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Full text of "The Overland monthly"

The Overland Monthly 

Vol. L Second Series 

July-December, 1907 




The OVERLAND MONTHLY CO., Publishers 

Offices 773 Market Street, Sah Francisco 



F 

. o 



INDEX 



.ALDIS DUNBAR 
FREMONT OLDER 

ALOYSIUS COLL 
.ERNESTINE WINCHELL 
CLYDE EDWIN TUCK 
MARY E. SNYDER 

STELLA F. WYNNE 

INA COOLBRITH 
PIERRE N. BERINGER 



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 



JOSEPHINE MILDRED BLANCH 63 

HERBERT COOLIDGE 317 

JOHN KENNETH TURNER 603 

MARY OGDEN VAUGHAN 602 

101 

ANNIE LAURA MILLER 221 

ROCKWELL D. HUNT 236 

FLORENCE RICHMOND 610 

MARY OGDEN VAUGHAN 586 

270 

HARRIS WEINSTOCK 270 

DENISON HALLEY CLIFT 274 

BERTRAM WELLS 278 

HERBERT COOLIDGE 285 

ALMA MARTIN 509 

EMMA PLAYTER SEABURY 80 

ALFRED DAVIS 81 

WASHINGTON DAVIS 119 

ARTHUR H. DUTTON 199 

RAYMOND SUMNER BARTLETT 292 

JACK LONDON 592 

KATHERINE ELWES THOMAS 596 

L. B. JEROME 542 

JULIAN JOHNSON 379 

BEN FIELD 417 

"JAC ' LOWELL 482 

FRED GILBERT BLAKESLEE 123 

M. TINGLE 384 

ALLEN H. HODGSON 20 

FELIX J. KOCH 41 

F. G. MARTIN 49 

F. L. HARDING 53 



471 U 

ffencroh Libntfjr 



X D E X. 



FRONTISPIECE 

FROM TOKIO TO KOBE 

Illustrated with photographs. 

FRONTISPIECE. Statue of Father Junipero Serra 
GIPSIES OF THE SEA. Verse .... 

"GRANDMA" VARNER and "TOMMY" 

Photograph by F. P. Stevens. 

HYPOCRISY. Poem 

HIGH PpLITICS IN OHIO 

Drawing by R. W. Borough. 
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 .... 

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 . . 

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 



BY ONE OF HIS EMPLOYEES 



FELIX J. KOCH 

DONALD V. TOBEY 
CLARENCE HAWKES 

DONALD A. ERASER 
MABEL PORTER PITTS 
WASHINGTON DAVIS 
BETTY PARKER SMITH 
W. G. TINCKOM-FERNANDEZ 
BURTON WALLACE 

H. FELIX CROSS 

MAUDE DE COU 

HELEN FITZGERALD SANDERS 

DONALD B. TOBEY 

JOANNA NICHOLLS KYLE 



MARION COOK 

FRANK H. SWEET 

G. F. PAUL 

JAMES WILLIAM JACKSON 



238 



471 
473 

557 

520 
139 

57 
247 

328 
207 
391 
513 
210 
522 

19 
123 
186 
259 
260 



293 
367 
25 
69 
85 
FRONTISPIECE 



W. G. T1NCKOM FERNANDEZ 
W. GILMORE EEYMER 



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 



F 

,0-4$ 



v, TO 



INDEX 



.ALDIS DUNBAR 
FREMONT OLDER 

ALOYSIUS COLL 
.ERNESTINE WINCHELL 
CLYDE EDWIN TUCK 
MARY E. SNYDER 

STELLA F. WYNNE 

INA COOLBRITH 
PIERRE N. BERINGER 

MARK TWAIN 



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.). 



21 
546 

118 
145 
156 

182 

361 

537 
463 

483 
504 



JOSEPHINE MILDRED BLANCH 63 

HERBERT COOLIDGE 317 

JOHN KENNETH TURNER 603 

MARY OGDEN VAUGHAN 602 

101 

ANNIE LAURA MILLER 221 

ROCKM r ELL D. HUNT 236 

FLORENCE RICHMOND 610 

MARY OGDEN VAUGHAN 586 

270 

HARRIS WEINSTOCK 270 

DENISON HALLEY CLIFT 274 

BERTRAM WELLS 278 

HERBERT COOLIDGE 285 

ALMA MARTIN 509 

EMMA PLAYTER SEABURY 80 

ALFRED DAVIS 81 

WASHINGTON DAVIS 119 

ARTHUR H. DUTTON 199 

RAYMOND SUMNER BARTLETT 292 

JACK LONDON 592 

KATHERINE ELWES THOMAS 596 

L. B. JEROME 542 

JULIAN JOHNSON 379 

BEN FIELD 417 

"JAG' LOWELL 482 

FRED GILBERT BLAKESLEE 123 

M. TINGLE 384 

ALLEN H. HODGSON 20 

FELIX J. KOCH 41 

F. G. MARTIN 49 

F. L. HARDING 53 



471 12 

JBftncruti Libraqr 



X D E X. 



FRONTISPIECE 

FROM TOKIO TO KOBE 

illustrated with photographs. 

FRONTISPIECE. Statue of Father Junipero Serra 
GIPSIES OF THE SEA. Verse .... 

"GRANDMA" VARNER and "TOMMY" 
Photograph by F. P. Stevens. 

HYPOCRISY. Poem 

HIGH PpLITICS IN OHIO 

Drawing by R. W. Borough. 
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 .... 

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 .... 
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. Radebaujh. "A 

roofe, A. R. I. B. A. "What Made Tacoma," by C. 

City," by Arnott Woodroofe. 



E RAWING BY L. B. HASTE 
CHARLES LORRIMER 



RAYMOND BARTLETT 
ELIZABETH A. KELLY 

SAMUEL G. HOFFENSTEIN 
WASHINGTON DAVIS 

PETER ROBERTSON 
MAY C. RINGWALT 

L. M. HOLT 

CHARLES FRANCIS SAUNDERS 

M. GRIER KIDDER 

AD. H. GIBSON 

EDITH KESSLER 

. FELIX J. KOCH 



BY ONE OF HIS EMPLOYEES 



FELIX J. KOCH 

DONALD V. TOBEY 
CLARENCE HAWKES 

DONALD A. FRASER 
MABEL PORTER PITTS 
WASHINGTON DAVIS 
BETTY PARKER SMITH 
W. G. TINCKOM-FERNANDEZ 
BURTON WALLACE 

H. FELIX CROSS 

MAUDE DE COLT 

HELEN FITZGERALD SANDERS 

DONALD B. TOBEY 

JOANNA NICHOLLS KYLE 



MARION COOK 

FRANK H. SWEET 

G. F. PAUL 

JAMES WILLIAM JACKSON 



294 
309 

396 
168 
255 

40 
209 

539 

581 

510 

76 

91 

144 

170 

238 



471 

473 



557 



293 
367 
25 
69 
85 
FRONTISPIECE 



W. G. T1NCKOM FERNANDEZ 
W. GILMORE BFJYMER 



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 



r x D E x. 



THEATRE OF OSCAR WILDE, THE 

TANGENT OF A TiFF, THE 

THE FIRST ASCENT OF MT. SHUKSAN 

Illustrated with photographs. 
THE PRINCESS. Verse 



THE SKY AND THE SEA AND THE EARTH. Verse S. M. SALYER 



ARCHIBALD HKXDERSON 
LIZZIE GAINES WILCOXSON 
ASAHEL CURTIS 

ALPHONSO BENJAMIN BOWERS 



THE EXILE. Verse 

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 SALT OF EARTH 

Illustrated by L. B. Haste. 
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 .... 

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 

I 'ra wings 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. 

WEST, THE. Poem C. S. COLEMAN 

WORLD'S GREATEST TELESCOPE, THE (III.) FLORENCE CROSBY PARSONS 

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 HAMILTON \VKICHT AND 

Illustrated with photographs. F. MARION GALLEGHER 

WASTED SWEETS. Verse HENRY WALDORF FRANCIS 

WHAT THE BOY KNOWS. Verse 

"YO NO QUIERO CASAR." Verse . . AGNES M. MANNING 



F. W. K. 

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. STELLMAXX 

C. JUSTIN KENNEDY 
ROBERT W. HARTWELL 
ELOISE J. ROORBACK 

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 

Bl'KTOX WALLACE 
JAY C. POWERS' 

OLIVE DIBERT 
KATHERIXK M. NESFIELD 



MARGARET ASHMUN 



ARTHUR POWELL 
HORATIO LANKFORD KING 



HAL. JACKSON 



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 

119 

454 
186 
482 

505 

289 
322 

343 

549 

493 

32 



68 

73 

246 

371 

385 



397 

461 
470 
475 




Rebuilding Views of New San Francisco 
The Theatre of Oscar Wilde 



BY ARCHIBALD HENDERSON 



The "Barbizon" of California 

BI JOSEPHINE MILDRED BLANCH 



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SAN FRANCISCO 




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15 Cents Per Copy. $1.50 Per Year. 

