIFUL HANGING GLACIERS OF MT. SHUKSAN.
118 OVERLAID MONTHLY.
taken a half hour to climb were coasted in gathering twilight. Just as the stars
less than a minute, and no matter how came out, we stood on a ridge above the
steep the slope, we felt that we had to go valley taking a moment's farewell look at
down. Long shadows lay across the val- the mountain we felt in some way to be
leys, but their, charm was not for us ; it our own, its dim bulk showing faintly. As
seemed impossible for our exhausted mus- we stood thus watching, there came to us
eles to drag us up the steep slopes, but we the distant roar of an avalanche that
had nothing to eat, and felt that we must seemed to us like a farewell gun from ibe
make camp that night, so kept, on in the conquered mountain.
A WARNING
BY ALOYSIUS COLL
THINK you, when the russet luster
Of the autumn in your hair,
Fades away, and winters cluster
In the ashen embers there,
Then that love, to you returning,
Shall revive the springtime glow,
And, her sweet young blossoms spurning,
Dig your dead wish from the snow?
Think you, when the merry laughter
From your lips has died away,
And the echoes that come after
Fade to silence all the day.
Then that love shall set the blunder
Of your aching heart at rest,
And, in tones of mellow thunder,
Bouse the dead wish from your breast?
Think you, when the days have banished,
On the mists of doubt that rise,
Every smile, and mirth has vanished
From the mirrors of your eyes,
Then that Love, all unbeholden,
Shall return to kiss your mouth,
And to give your lips the olden
Sunshine of the smiling South?
Think you, maid when now the summer
Paints your cheek with fragrant bloom
All too soon the bold newcomer,
Winter and his touch of doom !
Watch for Love; when first you meet him,
Bid him welcome at your door
For if once you scorn to greet him,
He may come again no more!
LAGUNA DEL KEY AT DEL MONTE.
DECORATING DEL MONTE
HEIGHTS
BY
DAVIS
ILLUSTRATED WITH PHOTOGRAPHS.
LL who seek enchanted
spots where they can
make the most of
happy, days at reason-
able prices,, or who
may be driven from
the troublous cares of
business or office toil
to find relief where seabirds spread their
lazy wings in the fragrant ocean breeze;
where nature keeps a tryst with flowers,
fields, orchards and forests overlooking the
sea to soothe and revive the weary heart
and hand all men and women who long
for* such a spot will rejoice to know that
this place has been found for them, and
is now being prepared by experienced men
who are real builders of California's
greatness.
Charming, indeed, through winter,
spring, summer and autumn is Monterey
Bay and its beautiful surrounding cres-.
cent of mountains, hills and fields, stretch-
ing so gently down to its miles of glisten-
ing, velvety, white sand beach. Here the
rhythm of the waves has a peculiar fasci-
nation, for there is never a storm. It is
all gentle, yet invigorating, bracing, bring-
ing a cheerfulness that has no aftermath.
The evening wind brings ozone from the
rising, falling bosom of the Western sea,
where float the ships in plain view at their
moorings, while the morning land breeze
returns the delicate mountain air. So
attractive are the scenes, beauties and ad-
vantages of living at Del Monte Heights
that my pen is tempted to run to almost
endless lengths and breadths of poetic
coloring, yet a few brief touches must suf-
fice.
Whether gathering up the mosses, shells
and things put out by the sea upon its
bordering sands; whether seeking historic
relics, sketching and painting from nature,
trailing through real sweet-smelling old
pine forests, following a lover's bridle-
path to shady nook or enchanting solitude,
drinking at the many invigorating min-
eral springs, viewing the Government
military parades as they face the morning
sun from the presidio, dining with a rav-
enous appetite and a splendid menu set
before you; whether you are grave or gay,
young or old, Del Monte Heights, one
mile east of the famous Del Monte Park
and Hotel, as a seaside resort, winter or
summer home, offers a splendid welcome
and a perennial charm to all who love and
120
OVEELAND MONTHLY.
appreciate nature's bounties embellished
by the arts of man.
Within a few minutes' walk of the up-
ward slope at Del Monte Heights you may
reach the beach and see a great fleet of
small sail busy dragging salmon into their
boats. You may do this yourself before
breakfast if you like, for there are 652
kinds of fish more or less in Monterey
Bay, and nearly all of them are eatable.
It costs you nothing to try it, .and if you
put in your hook or net you are almost
sure to get some kind of a bite. Of course,
boating, bathing and all the seashore ac-
cessories are there in nature's perfection.
Then to the west, south and east are the
mountains, hills, valleys, ravines, canyons,
caves and trickling streams. One of these
famous canyons is called the "King's Or-
chard," just south of Del Monte Heights,
where one hundred years ago the Spanish
priests settled and planted fruit trees. An
old pear tree is still growing there. Other
vegetation from palm tree to live oak
adorns the landscape and makes the homes
for big and small game, which in these
days are represented by species of quail,
squirrel, rabbit, coyote, wolf, mountain
lion, deer and bear. You may hunt these
in the canyons, foothills and mountains,
if you are too restless to fish. All that is
necessary is the most ordinary hunting
equipment and observance of the game
laws. Then go up through the odorous
pines, where stayrs sang in the long ago,
after you pass the groups and hedges of
the celebrated Monterey cypress, which is
abundant, grows anywhere, is formed into
any shape, and has a fragrance all its
own.
Particularly beautiful is Laguna Del
Rey (the lake of the king), lying midway
between the Del Monte Hotel and Del
Monte Heights. This lake is being put in-
to enjoyable shape for the pleasure of
those who are fortunate enough to live in
this neighborhood. Popular field sports,
such as golf, polo, tennis, baseball and
other outdoor amusements have many
devotees here. The Del Monte race track
is only a mile south of this.
Eiding, driving and automobiling are
in vogue nearly the year round. The fam-
ous seventeen-mile drive around the point
of the peninsula has a different interest-
ing feature for every mile. The Carmel
Mission church is one of these features.
It was the home of the founder of Califor-
nia missions, Father Junipero Serra.
Around to the west of it, on the fine drive,
is the town of Pacific Grove, thence to the
east is Monterey, Del Monte, and last and
best of all, Del Monte Heights.
Best, of all is Del Monte Heights, for
the very good geographical, topographical
and historical reasons that the people who
laid out and built up the other places
along the north side of the peninsula knew
practically nothing about city building.
They pitched their tents in fine localities,
but so limited in area that the available
ground for building has long since been
taken up, and it is next to impossible for
these towns to expand.
But modern methods of building a town
are now being applied to Del Monte
Heights, which is to be decorated by all
the latest methods of building homes and
houses for public and private occupation.
Smart are the gentlemen who are doing
this wise are they who are decorating
Del Monte Heights with a fine modern
town. Among them are George W. Phelps
who was one of the pioneer builders of
the University town of Berkeley, and per-
haps had more to do with its upbuilding
than any other man.
J. Hall Lewis, who organized and
founded the bank of Half Moon Bay,
was the mainspring of the activities
at that place.
A. D. Bowen has already completed
two systems of railways, and is now en-
gaged in completing the Monterey, Fresno
and Eastern. He is one of the most suc-
cessful railway builders on the Pacific
Coast ,i not on the continent.
H. W. Postlethwaite, a prominent capi-
talist of San Francisco, is interested in a
several important local enterprises.
These gentlemen chose for their location
a tract of five hundred acres of land, part
of which was formerly called Vista Del
Rey (view of the king.) Around Del
Monte Heights is the king's country. The
Spanish fathers knew it when they named
it Mont-el-rey (Monterey), mountain of
the king; Laguna Del Rey, lake of the
king; Vista Del- Rey, view of the king;
Huerta Del Rey, orchard of the king. But
as every man in a free country can be king
for himself, he can go to this former king's
country, and put up a castle, mansion,
plain home, or bungalow, and his home
122
OVEELAKD MONTHLY.
life and surroundings will be good enough
for any king.
Why is this? Well, if the reader of this
will pardon me, which he ought to, I will
answer this question with one sentence,
which may sound exactly as though I were
running a real estate boom, but I am not,
though this is the concrete truth :
Del Monte Heights is next door to Ho-
tel Del Monte ; it overlooks Monterey Bay,
Monterey City and Pacific Grove, facing
the United States Presidio; it is within
five minutes' walk of the finest fishing on
earth or in the sea; the climate is cool in
summer and. warm in winter, with no fog
and no wind, only breeze; it is alongside
the Southern Pacific, and on the other
side is a new railroad being built on an
old survey. This is the fine location which
these gentlemen_ have chosen on which to
build a city with oiled streets, modern
schools, churches, water supply, light sup-
ply, transportation,, including a complete
electric railway system throughout the
tract, and other facilities of latest civiliza-
tion; and these men have the ability and
experience to properly decorate Del Monte
Heights.
POLO AT DEL MONTE.
THE SKY AND THE SEA
^ AND THE EARTH :
BY S. M. SALYER
I LOVE you, city of the thousand clouds,
With your proud-sailed ships in shifting crowds.
And your floods of sun that ever pour
Their currents strong to some unknown shore.
I love you, sky, for the mystery,
That calls my spirit up to thee !
I love you, sea of the thousand smiles,
Whose laughter sounds o'er changing miles,
With your low-sung songs of tenderness
Which only the wide heart can express.
I love you, sea, for your sympathy,
That rests the weary heart of me !
I love you, earth of the winding ways,
That lead me on thro' the endless days,
For your plan of hope and struggle and strife,
And your zest in a toil-begotten life !
I love you, earth, as you beckon me,
On your paths of opportunity !
ON THE HOME TRAIL.
129
dog follow you. and keep an eye on them
-guides."
The herd, which had been driven into
a spot somewhat clear from underbrush,
was nearly all lying down. The animals
seemed quiet, but now and then you could
hear a long snoring breath, which meant
mischief. The two guides were awake,
seemingly intent on their duty. The
white men were almost asleep. Suddenly
the old bell-cow started pell-mell across
the clearing, half a dozen others after her.
The Indian guide* was on hand to stop
the incipient stampede. For a moment
it seemed that the danger was over; then
there was a startled movement in another
part of the herd. Hartley and Harris
started toward the disturbance, but it was
too late. A roar as of thunder resounded
through the timber. Above the sound of
trampling hoofs rose the hoarse bawling
of the calves and their mothers. The herd-
ers, dodging behind trees, watched the
confused mass of crowding bodies and
tossing horns. The round rocked as in
an earthquake. The forest trees seemed
moving as fast as the terrified cattle. It
was over in a moment; the herd disap-
peared in the timber, leaving the men
staring at each other in helpless anger.
There was not a hoof left except the
mooly cow, which had been tied up to
milk.
"Well, boys," said Hartley, "let's go to
bed. No use staying here to herd old
mooly."
The advice was sensible. For the first
time in weeks, every member of the party
went to bed; but their slumbers were un-
sound. Before daybreak the camp was
astir. When the sun rose, breakfast was
already over, the horses were saddled and
the men were ready to round up the cattle.
Jim stayed in camp to look after things
and to care for the herd as it should be
brought in. He was not much afraid, for
he knew that the Indians were cowards
in daylight; but he loaded his shot-gun
and stood it conspicuously by the wagon.
All morning the men brought in bunch
after bunch of cattle, until by noon they
had rounded up at least five hundred head.
They then concluded to cross the river and
push out on the open prairie beyond.
At three o'clock, the herd was on the
prairie, where a count showed that thirty
head were still missing. Jenkins favored
abandoning the lost cattle and getting out
with what they had. It was fifteen miles
to Muskogee, and he was out of tobacco.
Hartley laughed. "No, Jenkins, you'll
have to suffer for a while longer. Tobe
and 1 will make one more effort. We'll go
back to where we hired the Indians, while
the rest of you stay here and herd."
Jenkins groaned, but succumbed.
"Come on, Tobe !" said Hartley, "we'll
get those cattle or we'll bring back a dead
Injun or two."
Reluctantly, Tobe climbed into the sad-
dle. Both men were already wearied be-
yond measure. Fifteen miles lay between
them and the cabin where they had hired
the guides. When they reached there, the
sun was already low in the west. As Hart-
ley dismounted, he noticed on the back
porch a tub of fresh beef.
."Look there, Tobe," he laughed, "we've
found one of the thirty."
In response to Hartley's rap, the white
woman came to the door.
"Where are the boys ?" he enquired con-
fidently. "I've come after the rest of the
cattle."
The woman turned pale under her sun-
burn.
"They're out liuntin' fer 'em," she ans-
wered. "They h'aint bin here sence morn-
ing."
Hartley knew that she lied. Feeling
that not only the Indians, 'but the cattle,
were not far away, he turned away irreso-
lutely.
"Say, Hartley," said Tobe in a low
voice, "there's a house over east a ways
where a Kentuckian lives. I found it the
other day huntin' fer a spring. Let's
make him keep us over night."
Hartley assented. He felt tired enough
to go into camp for a week. They found
the Kentuckian to be a hospitable fellow,
ready enough to entertain strangers for
the mere, pleasure of their company.
"Yes, siree," he declared with emphasis,
"if you'd a lived among these Injuns as
long as I have, you'd be glad enough to
see anybody ez would talk. Kain't they
talk English ? Of course they kin. Talk
ez good ez anybody when they want to.
But the pesky varmints 'ud rather set
aroun' an' grunt than to say anything like
white folks."
Tobe and Hartley found that Mrs. Jep-
son was as hospitable as her husband. She
130
OVERLAND MONTHLY.
was gaunt and unlovely. They knew that
she smoked a clav pipe and more than sus-
pected that she used snuff, but the supper
which she provided for them gained for
her the reverence that the ancient Greeks
mi^ht have paid to Vesta.
Jepson listened with interest to the
story of the Indian guides. There was no
doubt in his mind that the lost cattle wen
hidden somewhere near.
"We'll find 'em IJL the mornin '," he as-
sured Hartley. "Them Injuns has hid 'em
in the bresh."
Jepson proved to be a prophet. The
cattle were found in a corral not a mile
away. Three Indian ponies were tied near
the corral, but not an Indian was in sight.
Hartley decided to take the cattle into
camp at once. They traversed without
further adventure the weary miles back
to the river, where Jepson joined them. He
had not thought it best to accompany
them on their drive lest he P'et into trou-
ble with his Indian neighbors.
The little bunch of cattle did not want
to cross the river. The ravs of the after-
noon sun turned the ford into a path of
dazzling light before which the timid
brutes, unable to see the further shore,
huddled together obstinately. At length
the three men, by dint of much shouting
and an unmerciful use of their heavy
poads, forced the poor creatures into the
water. Just as Hartley had feared, the
cattle began milling in the middle of the
stream. Frightened and dazed, the lead-
ers turned with the current; then the en-
tire bunch began swimming in a gradual-
ly narrowing circle, which drifted rapidly
down the stream. All that could be seen
above the turbid water was a revolving
group of horned heads that might have
been covered by a good-sized blanket. Oc-
casionally one of the terrified brutes would
climb almost out of the water on the
backs of the others. Then a hoad would
go under. The men rode fearlessly among
the cattle with yells and blows, trying to
break up the mill. If only one of the lead-
ers could be made to start for the opposite
bank, the others would follow. Jepson
rode clear of the struggling cattle, slipped
off his pony and struck it a smart blow
with his whip, starting it for the shore.
Then he swam around the herd until he
was directly below it. The poor brutes
looked at him piteously. The big Ken-
tuckian seized one powerful steer by the
horns, at the same time striking him a
vicious blow on the jaw. The creature
made a lunge which Jepson narrowly es-
caped. That lunge broke the mill. The
steer, turned from his course, struck out
for the bank. Jepson, still swimming
among the struggling cattle, turned one
after another toward the shore. Losing his
whip in the melee, he still fought on with
his wet sombrero. Tobe and Hartley
stuck valiantly on the flank. At last they
gained the shore. Two cows, weakened
by the long struggle until they were un-
able to make a landing, were swept on
down the stream. The rest soon stood
dripping on the bank one hundred yards
below the ford.
Hartley wrung Jepson's water-soaked
hand.
"Well, old fellow," he said, "we certain-
ly owe you the whole bunch. If it hadn't
been for you, thev would all be at the
bottom of the Canadian, and we mierht be
with them."
Wfien they finally reached the herd, a
careful count showed that one animal wis
still missing. It was a fine red cow be-
longing to Jenkins. Then Hartley remem-
bered the beef.
"I thought we had them all," he said;
"but that must have been Jenkins's cow. '
Jenkins swore.
"Sich ongratitude," said he. "I was
the only man in camp that treated them
Injuns white, an' now here I am without
my red cow and fifteen miles from any ter-
baccer."
THE MRS. A]NT> I VISIT PISA
BY WALT
ILLUSTRATED WITH PHOTOGRAPHS.
"THE MRS."
E WEKE doing one of
the most eventful things
of our lives gazing
out of the car windows
upon the Mediterra-
nean. It was evening,
and the sun was dip-
ping behind the watery
horizon. The sea was a blaze of light a
dream of colored crystal.
Our companions spoke Italian, which
was natural, but we heard them say Elba.
I said to the Mrs. : "We must be in sight
of the Island of Elba, where Napoleon
was exiled and from which he cleverly
escaped."
The island is five miles from the coast
of Italy, and rising to our feet the view
obtained abroad the undulating sea was
that of a gradually sinking piece of land.
There was a young man in our com-
partment who was not an Italian we
settled that point!
"But what is he !' 'expostulated the
Mrs. with a frown.
"Well, he's not a German, 'cause he's
no beard. He looks and behaves like an
Englishman watch him !"
And Cockney-bred he was, for just then
he introduced himself. He had heard us
babbling in English. He said that he
was employed in Italy and was on his
way home to spend the Christmas holi-
days, and was extremely glad of our
company.
He turned toward the window.
"This is where the Cararra marble
quarries are located," he began. "It is,
as you know, the finest marble in the
world, and for centuries sculptors have
preferred it to all others. Most of the
great statues in Europe have been chisel-
ed out of marble extracted from these
vast quarries. Do you see the men up
there !"
He was the first Englishman I had met
who could tell me something I did not
know.
Our guide-book had alluded to Cararra
marble whenever it expatiated on a statue
but I didn't know where they got it
now I knew!
The workmen take their time in ex-
tracting Cararra from the loins of the
earth. They use no machinery of any
kind. Everything is done by hand. They
have never heard or read of Carnegie and
his wonderful steel accomplishments. Nor
do they understand that huge machines
can do a week's work in a day, at much
less cost. It is not plain to these Eoman
heirs that anything can be gained by liv-
ing a week in a day.
But a sculptor never telegraphs for
132
OVERLAND MONTHLY.
Cararra marble and says : "Bush one block
Cararra. Quick oh !"
"There she is look !" exclaimed Mrs.
excitedly. I turned and saw a brown-
eyed maid of Italy washing waists, petti-
coats and handkerchiefs in the winding
brook by the embankment. In a moment
the train had carried us beyond the sight
sf her.
Oh oo, choo, choo went the little toy-
like engine along the moonlit banks of the
Mediterranean, and as the town clock
was tolling the bed- time hour of ten, we
choo-chooed into Pisa, the seat of the
famous leaning tower. As we tumbled
through the door into the waiting room,
an Italian shouted, "The Washington
Hotel ! Two doors from the station.
Hotel for Americans."
Says I to the Mrs. : "Hear that ! Wash-
ington Hotel two doors away! It sounds
like home. Let's investigate, but don't
look at him. Pretend you don't see him.
Then he won't want to collect a fee for
the information."
Down the street we ambled, and soon
saw the sign dangling out over the pave-
ment. We entered the door, and I tried
to tell the proprietor that we were from
America, and that I had once picked a
souvenir pebble from George Washing-
ton's grave at Mt. Vernon; that we had
a State and a city named after him, and
that 1 was pleased to learn he had christ-
ened his hotel in George's honor, but he
seemed never to have heard of George
Washington. My design was to impress
him with my importance, and have him
startle me, when We were ready to leave,
bv saying, "Great man! You doos owe
me no-ting."
In this, however, I was sorely disap-
pointed but disappointments are rather
common with me.
It was at the Washington Hotel that
the waiter confided to me this very im-
portant fact as we were about to depart.
"You won't forget that I am the head
waiter !"
"No, indeed, I won't as long as I live
I congratulate you on the promotion!"
Which all the more strained our relations.
The head waiter speaks the Queen's
English. He attends to the wants of Eng-
lish guests and he expects a tip a great
big one.
This waiter had no doubt been forgot-
ten before, and he was not going to be
overlooked again by so amiable looking a
gentleman as I am, but through his im-
portunity such was his fate. He hadn't
done a thing for us, anyway, except pour,
out the madam's tea on his own initiative,
which became cold before she was ready
to drink it.
I had demonstrated to my own satisfac-
tion that tipping wa bad for my purse,
so I usually had the Mrs. settle for all
bills or I dropped the ready change on the
table and ran as if tardy for my train.
The Mrs. was by nature not a tipper.
I had read about the leaning tower of
Pisa, and copied a picture of it in my
Physical Geography. I was now within
half a mile of the original.
We ate breakfast, and set out to see the
wonder.
My geography teacher did not exagger-
TO MT. TAMALPAIS.
133
ate the tower really leaned as much as
the old elm on our farm, under which I
took shelter so often during the sumnu r
showers, and at which spot Miss Vernon
found me when she called to see papa
concerning my grades.
We scanned the tower, walked all
around it several times, and then felt an
ambition to climb it.
After climbing a long, dark and wind-
ing stairway, we got to the top the Mrs.
was breathing heavily. There was a rail-
ing round the landin^ and we. didn't get
giddy nor afraid. The wind was blow-
ing at the rate the Empire State Express
travels, and the Mrs. let on she could
feel the tower wiggle and shake. I asked
her to prove it, whereupon sihe got mad
the first time in a month.
I stretched over the marble balustrade
on the leaning side, as I had a craving
to see the base of the tower.
Wihereupon the Mrs. gave an "Oh !" and
screamed so that the Italian workmen be-
low came rushing up to see what was
wrong.
T didn't succeed in spying the base. Af-
ter we descended I found that I could
stand on Mother Earth thirteen feet from
the base and still be protected from the
rain fr r the leaning body.
As I was busily making the ground
experiments, the Mrs., standing at a dis-
tance, took occasion to remark that if
the tower should topple over while 1 was
in the shadow of its brow, why, she'd have
to go home alone.
But I answered: "No, you wouldn't
only I'd be with the baggage."
The tickets admitting to the tower \v ?rc
on sale a quarter, of a mile away. In this
manner they control the traffic. To pre-
vent the tower's losing its equilibrium,
they allow only a certain number of
pounds to ascend to the top at one time.
It's a sane precaution, although occasion-
ally inconvenient. As I weigh five pounds
less than Shakespeare and the Mrs. about
as much as Elizabeth Barrett Browning,
our combined weight being less than that
of James J. Hill, they did not bother to
weigh us before handing over the tickets.
The tower is comely and built of colored
marble, but other towers of Italy are come-
ly and composed of the same material.
The tower of Pisa owes its fame to the
fact that it leans. No one knows why it
leans. Some think the builders designed
the tower to lean, while others contend
that the foundation settled on the lean-
ing side. I have not yet made up my
mind how the tower came to lean, but I
have made up my mind that the leaning
tower of Pisa is worth going to see with-
out delay who knows but that the next
earthquake may crumble it!
TO MT. TAMALPAIS
BY RUTH PRICE
THE sunset lights and deepening shadows fall.
A sky of burnished gold around is hung,
Gilding the veil of rainbow mist, wind-flung.
To thee the Western breezes softly call,
Singing their way through thy Sequoias tall ;
To thee the song of ocean deep is sung
By whispering voices in an unknown tongue ;
And every heart thy beauty doth enthrall.
Alone thou art above the rolling hill,
And mystery in every shadow lies.
Ah, silent goddess of this Western land,
Each swiftly passing day some heart grows still,
Some question asked of thee returns and dies,
But thou through changing years unchanged doth stand.
THE LOVE OF CHANCE
BY A. E.
HERE WERE various
reasons why Jerry Lull
was not popular in the
Cummins County settle-
ments. The primary
reason was that he was
not a sociable man, and
desired no large ac-
quaintance. He carried his tall, sinewy
form about the streets of Littleton with
his measured and tiger-like tread, and
deigned to speak to few who passed. His
heavy jaw was set like a vice. Wlhen he
spoke at all, he spoke through his clenched
teeth. He never laughed ; he never grinned
he never even smiled, and from under
his heavy, dark brows his hard, gray eyes
sent only a stony stare. The single spur
with one broken point which was always
worn on his left heel, designated him as a
man who spent much of his time in the
saddle.
And this was one of the factors that
rendered him a suspicious character in
the eyes of the settlers. That a man
should be spending so much of his time
on horseback and vet have no definitely
known occupation was a matter to attract
attention. But the most noteworthy ob-
jection to Mr. Lull was that he made his
home with old Stub Jones, who was be-
lieved to have been formerly in league
with the Curly Grimes band of horse-
thieves of the Upper Sand Hill country.
And so it was that, whenever Lull came
to town, he was critically eyed by men on
the streets. Little groups scattered as he
approached, then closing in as he passed,
they watched his slowly receding figure,
while they commented on his slender form,
his raised shoulders, his slow, determined
gait, and his perpetually clenched teeth.
From the time of his first mysterious
arrival at Littleton, when he had uncere-
moniously kicked three local bullies out
of the Prairie Star saloon, he was re-
garded as a man to be prated about at a
wholesome distance rather than openly dis-
puted. It was about this time, also, that
two of Littleton's professionals had in-
vited him to a poker game, the result of
which game was that the gamblers packed
their belongings next day and walked out
of town, leaving their board and laundry
bills unpaid.
Some there were who appreciated the
expurgation the town had undergone in
the losing of the gamblers and the silenc-
ing of the bullies; but others, more cyni-
cal in their calculations, declared that
the village had a substitute for these evils
in the mysterious personality of Jerry
Lull.
Thus, with a shadowv suspicion lurk-
ino- about him, did this young man of iron
reticence spend two months in the settle-
ments about Littleton.
It was Saturday afternoon in Decem-
ber. All day a silent snow had been fall-
ing in great flakes, and the ground was
uniformly covered to a depth of ten inches.
In tha Prairie Star saloon Mr. Lull was
engaged in a quiet poker game with some
of Littleton's amateurs. A half-dozen pa-
trons and loungers stood around the bar-
room stove, smoking and discussing the
condition of the weather, when a sudden
swish of wind threw open the door of the
building, and sent a white spray of snow
over the bar. 'The proprietor stepped to
the door to close it, and as he did so he
announced a change of wind and a bliz-
zard.
Some of the loungers stepped to the
window to observe the storm. Already
the street was in a gray whirl of snow so
that the blacksmith-shon across the way
could not be distinguished.
"'Spect it's goincr to be one of Ne-
braska's old-timers," carelessly remarked
the bar-keeper. The men spat on the
floor and passively agreed with him. There
were a few casual remarks about the pos-
sibility of any exposed person surviving
the storm, when one of the men suddenly
remembered that Eddie Starling had rid-
den out of town not a half hour before.
"Eddie Starling of the Starling
Ranch?" excitedly asked one.
"Eleven miles against this storm !" ex-
THE LO^E OF CHANCE.
135
claimed another. "A twelve-year-old boy
on a pinto in this weather !"
Other excited remarks came in confu-
sion from the crowd. Some wondered
whether the boy could get back to town.
Others thought he might reach Patter-
son's ford in safety, where he would gain
the hospitable shelter of Richard Patter-
son's house. Some talked in an indecisive
way of a rescuing party, while still others
could do nothing more effective than to
rehearse accounts of similar storms and
accompanying fatalities.
It was at this moment that Lull, who
with his accustomed equanimitv had been
quietly playing his hand, arose from his
chair. Without a word of apology for
thus abruptlv nuitting the game, without
even a significant look from his cool coun-
tenance, he slowly shoved his roll of bills
and a handful of ivorv chips into his
pocket and turned away from the table.
As he approached the door with his de-
cisive step, his raised shoulders and the
steady, clock-like swaying of his arms, the
little group of men stepped aside to let
him pass. They watched him as he left
the room, for this man's every movement
was of interest to Littleton.
A few minutes later he passed before
the window with a tight roll of woolen
blankets. As the men from the window
watched him leaning into the battling
blast, they could only wonder and guess.
From the livery barn, a short time after,
he led his tall bay. The roll of blankets
was securelv strapped behind the saddle.
The horse pranced restlessly in the storm
as Lull's foot souo-ht the stirrup. Then
with a bound and a plunge, the horse and
rider disappeared in the gray fury that
raged through the street.
The group of men in the saloon had all
but forgotten the predicament of Eddie
Starling in the intensity of their interest
in Lull's actions. What could have
prompted the man to ride away into this
storm, they wondered? Had he been the
loser in the game he was playing? Or
iiad he over-heard the conversation about
Eddie Starling's danger, and was he ^os-
sibly undertaking a rescue?
"Oh, bosh !" exclaimed one of the men,
"reckon that man would care if the whole
State of Nebraska froze to death to-night?
Not much. Sentiment don't trouble him
as much as other people's horses do."
The laugh that followed this remark
produced such general optimism that all
were willing to believe that Eddie Star-
ling was safe under shelter at Patterson's
Ranch, and the matter was dismissed from
their minds.
At the Starling Ranch that evening
Jack Starling was pacing restlesslv back
and forth in the house and trying to con-
vince his wife that their son had not
started from Littleton before the coming
of the storm. But Mrs. Starling only
shuddered as the storm continued to wail
and to tear at the rattling shingles. With
a sudden thump the door opened, and
Jerry Lull, his left cheek frozen into a
white disc, walked in with a great bundle
wrapped in new blankets. He laid his
burden on the lloor.
"He'll be all right soon, I hope," he
said as he unwrapped the blankets and re-
vealed the unconscious form of Eddie
Starling.
How the mother expressed her joy and
the father his gratitude is here of no con-
sequence. Let is suffice to say that the
boy was duly resuscitated with the hej.p
of "Mr. Lull, and that Lull would give
no account of the rescue, save that he
found the boy asleep and half buried in
a snow-drift some six or seven miles down
the trail.
Nothing could induce Mr. Lull to ac-
cept "the hospitality offered by the Star-
lings; but when he was assured of the
boy's safety, he led his horse from the
barn, mounted, and turning in the direc-
tion of Stub Jones's ranch, gave the ani-
mal a loose rein, and rode away into tha
awful night.
The storv of this rescue soon spread
abroad and furnished the topic for much
conversation and gossip throughout the
settlement. Much wonder was expressed
at this unexpected conduct of Mr. Lull,
but more wonder still was expressed a
month later when it was found that the
Starling boy had actually succeeded in
making friends with this stoical man. For
when Eddie had again been able to be out
he had frequently ridden over to the Jones
ranch in the hope of becoming better ac-
quainted with his rescuer. It had been a
slow process, but gradually the two had
become friends. Often they spent the day
in a joint antelope hunt. As Mr. Lull
was a clever hunter and a matchless
136
OVERLAND MONTHLY.
marksman, both with rifle and pistol, the
boy readily became his disciple.
Once or twice a week, through the win-
ier, they met and hunted together. But
often Lull was gone from the settlement
for a week at a time, and when he returned
he invariably came from the direction of
the Upper Sand Hill country.
Eddie soon learned not to question the
man about these trips, or in fact about
anything relating to his personal affairs.
Indeed, their friendship was a silent one.
Few words were sDoken. Only now and
then, when they sat about a camp-fire did
this man of few words express fragments
of his stoical philosophy.
"There's only one thing in this worJd
to be feared, Eddie," he would say, "and
only one thing that's worth living for. The
thing to be feared is whisky. It won't
fight you fair, son; don't meddle with it.
It won't give you a fair chance. And that
brings me to the thing 1 I was goin~ to say
it's chance that's worth living for. Take
chances, boy. The life was never worth
living that never got into a pinch. If
you can't find chances, make some. But
take chances, boy, take big chances."
And Eddie would watch the light in the
gray eyes and wonder what big chance this
quiet man was taking, but he dared not
ask.
In January the snow had disappeared.
The Grimes band of horse-thieves began
to make occasional midnight expeditions
into the country. Without snow it was
impossible to track these men into the
wilderness of sand hills that lay to the
north, so the ranchmen merely mattered
helplessly at an occasional loss of a small
bunch of horses.
.Then the old suspicion of Mr. Lull's
secret alliance with the thieves was re-
vived, and his actions were watched more
closely than ever before. Jack Starling
was especially zealous in his efforts to find
convicting evidence against him, for al-
though he felt a debt of gratitude toward
the rescuer of his son, he could not ignore
the mysterious visits Mr. Lull was mak-
ing to the Sand Hill country.
"Tell you, Ann," said Starling one
evening at supper, "I'm convinced there's
something secret about that fellow Lull,
and I'll bet a horse he's in with that Sand
Hill gang."
"Why, Jack Starling!" exclaimed his
wife, "how can you talk that way when
you know how much Mr. Lull has done
for us?" Jack stirred his coffee excitedly
and continued :
"His kind is apt to do anything for a
fellow, but that don't clear 'em of horse-
stealing. You remember the time we
hung Handy Charley down at Patterson's
Ford. Well, we never would have got that
rascal if he hadn't stopped like a fool to
give back a ring to that Patterson girl be-
fore crossing the river and the whole
blamed country a-chasing him, too. Why.
if he had ever got across the river there,
we would never have seen him again. But
he did that (little fool thing, and we
swung him. And you mark my word, if
that Lull don't be the next to swing from
Patterson's oak."
It was in the latter part of March when
a great raid was made on the Collins pas-
tures, and thirteen of the best horses were
run off. It was this that stirred the set-
tlers to action. The pasture was closely
searched for any sign that would furnish
a clue to the identity of the thieves. And
then it was that in the pasture, near the
spot where the horses had been rounded
up, the men found the broken spur of
Jerry Lull.
When Jack Starling came home that
night he told his wife about the spur, and
about the plans of the Vigilantes for the
next day, but he' carefully avoided le'tting
Eddie into the secret.
The next morning Mr. Starling had
ridden away somewhere before Eddie
arose. Tears came to Mrs. Starling's eves
as she refused to tell her son where his
father had gone. Eddie decided to ques-
tion her no more, but the mystery re-
mained unsolved.
In the afternoon the boy was sitting
in the barn door, just finishing the mend-
ing of his saddle, when Jim Wilson came
galloping by, his horse blowing with the
warmth of spiing.
"Hi. there!" called Eddie, "what's up?"
Wilson halted and breathlessly ex-
plained: "We've got him cooped up in
Patterson's barn. I'm out rounding up
more men. Going to burn the barn to-
night."
"Who's cooped up?" demanded the boy,
as he rose to his feet.
"The horse- thief, Jerry Lull wrf
chased him as far as Patterson's crossing,
THE LOVE OF CHANCE.
13'
shoot in 7 at him all the time got him one
in the hip, 1 guess ; anyhow, he rode into
Patterson's barn instead of tryin^ to ford
the river. River's up, you know ice
a-floating down. Oh, he's a bad one. He's
found all the knot holes in the old barn
and he's taking a shot at every man as
shows a finger out of shelter. They're go-
ing to wait till night to sneak on him and
burn him out. Good-bve !"
Eddie would 'have staggered at this
news, but he thought of what Mr. Lull
had told him about a life of chance.
"Is my father there?" the boy gasped,
as Wilson was riding away.
"Jack Starling?" the rider called back.
"Sure; he's the man that shot him in the
hip."