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 Dnnbar 24 

Peddlers and Pack Horses in Mexico (111.) . . 0-. 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 

Eeminiscences of San Francisco Charlton Lawretue Edholtn 56 

Letters (Poem) Donald V. Tobey 57 

Sea Foam (111.) E.J.R 58 

Sheepherder's Nemesis, The Colin V. Dyment 60 

"Barbizon" of California, The (111.) . . .Josephine Mildred Blanch 63 

West, The (Poem) C. 8. Coleman 6S 

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 Wttco.rson 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 Kidder 91 



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Overland Monthly 



NO. 1 



July, 1907 



VOL. L 



BY ARCHIBALD HENDERSON 



IF 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 is 
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 Renan, 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, 
but 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- 
rent 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. Wihat pos- 
sible claim can contemporary criticism 
set up to respect that criticism which 
crucified Jesus Christ, stoned Stephen, 
hooted Pa-ul 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 Shelley 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 
Xietzsche 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 Kennedy, 
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 THEATRE 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. "De Profundis" has already 
taken its place as a marvelous evocation of 
an etat d'ame ; and "The Ballad of Head- 
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- 
ing 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- 
itv" 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 Ihe 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, nt 
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 support from either critic or 
public. Written when Wilde was only 
twenty-two years old ("The New York 
World, August 12, 1883). this play early 
enrolled him under that drapeau ro- 
mantigue 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- 



OVEELAND 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 Eussia, 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 Eussia, 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- 
Volksdrama, "Vera" images the conflict 
between despotism and socialism, between 
a vacillating, terror-obsessed Czar and a 
Eussian 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 Eussia" 
this is the very acme of the theatric in 



its worst sense, the very quintessence of 
Adelphi melodrama. Xot 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?" (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 
sta ir 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 
E. 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. Eecall 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" 



THE THE ATE E 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 
Guido'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 remarkabla 
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," Wdlde, with 'prentice hand, 
unsuccessfully attempted to picture the 
dramatic conjuctures and crises arising 
whea 

" * * 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, Richard Strauss, recently with- 
drawn from the stage of the Metropolitan 



Onera 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 nrophet. 
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 iSpain 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 !' v 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'Tior- 
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 OSCAR 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 shudder ingly 
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 
ihat 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.' 5 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 hit 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. Bruns' Verlag, Minden 
in Westf ) ; "Oscar Wilde, by Hedwig 
Lachmann (Schuster and Loeffler, 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- 
neriy, 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 



OVEBLATO MONTHLY. 



10, 1896, in which he expresses his pro- 
found appreciation for. the production of 
''Salome" by Lugne Poe at the Theatre 
de 1'Oeuvre, 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 Eoyal, 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 
plav 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 p re-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 
cafes 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 
genius 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 dignifr 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, WRlde 
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 



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 fils, 
or in Sudermann. It is in this way thai 
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 : "When 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- 
sparingly 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!" Phe 
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, an-I 
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 Review, 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 canvas 
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; 

Wihile 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. 

Eound 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 in 
sleep. 

Monrovia, Cal. 



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 tha 
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 io 
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 .q-eography, chemistry, hydo- 
graphy, as well &s 'technical civil en- 
gineering, and is able to handle all busi- 
ness dealings with lumber. It is for him 
to heln the fore3t 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 
matuje 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.D 
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 good working knowledge 
of physical geography, geologv 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 wav 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 



2'2 



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 id 
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- 




in the logging camp. 




The virgin forest. 



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." 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 advise 

Will T achieve ! 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, Cela^a is the greai 
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, 
SAveet 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 pordioseros is applied to these whin- 
ing mendicants. In plain English, they 
would be known as "for-God's-sakers." 
And when Iheir penny has been cast them 
for their song or grimace or mute appeal, 
they usually add with unintentional 
irony, "May God give you more." 



26 



OVEKLAiNTD 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 rlace, 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 peprjer 
and a ". 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 
stoutlv over-ruled. 

In Mexico, the burro is surmosed 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 
bundles by means of ropes, yet burros, or 
even boys, may often be seen plodding 




Cargadores with piano. 



OVERLAND 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 tor at least a century is 
shown by the statement of Baron Hum- 
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 anj 
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 eiarht 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, 
Guauhtemoctzin. 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. 

Tn 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 Mexico. 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. 
If asked why he wears his trousers so, the 
carbonero will probably reply, "Es cos- 
tumbre 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 she'ep's heads or the more plain- 
tive tamalera, 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, "Com pro, usted 




Pack train returning from market. 




A light load. 




Water carriers at -Querataro. 



PEDDLERS AND PACK HORSES IN MEXICO. 



31 




Water carrier of Guanajuato. 



jitomate, chicharos, ejote, caldbacitaf 
(Won't you buy tomatoes, peas, beans, 
pumpkins.) 

Guanajuato has in its aguador or water 
man, the most picturesque provider in the 
Republic. Wliile his usefulness is being 
narrowed by the laying of prosaic water- 
pipes, yet he 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 iihe 
aguador is made an unknowing helper in 
the love-match. The artful young don 
may fasten the missive to the bottom of 
the chochocol, or 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 lovev 
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 
aloDg 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 anl 
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 



novia. 



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. 







BY ARA SHANE CURTIS 



NO telegraph operator employed on 
the Eantoul district in the spring 
of '92 has forgotten Dispatcher 
John W. Rafferty, who handled the "sec- 
ond trick" at Eantoul 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- 
c*eed 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, wben talking the matter over with 
Lorton, that he waxed profane concerning 
the stuff that was in the second-trick des- 
pateher, damning it roundly. 

Rafferty's unpopularity seemed to 
trouble him little. He might have dis- 
sipated the prejudice against him had he 
niade any effort 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 
below the junction of the Ohampaign 
and Obion Rivers. Ordinarily, these were 
insignificant streams enough ; but, on the 



34 



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 despatchers' 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- 
ers', 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 !" he 
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 ihe 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. 



a 5 



McGuire had been taken ill suddenly that 
day; and, as there was no extra man to 
relieve him, the chief despatcher had no- 
tified Rafferty 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 Rafferty 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 Rafferty 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 Rafferty. 

"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 Rafferty. 

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 Rafferty, 
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 Rafferty 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 
Creelman, and I had to undo every 
blanked thing I'd done, and do it over." 

"Things are always in a mess," growled 
Rafferty; "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 Rafferty instructions 
from the trainmaster to run one of the 
engines the huge 890 in charge of en- 
gineer Mathis and conductor Ryan, 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 Rafferty sat 
down before his desk, he had "fixed" first 
53 at Rantoul. 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 Rocky 
Ford, the first station south of the river, 
reported a very rough place in the track 
at the end of the bridge approach. Raf- 



36 



OVERLAND 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 
Champai-gn division. I began calling 
"CH", the despatcher's 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 
despatchers' 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 Raiferty. 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, but 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 Eafferty. 

"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. Eafferty 
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, I'll see," said Eafferty. "CH 
CH CH EN CH " 

"I CH," answered Champaign. "No. 
1 running five hours late CH". 

"OK EN"" returned Eafferty, "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 !" 

fie 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!" 

<f We," began Champaign, but Eaf- 
ferty seized the circuit. He called Kosci- 
usko Junction, and ascertained that the 
special 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. Eafferty 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 EN" 
called Eafferty. "FD FD EN 9 " 

"EN EN EN WB " 

It was Ways Bluff, the first station 
north of Eantoul on the Champaign di- 
vision. 

"Get out!" flashed Eafferty furiously. 
99_FD FD " 

But the operator at Ways Bluff broke 
in again: 

"To EN WiB I'm holding No.l here 
cloudburst just below, and water coming 
down river. Eun for your liv " 

That was all the wire circuit remain- 
ed open. 

Eafferty bounded to the switch board, 
and applied the ground wire north. It 
closed the circuit, but, before he could 
reach his key, Eocky Ford took the wire 
with: 

"To EN track washed away south of 
river to bridge-approach, and one span of 
approach gone. Section men trying to " 

Eafferty 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 hall 
pell-mell. They poured down stairs and 
out of tihe 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 Eafferty had reseated 
himself and was calling Eocky Ford 
frantically. 

"Go on, Callahan !" he cried, seeing me 
pause. "I must tell that fellow at Eocky 
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. 
Eantoul itself would soon be under water. 



38 



OVERLAND MONTHLY. 