The boy's head grew heavy and seemed
to swim in a warm, throbbing haze. But
again there flashed upon him the words
that had made such an impression on his
youthful mind : "The life was never worth
living that never got into a pinch !" He
straightened up, and assumed the steady,
decisive walk of Mr. Lull as he strode into
the barn. He would ride to Patterson's
crossing. If he could then cross the river
with Mr. Lull, he could hold the Vigi-
lantes back while the man he admired es-
caped.
Without a word to his mother, he led his
pinto from the barn. The wiry bronco
wheeled on his haunches as the lad leaped
to the saddle. A moment later a long
gray screw of dust was whirling down the
road after clattering hoofs. A little rise
of ground, a small vale, and the rider
swept out of sight of the. Starling Ranch.
Nine miles away, at Patterson's Ranch.,
the dull, heavy feeling that comes with a
critical situation weighed upon thirty
souls. The few shots that had come from
the cracks and knot-holes of the old barn
had spoken the determination of the be-
sieged, and little groups of armed men
were concealed behind a haystack and sev-
eral outbuildings. Within the barn was a
wounded and desperate man, and a man
whose life had been spent in tantalizing
every device of death.
The scene was one that might have
caused a Napoleon to pause and muse on
the significance of a human life. It was
one of those soundless spring days when,
the very air seems awed into silence. Here
and there the grass was just peeping
green in response to the mighty pulse of
spring. The rolling prairie spread away
to the north, and the outline of the dis-
tant hills quivered in the warm sunshine.
From the river a hundred yards to the
south came the rasping sound of floating
ice, mingled with the gurgling of turbu-
lent water. Just where the trail dipped
down over the river bank to the ford stood
the ominous Patterson's oak, which had
been the scene of Handy Charley's chas-
tisement. Gray and old, with two crows
awkwardly flapping about its bare
branches, it stood awaiting its new victim.
The besiegers about the barn had grown
dogged in their determination, and
were sullenly waiting for night, when they
would accomplish their incendiary pur-
pose. While they were waiting, some one
called attention to a rider on a, spotted
pinto- coming down the trail from the
north. Ordinarily such a sight would
have attracted little attention, but the
frantic speed with which the horse ap-
proached, caused all to stare.
The rider disappeared in a hollow, then
re-appeared over the summit of a hill,
dipped out of sight in a small ravine, and
descended to the level stretch of road in
the river valley. Now the rolling sputter
of hoofs could be heard as the pinto sent
a stream of dust behind him.
"Eddie Starling!" some one exclaimed.
"And bare-headed," joined others.
"Wonder what's up."
As the rider thundered past the hay-
stack, Jack Starling called out in the au-
thoritative tone of a parent: "Stop, son!
The barn the barn ! There's danger !"
But twenty feet from the barn the boy
had halted the pinto in a whirl of dust,
had leaped to the ground and disappeared
within the barn.
Men stared stupidly at one another.
Some who were of the more explosive na-
ture announced their hopes to be seen in
the infernal regions if they had ever
known the like. Others who saw the new
situation in its complicated light, cursed
at their blighted hones of burning out
their victim. And others grouped about
Jack Starling for an explanation of his
son's conduct.
A few moments lifted the suspense. The
barn-door that faced the river swung open
with a bang, and Lull's big bay plunged
forth toward the ford.
138
OVERLAND MONTHLY.
Thirty rifles flew to thirty shoulders,
but not a -shot was fired. In the saddle
were two riders, and the one in front
was the son of Jack Starling. Behind
him, the lover of chance was half-turn-
ing in the saddle, while his threatening
pistol held the crowd in check. The dan-
ger of his situation and the pain of his
wounded hip found no expression in the
changeless composure of his face. He was
taking one of the great chances that had
made all his life worth living. He did not
curse humanity, as is the custom of des-
peradoes at bay: he did not waste vain
pistol shots in empty space ; and when the
horse bore him over the steep bank and
into the unruly stream, he did not splft
the air with a shout of defiance.
The Vigilantes hastened to the river.
A shout -of mingled fear and hatred went
up as they saw the gallant horse striving
to evade the crashing ice chunks, and
vainly battling against the resistless flood.
A heavy cake of ice struck the horse's
hip and half turned him round in the
swirling torrent, but still he toiled on
under his double load.
Jack Starling's face was pale with fear
as he thought of his son's danger. Then
a new thought brought determination to
his eye. If the horse were relieved of its
greater burden it might yet bear his son
to shore. Jack had great confidence in his
own marksmanship. He brought his rifle
to his shoulder 'but as he did so, another
cake of ice struck the horse, and the boy
was thrown from the saddle and whirled
into the main current. A murmur of dis-
may mingled with curses on the shore;
then of a sudden, .ollowed the silence that
comes with amazement. The man whose
life was being sought, the man with tha
unwritten death warrant of border law
staring at him from the shore, had turned
his horse about in the stream, and faced
his enemies. With a blow from his pistol
he forced the unwilling brute back into
the main current, and pursued the helpless
bov. In three frantic lunges the rider
had swung in front of the vast raft of
ice that was floatin " toward the drown-
ing youth. The men on the shore were
breathless when Lull's big hand clutched
the boy's shoulder. Then the silence gave
place to another murmur of distress as
the great sheet of ice struck the horse
and turned him on his side.
There was a sudden sinking of horso
and riders, followed bv a violent slannhi /
of waves against the ices' edge, and tlio
innocent boy, side by side with the iron-
clad character, who loved chance deaivi-
than life, was tided away into the "?i-
knowable sea of silence.
THE WESTERN CALL
BY MADELINE HUGHES PELTON
'T
IS the Western air,
'Tis the Western "dare"
Of the Western sons of men ;
With their songs of cheer
And their scorn of fear,
That will call me back again.
'Tis the Western style
Of the Western smile,
And the wholesome hearts of men ;
'Tis the mountain ways
And the "golden days,"
That will win me back as^ain.
EVEN "MY NAVAJOS" WERE PARTIES TO THE SCHEME.
KELLEY OF THE TRANS-MOJAVE
BY FELIX J. KOCH
ILLUSTRATED WITH PHOTOGRAPHS.
T WAS down in San
Diego that we heard fho
story. Friend, with
whom we'd crossed the
seas four years before,
when Friend considered
himself almost a Yan-
kee, had invited us in
to tea, and realizing that there is nothing
so refreshing fto a gUobe-itrotter as to
drop in beside a real human fireside, we
spent the evening telling stories which
smacked of the West, obviously.
The moonlight streamed in through the
open windows, and the balmy March
winds, off San Diego bay, brought with
them the odor of the climbing roses there
on the veranda.
There was something in the perfume
of those jack-roses that started the sug-
gestion, probably.
"Ever run across the story of Phil Kel-
lev of the Trans-Mojave?" our host asked,
for we were out in the golden W r est in
pursuit of what the newspaper man calls
"stories." \
We admitted 1 we hadn't.
Friend's wife brought his old meer-
schaum, which always helped the mental
process, and we settled ourselves down to
listen.
"Kelley's just de id and gone, so you've
timeliness for your stc.-v. He was a char-
acter down here in the Southwest, for
many and many a day. Latterly he was
a queer old fellow always wore a soft,
slouch hat of grey, and loose-fitting suit
of dark color. Wherever he went, he car-
ried a staff, to what end no one evar
knew.
What added to his picturesqueness was
a long, swarthy beard, glasses with gold
THE STREET IX TUCSON WHERE THE INSTRUMENTS WERE BOUGHT.
PHIL KELLEY
vims of the olden style, and best of all, a
grin of the sort that makes the world run
smoothly.
' '"Where he'd come from, of course none
of us knew. You know the spirit of the
West to take a fellow at hundred cents
on the dollar and never inquire where the
metal now in him was coined!
"Well, it happened that one da^ Kelley
took sick, and thev sent him over the hills
to the county hospital.
"There in his delirium he told a most
remarkable tale.
"It seems that a few years before, he
had driven a stage on the Trans-Mojave
route out here into the West."
Every time Friend spoke of the West,
his eyes kindled and sought the jack-rose
trellis out there through the window.
"One day, crossing the desert plains
without a passenger, and so taking his
ease, he stopped to chat with a prospector
who had pitched his tent on the mesas
and set up a claim monument right on
the edge of the trail.
"The man, too, had come out of the
nowhere, and with next to noting. He
was, however, more buoyant than the rest
"TARNAL STRANGER, GIT OUT O' HERB! THIS YERE CLAIM WAS MINE, AND
PHIL KELLEY MURDERED ME!"
of the claim-hunters seemed most confi-
dent of success.
"Somewheres over-seas he had obtained
a magnet that possessed peculiar powers.
Applied to any plant growing on the des-
ert, he could tell from what substance
that plant derived its nourishment, and
also what other rock was present down
below, by the degree of attraction made
on the magnet.
"We've all heard of the roots of trees
making their way through iron and the
like, and that seems to have been the prin-
ciple involved. The roots of the plants
took up minute particles of every metal
beneath them, whether this was soluble
ordinarily or no, and these this queer
touchstone revealed.
"Given an indication, therefore, that
there was gold in a given plot of soil, the
man had only to dig down to that layer
or strata, and if there were metal enough
to pay, to 'stake it out. 7
"To cut a long story short, Kelley sold
out his share in the stage line and put the
money into the venture of finding the gold
with the touch-stone.
"From the trail, they came down into
the heart of the Mojave country and
staked it on the real desert. There, by and
bye, they were amassing a fortune.
KELLEY PEDDLING GLUE.
'THE YOUNG INDIANS WERE DRAWN UP INTO LINE."
"Wfcat it took other prospectors hours
or even days of good, solid digging to de-
termine, these men could find out in a
minute or two.
"The Southwest, you know, is willing
enough to let every man attend to his own
business, but by and bye, Kelley went a
step beyond this State ; got uppish and
took to deriding, good-naturedly, those
not quite so successful as he.
"Then the other prospectors arranged
their revenge and reprisal. It would be
expensive, of course, but the^ didn't care.
When you're at the work of finding gold
in the desert sands, and getting it for the
picking, you're not quite as particular
with money as some qf the rest of us are.
"There was a fellow in Tucson who had
just put -in his store window a new inven-
tion of which some of them knew.
"'They sent him an order for about
three dozen of these implements, and then
bided their time to wait. Meanwhile,
nowever, thev paid a visit to Uncle Sam's
neighboring Indian school, and having
laid their plan before the director, anl
used the soothing oil of graft, against
which scarce any of our officials are proof,
they had " young Indiana drawn up in-
to line and given certain directions.
"Then it was fixed that for a day Kelley
and his partner should be lured into Tuc-
son and kept busy, until all arrangements
were completed. Arrived at the city, Kel-
ley and his friend soon found themselves
in the midst of the convivials among whom
a prospector usually takes his place on
his visit to town a crowd which is ever
ready to welcome him, since he stands for
all of the drinks.
"They fell to telling stories desert
stories, always. By and bye the stories
began to take a peculiar turn. They were
dealing with the "Haunt" or the "Spirit"
of the desert.
"There is an old, old tradition on the
Mojave of a tenderfoot who started 1o
prospect, struck gold, and was murdered
bv jealous rivals, whose spirit is supposed
to ride the desert and to wail and cry in
no uncertain tones betimes.
"This story, in a dozen different ver-
sions, from a dozen different sources, was
repeated in the saloons.
"Then Kelley and his partner went
back to their camp.
"Meantime, however, .the desert had
been over-run with young Indians, taken
PHIL. KELLEY OF THE TRANS-MOJAVE.
143
out in a wagon to Kelley's camp, and di-
verging from this afoot to his innumer-
able claim monuments.
"A day or two later a stranger came out
io Kelley's camp to look over what he h^I
to sell.
"They went to one claim, believed to
be particularly rich.
"Idlv, as thev stood surveying it, the
newcomer raised a boulder off the cor-
ner monument.
"As he did so, a voice floated out on
the clear desert air, a gruff voice, pitchc-1
in no uncertain tones :
" ' Tarnal stranger, git out o' here !
This yere claim was mine, and Kel-
ley murdered me !'
"If you can imagine yourself out on
the lonesome, without another soul ex-
cepting Keliey within sight or hearing,
and nothing but the sand and the stinga-
ree and the yuccas, and heard a voice like
that come from the very earth, you can
perhaps imagine the consternation of the
two lone men there on the desert.
"The one dropped the boulder, but the
voice had ceased.
"The stranger, however, had had
enough. So, too, had Keliey. They took
to their heels and fled into the desert.
"When once they stopped for want )f
breath they looked at each other for ,i-
planations.
"Neither could offer any attempt of
these. The newcomer, however, was bound
to admit he ; d have nothing to do with
that claim.
"They went, then, to another.
"'Sure, this ain't haunted too?' the
prospective buyer asked, and without
awaiting the reply he moved a boulder *{
the monument.
"Aeain the voice, the same gruff one:
"'Get off of stolen ground, d n
you! I was murdered for this land, and
no one else '11 have it, I say!'
"That finished him. The tenderfoot
wouldn't buy any claims of the sort. Kei-
ley, too, wouldn't have . anything more
to do with them himself.
" 'Say, let's get back to Tucson quick
as we can/ was his only comment, as the
startled pair fled again from they knew
not what into the sand wastes.
"TAKE A FELLOW AT A HUNDRED CENTS' ON THE DOLLAR AND NEVER
INQUIRE WHERE THE METAL NOW IN HIM WAS COINED!"
144
OVERLAND MONTHLY.
" 'I'm more'n willing/ his customs
answered, 'but we'd both best shut up
and not say why we're coming, or we'd
never be anything but laughed at.'
"Kelley saw the logic in the suggestion,
and acquiesced immediately.
"Pretty soon it was learned in Tucson
that Kellev had pulled stakes and was
going back East. He'd got tired of the
desert and was homesick, it was said.
"The train had hardly pulled out of
Tucson before a dozen squatters had de-
camped on his property.
"Then they upset the claim monu-
ments and took out of each a little instru-
ment an instrument with a cylinder and
a black funnel at one end.
"This they destroyed or else buried
deep in the sands.
"What was it? Why, a graphophoue,
of course. Thev had had the Indian k'cU
hide these, one in each monument, all
wound up and the spring set, so's the
minute you'd move the boulder, you'd =5et
it off.
"The buyer of claims, of course, was
only a dupe of their's, standing in with
the bunch."
"Wfhat became of Kelley?" we asked,
interested.
The meerschaum had gone out, and
Friend's little ones were rubbing their
eyes, bespeaking bedtime.
"'Last I heard of him he was up in a
Northern city. Had one of those stands
for a glue that holds everything under the
sun. You've seen 'em with the plates,
once-cracked, jointed together by chains.
Said he'd stick to this through thick and
thin, even if he couldn't stick to his first
love, the desert. Now comes the word
that he's gone."
THE CANYON'S DEPTHS
BY AD H. GIBSON
W
HEEE shadows linger, and the rays
Of sunlight fall in lace-like showers,
How pleasant in the canyon's depths
To loiter through the summer hours !
The dew still gems the ferns and flowers,
The limpid brooks, 'twixt mossy braes,
Along the depth of canyon sings
A symphony of lyric lays.
The mountains wild, in purple haze,
Frame in a rift of cloudless blue,
And walls, steep rising, interpose
A screen between us and the view.
We gather flowers damp with dew,
And weave them into bloomy sprays,
And perfect rest and soothing find
Within the canyon's sheltered ways.
EPISODE OF THE FLOAT LANDS
BY ERNESTINE WTtfCHELX,
SESTEKDAY morning,
when Edith trudged
along the narrow levee-
path in the wake of her
younger sister and
small brother, her mind
had had no more seri-
ious occupation than
speculation as to the probable number of
yellow- jacket stings awaiting her defense-
less little legs.
The pathway to the school house was
worn deep in the fibrous peat sods of
which the levee was built. On the river
side the bank was soaked and compact to
the tide level ; on the land side the drying
of the sods left crevices and cavities in
which scores of mouse families and of
yellow-jacket colonies were happily es-
tablished.
Of the former the children saw little;
and the latter had given them no concern
till, one unfortunate day, a certain settle-
ment had been accidentally disturbed.
Since then those particular colonists had
fiercely resented every footfall in their
domain, and the last of the little proces-
sion of three never escaped punishment
no matter how fast the pace set by the
leader.
This morning, by the system of turn
about which they observed, Edith's pink
sunbonnet bobbed serenely in the van,
while six-year-old Lester trailed along in
the rear, a disconsolate prospective sac-
rifice. His long overalls gave his chubby
legs complete protection and relieved his
sisters' minds of excessive sympathy with
his wordy distress, but to him there ap-
peared no consolation.
A summer morning is nowhere lovelier
than along the San Joaquin river, where
the regular tides ebb and flow, silent and
unfailing as the hours themselves; where,
between the high green walls of brown-
tasseled tules, the blue, rippled water
takes its quiet, devious way to the Pacific
to be forever beaten back by salty
waves; where the treacherous float-land,
protected from the tides by earth embank-
ments lies level and fair, bearing upon
its false bosom the emerald glory of the
native grasses, and the wealth of the tilled
crops of men.
Again the child wondered why all the
books told only of the beauty of grass
or rock-bordered streams ; of hills and val-
leys and mountains; of lofty trees. She
looked to the left across regular ranks
of dark potato vines breaking into white
and purple bloom, to the snowy field of
buckwheat where the bees were humming;
and to the right, beyond the tule tassels,
where white sails, filled with the fresh
west wind, carried the river schooners
gayly up the stream.
As she looked, charmed by the riot of
exquisite color and form, Edith's mind
began to drift from one thought to an-
other. For a space it touched upon the
lessons awaiting her at the weather-gray
little school house. Scraps of Lester's
plaintive prophecies regarding yellow-
jackets held faint attention for an instant.
Then, in a flash, everything was forgo tten
but a bit of conversation that she had
overheard that morning. After the in-
definite rumble of her father's voice had
come her mother's sympathetic answer :
"Yes, I know it's almost a vain hope. The
snow water is coming down so fast, and
this west wind keeps the tides in. Still
if the Chinamen make their appearance
in time "
Why hadn't she paid attention? A
sense of gravity impressed her now as it
had not then. And she remembered the
pale, anxious face of a neighbor as he said
to her father: "Pour more tides before
the highest."
Into her troubled speculations broke a
frantic cry from Alice: "Sdithl oh, run,
now -run!"
Instantly she grasped the details of
the familiar situation. At the other side
of that tall weed lay the stronghold of
the little yellow enemy. Scouts were out,
and the . only hope lay in the swift run-
ning of the gauntlet. Tule wall on the
right and water-filled ditck on the left
made flank movement impossible. So
a rushing of pink-topped brown pinafore!
146
OVERLAND MONTHLY.
Another followed by active blue overalls,
skipping mightily to the tune of anticipa-
tory wails. Safely passed! But no! A
forte note signaled the discomfiture of the
rear guard!
Well out of range, the forces were re-
assembled, first aid to the injured admin-
istered in the form of kisses and condo-
lences, and then the single file march to
school resumed.
Looking from the riverside window soon
after the bell rang, Edith saw three boats
in mid-stream, all filled with Chinamen
and piled high with baggage and tools.
In each, four men at the oars forced the
craft rapidly up the river with the pe-
culiar, short, jerky stroke of the coolie.
Later, a gang of the coolies following
the levee path filed past the open door-
way each immobile, yellow face crowned
by a bread splint hat like the lid of a
basket; each wiry form clothed in clean
blue cotton garments of varying shades.
Some bore across their shoulders thick
poles of bamboo weighted by covered bas-
ket or corded bale at either end ; many
carried queer but familiar implements,
and all jogged rhythmically in a patient
trot. These, too, were bound up river,
and all were levee-builders.
The air was full of indefinite dis-
turbance and a vague sense of expect-
ancy.
Another file of blue-clad Chinamen
trotted by, and the teacher closed the
door.
Going home after school in the faint,
shimmering haze that veils all this moist
land under the afternoon sun, Edith tried
to sum up the impressions of the day.
Alice pranced lightly along in the lead.
Suddenly she stopped with a startled ex-
clamation, and Edith, following her in-
dication, saw where dry and cork-like sods
on the river side oi; the levee, and above
the usual high-tide level, had been shifted
from their places. She saw, too, where
Alice excitedly pointed it out, a stretch
of path that was "wet.
Further on, they reconnoitered trie am-
bush of the yellow- jackets. To their sur-
prise there was no angry buzzing of fran-
tic little fighters A fev of the guards
flew aimlessly about in the unwonted
silence. Cautiously the girls drew up,
while Lester, at a safe distance, waited
for dramatic developments.
At length, side by side, the pink sun-
bonnets peered over the edge of the levee
into the entrance of the nest. Not an in-
sect was stirring. Then they saw what
they had been too absorbed to notice be-
fore, that here, for several feet, the levee
was wet nearly its whole width.
One of the high tides had come and
gone ! At its flood point it had trickled,
unresisted, into that stronghold so vali-
antly defended so fatally pregnable !
Half-exultant, half-pitiful, the girls
walked on, and Lester, valorously kicking
at the spongy sods, followed with hands
in pockets his small beins: intent upon the
control of a very young whistle, which
was now beautifully piercing for a note or
two now faintly sibilant, now but a
breath, in exasperating inconsequence.
"Here's more sods been moved!" Alice
exclaimed, her voice quivering. And a
bit further on: "See! the water almost
went over there !"
Tingling with apprehension, Edith
looked, half-fearfullv, over the rank po-
tato rows and on to the distant snow of
the buckwheat. Yes, they were still the
same. But beyond the buckwheat, active,
pale blue figures, scattered in squads of
four or five along the course of the river,
were cutting peaty rectangles from th?
soil, draggin^ each from the oozy em-
brace of its neighbor, flinging it to the
levee top, fixing it in close contact with
others every yellow-faced automaton do-
ing his anDointed part with the estab-
lished rhythm of Chinese concerted move-
ment.
At the early supper table, the conversa-
tion of the older members turned to the
impending 1 flood. Would the levees hold?
Which sections might be too weak?
Which were too low?
"I think I can 'hold my fields," re-
marked the father. "By to-morrow nignt
all my levees will be made high enough
and strong enough."
"But there will be three high tides be-
fore then," Frank sup-bested, his eyes on
his father's face.
"I'm remembering," a little grimly.
"And the night tide is the highest. Well,
I will watch that weakest place myself,
with one gang. One of you bovs take
the north bend, and the other watch the
headgate. I'll tell Ah Tong to give each
of you four Chinamen."
AN EPISODE OF THE FLOAT LANDS.
147
"Everybody else is sending cut patrols,
too/ 7 said Percy, with a tremor of excite-
ment in his young voice. "Johnson thinks
his land is all safe and he's right, I
guess, but he's putting out three men.
And Wallace will have five."
""Wallace will need five," decided Prank.
"His levees haven't been proved like
Johnson's. Those old levees have stood
for years and years haven't they, father ?
They are high and solid, too ; no loose sods
about them. Say, Percy, did you see that
new horse he brought back from the city
his last trip?"
And so the conversation drifted from
floods and levees. But Edith's dreams
were haunted that night by visions of
green fields where leopard lilies bloomed,
changing to desolate tangles of dead tules
through which she struggled endlessly.
When the family met at breakfast the
older faces were weary and anxious. The
father's words were confident as ever, but
his eyes belied them. As he rose from
the table, he said, briefly, to Edith: "Go
to school in your boat to-da}?*."
They started early before the turning
tide should have gained too much oppos-
ing force, and Alice noted, with a little
shriek of surprise, the new high-water
mark so far above the old one, a silty rin^
on every shining tule.
At the school house an excited group of
children exchanged news.
"Mr. Price's levee broke in two places
last night!"
"Oh, say! Lucy Jones says the water-
comes clear up to their porch floor, and
they just stepped off the porch into the
boat, and then rowed right over the
levee when they went to look after things
in the night. Wasn't that funny?"
"'Johnny ! The water in on you yet ?"
"No." reluctantly. Then, hopefully:
"But papa says he don't think he can keep
it out another tide."
In the irresponsible childish minds the
unformed terror of the day before had
reacted into keen appreciation of a novel
situation, delighted anticipation of new-
sensations, and delicious apprehension of
impersonal dangers. There was little
study in the gray school house that day,
for oven the teacher was not calm. Often
she looked out on the placid, merciless
river, and then over her father's carefully
tended fields. Sometimes the children
saw tears in the gentle eyes, now so sad
and heavv from the weary vigil of tha
night.
Out in the sunshine, all along the river's
tortuous course, groups of imperturbable
Chinamen labored unceasingly, some
knee-deep in mud-thickened water; some
trampling in their work the lush gra;s
or the cultivated crons. Did they remem-
ber did they ever know? or, knowing,
did they care, that fearfully near, be-
neath all that beautiful, smiling, glori-
ously prolific land lay awful depths of
dark, tideless water ? Had they heard the
weird, true tales of futile efforts to fathom
those mysterious deeps?
Closely watched bv many apprehensive
eyes, the day tide rose to the fullest swell,
pulsed there for a seeminar hour, then
gently, softly, slowly sank away.
There came no word of new breaks from
above nor from below. Most of the men
went home and to bed, to prepare for tiia
strain of the coming night. And many
Chinamen, at word of thr foreman,
crawled into tiny tents for a few hours
of sleep.
With the ebbing tide full against them
after school was out, Edith and Alica
had the prospect of hard work to reach
home. The current, brown now with the
drainage of inundated acres far up strea- i,
carried them many boat lengths below the
school house wharf before they could
unshin their oars, and all the impetus of
their four sturdv arms could give the light
skiff seemed lost in its force. Edith,
who was "stroke" ' and therefore captain
and pilot), bent all her strength to the
port oar again and again, till, at length,
the little craft swung free of the current.
But even close to the bank the resistance
was disheartening, ana it took minutes
to pass each separate ~>oint.
Lester, lolling indolently in the stern
seat, o-ave himself up to renewed struggle
with his refractory whistle.
Finallv. weary stroke b^ wear- T stroke,
the distance was measured off. Moist,
warm and rumpled, with burning palms
and aching shoulders, this tired boat-crew
welcomed the haven of the Cabled white
house, and the svmpathetic ministrations
of mother. Never did water feel so sooth-
ing! Never did simple supper taste so
good!
Alice went out to see her brooding ban-
148
OVERLAND MONTHLY.
tarn hen. Edith rested quietly on the flooi
at her mother's knees, and the shrilling
of Lester's cheerfully erratic whistle
floated in through the open window on the
soft, persistent west wind. The peaceful
quiet deepened as the day faded. The
sun grew greater and redder as it neared
the blue, undulating line of the Coast
Eange. As the blue turned to black, the
flaming sun dropped suddenly, splashing
the whole western sk Tr with a glorv of
scarlet and s-old. The ^old slowlv changed
to canary to oreen to palest amber;
the scarlet faded to pink to pearl. Am-
ber and pearl blent and deepened to pur-
ple, and then the splendid summer con-
stellation sprang into place, blazing in vio-
let and red and gold like reincarnations
of the sunset.
Reluctantly Edith yielded herself to
sleep; drowsily she heard the voices of
her father and brothers answering the
mother's call to the hard night watch.
It seemed but a moment till, startled
into wa kef ulness by a ray of warm light
falling on her face, she sat UD in bed and
stared out of the window. The morning
sunshine bathed the pasture lands, tl-o
tule wall, the glimmering bits of river, and
all her sight could reach. Alice slept
tranquilly beside her. It was late very
late, and no one had called them. What
strange thing had changed even the home
routine ?
Shivering with apprehension in the soft,
warmth of the sunshine, she dragged or
her clothes. With hurrying heart and
reluctant feet she went down the stairs
and along the hall to the open dining room
door. At the threshold she stopped, look-
ing wildlv from one white face to an-
other.
Words were held at sight of her, but her
mother put out a welcoming hand; with
a sob of nameless fear the child sprang
to the refuge that never fails.
"You may as well go on, Nathan," the
mother said, quietly. "They will hear
about it anyway."
Sadly and haltingly her father contin-
ued the storv of the night. During the
hours of the high tide, when a wave from
a passing steamboat might undo all the
work of vears, every mile of levee had been
patrol ed in sections bv souads of Chinese
under vigilant white men.
The tide the highest and the last to
fear had begun to fall. Men were lift-
ing glad faces in the moonlight, thankful
for the reprieve that was theirs whe-i
the night was cleft by a hoarse, strangled
cry in the near distance which hushed
every voice.
Into the stillness rang a thin clamor in
Chinese, swelling to a Babel of sound as
the Chinamen gathered. Upon the up-
roar crashed Fred Johnson's stern word
of command and inquiry. For a moment
he contended for explanation; then impa-
tient with the unintelligible, frightened
jargcn, he turned and ran as the franti,
gestures indicated ran along the top of
his firm, dry levee, racing to meet yet
dreading to see the unknown horror that
lay before him. Scarcely had he gained
strong headway than he stopped with a
backward leap. One hundred yards of
turbid water rolled and tumbled where
the levee had stood !
He chilled in sudden comprehension of
the coolies' tangled phrases. A patrolm m
and a Chinaman had one down with the
levee. He shouted and shouted again, b it
there came no answering cry from the
flood.
Rarjidly the men gathered on either si '<
of the fatal gap. Question and answer
were flung across the torrent. Boats
were brought, and desperate search and
watch held every man till the tide went
out at dawn.
With the day came confirmation of the
fear of the night. The treacherous float-
land, for the protection of which, had been
lavished all this nerve-racking care and
body-breaking labor, had mysteriously
parted, plunging the heavy embankment
with the unsuspecting guard into the aw-
ful, tideless, unmeasured depths beneatL!
All day the faithful watchman lingered,
hoping against dread certainty. Clear-
cut against the blue and the green loomed
the black lagged' ends of the broken levej,
and between, the silver crinkled tide flowed
in over Johnson's fertile fields.
All dav the terrified Chinese scattered
red -naner invocations and petitions upon
the waters. And at night the air was per-
fumed with propitiatory incense; while
upon the river's bosom countless sacrjd
tapers glowed and glimmered and twinkled
weirdly starring the darkness.
THE SUCKERS' SATURDAY NIGHT
BY CHAKLTON LAWRENCE EDHOLM
I ILL THE streets of new
San Francisco, the
stately City Beautiful
of our dreams, ever
know the piquancy
and the picturesque-
ness of Dear Old San
Francisco, the metropo-
lis of joyous memories ? I wonder ! Will it
know again the same eager current of
humanity swirling down the gaily-lighted
thoroughfares of a Saturday night? A
living river whose tributaries flowed from
teeming Europe, the two Americas, Af-
rica, mysterious Asia and the islands of
the seas.
Now that it is a thing of the past, this
brilliant street pageant, it seems as
though we had not actually seen it and
formed a part of it, but merely had read
in some fantastic Arabian tale and
dreamed of what we had read.
There was Market street, with its night-
Iv illuminations, fit welcome for visiting
prince or rajah; Kearny street, with its
pleasure-seeking crowd, gay spendthrift
youths, women gorgeously attired, of a
full-blown exuberant beauty like the
women of Titian or Veronese; Dupont
street, with its stalls and bazars, crammed
full of the wonders of the Orient, its ex-
quisite aestheticism, its unutterable
squalor, and finally that unique feature of
our tolerant, easy-going city, Grant ave-
nue, packed from curb to curb with the
auditors of yelling fakers and phrenolo-
gists, medicine-men and ministers of the
two-and-seventy jarring sects, reformers
and rascals, each more blatant than the
other.
Grant avenue was the Pisgah froiv
which one overlooked promised lands flow-
ing with milk and honev, to say nothing
of more invigorating fluids. You might
begin with the telescope man on the cor-
ner, who would show you for only five
cents the mountains of the moon, over
which, as is well known, runs the road to
El Dorado.
The ever-present white-bearded kidney-
cure vender might claim your attention
next, and sell vou the Fountain of Youth
(with an alcoholic tang), done up in six-
bit bottles. i
Next in line were the social reformers
of all shades, from the pale pink of the be-
liever in revolution by evolution, to the
blood-red advocate of confiscation and
extermination and Utopia day after to-
morrow.
Further along was a little gray man
brandishing a greasy, tmuch-bethumbed
Bible. He had the whine and drone and
twang of a backwoods preacher, and an
occasional outburst asrainst "damnable
doctrines" and "accursed licentious teach-
ings" sounded like a good old-fashioned
invective against Ingersoll or Tom Payne.
Not a bit of it! T. P. was his God and
Ingersoll his prophet, and the book against
which he hurled his fervid rhetoric in
shockingly bad verse sometimes was the
well-worn pocket Bible in his hands. The
morals of the Old Testament heroes horri-
fied him, and he dwelt lovingly on the
lapses of David and Solomon.
Although the Salvationists, the Volun-
teers, the Flying Scroll Evangelists, the
Holy Jumpers and an assortment of inde-
pendent seers and sages put the atheist
clearly in the minority, yet so perverse is
human nature, his tirade drew the biggest
crowd.
Even that spectacular prophet who
donned sack-cloth, let his forked blonde
beard grow to his chest, and his tawny
hair to his shoulders, like a wandering
fragment of Oberammergau, could not
compete with the iconoclast here, for was
not Grant avenue the hammer-swingers'
heaven !
Yes, indeed, here one could learn more
of the abuses that stoop the workers'
shoulders, slant back his brow and loosen
his jaw especially the latter than from
a whole year's subscription to any of the
popular ten cent muckazines.
My good friend, the doctor, a man who
had seen humanity from many angles in
his long life, strolled down the line with
me one Saturday night. He was im-
mensely pleased at the hundred voiced
oration, and claimed that there was no
other city in the country that kept a mid-
150
OVERLAKD MONTHLY.
way in full blast all the year round. "Let's
hear what Mary's little lamb has to say."
A short, swarthy man, with a huge mus-
tache like that of a traditional Texas gun-
fighter, was roarinp- with the ^oice of a
bull. He clenched his big, hairy fists; he
swung his over-long arms; he paced back
and forth in the close circle of his audi-
tors; he hunched his back and fixed his
glittering eyes unon some by-stander &s
he hissed: "Who do you drudge for? Who
fattens on your sweat? Who sucks your
blood? Who is your master?" Then
suddenly jerking himself erect, he bel-
lowed his own answer : "THE CAPITAL-
IST."
"The Capitalist sprawls in a palatial of-
fice with a bottle of champagne at his el-
bow and a blondined stenograoher on his
knee. He dictates a notice that you have
to go to .work three hours longer because
he is going to lay off some of the hands.
"And you wage slaves stand for it!
"Next time the notice reads: 'Pay will
be cut ten per cent/ That gives him an-
other hundred thousand for his salary as
president of the company.
"And you wage-slaves stand for that,
too!
"Or mebbe you get sick of the job and
say you'll quit. What does your master
do ? He gits an injunction from his friend
the judge, making it a crime to strike. He
gits a raft of special police from his
friend the Chief of Police; he gits the
militia from his friend the Governor.
What else did he elect him for ?
"Oh. you wage slaves, when will you
git together, a class-conscious army, and
demand the full product of your toil?
Bullets and ballots, that's what you need
to exterminate the drones and seize what
belongs to you.
"Bullets 'and ballots! That's it, bul-
lets and ballots! Exterminate them!
Exterminate I"
He was frothing at the mouth in the
frenzy of a zealot preaching a new re-
ligion.
"That fellow would make a fine sur-
geon," smiled the 'doctor, "the kind who
would decapitate a patient to cure a
toothache."