The operator at Rocky Ford was inex- 
perienced Raft'erty 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 RN 9" continued Raf- 
ferty. "FD FD RN 9! My God! 
JFD 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 spots danc- 
iner 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- 
gei ,/. 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 pond. 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 



Rafferty 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 Raf- 
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 Rafferty, 
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. 

Rafferty 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. 

Wiith 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 Rantoul by 
three twenty-five Mathis had the mighty 
890 on her mettle. If they were not 
stopped by the operator at Rocky Ford 

I was aroused by Rafferty. 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 Rocky Ford !" 



He caught the lantern from my grasp 
and turned. I laid hold of him in des- 
peration. 

"My Lord, Rafferty 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 change that 
Rocky 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 Rafferty 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 /^at 
night I did not dream that I cherished any 
particular affection. I groaned aloud, 
and flung myself down beside the girl, 
sobbing outright like the boy I was. 



40 



OVERLAND MON 




It seemed an age that we two sat there, 
sobbing in company; but not many ^min- 
utes covered the time from the/arfoment 
when Rafferty left us until th^<nrial catas- 



A deep, swelling roar/ike the uprising 
of a}tfstrong wind, struCK upon my ears. 
I wps 1 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, in,termingled 
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, sculptur'd 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- 



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 coniing 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 : t 
stir so far into the back country, and 
it would be only some correspondent who 
ever dipped into Dagh. 

When 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 trte 
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 nat 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, wejl, 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 
throiigh 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 PROM THE DESPOT OF DAGH. 



45 



I had to admit none, as he 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 ? Write 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 



OVEELAND 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 1 did. 

It would take two days by fleet courier 
to carry that letter out of Dagh, up 
through Eila and then Dupnitza, where 
Sandansky, who had planned the Stone 
capture lives, to Eadomir 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 vassafl 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. 

"Kun, 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, >by some wonderful spring 
the chair was released. High into air, 
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 f artherest 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 Dagh, 
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 



{{TVTEVEK heard how old Sim New- 
|\l 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. 
Eebs 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, athletic 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 Mountain, 
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 Eobinson 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. 



her where he was and how he got there. 
I reckon he felt something like Eip 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 TUEXED 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- 

-. A-hich 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. Ths 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 Xewcomb 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. 

"AVe 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 I 
wants my pay. I done tired of dis work 
anyway.' 

" 'Xow, what bad whisky have you been 
guzzling?' I exclaimed in impatience. 

" 'Cap'n, I done tole you dere's hair 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 ooen conversation with me. 
1 tell you I was 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. 

" '1 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- 
drew?, 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. Xot 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 Tian'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, appealing figure, but 
dim in the daylight. The party all saw it 
and even skeptical Mr. Andrews bit hia 
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 sight 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 Mkrconi 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/' 



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 
ray 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 Cuttyhunk streamed ir- 
resistibly out upon the arched rod, a gray 
live-wire whipping viciously through the 
guides. It dipped down like 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. 



54 



OVEELANP 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 FORTY-POUND WEAK-FISH. 




Forty-one poun'd 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 steady 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 fellaJi. 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, saffron- 
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 



LETTERS. 



57 



hues, lingered and eagerly chatted along 
the curb, anon inserting their elaborately 
i-oift'ured 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- 
verse.' " 

When I turned, the ghost of Sherlock- 
Holmes 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 , 

forceful, 



\jo\ce 



the 




, peaceful, 
meditative, 

Is tl)e sootVfl voce 
of 

me. -E.J. R_ 




f-ir ^ 

TKi 



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- 
entlv saw nothing to alarm him further, 
then turned appealingly toward me. 

Broken, trembling words came first, 
more to himself than me : "Romany 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 my drummer's cases. 
* * * * 

In trips tli rough 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 hunger 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 SHEEPHERDER'S NEMESIS. 



61 



about Romany, 'way off there, an' I say: 
'Jear Pierre, I mean maybe you 
never see Romany 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 
mile, 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 sa^e 
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 eje, 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." 

"WHiat windows? Red-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 Rock 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 neve'- forget me! One sit 
at every window. Their face is verv 



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 maybe 
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 Red 
Butte country. Sweeter grass. You sheep 
need moving anyway.' I 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 



62 



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, he 
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 hali 
a dozen more were burned up. This ghoul 
was robbing bodies when they chased him 
off, but he got away. Thafs what lie 
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. 




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 (fading 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 Hn all Monterey, 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." 



3iis choicest 'bits of description. Wftien 
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 hats 
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 here. 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 and 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 late af- 
ternoon, the lowering sun sending 
through passing clouds one glorious shaft 
of lighW- 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. 



EngLind, 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. 

These 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: it will live only 
in art, immortalized by those who 
have told her story by word or pic- 
ture. 



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. 






BY JAMES WILLIAM JACKSON 



^T T NT1L Wednesday, at two 

-. 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. 

Hi? 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 off 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 off 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 



OVEELAND 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 
Iris 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 
T 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. Smallvjy. 

Gathering up the drawings (he took 
them into the inner office and laid them 
on the chiefs 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. 

"When 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/' Houghton ejacu- 
lated; "this is the limit of endurance. 
Not another stroke of work will I do for 
this man." 

He snatched u 1 " 1 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 peoplle 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 



WITHIN 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" 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 Ritchey 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 Mt. 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 foe 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, ?. 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, 
felJ 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 drear 
or prophesy or picture to the imaginatioi 
the wonders that may be within the grasj 
of modern research, when away up amon 
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 HU 
handiwork. 



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. 



IHlrana <smdl 



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. Eent 
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 body, 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 Mrs. 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 ihad 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 to 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 bottle 
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 tapes. 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 lookin* 
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 Mirs. 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 and 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 ha 
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/' 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 upon 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 nickering 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. Save 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 searching 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 head in', 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. 
find didn't you 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 



82 



OVEKLAND 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 off 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; maybe 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. 

"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 
mat). 

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. Kemem- 
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 ; T 
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. <r 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 iiands, 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 hoty 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 land 
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. 




go! 




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. GRIER KIDDER 



MAKEIAGE, 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 abhorred 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 10 
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 everything from flattery to 
flat iron? What do you expect when tyr- 
anny beerets 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 intoxicated 
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 naupers, 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 liberty, 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 1 
her go. Now, along comes a cer 
prominent man and charges the socia 
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 soc 
evil is one of the many children of des 
tution; its mother, poverty; its father, 
man. The "poverty, not .the will, con- 
sents." 

If I were a woman, I should prefer om 
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. I 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 b 
cause it deserves to stand; when, in fa 
it stands because they don't understa 
it. True veneration halts short of vene 
able humbug. Conservatism as natura 
opposes the new as it revives the dying, 
resurrects the dead and baptizes the still- 
born; but there is little knee-crooking 
fore the healthy recent. 

Divorce is woman's new and onl 
friend ; the qnly 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 goi 



THE LAIR OF THE BEAR. 



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- 
nrove 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 
breff." 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. Wioman 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 <niarantee 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. 



M:m is divided into the caught, uii- 
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 



OVERLAND 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 siste 
to hate, and if perfect freedom is not the 
essence of affection,.! am greatly in error 
Two people living together because thej 
have to are hardly an improvement 01 
two who won't live together because the 
don't want to. 

Divorce laws can't warrant moralit 
any more than religious persecution cai 
guarantee religious unity. 

Thousands would to-day be good hus 
bands and wives if they had remedied ui 
happy marriage with divorce and re 
marriage. Is marriage so sacred that tt 
correction of its blunders is a sacrilege: 
Should any contract be aught but a roj 
of sand whose stipulations are adverse 
the happiness of the contractors? In 
judgment, happiness is the only aim, anc 
only what conduces to it is sacred. Whereii 
lies the reason in legislating two people 
endowed with cat and dog proclivities int 
lasting matrimonial "bliss?" Marrias 
should collapse with the love that su 
gested it. It may have its trials, but it 
should not be a trial. Think of a coupl 
priding themselves on their fortitude h 
enduring forty years of married hell witl 
the divorce heaven in sight, with its offer : 
"Come unto me, ye who do labor, and ai 
heavy laden, and I will give you rest !" 




Please Mention Overland Monthly in Writing Advertisers 



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Chicago. U. S. A 




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xl 




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For particulars address 

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2230 Pacific Avenue, 
San Francisco Telephone West 546 

The Fall term will open August 12. 1907. 



FOK OLD OR NKW FLOORS, FURNITURE AND|WOODWORK 

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I HAVE been reading the "Reminis- 
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 county 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 
"Reminiscences 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 our- 
doors that much is merely a piquante 
sauce to make the rest appetizing to tin 
reader. I 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., N. 
Y. 1906. 

* * * 

The Overland Monthly is in receipt of 



the Annual Report 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 485 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 
Butle^ 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 of 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 McChire, Philips & Co., N"ew 
York. 



Please Mention Overland Monthly in Writing Advertisers. 



xl 



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These 147 are owners of single cylinder Cadillacs in 
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These cars either touring or runabout are the greatest 
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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- 
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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 > F r e e s e 

947-949 Van Ness Avenue 



READY FOR THE PRESS 

CHICAGO GAVE DWELLERS 

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POSTPAID VI = 

A Story of the Underworld 
and the Overworld 

By Parker H. Sercombe, 
Editor To-Morrow 
Magazine \ Chicago. 

Only a limited edition of 
this remarkable book will be 
printed. Each copy will be 
signed by Sercombe Him- 
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orders in will get the low 
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No. 1, which goes to Mrs. 
Sercombe. 

Address 

TO-MORROW MAGAZINE, 

For the Superman and Superwoman and The New Civilization, 

2238 Calumet Ave., Chicago, III. 

10 CENTS THE COPY. $1 A YEAR. 4 



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, Robert 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 Hn 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 hard'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. 

* * * 

"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, FS 
a rule, written from the vantage ground of 
a cozy seat in some comfortable library. 
The spirit of the "trail" may be found m 
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 Mtount 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 



tuberculosis, lias 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. 



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. 




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The Selwell Company, 

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SAN FRANCISCO 
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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 Keichstag, came 
to America about ten years ago as the 
New York correspondent of a Berlin 
newspaper, and is now the publisher of a 
New 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 
A^iereck 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. 

Wtithin a few months after the book's 
publication, the celebrated house of Gotta 
at Stuttgart, the publishers of Goethe 
and Schiller, expressed an interest in the 
young poet, and Ludwig Fulda took the 
manuserint to Germanv 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 11 u> way, to publish a poem 



by Mr. Viereck was the Century. 

In the autumn of 1906, Mr. Viereck 
published a small volume of plays entitb; 
"A Game at Love," and there will appe, 
in the late autumn a psychological rci 
mance of a very unusual kind and qu; 
ity. All his books will be published sini- 
ultaijeouslv 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 Officis 
Congressional Directory. This book cor 
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 li- 
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 Cor.tinental 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 ordinar> deposits not called for will be 
Hdded 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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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 
Angler tells us many things that we know 
already, but she puts them in such a for;-i 
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 li^lit 
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. 

Faul Elder & Company, San Francisco 

and New York. 

* * * 

Robert 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 >f 
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 Robert 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 the 
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. 

* * * 

Tho=e that love the great outdoors, with 
a healthy, every-day practical love, cann -t 
help but appreciate the book that Ernest 
McGaffey has just given to the reading 
world. It is appropriatelv 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 .>r 
woods, marshland, fields and lakes. Mr. 
McGKffey is unusually happy in his 
phraseology, sometimes reminding one f 



Thoreau. No follower of Isaak Waltoi 
no disciple of Nimrod, can afford to pas 
by this book of real experiences without 
stopping to investigate its fine claim 
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 * 
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 chuckawalla. 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- 
gele-5, 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 i fathomed 
the unknowable of the illimitable hori- 
zons of sand and sage brush. 

Little, Brown & Co., Boston. 



Please Mention Overland Monthly In Writing Advertisers. 



xlx 




Save $50 to $100 
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one, two or three years' time, and take old in- 
strument. in exchange, at, liberal valuation, as 
part* payment,. 



[THERE ARE NONE!! 

UUST AS GOOD' 

When the dealer tells 
you his is just as good, 
he admits the superiority 
oftheKREMENTZ. It is 
the standard of the world. 

KREMENTZ 

SB? BUTTON 

contains more gold and will 
outwear any button made. 
EtJery button insured. 

It stands the test of acid and 
time as no other button 
will. Quality stamped on 
back. Be just to your- 
self, take only the 
Krementz. All dealers. 

Bookl.t tells all about 
them FREE. 

KREMENTZ & CO. 
24 Chestnut St. 
Newark, N. J. 




"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 >jhanical con- 
struction and great durability appeal to the 
economical purchaser. Fully guaranteed. 

We can sell our high-grade pianos at 
prices lower than others because we have 
the finest equipped piano factory in the 
world, the most expert workmen and a com- 
pany made up of the largest retail music 
dealers in the United States. Their special 
piano knowledge and experience plus ours 
make it possible to cut down our manufac- 
turing and selling expenses way below any 
piano house. The saving goes to you. 

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 
postal will do. 

SPECIAL OFFER- We will mail you FREE a set of three 
souvenir postal cards, free from advertising, for a two-cent stamp. Don't 
miss this offer. 

THE LAGONDA PIANO CO. 

22nd Street and J Avenue, New Castle, Ind. 




B 
B 
B 



c/4mong the foremost manufac- 
turers to welcome the pure food 
law is Allen's B. B. B. Flour Co., 
manufacturers of self-rising Boston 
Brown Bread Flour and self-rising 
pancake flour; combinations of the 
most nutritious cereals and pure 
leavenings and prepared especially 
to meet the demand for pure, clean 
food. 



FLOUR. 



All Grocers 



Allen's B. B. B. Flour Go. 

Pacific Coast, Factory, San Jose, Col. 

Eastern Factory 
Little Wolf Mills, Manawa, Wis. 



NUTS WITH KERNELS. 
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 snoken of as out of place? 

Many a will contest ends in the success- 
ful litigant building a cottage while his 
lawver 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. Yery 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 Kev. 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'nose 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. 



xxi 



Four Lots in 



CAMP MEEKER 



Picturesque Surroundings 
For Sale at> a Sacrifice 
$150.OO for t,he Four 



Address D. P. Box 39, Over- 
land Monthly Office 



HALL'S 

VEGETABLE 



HAI R 

RENEWER 




"THE NEW KIND" 

It is now positively known that falling hair is caused 
ty a germ, hence is a regular germ disease. Hall's Hair 
Renewer, as now made from the "revised formula," 
promptly stops falling hair because it destroys the 
germs which produce this trouble. It also destroys 
the dandruff germs, and restores the scalp to a healthy 
condition. 

Formula: Glycerin, Capsicum, Bay Rum, Sulphur, Tea, 
Rosemary Leaves, Boroglycerin, Alcohol, Perfume. 

Ask your druggist for " the new kind." The kind that does 
not change the color of the hair. 

B. P. HALL & CO., Nashua, N. H. 



The Overland Monti 


Ws Bi, 


iFour 


SUl 

4 


ASCRIPTION OFFER (See Page xxvi.} 

Overland Monthly 
San Francisco News Letter, weekly, 
Any two magazines In Class A. 


THE 
4 
FOR 
$4.95 


Special 


Overland Monthly 
San Francisco News Letter 
Any magazine in Class A 
in Class B. 


, weekly, 
and any magazine 


THE 
4 
FOR 
$5.45 


Sub'n 
Offers 

THE OVERLA 


Overland Monthly 
San Francisco News Letter 
Any magazine in Class A 
in Class C. 

Overland Monthly 
San Francisco News Letter 

Any magazine in Class B 
in Class C. 


, weekly, 
and any magazine 

, weekly, 
and any magazine 

COMPANY, 


THE 
4 
FOR 
$5.95 

THE 
4 
FOR 
$6.45 

Publishers 


ND MONTHLY 


Offices 775 Market St., San Francisco. 



xxli Please Mention Overland Monthly In Writing Advertisers. 




Th 




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 bat one genuine Autopiano. 

A postal addressed to "Advertising Department" secures a beautiful Art Catalogue 

EILERS MUSIC COMPANY 

1130 Van Ness Ave. SAN FRANCISCO 1220 Fillmore St. 

i Other' Stores: OAKLAND - - - STOCKTON - - - SAN JOSE - - - RENO, NEVADA 



Please Mention Overland Monthly in Writing Advertisers. 




N 

I 





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 
one of 88 notes. The music rolls cut for these different scales can all be played on 
the Apollo. These six superior features give the APOLLO PLAYER PIANO a 
commanding place in public esteem and make it by far the most desirable instrument 
on the market for the musical home. 

OP ^^^ ^ ou cer ^ a i n 'y would not buy a five-octave or 65-note piano. You 
"* UU will want an instrument with the full range of 88 notes. Then 
would you buy a 65-note player when you can GETQONE WITH 88 NOTES? 

There is rto doubt that you will have none other than an Apollo player piano 
when you fully understand its great superiority over all other players. 

ITS TONE IS BEALTIFUt. and it is one of the handsomest and most durable player pianos 

made in the United States. 



Send for illustrated catalogue to the manufacturers 

Melville Clark Piano Co. 





xxiv Please Mention Overland Monthly in Writing Advertisers. 

For 

Summer Reading 

What could be better than a 3-months' trial sub- 
scription to 

The Living Age? 