"'It's a wonder they don't lock him
up."
"So they would in Germany, doubtless
in France, too, but in this country the
people can be trusted to judge for them-
selves. The phrase, 'Hot air/ was gold-
coined to put just such flimsy paper
money out of circulation, and it does the
trick, too."
The next circle was very small, and
constantly disintegrating and forming
anew. It surrounded a tall, gaunt man,
with smooth-shaven face and a monu-
mental forehead, from which the long
hair was brushed up and back. That
forehead was evidently his main asset,
and oh, the wonder of it, that from such
a lofty dome such a thin trickle of
thought should proceed, beaten into a
froth of sweetish rhetoric. His lecture
was a mixture of sociology, vegetarian-
ism, new thought, physical culture, and
platitudes on the conduct of life, all de-
livered in academic phrases and leading
up to- the inevitable collection and hawk-
ing of ten-cent booklets.
The honk-honk of an auto car further
down the line scattered his small audi-
ence before he had secured his full quota
of nickels. With bitter resignation he
watcned his auditors flocking around the
big red machine that halted at the cor-
ner with a flurry of fluttering ensigns.
These banners were inscribed with letters
of gold, "Professor Tom Manley," while
a big sign on the sheet of plate glass in
front bore the painted torso of a Hercules
bunched with muscles like a sack full of
cobble-stones, and advertising "Viri-
cult,"
Professor Tom stood erect on the back
seat and allowed the mob to gaze upon his
vigorous beauty, a combination of the
ideals of Michelangelo, Buonarruoti and
Charles Dana Gibson.
To the former he owed the chunks of
beefy muscle that stretched his clothes
in places ; to the latter his dress suit, new
and well -fitting, his half -acre of shirt-
front adorned with . tiny pearl studs, his
silk hat, this season's shape, and all the
little details of dress which mark the
man who assiduously strives to resemble
a gentleman.
The depression on the bridge of his
nose he owed to an artist in another line,
so he informed the crowd, his boiled-red
face glowing with pride. No other fist
than that of the redoubtable John L.
could have reached him in his young
davs, he affirmed.
THE SUCKERS' SATURDAY NIGHT.
151
But now he had retired from the ring,
:ind it was his pleasant duty to give to
the world his precious secret of how to
get strong in eleven days, without too
much sacrifice of the pleasures of life,
without too much exertion, with absolute-
ly no detention from business; in fact,
the pallid youth who would only read
the dollar-fifty book of Prof. Tone's au-
thorship would be prepared to cope with
the masters in the arts of self-defense,
from Queensbury rules to Jiu Jitsu.
And then if any one should speak
rudely to the lady friend of the enlight-
ened one, what joy to annihilate him on
the spot ! And so easy !
And the professor, waxing anecdotal,
described with great gusto an encounter
he had had with three sidewalk loafers in
Seattle, who had rasped the tender feel-
ing's of his lady friends. Of course, he
defeated them single-handed in one
round, after which he treated them roy-
ally to drinks sufficient to drown all ill-
feeling. Great was his surprise, so he
averred, to read in the next morning^'
paper in huge scare heads: "Professor
Tom Manley Puts Out Champion Spidei
Mike Grogan and His Two Trainers."
"I got the clippings right here in my
pocket at least I think so. No, I left
'em in the office. You can see 'em any
time you wanta call number one-steen
Grant avenue."
"His book ought to be worth one-fifty
RO a literary curio," I said, "and I pre-
sume that a man like that is more com-
petent to write a get-strong-quick book
than a flat-chested student in rubbers
and flannels."
"Yes, and by the same token, a prize
ox from the country fair is just the best
sort of an authority to write a text book
on stock raising," commented the doctor.
The next group was perfectly quiet, ex-
cept for two youths in the center who
were arguing in earnest tone. The crowd
hung on their words. This was the prob-
lem: If a mathematical point has no
dimensions, will an infinite number of
such points acquire dimensions? We left
before the question was argued to a
finish.
"When a man has learned to 'fence with
such weapons," said the doctor, "there is
no problem he cannot solve by sheer
word-and-wind power."
"Yes ; I have heard the immortality of
the sou'l, the theory of socialism, the
Panama Canal, the personality of our
President, and a score of other weighty
questions settled here in several ways
every night."
"And still the sun rises in the same
place," replied the doctor. "Listen to
my colleague."
" . . . And this, gentlemen, is the
celebrated Asiatic turtle, called in China
tung-ki-see, which produces seventeen
thousand fertile eggs in a single season.
It is caught by the natives, killed in the
light of the moon by the Chinese physi-
cians, sun-dried, powdered and mixed in-
to a paste with the grease from the bones
of the Eoyal Bengal tiger. Hence we
call it tung-ti-kang, or turtle-tiger-
strength, for its use gives you the mar-
velous vigor of the one and the muscular
strength of the other."
The speaker held up to the light of the
gasoline torch a dried mud-turtle, and
turned it around and around for the gap-
ing crowd to admire. He was arrayed in
a fantastic combination of Oriental and
Occidental costumes, tricked out with
the emblems of Christianity and Bud-
dhism. He had a bold, handsome face,
keen eyes and the transparent complex-
ion of a boy, and the tones of his voice
were exceedingly magnetic and persua-
sive.
"Oh, men," he continued, "friends and
brothers (for the One God of many names
is father of us all), why will you continue
to suffer? Why forego the joys of life?
Why waste your money on quacks who
have neither , the .power nor desire to heal
you, when one box of Turtle- tiger-
strength will make you feel like new men
and six boxes will effect a permanent
cure?
"Thousands, yes, tens of thousands, of
afflicted ones have used my remedy, on
which we promise to refund the price if
it fails to relieve, and not one, I raise my
hand to heaven and swear by all I hold
sacred and holy, not one has got his money
back."
"I can believe that," chuckled the doc-
tor.
"Turtle-tiger-strength, dollar a box,
dollar a box while they last," barked his
companion, moving in pink kimona
among the crowd.
"Tung-ti-kang, only
152
V EKL AND MONTHLY.
one dollar, or six for five, and your
money back if it fails to cure/'
"And this is the twentieth century !"
exclaimed the doctor. "Human nature
changes little ! I had a call some time
ago from a class-mate who struck town
dead-broke. He had his diploma, for the
fellow was brainy, if he was a trifle un-
steady. Weil for some reason he couldn't
work up a practice; people didn't trust
him, but he had a glib tongue, and when
he told me his hard luck story I could
not refuse him five dollars.
"Well, sir, he took that .money, went
around to a paper-box factory and ordered
a thousand green boxes, one ounce size,
and shaped like a star. A small deposit
set them working on the order and se-
cured him three or four dozen boxes.
Then he went to a credit grocer and se-
cured a hundred pound sack of well,- I'll
tell you later.
"With the balance of my money he got
a shave, a hair-cut, a shine and a supper.
"After supper he went out on the cor-
ner, mounted a soap-box, proclaimed him-
self as Professor So-and-So, M. D., told
of a marvelous spring he had discovered
(Spring Valley, I guess), and when he
had his crowd, produced his little green
boxes.
"They contained a preparation of his
own (so he claimed), a whitish, translu-
cent, saline mineral, used in every part
of the world ; good for man and beast ; a
positive relief for diseases of many kinds.
When diluted with one quart of water and
snuffed up the nostrils, it relieved ca-
tarrh and cleared and cleansed the mu-
cous membranes. As a gargle it cured
sore throat and prevented that dread
scourge, diphtheria. As a lotion it re-
lieved sore eyes. It was sure death to
germs and prevented decay.
"'None guaranteed unless done up in
green starshaped boxes under the name,
Astral Saline Crystals. One dollar the
box, six for $5.
"Well, the public had often bought lit-
tle red boxes and little white boxes, little
round boxes and little square ones, but
a green, star-shaped box was something
new. They kept him busy handing out
Astral Saline Crystals for two or three
evenings, after which time he suddenly
left town.
"The following week I received a state-
ment for a bill of goods from my grocer.
He said the goods had been ordered for
my use by my colleague, Professor So-
and So, M. T). It read : 'To one sack rock
salt, $2.00.' "
THE ROMANCE OF TANKY GULCH
BY ELIZABETH LAMBERT WOOD]
HE FOUND the water
hole down in the gulch
where the sand was
loose and coarse. The
water was less than six
inches deep, and was
scarcely two feet across.
But she could see
that there was an undeniable seepage
here a rare thing in this land of little
water which the unclaimed bands of
burros of the surrounding mountains as
well as the wandering range cattle had
not been slow to appropriate for the cool-
ing of their thirsty throats.
Marian, the girl of nerves, shuddered
at sight of the alkaline, hoof-riled water,
and dismounting, smiled to herself to see
with what avidity her pony dipped in his
nose and drank with long, satisfying
quaffs.
Marian sat down on the clean sand
^beside the pool, with the merciless sun of
mid-day beating down on her head, and
wondered whether she ought to wait till
the water settled again, or if the mere
sight of the pool, shared by man and
beast alike, was sufficient to quench her
thirst until she had 'covered the long
ride back to the settlement.
Over her head swung a hawk in wide
circles, and Marian raised her head
quickly at sight of his sweeping reflection
in the pool. Something in i le sight
seemed to stir her blood to action. Leap-
ing up, she threw the dragging reins back
over Spruce's head, trying to remember
as she did so each separate injunction
that the foreman of Double Box had
given her about mounting. . First she
carefully took into her left hand a goodly
tuft of staid Spruce's mane, and a short-
ened left rein; then lifting her left foot
to the big wooden stirrup and taking a
firm hold of the horn, she managed to
hoist herself up, but it was not without
an effort of considerable pains. The fore-
man, in teaching her, had told her to
swing up, carefully illustrating his words
as he spoke. But Marian did not exactly
swing up; in fact, she almost
head foremost over the horse, but luckil}
managed to check herself in time.
And then with a deep sigh she settled
into the saddle, while Spruce, who had
been knowingly braced for the encounter,
quietly recovered himself and ambled off.
He shook his wise head protestingly when
Marian headed him toward the path lead-
ing diagonally up the hill. To her inex-
perienced eyes this cattle trail seemed to
promise the shortest way home, but
Spruce knew better.
The figure the horseman who had
disturbed the hawk into flight, had been
watching the girl's unwonted exertion
with keenest interest and amusement from
the ton of the ridge above the water hole.
"The new teacher, by gum boots and
all!" he soliloquized.
Marian, all unconscious of any one's
proximitv, was riding up the sloping trail
all intent on her own thoughts. She was
a new arrival from Iowa her old-fash-
ioned mother still called it I-o-way
where, throughout Marian's life-time, she
had been pinched by the many petty
primpings and savings of her environ-
ment, until a single reading of Wister\s
"Virginian" had sent her awakened blood
reeling through her veins with the sud-
den splendor of her vividly imagined pic-
ture of freedom on the Western ranges.
She had horrified her family into firm-
lipped silence by her sudden departure
alone and unacquainted into the wilds of
Arizona. On her arrival she had taken
the school examinations in Florence, and
having successfully passed them, was
lucky enough to receive a situation in
the sparsely settled cattle country in
the foot-hills of the Catalina Mountain:-?.
The cowboys there fine chivalrous
fellows all could not help taking her
coming as a huge joke, especially her top
boots, short skirts and brand new revolver
and cartridge belt, in which she had in-
vested much of her scanty horde of pocket
money. How she would have blushed and
how her eyes would have blazed had she
overheard the round of chuckles at her
first attempts to mount gentle old Spruce,
154
OVERLAND MONTHLY.
all booted and spurred and armed as she
was !
To-day, Curl Raley was a bit amazed
to see how lightly she sat the leather once
she was up. Touching his horse with the
spur, he struck across a sharp ravine to
cut off her direct path. "I wonder if she
thinks she's going home ?" he said to him-
self. "She's headed straight for Arai-
vapai, sixty miles away. We fellows will
have to rope her to keep her from stray-
ing."
Marian kept straight on, all uncon-
scious of the disturbance of her solitary
ride. She was wrapped in a reverie of de-
light. Before her, in the distance, moun-
tain range succeeded mountain range un-
til the last slipped awav into the dim and
haz}' blue of the horizon. The yellow
grass beneath her pony's feet lay over the
multitude of surrounding slopes like a
sheet of mellow sunshine. Here and
there about her grew scattered live oak
trees giant fellows who scorned the
paltry growth of a short centurv or two,
they who had already felt the weight of
a half thousand years. Marian's heart
began to beat lightly once again in spite
of the heavv burden of her thirty-one
years. "After all," she thought to herself
with a sudden thrill, "I am young; I
don't care what the folks at home think.
"Even the oaks feel young on a day like
this. I am young, young/' and her
thought grew into a silent song, singing
in her heart to the tune of the outpour-
ing ecstacy of a thrush who had appropri-
ated the topmost bough of the hackberry
near at hand, and was heralding to the
world that he also was young voung. !
Life i)ulsed up and over Marian in a
rush of delight. The glorious air was
drawn down into her quivering nostrils
with wonderino- exhilaration.
Back in Iowa nothing was wasted,
thought Marian now with contempt. This
lesson had been thumppd into Marian's
revolting brain again and again through-
out her uninteresting life. Even every
scrap of potato paring must be cooked in-
to an evil-smelling mess for the chickens
and pigs, which they, the people, in the
natural course of economy, would con-
sume again. The verv flesh of the ever-
present pork was flavored with table
scraps. Ugh !
Out here in this glorious, mountain-
scented country everything was waste
waste of land, waste of rocks, and waste
of skv. Whole seas of acreage lay in
unused waste all about her, the very sight
of which sent dizzy sparkles of delight
dancing through Marian's rejuvenated
brain. She loved it all she, the old maid
of the Iowa hamlet, was young again here
and could ride and dance and sing to
her heart's content, and as if in echo to
the thrush, she burst out into melody
just a scrap of a Kevin's lullaby but to
Gurl Raley, below her in the oak-lined
ravine, it had all the charm of an angel's
song.
Sudden!^ the voice ceased, and Raley
glanced warily up the slope to where sin
sat, quite still, on her horse. She had
caught the stroke of his horse's hoof on
the granite strewn ground, and had
checked her horse, fear for the instant
rampant in her heart. She might be
awaiting a Mexican or Indian ruffian's
advent into her world she knew not
what!
Raley could see her quite plainly now,
with eves dilated, her hand on the pistol,
which she had half-slipped from its hol-
ster. She was not to be caught napping.
Then as Curl Raley swung into view on
his horse, the defiant fire burned out of
her eyes, leaving only the soft glow of
their warm, brown depths. Her voice
was still trembling as she said choking-
Iv: "For a minute 1 didn't know it was
you, Mr. Raley. I am just going home."
He said not a word to her about the
strange direction of her trail homeward,
but fell in beside her, and after they had
crossed a ravine or two, she was facing
the settlement again, and had not a sus-
picion that her horse's head had been
turned short about.
At last she said, giving a funny little
squint at the sun as if she were already
enough of a Westerner to tell the time
lr- its elevation:
"Do you know what time it is?"
"Two o'clock!"
"Two o'clock ! Not really ! No wonder
I'm so hungry. I've got bacon, crackers,
cheese and tea for lunch. Won't you help
me eat it?" Her invitation was cordial; it
was reallv very nice to have the escort if
a resourceful man in this untried wilder-
ness.
Now, in a cattle country, a man seldom
THE BOMANCE OF TANKY GULCH.
155
or never takes a snack of lunch to eat at
noon, not even on a rodeo, when he may
be out from sun-up to long past dark. To-
day, Curl Kaley had only been out for
four hours, and had expected to have
nothing to eat for many hours more, but
suddenly he found himself seized with an
unconscionable appetite.
Before she expected his answer he was
off his horse and had come to her sido
to lift her down.
But. she motioned him back with grave
earnestness. "I want to learn to do it
myself/' she said, very seriously, "be-
cause most of the time" I will be riding
alone, and I want to learn how."
Ealey privately doubted the truth of
this statement, but she was so honest in
her thirst for knowledge that he answer. d
her with all the seriousness he could com-
mand, and a minute later she was on the
ground without the help of a hand.
"Good!" he said spontaneously.
She was so thoroughly 'pleased with
herself that she smiled gaily up into his
face as she thanked him, and on the in-
stant, he threw off his mask of dignity,
assumed in her presence, and laughed with
her with all the pleasure of a boy again.
He hurriedly gathered together bits of
dried cactus and oak twigs for a tiny
fire, while she arranged the tiny slices of
bacon on the wee broiler she produced
from the pocket of her saddle bag. The
little tea-pot was filled from his canteen,
and was soon singing a merry little tune
of its own over the blaze, while the two,
the girl and the man, made the discovery
that they would both have to drink their
tea out of the only CUP in camp Marian's
pretty silver folding one.
"I never thought of having company,"
Marian said rueiully, taking her sip,
which was by common consent to be tha
first, with her pretty red lips daintily
touching the cup's rim. "I'll have to send
to Tucson for another one."
"Not much!" protested Curl with em-
phasis. "I like this heaps better."
Fo^ an instant Marian made no answer.
Her mind had been carefully trained to
have a serious turn. She looked at him
doubtfully; then, with a frank, open
smile, she said:
"Well, do you know, I believe I do, too.' 5
At the half-serious simplicity of her
words, Curl threw back his handsome
head and laughed with genuine relish.
"I believe we'll agree all right," he said,
still laughing.
N'ever was there such bacon as these two
broiled that day over that little fire.
Marian was quite sure by the time the
meal was readv that there was not an-
other man who could coax a fir into such
a steady, glowing blaze. And the crack-
ers! Who had ever before tasted such de-
licious crackers, flecked with tiny mites
of strawberry jam from a wee pot that
Marian fished out of her saddle bag. The
tea, sipped sociably together out of the
one cup, was nectar itself.
And then, all too soon, the tiny fire
died out, the crumbs lav scattered about
their feet, and the tea-pot stood empty
and cold.