One dollar will bring you this magazine every week 
for three months: containing 

THE BEST FICTION 

THE BEST ESSAYS 

THE BEST LITERARY CRITICISM 

THE BEST TRAVEL ARTICLES 

THE ABLEST DISCUSSIONS OF PUBLIC AFFAIRS 

With the whole range of contemporary English periodicals from the 
quarterlies to Punch, to select from, the Living Age is able to give 
its readers every week a larger variety of material written by the 
most brilliant writers than any other single magazine. 

The LIVING AGE has been published every Saturday without 
missing an issue for more than 63 years and was never more indis- 
pensable than now to intelligent readers. 

Terms: Six Dollars a Year: 

3 Months' Trial Subscription, &1.00 

The Living Age Company 

6 BEACON STREET, BOSTON 



Please Mention Overland Monthly in Writing Advertisers 




Hartshorn Shade Rollers 



Wood Rollers 



Bear the script name of Stewart 

Hartshorn on label. 
Get "Improved," no tackg. required. 



Tin Rollers 




Interior Decoration 

IS AN ILLUSTRATED MONTHLY 
MAGAZINE FULL OF IDEAS 

Decorating and Furnishing the 
Home correctly and tastefully is as 
necessary as dressing fashionably 
and becomingly 

1 cents, postpaid $ 1 .00 a year 

Catalog of Books on Decoration Free 

Clifford & Lawton, 19 Union Sq., New York 



. Y FLOUR COMPANY 

SAMf RANCISCQ OFFICE !34 CALIFORNIA SI. 




133 Spear Street, San Francisco. 



Are you going to St. Louis 

The HOTEL HAMILTON is a delightful place in the Best Resi- 
dent Section and away from the noise and smoke; yet within easy 
access. Transient Rate: $1 to $3 per day. European Plan. Specie 
Rates by the week. Write for Booklet. Address: W. F. WILLIAM- 
SON, Manager: 



DO YOU WANT 

INFORMATION regarding Nevada mines, mining stocks or mining 
companies? WRITE USinformation cheerfully furnished. Also send 
for Todd's Chronicle, an illustrated pamphlet giving the latest and most 
interesting news from the mining camps in the State, especially Goldfield. 
Free maps of Goldfield and Nevada sent upon request. 

ROBT. B. TODD, Mines and Mining and Financial Agent, Box 227, 
Goldfield, Nevada. 

For Sale, 7000 acre ranch in Idaho. Box 1 6, Somerville, Mass. 



TURCR3 

of HVTO1/ID 

Railing Chairs 

- fW ACL PURPOSES 




WhofesalecVRetail ar\d For Rgf 
Illustrated catalogue on application. Office and Factory 1808 
Market St., San Francisco. Branch, 837 S Spring St., Los Angeles 



For Breakfast 




The Pacific Coast Cereal 



THE JOHNSON-LOCKE MERCANTILE CO., Agents 
SAN FRANCISCO 



xxvi 



Please Mention Overland Monthly In Writing Advertisers. 






The Overland Monthly 

SAN FRANCISCO, CAL. 

An Illustrated Magazine of the West 



Magazine Offers for 1907: 

The prices are for a year's subscription. The prices cover postage anywhere in United 
States or American possessions, and in Canada, Mexico and Cuba. The magazines in com- 
binations may be for one or more persons. Be careful to give names and addresses clearly 
a nd fully. 



OUR MAGAZINE LIST 

THE OVERLAND MONTHLY, Regular Price $1.5O 

Regular Price. CLASS C 



CLASS A 

American Boy $1.00 

Automobile Magazine 2.00 

Bohemian 1.00 

Cosmopolitan 1.00 

Four Track News 1.00 

Harpers' Bazar 1.00 

Madame 1.00 

National 1.00 

Pearson's 1.00 

Pictorial Review 1.00 

Suburban Life 1,.00 

Success 1.00 

Sunset 1.60 

Woman's Home Companion 1.00 

World To-Day 1.00 

CLASS B Regular Price. 

American Magazine with Suburban Life.. $2.00 

Country Gentleman 1.60 

Etude 1.50 

Musician 1.60 

Review of Reviews 3.00 

Searchlight 2.00 



Regular Price 

Ainslie's $1.80 

Appleton's Booklovers' 3.00 

Automobile (weekly) 2.00 

Burr Mclntosh 3.00 

Current Literature 3.00 

Forum 2.00 

Independent 2.00 

Lippincott's 2.50 

Metropolitan (two years) 3.60 

Outing 3.00 

Smart Set 2.50 



CLASS D. 



Regular Price 



San Francisco News Letter $4.00 

Argonaut 4.00 

Harper's Weekly 4.00 

Leslie's Weekly 5.00 

Harpers' Monthly 4.00 

Century 4.00 

Scribner's 4.00 

Collier's Weekly 5.20 



Make Up Your Own Combinations 



The Overland Monthly and any two of Class 
A, for $2.50. 

The Overland Monthly and any three of 
Class A for $3.00. 

The Overland Monthly, with one of Class A 
and one of Class B for $3.00. 

The Overland Monthly, with one of Class 
A and one of Class C for $3.50. 

The Overland Monthly, with one of Class B 
and one of Class C for $4.00. 

The Overland Monthly with any of Class D 
and one of Class A, $5.00. 



The Overland Monthly with any of Class D 
and one of Class B, $5.50. 

The Overland Monthly with any of Class D 
and two of Class A, $5.75. 

The Overland Monthly with any of Class D 
and one of Class C, $6.00. 

The Overland Monthly with any of Class D, 
1 of Class A, and 1 of Class B, $6.26. 

The Overland Monthly with any of Class D, 
1 of Class A, and one of Class C, $6.75. 

The Overland Monthly with any of Class D, 
one of 'Class B and one of Class C, $7.25. 



TheOVERLAND MONTHLY CO., Publishers 



Offices 773 Market St., San Francisco. 



Please Mention Overland Monthly in Writing Advertisers. 



xxv 1 1 



La Pintoresca 




The most comfortable and homelike hotel in Pasadena, California. 

Situated on elevated ground in a grove of oranges and palms, surrounded by the Sierra 
Madre mountains. Elegant, rooms; table unsurpassed; pure water; perfect, appointments; ten- 
nis, billiards. No winter, no pneumonia, no tropical malaria. 
Write for booklet, to M. D. PA1 NTER, Proprietor, Pasadena, Cal. 



The Cleverest Weekly 
on the Pacific Coast 




. 



Published for the people who think. An up- to-date lively journal. 
Send for sample copy. 

S. F. News Letter, 

773 Market Street, San Francisco, Cal. 



xxviii Please Mention Overland Monthly In Writing Advertisers. 









making nf Una Angela 

Photographs of the Rise and Growth of California's Southern City 

Oil?? 5fcadjera f plgrtmage 

The story of the convention of the 

National Educational Association 

to be held in Los Angeles during July 



nf 

cTVlanufactories along the Bay Shore 



Recent discoveries of Footprints in 

the Carson, Nevada, Stone Quarries 




SEND SUNSET TO YOUR EASTERN FRIENDS AND 

KEEP THEM POSTED ON SAN FRANCISCO'S 

WONDERFUL PROGRESS IN 

RECONSTRUCTION 



n 



Please Mention Overland Monthly in Writing Advertisers. 



HOME TELEPHONE ATTORNEY GIVES ITS INSIDE HISTORY 

Lighting Plant Burns; Loss $2,500,000; City Dark 



THE LOSS WttiB GEORGE F - HATTON TELLS GRAND 



JURY WHY HE WAS EMPLOYED 



~Z=-=.ji~ IMPORTANT TESTIMONY 

GIVEN TO GRAND JURY 




Please Mention Overland Monthly in Writing Advertisers. 




Freight prepaid to San Francisco or 
Los Angeles buys this massive Napo 
eon bed No. 03165 (worth $55.) Made 
in beautifully figured Mahogany in 
Quartered Oak, Piano Polish or Dull 
finish Dresser and commode to 
match and 28 other desirable Suites 
in our FREE catalogue. 




&9.90 



04081 



Freight prepaid to Sa 
cisco or Los Angeles b 
artistic Iron Bed No 
(worth $15.) Finished a 
enamel desired. Vernis Martin 
$2.00 extra. 46 other styles of 
Iron and Brass Beds from $2 40 
to $66.00 in our FREE Catalogue 



Bishop Furniture Go. 



Grand Rapids, Mich 



Ship anywhere "on approval," allowing furniture in your 
home five days to be returned at our expense and money re- 
funded if not perfectly satisfactory and all you expected. 

WE SHIP to San Francisco and Los Angeles in Car Load 
lots and reship frem there to other western towns, thus se- 
curing lowest carload rates for our customers. Write for owr 
FREE catalogue, state articles wanted and we will quote pre- 
paid prices 





&24.50 

Freight prepaid to San Fran- 
cisco or Los Angeles. Buys 
this large, luxurica- Colonial 

Rocker. No. 04762 (worth $40) Freight prepaid to San Fran 

covered with best genuine cisco or Los Angeles buys thi 

leather. Has Quartered Oak or handsome Buffet No. 0500 

Mahogany finish rockers, full (worth $55.00). Made of Select 

Turkish spring seat and hack. Quartered Oak, piano polish or 

An ornament and Gem of lux- dull finish. Length 46 in., 

ury and comfort in any home. French bevel mirror 40x14 in. 

93 other styles of rockers 50 other styles of Buffets and 

from $2.75 to $70 in our FREE Side Boards from $10.65 to $150 

catalog. in our FREE catalogue' 



Our FRKE i 
good to the 



talog 
best n 



e sho 



if over 1000 pieces of fashionable 
It posts you on styles and pric 



ure fr 
ite foi 



>m the cheapest that 
it today. 



Bishop Furniture Go. 78-90 lorta St., Grand Rapids, Mich. 




We furnish homes, hotels, 
hospitals, clubs and public 
buildings complete. 



&28.50 



Freight prepaid to 
Angeles buys this 
Pedestal Dining Exte 
(worth $42.00.) Mad 
Oak, piano polish 



San Francisco or Los 
eautiful High grade 
tion Table No. OS14 
of select Quartered 
dull finish. Top 48 



diameter, has perfect locking de- 
vice. Seats 10 when extended, 4 when 
closed, 37 other styles of Dining Tables 
from $7.75 to $103.00 in our FREE cata- 
logue. 




Freight prepaid to San Francisco or Los 
Angeles buys this large high-grade Lib- 
rary Table No. 04314 [worth $15.00], Made 
of select figured Quartered Oak w h piano 
polish. Length 42 inches: width 27 inches. 
Has large drawer. For Mahogany add $2 25. 
39 other styles of Library and Parlor tables 
from $2.40 to $65 in our FREE catalogue. 



Goodyear's 
"Gold Seal" Rubber Good 



Belting, Packing and Hose. Clothing, Boots and 

Shoes. Druggists' Rubber Sundries. Tennis and 
Yachting Shoes, Fishing and Hunting Rubber 
Boots, Water Bottles, Rubber Gloves, etc. 

Headquarters for Everything Made of Rubber. 

Goodyear Rubber Co. 



San Francisco 



Portland, Ore. 



R. H. PEASE J. A. SHEPARD F. M. SHEPARD, Jr. C. F. RUNYAN 

President Vice President Treasurer Secretary 






HOTEL CUMBERLAND, NEW YORK 

S. W. Cor. Broadway at. 54th Street, 




Ideal Location. Near Theatres, Shops, and Central Park 
Fine Cuisine. Excellent Food and reasonable Prices. 

New, Modern and Absolutely Fireproof 

Within one minute's walk of 6th Ave. 'L" and Subway and 
accessible to all surface car lines Transient rates $2,50 with 

bath and up, Send for Booklet. 

HARRY P. ST1MSON GEO. L. SANBORN 



THE GERMAN SAVINGS 
AND LOAN SOCIETY 

526 CALIFORNIA STREET. 

San Francisco 



Guaranteed capital and surplus. .$2,578,695.41 
Capital actually paid-up in cash 1,000,000.00 
Deposits, Dec. 31, 1906 38,531,917.28 

P. Tillmann, Jr., President; Daniel Meyer, 
First Vice- President; Emil Rohte, Second 
Vice- President; A. H. R. Schmidt, Cashier; 
Wm. Herrmann, Asst Cashier; George 
Tourny, Secretary; A. H. Muller, Asst. Sec- 
retary; Goodfellow & Eells, General Attor- 
neys. 

DIRECTORS F. Tillmann, Jr., Daniel 
Meyer, Emil Rohte, Ign. Steinhart, I. N. 
Walter, N. Ohlandt, J. W. Van Bergen, E. 
T. Kruse, W. S. Goodfellow. 



iiiiiiiiiiuniiiiii iniiiimiiiiiiiiiiiiiimiiiiii!iiimiiiiiiiiiiiii!ii!iimiiiiiimii|i||! 

Pabst Extract 

V fefrtf' T&nio 





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Loss of appetite is nature's first 
warning of indigestion, the forerunner 
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diet. The digestiveorgans are inert, the 
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Send us your name on a postal for our interesting booklet 

and "Baby' 6 First Adventure" a beautiful picture of baby 

life. Both FREE. Address 

Pabst Extract Dept. 36 Milwaukee, Wis 




3 COLD MEDALS 
LEWIS 8 CLARK 
EXPOSITION. 




_ 



"A Pure Cocoa of Undoubted 
Quality and Excellence of 
Manufacture" 

Walter Baker's 



A distinguished London physician, in giving 
some hints concerning the proper 

preparation of cocoa, says: 

"Sturt with a pure cocoa of un- 
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of manufacture, and which hears 
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This point is important, for 
there are many cocoas on the 
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starch, malt, kola, hops, etc." 



HIGHEST AWARDS In 
Europe and America 



WALTER BAKER & CO. Ltd. 

DORCHESTER, MASS. 

Established 1780 




MENNEN5 

BORATED TALCUM 

TOILET POWDER 



"YOU'RE SAFE" 

in the hands of the little 
captain at the helm, the 
"complexion specialist," 
whose results are certain, 
whose fees are small. 

MENNEN'S 

Borated Talcum 

TOILET POWDER 

protects and soothes, a sure 
relief from Sunburn, 
Prickly Heat, Chitting, 
etc. Put up in non-refill- 
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that lox" for your protec- 
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the cover it's genuine and 
a guarantee of purity. 
Delightful after shaving. 

Guaranteed under Food <K Druga 

Act, June 30, 1900. Sen al No. 1542. 

Bold everywhere, or by mail, 25c. 
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Try Mennen'H 
Violet Iterated 
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It bat toe scent of 
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GENTLEMEN 

WHO DRESS FOR STYLE 

NEATNESS, AND COMFORT 

WEAR THE IMPROVED 



BOSTON 



GARTER 





THE RECOGNIZED STANDARD 

The Name is 
stamped on every 
loop 

The _ _ _ 

CUSHION 
BUTTON 

CLASP 

LIES FLAT TO THE LEG NEVER 
SLIPS, TEARS NOR UNFASTENS 

Sample pair, Silk 50c., Cotton 25c. 
Mailed on receipt of price. 

6EO. FROST CO., Makers 
Boston, Miss., U.S.A. 

ALWAYS EASY 



vose 



PIANOS 



have been established over 55 years. By our ayste 
of payments every family of moderate circun 
stances can own a VOSE Piano. We take old li 
struments In exchange and deliver the new piar 
in your home free of expense. Write for Catalog 
D and explanation. 



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Overland Monthly 



No. 2 



AUGUST, 1907 



Vol. L. 




CONFESSIONS OF A STENOGRAPHER 

BEIXG AX ANALYSIS OF THE GRAFT IN SAX 

FRAXCISCO AXD THE UXDEKLYIXG 

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 Bepubli- 
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 Kepubli- 
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 



.-MI lor of the Teamsters' Union. At this 
bsychological moment, Abraham Euef 
Appeared upon the scene. 
1 Abraham, or, as he is better known, 
j'Abe" Euef, is a native Californian, who 
IIM d(3 one of the best, if not the best, rec- 
nls 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- 
oresSj 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 
Ruef 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 Ruef, and were intend- 
ed to accomplish exactly what they suc- 
ceeded in doing pleasing both sides. The 
business men were told that Schmitz was 
ronservaiivr. and 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 tr 
appreciate the help Ruef had" given him. 
and was grateful enough to publicly n<-- 




AWAITING 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 hi? 




ABE RUEF,. "THE NAPOLEON OF CRIMK 



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, he 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 pc 
tion came quite a different point of vie 
of the world from that which he had hac 
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 Tse 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. When 
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. 



10; 



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 hea;ds, and with an insane 
fancy that he would even dine with the 
Kaiser before he returned home. Bt t 
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 Democrats, 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 tbeir 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 oo 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- 1 
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 SCHMITZ, FOUND GUILT f OF EXTORTION. 



CONFESSIONS OP A STENOGRAPHER. 



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 Eailroads, 
until it followed the usual route of the 
Spreckel's companies, as outlined above. 
But the earthquake came, and the com- 
pany never completed its organization. 
The United Eailroads 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 and 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 hifl 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 CURTIS 

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 tram,ping, 
when the last grim obstacle has been overcome, and some pinnacle of rock or ice, 
untrodden since the dawn of creation, htis been reached, no enjoym,ent 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 Mt. Shuksan. In September w<i 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. 
No 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 FIKST ASCENT OF MOUNT SHUKSAN. 