Long after this the two sat silent. At
last, with a pang of surprise, Marian real-
ized that the sun was going down. To-
morrow there would be school again, and
all of its manifold duties. To-day held
youth and life and laughter; to-morrow
sober age and arduous tasks. In spite
of herself a shaded sadness fell over her,
veiling the beautiful deep softness of her
brown eyes.
Curl Baley, watching her from the shel-
ter of his big hat, saw the weary lines
begin to settle over her face, where he
saw with pity that they had long before
this traced a r>ath of patient protect
against this life of unmated loneliness
with all its pinching economy, which only
a woman can know. Sitting there, >ie
no longer thought of lav-hing at her com-
ing into this unsettled part of the coun-
try he understood.
Hadn't he himself known much of this
same feeling that he saw she was now
suffering, in those days when as a boy he
lived in Chicago ? When he was fourteen,
not half her age, perhaps, he had struck
out into the world for himself. As he sat
there his only wonder was that she had
been so patient, that vears ago she had
not taken up the shears and snipped the
lines holding her to the old prosaic life
she instinctively loathed. He knew what
she must have endured the lines of her
face told that stifling her natural long-
ing for big things, for freedom. And
he also saw that, having suffered so long,
now that the fragrance of freedom was
fairlv in her nostrils, she still had mo-
156 OVERLAID MONTHLY.
meuts when she doubted the truth, the violently as if roused from absorbing
beautiful truth of ij; all. thoughts.
As he lay there, relaxed full length on "Come," he said, srently, reaching down
the sand, he saw a vision forming a vis- a helmng- hand to her. It was a strong,
ion of liberty for both. It was so near well-formed hand, deeply tanned with
that he could almost touch it. He felt wind and sun.
an unaccountable intuition that all the Laying her slim hand confidinglv in his
forlorn loneliness of his hard life was warm clasp, she allowed him to lift her
nearing its end. It was for this that he to her feet where she stood silent, her
had been laboring and hoarding for eyes still abstracted, while he brought
years. He saw now that never before had the horses. There was no word of pro-
he been fully ready to appreciate life and test now when he lifted her to her saddle,
the mystery of its wonders. He wished She was learning a lesson of a different
he might tell her, might lift the sad, pa- kind now a lesson of widely different
tient lines from her face ; but not yet, not import. A gentle flushing of pink stole
yet ! That glorious moment in all its up into her cheeks as her eyes fell on his
fullness would come. face the strong, noble face of the kind
He stirred restlessly, sat up, and then of men she had dreamed about and was
suddenly got on his feet. She started now to know in her dailv life.
AUGUST
BY
CLYDE EDWIX TUCK
TEE dust-drooped bushes stand beside the road
That winds along the meadows brown and dry;
While in the brook's bed where but lately flowed
A wildly gushing stream, the butterfly,
With gorgeous wings half-ope'd, rests there serene
Upon the moist, dark ground in nook^ of shade,
Near where some sunbeam frescoes mosses green,
And rainbows formed where once leaped the cascade.
* >
The weary hours plod by with leaden feet
While nature slumbers 'neath a wizard's spell;
The golden panniered bees seek their retreat:
The birds are mute, far in the stilly dell
Where sylvan sounds and scents are strangely faint;
The silk-soft hollyhocks, moon-tinted, bloom.
And 'neath the trees where crows make their complaint,
The asters stand with tender eyes of gloom.
Yon field of golden tassel ed corn, where strays
]STo freshening breeze among their withering blades,
Stretch out beneath the sun's fierce, torrid rays :
Now comes a sweet, cool breath from out the glades
Just when each gasping plant seems death to woo;
A shadow spreads its wings and o'er the plain
And hill all nature hastens to renew
Her green robes in the life-restoring rain.
A PART OF THE BAND THAT WAS SOLD TO THE "WILD WEST SHOW" IN 1903.
THE PASSING OF THE BUFFALO
BY JASO^ J.
] ILLUSTRATED WITH PHOTOGRAPHS.
HE HISTORY of the
American bison or buf-
falo has been written
and re-written many
times over by able writ-
ers, until to-day the
reading: public is thor-
oughly familiar with
each and every trait and characteristic of
that lordly animal.
At the same time, the singularity of
its habits, its massive frame and the pio-
turesqueness of its physical appearance
ever tend to increase our admiration and
to arouse an eagerness within us to know
more, still more, regarding the noblest
beast that is indigenous to American soil.
Had our fore-fathers taken some pre-
cautions to protect the buffalo, instead of
lending their aid to the ruthless slaugh-
ter, even to the very verge of complete
extermination, we would not of necessity
to-day be compelled to provide recruiting
stations in the wav of parks and reserves
to insure the preservation of at least a
remnant.
The accounts of the earlier explorers of
North America, especially those of the
Spaniards, tend to prove that the buffalo
formerly ranged over the greater part of
the country lying between the Atlantic
seaboard and the Mississippi Elver. But
civilization gradually pushed them west-
ward, encroaching more and still more
upon their domain, until at the beginning
of the nineteenth century no buffalo were
to be found east of the Mississippi. They
then took to the great plains, ranging
westward to the Eocky Mountains anrl
from Texas northward into central Can-
158
OVERLAND MONTHLY.
A PORTION OF THE PARK HERD CALMLY
BROWSING UPON SHORT SAGE-BRUSH
AND THE SCANT GRASS UPON ONE OF
THE BARREN HEIGHTS OVERLOOKING
THE SILVERY YELLOWSTONE.
ada. Over this vast pasture, as late as the
seventies, they roamed in such numbers
that the enumeration of them seems in-
credible.
The Indians, also, were crowded west-
ward by their white enemies, and owing
to their nomadic mode of living, they
naturally followed the big game, realiz-
ing that it afforded them the easier means
of gaining a livelihood. But the Indian
rarely, if ever, maliciously destroyed the
game until he was taught by the white
man. When he wanted meat, he killed
a buffalo, his squaw dressed it and pre-
pared the robe for future use. The red
man in the early days never troubled him-
self about where the winter's provisions
for his tribe were to be secured. Though
it often harmened that the lazy, ever-neg-
ligent bucks would let the opportune time
slip bv. when they would be compelled
to make long journeys in severe wintry
weather to procure a supply of food for
their half-famished people. The meat
appeased their hunger, the great, shaggy
robes shielded their persons from the most
intense cold; therefore, the buffalo was
douMy dear and valuable to them. In
aftei vears, when the whites began to en-
croach upon the Indian's most precious
hunting grounds and to wantonly destroy
his most precious game, the latter looked
upon it with awe and suspicion and anger
was at once kindled in his heart. We must
agree with the red man to-day when he
says : "The white man has taken our
hunting grounds and destroyed our
game."
When we realize what enormous herds
of buffalo roamed the plains even as late
as 1875. it is a mystery to us to know how
they could have been so completely ex-
terminated in less than one short decade.
In 1868 began the wholesale slaughter
of this animal, and from the above date
until 1881, or a. period of thirteen years,
a ceaseless war was waged against these
helpless brute?.. And to what purpose?
WOien the Kansas Pacific Railroad had
been extended far enough west to reach
the buffalo country, the carbon works of
St. Louis and other places began paying
$8 per ton for all the bones that might
be shipped to them. The natural conse-
quence was that the hide, horn and bone-
seekers formed brigades in partnership
against these vast herds. The hide and
horn seekers were naturally very welcome
fore-runners of the bone seekers. In suoh
numbers did they slaughter the buffalo
that in particular localities, it is said, one
might have walked all day upon the car-
casses without stepping upon the ground.
Kansas alone, in the thirteen years of
extermination, received $2,500,000 for
bones. It required eight carcasses to make
a ton of bones, so it would have required
32,000,000 buffalo skeletons to bring the
above sum of money.
Win. F. Cody (Buffalo Bill) was the
expert buffalo hunter. But he never care-
lessly massacred them, except in rare
cases, and then to have a little fun only,
or to show his skill as an expert. He was
employed as hunter by the construction
company of the Kansas Pacific in 1868,
and in eighteen months' time killed 5,000
buffalo, which were consumed by the
1,200 track layers.
The great herds often delayed trains
for several hours at a time. Colonel Henry
Inman, author of "The Old Santa Fe
Trail," gives an account of the West-
bound passenger on the Kansas Pacific
being delayed from 9 a. m. till 5 o'clock in
the evening by the passage of one continu-
THE PASSING OF THE BUFFALO.
150
cms herd. To the north, west and south,
as far as the vision could scan, surged a
solid black mass of affrighted buffalo in
their irresistible course.
A party of horsemen rode for three
consecutive days through one continuous
herd, which must have numbered millions!.
At first appearance, these vast herds
grazing on the plains seemed to be one
intermingled mass, but on a closer in-
spection the whole was found to be com-
posed of hundreds of lesser herds. Each
of these miniature groups were guarded
b^ T sentinels, which were composed of the
champion bulls, while the cows and calves
grazed toward the center. The little
yellow calves looked very awkward, yet
they were agile as lambs and almost as
playful. Nothing was more dangerous
than a buffalo cow with a young calf. She
would fight with the energy of despair
when her young were endangered.
These immense herds were often the
best objects of sport for the tourists, who
were out most generallv for the mere nov-
elty of the trip. In many places on eitjier
side of the railway track, the ground was
lined with the carcasses of buffalo which
had served as mere targets for the folly
of the pleasure seekers.
The buffalo were animals of migratorv
habits. Very seldom were they to be
found on the barren plains in winter,
yet in some favored places in the moun-
tain meadows, where food and shelter
coujd be had, small herds were often
found in the winter season. But the
regular winter rendezvous of this animal
was far to the south, on the sunny pas-
tures of Texas and Indian Territory.
On the appearance of the first verdure
of spring thev would begin their annual
journey northward, where, on the wide-
extended plains, they would spend the
Ion ST., bright summer days in perfect peace
and contentment until the cold blasts
from the north drove them south again.
Some Indians believed that all the
buffalo that went north each summer per-
ished there, and that just as many more
came from the south the next year. Sa-
tanta, chief of the Comanches, claimed
that all of the buffalo came out of a big
cave in Texas, and that none of the vast
multitudes which went north in the
spring returned in the fall, but all per-
ished that year, and that year after yesr
the magic cave would hatch out just as
many more to meet the same fate as they
journeyed northward.
But just how the old chief accounted
for the scarcity of the buffalo in after
years we are not prepared to say. But he
must have surmised that the ever-increas-
ing whites had molested his never-failing
incubator in the south-land.
Stampeded buffalo were very danger-
ous. They ran with a mad fury that w is
simply irresistible. If hunting parties
or emigrants were caught within the
course of one of these wild onsets on the
open prairie it meant certain death to
them, except that something could be done
immediately to divert the terrible mo-
mentum of the affrighted mass. When no
other means of escape were possible, hunt-
ers would seek the weakest point in the
front rank and shoot down the oncoming
buffalo, which were quickly used as the
only means of protection. Often-times
these great stampedes lasted two or three
days, and many thousands of buffalo
were killed in the awful jams in their
panic careering over the broken country.
Wihen the Kansas Pacific was completed
THE MONARCH OF THE YELLOWSTONE
PARK HERD EATING HAY. PHOTOGRAPH
WAS TAKEN BY CREEPING UP TO THE
HIGH FENCE WHILE THE BIG BULL WAS
BUSILY ENGAGED.
THE PASSING OF THE BUFFALO.
161
it cut the buffalo country in twain and
divided the many millions into' two enor-
mous herds the northern and the south-
ern. The southern herd shrunk the
faster under the blood-thirsty array of
pelt, horn and bone seekers, because of
the more openness . of the country over
which it ranged, and by the close of the
year 1878 scarcely a land-mark remained
to show that its countless numbers ever
existed. Yet the northern herd survived
the southern but five years, being com-
pletely destroyed in 1883. An occasional
small band was encountered some years
after this in the wild, broken country,
whither they had taken refuge, of neces-
sity adapting themselves to the habits of
their more wary cousins. But before the
close of the eighties, some of these were
slaughtered and the remainder taken into
custody.
But, alas, the buffalo are gone from
the great plains of the West. No more
will their huge frames dot the unbroken
horizon. No more will they beat the
deep-trodden paths to a welcome nu-
cleus, the clear running mountain stream.
Could the old trappers and hunters
again wander over the once rich lands of
the buffalo as they traversed them thirty
years ago, they would sigh to find that
welcome beast of the plains no more. Their
heart? would ache when they realized the
desolation that has been brought about
in that short period of time.
No more could they defy the wintry
blasts with the great, shaggv robes as jf
old. No more would their tents be stocked
with jerked buffalo to feed them and their
companions until the long-looked-for
spring appeared.
And again, let us glance briefly at the
red man's position to-day. He stands
alone. Though he has donned to some
extent the garb of the white man, yet be
is, properly speaking, the same savage
to-day as when our ancestors first kn>v
him. He has been driven from place 10
place, or wherever the white man has
seen fit to send him. He is to-day
scourged to a narrow strip of country and
compelled to live there by a power which
he knows he dares not resist. Within hU
own limited borders the game of every
description has become almost extinct.
By necessity he is. compelled to make long
journeys in pursuit of provisions. He
remembers, too, the many pints of whis-
key obtained with buffalo robes in days
gone by. Beautiful robes ! dressed and
nicely ornamented, which had cost the
squaws many hours of labor, were bar-
tered for one pint of whisky each, four-
fifths of which was water, but no matter,
just so it had the taste of "fire-water."
Whisky being such a powerful incentive,
each robe the Indian possessed generally
received the very significant name of "a
pint of whisky."
There are at the present time about
1,800 buffalo in the United States. They
of course, are to .be found only in re-
serves, parks and private herds. The
largest of these, perhaps, is the Pablo-
Allard herd on the Flathead Reservation
in Northwestern Montana. It numbers
over 400 head and they are as nearly in
their native state as any in our country
to-day. In 1892 this herd numbered only
75. They would perhaps exceed a thou-
sand at this time had not several been
sold from time to time. Four years ago
some fifteen or twenty head were sold to
the "Wild West Show," and two vears ago
fifty were shipped to the "101" Kan=ih
in Indian Territory. This herd ranges in
the foothills within the reservation. The
owners value them at thousands of dol-
lars. They are closely guarded to pre-
vent their straying too far away. It is
a pretty sight in summer to watch them
from a distance, calmly grazing upon the
verdant slopes. Yet one does not da -e
venture close to them, except he be well
protected, for they will make an attack
without giving him warning. A number
of them were exhibited at the Mjissoula
County fair five years ago, but they were
very hard to manage. One of the big
bulls broke through every enclosure and
ran back to the reservation, a distance of
twenty-five miles, against all resistance
or obstacles.
There are also between thirty and forty
head of "cataloes" or half-breed buffab
in the herd. The cross is between the
native bull and the buffalo cow. "Buffalo"
Jones (Col. C. J. Jones), recommends
this hybrid form, claiming that the
"catalo" is. harder, more able to stand tL.e
blizzards, and digs and roots in the deep
snows for sustenance where ordinary cat-
tle would perish. Besides, its robe rep-
resents more value than a common steer,
162
OVEKLAND MONTHLY.
being far superior in quality even to the
genuine buffalo robe. The hair is not
so long, much finer, and the hide not so
thick and stiff. They are large in frame
if well bred, the horns being perceptibly
longer, but of about the same curvature
and color jet black very sharp at the
point, and thick at the base.
The herd in the Yellowstone National
Park numbered 107 old ones and five
calves last summer. They graze over a
five thousand acre pasture which is en-
closed by an eight-foot fence of extra-
heavy wire netting. This pasture is in
the northwest portion of the park, near
Mammoth Hot Springs. A new pasture
is being constructed near Soda Buttes,
some miles east of the present one, and
the herd will be divided. The land with-
in these pastures is broken and barren,
.and therefore does not produce much
grass. "Buffalo" Jones is the tender of
the Park herd, it being his duty to feed
them when necessary, and it is necessary
^even in summer, for the pasture become?
very dry and destitute of feed at times.
Another duty which devolves upon him
is to protect the young buffalo from the
gray wolves and mountain lions, which
have become quite numerous, owing to the
protection of game in general around the
Park.
The United States Government has
heretofore offered to buy all the buffalo
extant, but without success.
For the sake of preserving at least a
remnant of the once familiar object of
the plains, and for the object lesson it
would teach posterity, we believe that
our Government should own and protect
all the buffalo now living.
Those now owned by private individuals
which Constitute possibly five-sixths of
all in exigence, are most likely, in years
to come, to fall into the possession of care-
less hands, "hose who would let the last
vestige of thi>m be annihilated.
Our public domain is extensive enough
and will be for years to come for the
buffalo to run at large without molesta-
tion. The grazing lands of our Western
States, which our stock-raising public
have so completely appropriated to them-
selves, might, in part at least, be used by
the Government, and protected by each
and all of us, as a place of both refuge
and recruit for the noblest animal that
is native to our country.
Nothing could be more beautiful than
to have the numerous herds once again
grace the verdant slopes of our lofty
mountain ranges in spring time. To pro-
tect the buffalo against all encroachments
is a duty that should pervade the mind of
every American citizen. They could
never be so numerous as they once were,
yet the increase in one short decade would
be almost incredible, if properly fos-
tered.
"Preserve inviolate the scenes of days
agone, our nation prays;
Yet nothing is sadder than past joys re-
membered in unhappy days."
THE RED-HEADED
TWINS OF DOS
PALOS
BY FRANCES LA PLACE
ILLUSTRATED BY W. H. DAVENPORT.
HIS HERE thing of
bein' a twin ain't all
it's cracked up to be,
specul if each durned
twin is as like t'other
as a lookin' glass re-
flectun of himself.