Ill 



;owering crags of earth withdraw into a 
solitude. It is a sport that all can enjoy, 
md 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 greaD 
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 



OVERLAND 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. Eest- 
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 be found from shelf 
to shelf of the hanging glaciers and thus 



To the south, loosened rocks rolled 
sight in a cloud of dust, but the roar sent 
up from the void was ominous. 

At many places we found tracks 
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 un the mountain side with a speed 
and ease that seemed marvelous. Later or 





SNOW FIELDS NEAR THE SUMMIT. 



onj;o 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. WJhere 
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 gre^t 
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 SHUK8AN, WHERE THE ASCENT WAS MADE, SHOW- 
I Ml Till: 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 r,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 Towth 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 
the favorite one of goats, for many h 
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 mountair 
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 FIEST 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 
carerl 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 feil 
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 last, 
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 to 
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 
Irandred 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. 

Fr 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 OVERLAND MONTHLY. 

taken a half hour to climb were coasted in gathering twilight. Just as the sta: 

less than a minute, and no matter how came out, we stood on a ridge above tl 

steep the slope, we felt that we had to go valley taking a moment's farewell look i 

down. Long shadows lay across the val- the mountain we felt in some way to I 

leys, but their charm was not for us ; it our own, its dim bulk showing faintly. A 

seemed impossible for our exhausted mus- we stood thus watching, there came to i 

cles to drag us up the steep slopes, but we the distant roar of an avalanche th< 

had nothing to eat, and felt that we must seemed to us like a farewell gun from it 

make camp that night, so kept on in the conquered mountain. 



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, 

Rouse 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. 




BY WASHI:N T GTOX 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 



OVERLAND 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 
Eey (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, topographies 
and historical reasons that the people whc 
laid out and built up the other place 
along the north side of the peninsula kne\ 
practically nothing about city buildin 
They pitched their tents in fine localities 
but so limited in area that the available 
ground for building has long since beer 
taken up, and it is next to impossible foi 
these towns to expand. 

But modern methods of building a towr 
are now being applied to Del Mont 
Heights, which is to be decorated by al 
the latest methods of building homes anr 
houses for public and private occupatioi 

Smart are the gentlemen who are doing 
this wise are they who are decoratii 
Del Monte Heights with a fine moderi 
town. Among them are George W. Phelpa 
-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 Eey, lake of the 
king; Vista Del Eey, view of the king; 
Huerta Del Eey, 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 



OVEKLAXD 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 ! 




GRAND BALCONY, HEIDELBERG CASTLE. 

EUROPEAN HOTELS 

BY FRED GILBERT BLAKESLEE 



ILLUSTRATED WITH PHOTOGRAPHS. 




of the most import- 
ant questions which 
presents itself to tour- 
ists in Europe is that of 
the art of living, for 
no matter what cities or 
towns the tour may in- 
clude, what galleries or 
cathedrals visited, or gaieties indulged in, 
it is primarily necessary to have a place in 
which to sleep and to be able to procure 
food as often as required. Upon arrival 
at a strange city, therefore, the first ef- 
forts of a tourist are directed towards se- 
curing accommodation in some hotel suit- 
ed to his purse. 

The American and the European hotel 
differ in many respects. In the latter the 
spacious office with . its massive counter, 
open book, and key rack, is missing. The 
oilice in even the best Continental hotels 



is usually a small place, known as the 
bureau, where one simply engages rooms 
and pays bills. It is not, as in this coun- 
try, a place where men smoke, chat and 
read their papers. In it, telephone and 
telegraph booths, newspaper and cigar 
stands are conspicuous for their absence, 
and the ice water tank is an unknown lux- 
ury. 

In many . hotels the living rooms are 
lighted by candles instead of gas or elec- 
tricity, and guests are often required to 
furnish their own soap. Elevators, known 
as lifts, have in recent years been in- 
stalled in most of the larger hotels, but 
Europeans seem to regard them as a some- 
what unsafe means of conveyance, and 
make but scant use of them. The elevator 
is arjt to be working upon the arrival of 
a guest, but stran^elv out of order at other 
times. At one hotel at which the author 



OVERLAND MONTHLY. 



stopped, the guests were required to oper- 
ate the car themselves, and send it back 
empty when they were through with it. 
All European hotels that have elevators 
proudly proclaim the fact upon their bill- 
heads. 

Strange as it may seem, many of tho 
smaller hotels, even in the larger cities, 
do not keep open all night, and the guest 
who is out later than midnight has to ring 
up the porter in order to oe admitted. In 
some of the hotels of Paris, the porters 
have an ingenious method of saving them- 
selves the trouble of arising in order to 
admit late guests. W'hen the hotel is closed 
for the night the porter makes up a cot 
bed for himself in some handy place, con- 
nects a string with the latch and turns 
in with the other end of the string tied to 
his wrist. Whenever the bell rings, he 
simply pulls the string, thus lifting the 
latch, and leaves the guest to open and 
close the door, get his own key, and find 
his way to his room as best he can. Imag- 
ine a visitor to New York going through 
an experience like this. 

Manv foreign hotels possess great inter- 
est for the traveler on account of the as- 
sociations connected with them, while 
others are famous for the beauty of 



their surroundings. To the former class 
belong the Grand in Venice, once a noble- 
man's mlace; the Chapman in Florence, 
a former residence of Pauline Bonaparte; 
the Mitre, at Oxford, which has had a 
continuous existence as a hotel since 1400; 
and the Pare at Lugano, which was an old 
monastery. In the latter class are the 
Grand at Bellagio, on the shore of lovely 
Lake Como ; the Alps at Chamonix, lying 
under the shadow of Mount Blanc; the 
Eigi Kulm, perched on the summit of the 
Rigi, and the Schloss at Heidelberg, over- 
looking one of Europe's most beautiful 
ruins. 

As regards moderation in prices charged 
for accommodation, the foreign hotel far 
surpasses our own. Good rooms can be 
procured in high-class hotels in France, 
Switzerland or Italy for sixty cents a day, 
and in Germany for seventy-five. In Eng- 
land the rates are slightly higher, but even 
there accommodation in the finest hotels 
can be secured for from four to six shill- 
ings per ni^ht, and in the smaller ones for 
two shillinp-s sixpence. 

The apartments furnished at these 
prices are not, of course, the most expen- 
sive, but correspond to those costing from 
one to two dollars in an American house. 




GRAND HOTEL, VENICE. 




RIGI KULM HOTEL, RIGI. 



If one arranges for a pension rate (one 
that includes meals and lodgings) it is 
possible to live well in almost any part 
of Europe for $2 a day. 

London has a number of what are 
known as Temperance Hotels. They aro 
usually neat, quiet places, largely patron- 
ized by the clergy and ladies traveling un- 
attended, and at most of them good board 
and lodging can be had for a dollar and a 
half a day. 

Paris possesses man ir Hotel Meublees 
places where apartments can be hired by 
the day or week, but where meals are not 
served, except, perhaps, coffee and rolls in 
the morning, and for the tourist of limited 
means, no better arrangement can be made 
than for him to stop at one of these lit- 
tle hotels and. dine in the various restau- 
rants, and cafes that are scattered broad- 
cast all over the city. 

In many of the smaller hotels through- 
out Eurone, candles only are furnished for 
lights in the sleeping rooms. One candle 
is allowed to each room ; if more are or- 
dered an extra charge is made. Some 
economically minded guests adopt the plan 
of carrvino- awav the partiallv consumed 
candle of one hotel for use in the next, 
thus securing increased illumination with- 
out extra expense. 

The European ideas in regard to heat 
are in a primitive state. Steam heaters 



are practically unknown on the other side 
of the Atlantic, and (rooms are warmed by 
means of fire places or grates. Germany 
uses stoves almost exclusively ; great tall 
white porcelain affairs that look like 
monuments in a grave-yard, and as Mark 
Twain aptly puts it, "keep you thinking 
of death when you ought to be enjoying 
your travels." Europeans seem to require 
less heat than do Americans, a temperature 
of from 50 to 60 degrees beinp- considered 
quite comfortable for a living room. 

In Germany they have a curious concep- 
tion of what constitutes a bed. Unlike 
other mortals, the German sleeps by lying 
on a mattress and putting a feather bed 
over him, and either feathers are expensive 
in that country or else the bed makers are 
laboring under the delusion that the Ger- 
mans are a race of dwarfs, for the bed is 
never by any accident long enough, and if 
one 'happens to have the misfortune to be 
very much over five feet in height, he has 
to be doubled up like a contortionist in 
order to be covered at all points at once. 