My brother Jim's as
like me as I'm like myself, freckles, green
eyes an' all, an' his head ain't none lighter
an' none darker. They is no other twins
in Dos Palos scept me an' Jim. When
we was kids, my mother used to say to
the one what was handiest, "If you're
Jim, tell Bill I want him, but if you're
Bill, come here I want you." Sure pop,
it was alwus me she wanted, 'cause Jim
sorter petted himself round the ole lady.
Well, anyway, at ween us the ole lady
didn't have no tapioca, for when we savied
why we was alwus the other feller.
If you never yet met Jim you'll know
him. soon as you meet him; that's pro-
vidin' you don't give him the glad liand
thinkin' he's me. The only thing what's
diffrunt about us is our ways an' habits,
an' so forth. Jim's as quick to spend
money as I'm willin' to save it, an' Jim's
as fall of raisin' the devil as I'm fond of
peace an' the mountains, an' Jim's as fond
of borrowin' as he is of spending an' him
havin' a lot of family pride an' affecshun,
whv, it's just natural like as he'd come
furst to me for a loan. "Just a tenner;
if you can't spare it, a five spot '11 do," he
begins easy like, an' then winds up willin'
to take any ole durned thing I kin give
him, even if it ain't no better 'n fifty
cents or a quarter.
Once down to Firebaugh he got playin'
sorter heavy at faro bank, an' bein' short
of funds an' me far away, he borrers of
a man down there by the name of Peter-?,
an' then tells Peters, durn his soul, to
ride out to the Double X ranch and get it
back. Jim goes range ridin' the day that
there Peters was to visit, an' me, innu-
cunt as a yearlin', meets this here Peters
kinder welcum like at the gate, never a-
seen him afore, an' says, "Howdy do,
stranger, what kin I do for you ?"
"Stranger!" he growls, sorter down in
his throttle an' squintin' up his eyes like
he didn't like my looks. "Stranger, hey?
It wasn't stranger down to Firebaugh
when you borrered that ten spot of me,
was it, you freckled-faced, green-eyed, red-
headed lobster ?" He keeps his big mouth
open like he's goin' to say a heap more,
but just friendly like I puts my hand
back where I alwus finds my six-shooter,
an' strange-like, he shuts his big mouth
an' starts for the road, hasty like, an'
keeps a-goin' that way.
Jim comes in that night lookin' some
timid like, an' 'quires 'bout my health an'
so forth, an' then he says, off-hand like,
"All 'lone to-day?"
"Ain't I alwus alone, when you ain't
here?" I says back, innucent.
"Sorter thought you might a had corn-
puny," gurgles Jim, lookin' round the
camp some interested.
"Maybe I did," says I> "and maybe you
'11 help to bury him this evenin'. Some
plaguey fool comes ridin' round here mis-
takin' me for some durned fool what looks
like me, an "
Poor Jim was that scared that I
plugged Peters for sure that he begs me
to hide him 'cause the boys what seen the
deal'll think he done the shootin' 'stead
of me. I let the truth out easy like after
he got good and scared, an' then he makes
164
OVERLAND MONTHLY.
me a solum promus never to borrer from
anybody 'ceptin' me a promus none to
my likin', yon 'bet.
Yon see what's libnl to come to a man
what's got a twin what, looks more like
himself than he does himself; bnt if 1
begins to tell you all what come to me
through Jim, why I keep a talkin' till the
end of the week,, an' wouldn't be none
through then.
The worst ever was the time Jim got
stuck on a littl' half-breed Mexicun-Por-
tugee gal what he meets at a dance down
to Los Banos. This littl' gal was a sky
farmer's gal. Guess you know what's a
sky farmer. 'No? Wei], a sky farmer's a
feller, usual like he's a Portugee, or a
Dago or a Mex, or all three mixed inter
one, what has a ranch 'long the San
Joaquin River where it's good for farmin'
about six months a year. He watches the
sky a plenty, an' when things don't look
his way, he ups and takes his furnootur
an' his horse, durned old plugs, you bet,
an' his pig, ain't never got more'n one, an'
bis cows an' with his famulle follerin'
allied, he moves, leavin' the old shacks
there. Sure pop, when it's rained all over
the place, an' the Joaquin's flowed over
his land some, back he comes an' plants
hay, an' off he goes agin, an' then time for
hay cuttin' an' balin' back he comes agin.
The sky farmer reasons like it's time for
nothin' to lay down an' bake awaitin' for
the rain, so he's makin' money in other
parts. But you bet when it's rainin' lots
an' his land's lot rich for hay, he's alwus
back on time.
No sky farmin* in mine. I don't han-
ker, somehow, to kill six months with this
here neck of mine twisted up like lookin'
at a sky what dbn't alwus look to suit.
This littl' gal what Jim gets stuck on
was a sky farmer's gal, an' 'cor din' to
Jim, was purty as a colt's what curried.
I'm no judge, so T says nothin' 'bout her
looks an' so forth, but when Jim took to
ridin' down to the valley to see her every
day or so, I gets some anxus an' sorter
hint around makin' 'quires. I didn't han-
ker to help feed a gal as well as Jim
that's what it means for me if Jim takes
to double harness, 'cause Jim can't feed
himself, let alone a gal, even if she ain't
no more'n a sky farmer's gal an' used to
nothin'.
"Jim." says I one day, "what's that
Bail's name an' where's her ole man's
shack?"
Jim's freckles turns sorter red, an' he
gets inturested in his boots, lookin' at 'em
like he's never seen them afore. "Who?"
he says, some foolish.
I tells him what I thinks of him then,
an' him bein' some rattled, he tells all
about her, what her name was, an' where
she lived, an' how they loved each other.
"Rot !" says I, but sorter to myself, not
so's to hurt Jim's feelin's, 'cause Jim's
sensitive like, an' can't stand much hard
talk, specul 'bout his love affairs. Jim
had a lot of them afore this sky farmer's
gal come along, but none never took ?o
bad what he couldn't eat his three square
meals a day.
"Bill," he says after a while, an' sorter
snuines. "could you let me wear your best
close to-morrer, an' might you put a
twenty in the pockut ? I'm broke, honust,
I am, an' kin 1 take your horse an' saddle
an' bridle? There's a friend I know
what's hankevin' for a ride on a good cay-
THE BED-HEADED TWINS OF DOS PALOS.
165
use for a spell back., an' this here friend
won't harm nothin' 'cause this here friend
rides like a full-fledged bronco buster
what served time at the busnus."
Jim kept a-goin' righ.t on but I couldn't
stand for any more just then, an' says
"yes"" to everything. I never could go
them snuffles o' Jim's.
"What time'll you be wantin' them?"
I asks, after sayin' "yep."
"'Bout two, an' if " He snuffles
agin.
I stampeded, an' didn't hear, not to
this da} r , what else he was thinkin' I
wouldn't be needin' an' he would be want-
ing pretty bad.
Sun up the next day, Jim gives me a
hand breakin', a two-year-old what I
means to keep handy while Jim was a
borrerin' of my best outfit. About one
ercloek Jim, bein' down by the crick tak-
in' a wash up, I jogs off down the road
sorter intendin' givin' the colt some ex-
ercise like, an' off-hand to visut the sk} T -
farmer's gal an' tell her how Jim stood
'cordin' to finances. I alwus hates to
see people cheated, cards or matreemony
specul like.
If Jim had a tole me how that there
gal of his couldn't talk no lingo but Por-
tugee-Mex, atween us we'd a saved a pile
of trouble, but Jim didn't, an' me never
mixin' much with forreners, can't talk
nothin' but good Unitud States.
I lopes up to the shack pretty fine, an'
out she comes, jabberin' away an' smilin" 1
an' blowin' me kisses, like I could savey.
She was tickled to death to see me, but
didn't listun to nothin' I was tellin' her
*bout Jim just kept a talkin' an' smilin'
an' blowin' kisses. By-un-bye she runs
in, an' then backs out agin with a big
bundle under her arm what she takes sud-
like an' throws at me, an' me like a ninny,
thinkin' it was for Jim, ties it on front
my saddle, mighty secure.
I tells her a lot more 'bout Jim, just
to sorter relieve my mind, but she don't
lisun to nothin', but climbs right up aback
on me on that colt an' there she sits grip-
pin' me by the ribs with her hooks an'
grippin' the colt by the ribs with her
hoofs, never asayin' a word agkt that colt
what's buckin' like blazes an' tearin'
round that yard like a bee stung him.
"Slide!" I yells, me only ridin' with a
hackamore an' her there ahind me hoo-
dooin' things an' givin' that colt, what
think? a lot of himself, a mighty big
chance to think a lot more. Well, that
gal stuck to me like a fly sticks to fly
paper, an' I just natshul like stuck to
that fool colt, what gets so durned stuck-
up that he quit the yard. He took us
down the road for home, goin' like he
owed somebody money back there at the
shack. We dusted moren't a mile of that
road, when I sees comin' along at a nice
friendly trot, leadin' my horse an' best
saddle an' bridle ahind him, my brother
Jim, all slick an' shiny in my new close.
The gal, bein' pretty snug aback of me,
sees nothin'.
Mv intentuns bein' good to middlin', I
means to say "Hullo !" when we gets
close to Jim, but that durned colt, takin'
one sad, disgusted look at Jim in my
close, turns offer the road an' after jump-
in' mighty high over a crick an ? a barbod
wire fence, takes a short cut for home,
leavin' the ffal in the crick an' me atop of
the barbed wire fence.
'JIM/
166
OVERLAND MONTHLY.
"You grass-eyed, lobster- jawed, turkey-
egg-faced, green-eyed jealus thief," yells
Jim, comin' close as he could, furst look-
in' at me an' then at the gal, what was in
the crick up-side down. "You stole my
gal, you did ! You forced me to take your
close an' your other things to throw me
off the' track, you did. You wanted to
alope, you did just to cheat me out of
matreemony to-day." Jim snuffles when
self from that there fence. The gal by
this time gets right side up, but can't see
nothin' cause her eyes is full of mud, just
chuck full, an' she can't say nothin' 'cause
her mouth is chuck full of mud, too.
By-an'-bye, Jim gets wind agin an' be-
gins to say some more 'bout my looks an'
ways, an' so forth, an' by then that gal
has her eyes some clear of mud, an' looks
at Jim sittin' there all slick an' shiny on
YOU GRASS-EYED
he thinks of what I done, an' snuffles agin
when he looks at his gal in the crick.
"You be a nice brother, cheatin' my gal.
You told her you was a millunare, you
did." Jim stops for want of wind, an'
me still bein' a-straddle that barbed wire
fence what ain't none too pleasunt, I says
nothin', but keeps right on undoin' my-
JEALUS THIEF YELLS JIM.
his horse. "Jeem," she says, in a voice
sad like an' some muddy, an' then round
she turns an' spots me, who don't look
none slick or shiny, my hat bein' some
half mile back an' my "chaps" bein' some
friendly with that barbed wire fence
"Jeem," she yells, spittin' out more mud.
"Jeem,. Jeem, J-e-e-m!" An' then she
THE EED-HEADED TWINS OF DOS PALOS.
167
gits outer that crick an' takin' one good-
day peep at Jim an 7 anuther at me, she
starts down that there road, runnin' like
she seen spooks an' yellin' like the spooks
was after her.
Jim was some surprised when he sees
her lunnin' oft' like that, but me atop of
that fence was none inturested.
"Now Marietta's mad," snuffles Jim,
lookin' at me like I done him dirt on pur-
pus.
"Mad, is she?" I says, some angry.
"She ain't got no reesun for to be mad.
If there's anybudy round here what's got
a right to be that, why, that persun's me.
Ain't it bad enuff to be taken for "a fool
like you without bein' left a straddle of
this here fence, tied up wit hit like a
yearlin' what never seen it afore? You
shut your mouth till I'm off this here
fence, 'cause if you don't I'll shut it for
you when I get off."
That there speel shuts Jim's mouth
pretty quick, an' then leavin' my horse
there in the road for me, he rides off home
snufflin' like he was sorry he lost that
little gal.
* It took more'n two days to catch that
colt, what was runnin' round pretty fresh,
a-carryin' that bundle with him, what be-
longs to the sky farmer's gal, not countin'
my saddle an' hackamore.
Jim an' me decided we hankered none
to give that gal her bundle, seein' as that
fool gal thinks Jim a double spook, so
Jim an' me not able none to use what's
in that there bundle, makes a furst-rate
scarecrow outer it. We ain't seen a crow
round the place sence; asides it scared a
coyote most to death one night. Mr. Coy-
ote comes round soft-like in the moon-
light an' sees that there scarecrow blowin'
in the breeze. That Mr. Coyote's seen
scare-crows a-plenty afore, but not with
women's frilly trappin's a-wavin' in the
breeze. The old feller gives one mighty
scared yell, an' runs home an' we ain't
seen much of him sence, you bet.
Jim snuffles some for a week, but cheers
up sudden-like when I sends him for a
time to Firebaugh, lettin' him wear my
new close an' doublin' that twenty in the
pockut. It alwus costs money to make
Jim quit that there snufflin', but it's lots
worth it to me, what hates snufflin' worse
'n rattlers, an' 'sides that, Jim forgets
'bout matreemony for a spell, an' that's
worth a heap to me, too.
of to Jet.
By Raymond Bartlett .
DRAWINGS BY CLYDE COOKE.
The white foam gathers 'round the prow,
And the salt winds flying free;
Yet what care we for the depth below,
And the turmoil of the sea.
Men's lives on land grow double,
Eeplete with care and trouble,
Ho, then, for the swing of the sea.
We scorn the shore and the breakers' roar,
And we fear the harbor mouth;
With sloping masts o'er the ocean's floor,
We tack and veer to the south.
With the brisk salt breeze before us,
And the sea-bird sweeping o'er us,
We're the gipsies of the sea.
In the teeth of the gale, we laugh at the hail,
And the whitecaps seething under ;
When the lashing swells beat o'er the rail,
And the smoking seas asunder.
With dipping prow we labor,
We beat round cape and harbor,
We're the children of the storm.
We hear the bells o'er the rising swells,
And we see the lighthouse gleam;
We skirt the caves where the foam maids dwell,
And the idle mermen dream.
For wealth and names we care not,
A monarch's crown we'd wear not,
We count ourselves as free.
O'er reef and woe, with never a blow,
In howling wind and weather,
'Neath tropic vine, through frigid snow,
Our hearts beat one together.
On land they count to-morrow,
Its pleasure and its sorrow,
We count and live to-day.
IN DEL GADDO PLACE
Bv EDITH KESSLER
ILLUSTRATED BY CLYDE COOKE
T WAS a narrow, .ir-
regular, cobble-paved
street. No, it did not
attain the dignity of a
street, for "no thor-
oughfare" was pro-
claimed by a squalid
rookery set squarely
across its width. It was steep with the
grass-grown steepness of some San Fran-
cisco streets, and obscure in that it was
not exactly down town, and still not out
of its reaching clutches. Jutting flags
and treacherous cobbles marked its for-
bidding way; a shrinking, tortuous way,
that yet had no shame in the flaunting
dinginess and squalor of its unpainted,
weather-beaten houses; climbing, scram-
bling one above another rudely shoving
those below, leaning upon those above.
Del Gaddo Place is a habitat of Italians,
not of the very poorest variety. These
dwellers rather scorn the common day-
laborer. They are artisans of various
sorts, skilled workers or helpers; makers
of images, proprietors of small shops;
flower-vendors, and all are musicians by
right of birth. For more than a few it is
a profession, and among these was Carlo.
Carlo was a boy of sixteen, sullen and
stooped with weary years of enforced prac-
tice. The hours upon hours he had stood,
dully, endlessly reiterating difficult pas-
sages, while without his comrades shouted
and played, these were things he remem-
bere"d, and would not think of. For his
father was a musician, a composer, and it
was his vow his son should be a great
man -a maestro of the violin. There
were rankling memories of a former time
in another land that bit into his present
poverty as a corroding acid. His son was
to be his salvation, the magic hand which
was to make bright a distant, long-intend-
ed future. This little unctuous oily man
cared nothing for his daughters. "Let
them go," he said. And they were go-
ing.
Lotta, handsome and twenty, was mak-
ing the parental roof one of her transient
visits. She and Carlo were alone in the
room. The old man had gone out on her
entrance. He was always uncomfortable
when with her, and she frankly loathed
him.
"Carlo, why don't you cut the whole
thing and get out?" She was American-
born, and her accent was scarcely notice-
able. The morning was warm and bright,
with the hazy, heavy brightness of a San
Francisco -clear day. She sat by the open
window, and leaned her chin moodily upon
her upturned palm. Her clear olive face
was hard, the eyes veiled in a smoldering
resentment. Lines were already about
them, and unnecessary traces of paint
showed garishly in the morning light. The
two were very plainly brother and sister,
but in the boj^s big black eyes were added
an acute sensitiveness that had utterly
disappeared from his sister's.
"If I left him, I'd smash the violin into
a thousand pieces. It's fierce it's a night-
mare. You do not know."
She laughed derisively.
"Don't know ! Smash it ; smash it over
IN DEL GADDO PLACE.
171
his head. Come to me. I've got some
good friends. They'll get you something
to do, for me.''
"How do you like the place where you
are working now?" He looked up with
a fond affection.
"On, all right," she answered hastily.
"And, Pippa, could you take her till I
got started ? I can't leave her here. She
is the plague of the block now when I am
practicing." A worried frown gathered
over his eyes.
"Oh, no !" she ejaculated hurriedly.
"Pippa'd have to stay here. There
wouldn't be any place for her."
He sighed.
"Well, I can't go yet, then. Besides,
this is the only thing I can earn money
with now, and he gets all he can squeeze
out of me. Beppo don't tell him all he
gives me. If he should "
She shrugged her shoulders.
''You're a big boy now. You can take
care of yourself."
"Yes." He glanced over His shoulder.
"But Pippa "
"Does he do that, then?" She scowled,
and an ugly temper showed in her eyes.
"Well, if he does again, you let me know.
I'll Poor Pippa !" Her wrath went
out in a sudden dejection. She shook her
shoulders as if to shake off all unpleasant-
ness. "Well, you'll come to it. I'll see
what I can do." She rose and bent over
him, kissing his forehead. The eyes of
both were wet. She readjusted the fur
about her neck, straightened her white
chiffon hat, and crossed the room with a
rustle of silken skirts whose frayed edges
were soiled with much contact with tke
street.
On her way out she passed Pippa swing-
ing on the sagging gate. The siender, elf-
like child looked up with awe and stretched
one thin hand timidly toward the rustling
finery. The older girl stopped.
"Want to smooth the kitty, honey? See
the pretty, long fur." The little hand
buried itself in the soft mass.
"It's nice," she ventured, gravely. Lotta
laid a hand caressingly on either cheek,
and turned the little face up to hers. She
said earnestly:
"You must be good, very good, Pippa,
and do exactly as Carlo tells you, always;
and some day I'll bring you a kitty like
this, all for you r own."
"Yes, 1 will," she answered solemnly.
"I won't tear Carlo's music, or scare old
Bossi's monkey, or make his parrot squawk
or push little Pietro into the gutter when
it rains, 'cause he's a cry-baby or anything
again ever !"
Lotta laughed and sighed again, pick-
ing her way down the precipitous street,
and the child's eyes followed her with a
look of holy ecstasy. A vision, a dream
transcending the possible, had stooped to
her.
That same afternoon, old Garcia entered
the room where his son was practicing.
There was a peculiar narrowed look about
his eyes, and he smiled softly as he rubbed
his hands tentatively together. He was
quite a little man, and he moved noiseless-
ly, his heavy fat chin thrust rather up-
ward, his gray brows always slightly lifted
as though to clear his eyesight. An un-
pleasant person at best, this afternoon
even accustomed Carlo shrank inwardly
at the almost caressing tone of his smooth,
purring Italian. He sat down quite close
to the rickety music stand before which
Carlo stood, and for a moment drew
thoughtful marks in the dust of the win-
dow sill with his finger. Suddenly he
looked up.
"Your sister, the little Pippa where .is
she?"
This, although both could hear her
crooning over house-wifely mud pies in
the little yard outside. Carlo shrugged
his shoulders and said nothing. The voice
flowed on, smooth, hideously pleasant.
"She is" becoming a torment to all Del
Gaddo Place, is it not so? Certain com-
plaint?- from Signora Mata have grieved
me."
A picture of fat, dull Signora Mata
came before Carlo. She was a great friend
of his father's, and none of his. He grew
perplexed and apprehensive.
"Ah, yes, my Carlo, another little
thing. I had almost forgotten. The
wages the good Beppo gives you, far be-
yond your deserts, but a help to our pres-
ent needs. So you bring them all home
always my Carlo?"
Now Carlo knew. His face grew sul-
len and stolid. His quick fingers ran in-
terminably up and down liquidly flowing
scales. His shoulder was toward his
father.
"Silent one," the voice grew plaintive,
172
OVEELAND MONTHLY.
"is it not unjust to me who loves you, to
deceive so one who is to make you great
and happy, as I shall/"' He paused and
smiled softly again. "Carlo, Beppo is a
good friend, but over the red wine many
things come forth. It is many dollars,
you foolish and spendthrift boy, you have
with-held. And Pippa eats so much
Pippp. who is also so ungrateful; and
whom it grieves me so to punish."
Monotonous arpeggios accompanied this
monologue, nor ceased at its ending. The
nervous fingers flew, for it was this oc-
cupation kept them from things more to
be regretted.
"It was much money for so young a
boy, my son. Some is perhaps spent.
If but twenty-five dollars remain, we will
forp-et the mistake. It was wrong to me,
but I am a good father, not brutal as some
are, and 1 will forgive. Also, I will col-
lect the wage from Beppo now."
Carlo half turned.
"Beppo lied. I have no money."
"Yes ? Ah, Carlo, believe me, it is wise
to have the money. Pippa is such a bad
child! I cannot have so much trouble."
He had risen, and laid one hand on Carlo's
arm.
"It was a lie. Of course you don't be-
lieve. I cannot help it." The boy
shrugged his shoulders again, turning
away and bending his drooping head over
the notes, that his father might not see
his eyes.
"It is a pity not to remember you have
the money. And Pippa also such a bad
child, who grieves me so that I must pun-
ish her."
He crossed the room with a shuffling
tread, pausing at the door.
"You perhaps may remember now?"
A stubborn silence filled the room. He
sighed as he turned away. "And Pippa
such a bad child, too !"
Carlo heard, with set teeth, the slam of
the outside door, the sudden ceasing of
Pinoa's crooning song, the bewildered pro-
test, the angry, . frightened cries as th-3
two came down the empty ringing hall,
a steady shuffling tread, and scrambling,
dragging footfalls.
He ground his teeth, and played high,
fierce airs to drown the dismal wails. And
long after these had sobbed themselves to
a final silence, he played, white faced and
tense, for he knew his father, and he was
facing a new future. He did not hear the
sounds he brought forth. It was a me-
chanical performance, the visible sign to
his father that he did not care. An iota
of relenting, one quailing move, would re-
double his malignance, and put both him-
self and Pippa in much worse case. For
both of them it was to be gone through
with, and he emerged, old, bitter, pur-
poseful. Something had been killed in
him, and something "born. The last of the
boy had gone; the boy with a sense of
duty, with a latent desire for affection.
The germ of the man who hunts and 's
hunted, the man in the thick of the strug-
gle for existence, had been implanted. His
father was no longer a father, one of
the family clan ; he was one of the enemy ;
one of the hounding, harassing, threaten-
ing powers, to be thwarted, circumvented,
taken by the throat.
Pippa was very happy. With the buoy-
ancy of childhood, she was living in the
jov of the present moment. The prospect
of a rare treat was before her. She was
^oinsr down town with Carlo.
She skipped by his side down the steep
streets, her long black eyes dancing, her
two little braids bobbing up and down
with her ecstasy. It was difficult for her
to keep with Carlo's sober trudge, and her
continuous conversation bristled with ex-
clamation points.
The slow grey twilight was fading into
the many-lighted dark. Electric signs,
red, yellow and white, flared across the
sidewalk below them; scattering windows
hung brilliant squares in the dimness
above. Dark figures hurried or slouched
in and out, back and forth through the
halos of shop windows. Pippa clutched
her brother's hand ecstatically, as they
passed open shops, from which issued the
much-tried voice of a phonograph min-
gling with the stentorian tones of an at-
tendant hawker. Her eyes opened wide
at the fragrant florists' windows, and grew
round as they passed gorgeous bare-headed
Chinawomen.
They turned down many streets, they
skirted Chinatown ; in a district where
the men were mostly dark and foreign-
looking, they paused. In this quarter the
streets were illy-lit and furtive, and their
dinginess is hidden by obscuring shadows.
Their population was scattering, and
"THE MAN FELL WITHOUT A GROAN/
174
OVERLAND MONTHLY.
empty vistas yawned between blank frown-
ing walls, whose dull spaces were lit by
occasional gleaming slits, which only ac-
centuate the forbidding aspect. It was all
in striking contrast to the busy thorough-
fares and teeming Chinese quarter from
which they had just emerged, and Pippa
was glad when they Caused before the
streaming lights of the low, red-curtained
windows, and descended the shallow flight
of stone steps that marked the entrance.
Here was life in plenty; a garrulous
cigarette smoking, gesticulating life. The
upper air under the low brown rafters was
hazy with floating blue vapor, the saw-
dust sprinkled floor bore imprint of many
passing feet. About the oil-cloth covered
tables it was trampled and shoved into
billowy heaps, and stained with the lees
of wine. Deft, white-aproned waiters
passed about, and from group to group
sauntered a taciturn man, slender in build,
and rather taller than his fellows. On
occasions, as he paused, a slow smile
would lift his pointed mustaches. As he
caught sight of Carlo making his way
across the room this smile faded, and a
conscious, almost shame-faced expression
took its place. He started vaguely toward
the boy, then leaning back against a pil-
lar, he folded his arms and waited.
' He had not to wait long. Carlo deposit-
ed his violin box upon the floor of the
raised stand, which was his nightly post.
Then he lifted the half-timid, ha If -smiling
Pippa to the wooden chair upon it, and
turning, came straight down to the man.
"Beppo, after to-night I quit."
The man started.
"Quit ! Oh, come now "
"I quit!"
He turned on his heel, and the man
watched him as he carefully tuned his in-
strument, rubbed a lump of resin the
length of his bow, and swung abruptly into
a popular waltz. The man whistled softly
between his teeth, and his eyes grew
speculative.
Pippa pulled at Carlo's coat, and as he
turned, pointed to the door with a bright-
eyed anticipation. Two girls and a man
were just coming in. One girl was a little
in advance of her companions, standing
straight and handsome, as she swept the
room with a brilliant roving glance. The
magnetism of her full-blooded personality
drew the eyes of the occupants to her,
and among them the man leaning against
the pillar. She evidently saw what she
sought, and more, for a half-startled looic
came into her eyes, as they dropped from
Carlo's to the bright, eager little orbs be-
side him. She turned to the other girl,
an admirable foil of over-dressed insignifi-
cance, and after a whispered word and a
nod they made their way to a table near
the musician. Before seating herself, the
girl walked over to Carlo, saying in a low
voice :
"So you've done it?"
He nodded, and in his eyes was an odd
reflection of the timid eagerness in Pip-
pa's by his side.
"Well, I'm going to do the best I can.
I don't know, though." Her tone was
dubious, and her worried face a contrast
to the gay, ultra-mode of her attire and
artificially radiant cheeks. It changed
quickly, and its hardened vivacity came
back like a mask.
"We'll pull it off together, though. It's
up to me now."
She went slowly back to the table, and
as she was seating herself her heavy eyes
met the interested ones of the man by
the pillar. A smoldering flash lit them
for a moment before they were lowered.
Her friends were having a gay time over
the menu, and she joined them with zest.
She ignored the man who was watching
her. The feast was set before them,
strange concoctions redolent of garlic,
spaghetti, ravioli, anchovies, and a coup]e
of bottles of vin ordinaire "Dago Red."
The man left the pillar and sat down at
a vacant table near by. Two, three times
the girl glanced sidewise at him, a slow,
lingering o-lance over the red-brimming
edge of her glass. The man's mustaches
lifted ever so slightly, and then the party
became four. Waiters were obsequious,
the "Dago Bed" was changed to Chianti,
laughter flowed with the wine, and eyes
sparkled with both.
But a good time alwavs comes to an
end. Finally, two of the party rose, and
.with many adieus the party became two
parties. Lotta and the man called Beppo,
the thrifty proprietor of the restaurant,
'became very quiet. They talked in low
tones and without gestures. His eye-
brows rose as she talked, and he was seri-
ous.
"Yes, I can do it," he said, "but-
IN DEL GADDO PLACE.
175
He smiled, a slow smile that lifted his
mustache, and he looked at her across the
table.
She leaned back and said nothing.
"Yes, 1 can do it," he repeated, delib-
erately, "but " This time he did not
smile as he looked steadily at her.
Then she awoke in a torrent of low
Italian. Scorn lighted her eyes. He
shrugged his shoulders. Then he an-
swered with a few slow words. She
broke into English.
"Friend there's no such thing as
friend in this world!" She threw back
her head, and the hardness in her eyes
was painful. "So this was your friend-
ship, after all."
She fell silent, and her eyes rested upon
the waiting, dependent, trusting brother
and sister. The gloom in her face inten-
sified. The man also was silent. She
rose slowly from the table, her eyes still
upon the patient, huddled little form of
her half-asleep sister.
"Well?" said the man, as he held out
his hand. Her eyes did not leave the
.child, but ,with a twisted smile she laid
her hand in his. Then she went to the
little grouD, and he did not follow her.
"Come, Pippa, sister will take care of
you now."
The little girl scrambled off the chair
in haste, broad awake and apprehensive
on the instant.
"Carlo, it's all right now I guess."
She nodded to him, and led Pippa
away, abruptly.
As the two disappeared through the
open doorway, the voice of the violin
rose in a joyous burst of melody.
Beppo beamed on his customers, wan-
dering from one table to another, and
as the hour grew late, finally settled with
some cronies at a side table. Wines of
yellow and red flowed freely, and as Carlo
at peace with the world approached
to settle with his employer, he smiled in
sympathy with their revelry. He stood
just behind Beppo, as with unsteady hand
the man lifted his glass. The thick words
of his toast brought a quick,, checked
hilarit" to the lips of his fellows. In
the sudden silence the blue-white arc
light above their heads sizzed with a spas-
modic splutter. A gleam of steel flashed
in its glare, and a boy's unsteady voice
broke shrilly:
"Devil of "a liar!"
The man fell without a groan. The
boy stood back, looking down at him. On
the floor, a red widening blot that was
not wine, spread into the sawdust.
BY ARTHUR H. BUTTON
IGHT at our doors, it
may be said, is a re-
gion, not difficult of
access, which is a
paradise to artist and
athlete, to fisherman,
sportsman, tourist, to
every lover of the
beautiful and the grand, to every one in-
terested in man and nature. A part,
but only a small part, of this region is
known, and this small part is fast losing
its noveltv, the greater and more attrac-
tive part being as yet nearly virgin to the
sightseer and traveler of the white race.
The region is in Southeastern Alaska.
This general region has been much writ-
ten about, but principally from the stand-
point of those who have skimmed over the
beaten paths of the Southeastern Alaska
travelers; those who go over the usual
route, which, while undoubtedly one n f
the most attractive anywhere, is surpassed
by neighboring districts.
It was my good fortune to spend a
summer recently as an officer on the little
steamer Gedney, belonging to the United
States Coast and Geodetic Survey, which
had been detailed to explore and survey
Chatham and Sumner straits, Christian
sound and neighboring waters about
Kuiu, Baranoff and adjacent islands.
Here T saw sights and had experiences and
pleasures that I little anticipated. We
had enioved the trip up, over the route
ordinarily followed by the steamers which
make the so-called inside passage to Alas-
kan ports, but we did not meet with the
gems until after leaving the beaten path.
It is a land of primeval forest and me-
dieval man. Here the degenerate Siwash
is not so far civilized as to be the hope-
less individual he is in such tourist-ridden
places as Ketchikan, Killisnoo, Sitka, Ju-
neau and other towns. On Kuiu island
he still has some relics of the ancients of
his race. He is certainly not content to
while away his life in idleness, varied only
with drunken potlatches. On the contrary,
'he still resents the coming of the white
man, whom he will slay if he can catch
him unawares and without fear of ap-
prehension. He still lives on fish and
game, and still wears many garments of
ancient design and manufacture. The
torests are as grand as the snow-capped,
rugged mountains that over-tower them.
One may walk, or rather climb, over them
for hours, their silent majesty impressing
one with the grandeur of nature when
left alone by man.
The most striking feature of this beau-
tiful region is the closeness with which
varieties of scenery are assembled. First
there is the deep strait, on either side of
which are islands, most of them spined
with tall, white-tipped mountains. The
shores are indented with beautiful bays
and coves, whose mere existence is not
suspected until their entrances are
reached. It is these that the average tour-
ist misses. It was our duty to find them
and tc explore and survey them. We en-
tered many. Some are wide, dotted with
islets. Others aje little lagoons, innocent
of ail life except fish and game, even the
THE LAND OF AST, SPORT AND PLEASURE.
Indians seldom visiting them. In the
larger ones there are occasional camps of
Indian fishermen and hunters during an
entire summer we found not half a dozen
traces of the rare white prospectors who
have visited the region.
Streams pour into these bays and la-
goons, deer and bear wander alone: their
shores, the latter sweeping up fish by
the handful. We entered a harbor once
it i? now called Patterson bay where
we saw two families of bear, one a pair
of big brown bear, the other two parent
black bear, with three cubs. The two
groups were some distance apart, and
failed to discover our approach until we
rounded a bend and saw them, the sound
of our boat being drowned by the roar
of a magnificent -cataract. These cata-
racts are among the most beautiful fea-
tures of the place. They are to be found
every few miles, coming from mountain
streams of more or less size, which are
but the overflows, in most cases, of beau-
tiful fresh-water lakes, which are plentiful
in the higher plateaus and valleys farther
inland.
The landscape artist can find ample
field for his art in this wild and inspir-
ing country. Its aspect, both general and
detailed, impresses even the prosaic lay-
man. The poet may be carried away in
rapid flights in its contemplation. As a
health resort,, the islands on both sides
of Chatham and Sumner straits and
Christian sound are magnificent. A sum-
mer lodge or shooting box, built of the
heavy, enduring timber that abounds., it*
masonry of the varied rocks or the fine
marble which may be found in profusion
and easily quarried, could be located in
few places so beautiful. Sheltered from
bad weather, surrounded by the fairest
prospect in good, they would be even at-
tractive winter houses, for the climate of
South-eastern Alaska is no more rigorous
than that of Massachusetts or England.
It is cooler than either in summer, and
no colder in winter.
The harbors, coves and bays are simply
alive with fish of great variety. Cod, sal-
mon, halibut and many other food fishes
are present in vast numbers. When the
Gedney would anchor in one of these
lovely harbors, the fish-lines would go
overboard as soon as her "mud-hook" wa?
down. The fish would fall over themselves
getting caught and hauled aboard, to be
eaten at our next meal. In the streams
and the interior lakes there is an abund-
ance of gamey trout.
Bear, deer, plover, grouse, ptarmagau,
ducks, geese and swans are but some of
the game animals and birds to be fovnd
with little difficulty, although the black
bear are timid, and the deer, partly owing
to the Indians, are rather warv. and pa-
tience and skill must be practiced to get
near enough for a shot, except in some
of the little outside islands, such as Coro-
nation Island, where they have not been
much disturbed by any one and may be
driven and cornered, owing to the steep
hills and crags characteristic of the
island.
I can imagine no better way for heal 