The service in most of the hotels of 
Euronp is excellent, and in some respects 
superior to that in our own hotels. Cer- 
tainly a person unacquainted with any lan- 
guage but his own fares far better abroad 
than he would at home. The waiters, por- 
ters and maids all speak from three to 
five languages, and are as courteous a lot 




HEIDELBERG CASTLE SEEN FROM THE SCHLOSS HOTEL. 




HOTEL DU PARC BUILDING, WITH TOWER LUGANO. 



EUROPEAN HOTELS. 



12? 



of people as it would be possible to find 
anywhere. 

When leaving a hotel a guest is pre- 
sented with a written statement of his 
account, in which each item (such as lodg- 
ing, breakfast, dinner, etc.) is charged sep- 
arately, and it is well to scan this bill 
closely before paying it. Hotel keepers 
are, as a rule, honest, but "errors in book- 
keeping," which are rarely in favor of the 
guest, are by no means uncommon. 

Persons who stop at a hotel upon what 
we call the American plan, should beware 
of ordering extras that are not included 



in the menu, for such extras are often 
charged for at excessive rates. Coffee, for 
instance, is only served at breakfast at 
some hotels ; if ordered at any other time, 
it is an extra and almost invariably costs 
twenty cents a cup. 

It is no longer believed that all Ameri- 
cans are rich, and the tourist from the 
"States" who asks for what he wants will 
receive fair treatment and be regarded 
with respect; but the man who lets the 
landlord do as he pleases with him will 
naturally be looked upon as an easy mark, 
and be very apt to be bled accordingly. 



THE EXILE 

BY F. W. K. 

YOUR heart had held me all the years, 
Until it seemed my home. 
The web you wove to bind the spell 

Is tangled and I roam; 
And you must, grieving, hide that grief, 

The mother-love and pain, 
Until the knowledge of your loss 
Shall lead me home again. 

Is life so full without you now 

Is there no loneliness, 
No sudden sting of memory 

When other hands caress? 
Is life so free from other ties 

Than ihose the hour brings, 
That Time may not turn back a leaf 

To sweet, familiar things? 

I miss you so I do not dare 

Retrace to count the cost! 
Nor scan the future, swept so bare 

Of all beloved, and lost: 
Yet deeper than this anguish lies 

The fear that I, some day, 
Shall then regain love's heritage, 

When you have passed away. 



ON THE HOME TRAIL 



BY MAUDE DE COU 




[HE LITTLE party had 
been on the road for 
three weeks. The herd 
of Indian cattle, in- 
tractable from the start, 
had lost little of its 
skittishness. A series 
of night stampedes, 
each followed by a laborious round-up, 
had left the men benumbed with weari- 
ness. Ten miles to the north lay the 
Canadian river, its current swollen with 
spring rains, its banks lined with miles 
of impenetrable underbrush. 

"Well, boys," said Hartley, "it just 
can't be helped. We've got to hire some 
Indians to get us across that river or we 
will lose half the herd in the timber." 

Jenkins demurred. "Where'll you git 
help, I'd like to know ? You can't pick it 
up jist anywheres. These Creek Injuns air 
worse than nothin',. .They've got too much 
nigger in 'em. I kin stand one alone; 
but nigger an' Injun mixed is too much 
f er me." 

"Yes, I know," assented Hartley. "It's 
a bad business at best; but we can't cross 
that river without help. It will likely 
swim the herd for a hundred yards, and if 
they should get to milling we'll lose every 
hoof of them. Then there's the timber. A 
stampede in that brush would cost us a 
weeks' work in a roundup." 

No one contradicted him. Every man in 
the crowd knew that he was right. 

After a short consultation, Hartley 
went back to a house where they had seen 
a white woman, and where, with her as- 
sistance as interpreter, he hired two young 
Indians who were supposed to know the 
country. The guides could not speak- 
more than half a dozen words of English. 
They were able, however, to follow Hart- 
ley's directions, evidently understanding 
many words which they could not use. Jim 
Doty and Harris declared that "them In- 
juns could talk if they would." The others 
eyed the red men suspiciously, but to the 
surprise of all, Jenkins defended them. In 
fact, he rather cultivated their acquaint- 
ance. He had found their one vulnerable 



point. They were fond of tobacco. After 
learning this, Jenkins invariably divided 
with them. Occasionally other Indians 
would appear and ride along silently for 
an hour at a time, but they would at last 
yield to the seduction of a "chaw." They 
never spoke, but their expressive "ugh" as 
they returned the plug, evinced the liveli- 
est satisfaction. One of them was even 
seen to smile. 

About four o'clock Hartley began to 
grow uneasy. He knew that they should 
have been at the river by this time, and 
that it would be awkward for them to 
reach the ford too late. To cross after dark 
was impossible, and to camp in the timber 
was a riskv business. They traveled on 
Slowly, hoping against hope 'that they 
might find a break in the continuous 
stretch of timber. Just at sunset they 
reached the river, a torrent of swirlii. 
muddv water with almost perpendicular 
banks. Hartley was desperate. He furi- 
ously demanded of the Indians why they 
had brought him to such a ford. They 
shook their heads in vague deprecation. 

To cross the ford was out of the ques- 
tion, and as it was a half day's journey 
back to the edge of the woods, the only 
thing to do was to go into camp. The 
guides signified their willingness to do a 
double share of watch. The white men, 
however, did not know whether it was to 
atone for the blunder or to find a chance 
for more mischief. There were no jokes 
at the evening meal. Even Jenkins, tha 
jovial, was silent, as the black coffee, corn 
bread and bacon went the rounds. After 
supper, he divided the last of his tobacco 
with the guides, picketed his pony, and 
started out to herd until midnight. Hart- 
ley, Harris and Tobe retired to the wagon 
to get a little sleep, preparatory to watch- 
ing through the hardest part of the night, 
from one o'clock until morning. 

All went well during the first watch. At 
one o'clock, Jenkins and his companions 
returned to the wagon and roused the 
others. 

"Evervthing quiet so far," said Jim, 
"but the cattle are uneasy. Don't let that 



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 
toeing horns. The oround 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 onen 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 f while longer. Tobe 
and I 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." 

Eeluctantly, 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 ihere, 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 huntin' 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 MONTH LY. 



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 
might 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 wert 
hidden somewhere near. 

"We'll find 'em ia 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 head 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 tho 
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. JeDSon, 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 might be 
with them." 

When thev finally reached the herd, a 
careful count showed that one animal wi3 
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. AND I VISIT PISA 



BY WALT 

ILLUSTRATED WITH PHOTOGEAPHS. 




"THE MRS." 



E WEEE 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 fwhat 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 cut 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 Roman 
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 : "Kush 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 
qf her. 

Oh oo, choo, choo went the little toy- 
like engine along the moonlit banks of the 
Mediterranean, and as tfcihe 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 summer 
showers, and at which spot Miss Vernou 
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 brea thins: 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 she 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. 

I 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 b ir 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 w ?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. LONG 




HEEE 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. When 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 
tliu 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 oJ 
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 evili 
in the mysterious personality of Jerrj 
Lull. 

Thus, with a shadowv suspicion lurk- 
in or 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 the Prairie Star saloon Mr. Lull w? 
engaged in a quiet poker game with SOL 
of Littleton's amateurs. A half-dozen pi 
trons and loungers stood around the bar- 
room stove, smoking and discussing tht 
condition of the weather, when a sudde 
swish of wind threw open the door of 
building, and sent a white spray of snoi 
over the bar. The proprietor stepped 
the door to close it, and as he did so 
announced a change of wind and a bli; 
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 goino- 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 cut of town not a half hour before. 

"Eddie Starling of the Starling 
Ranch?" excitedly asked one. 

"Eleven miles against this storm!" ex- 



THE L(WE 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 equanimity had been 
quietly playing his hand, arose from his 
chair. Without a word of apology for 
thus abruptly 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 fable. 
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 conld 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 sought 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 
had 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 iloor. 

"He'll be all right soon, I hope," ne 
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 hfc.i.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 gossin 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 



OVEKLAND MONTHLY. 



marksman, both with rifle and pistol, the 
boy readily became his disciple. 

Once or twice a week, through the win- 
ter, 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 spoken. 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 world 
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 thins 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 
grav e} r es 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 mutterad 
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- 
insr 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 
hung Handy Charley down at Patterson 
Ford. Well, we never would have got th 
rascal if he hadn't stopped like a fool 
give back a ring to that Patterson girl b 
fore crossing the river and the who! 
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 fro 
Patterson's oak." 

It was in the latter part of March whe: 
a great raid was made on the Collins pas- 
tures, and thirteen of the best horses we 
run off. It was this that stirred the se 
tiers to action. The pasture was closel; 
searched for any sign that would furnis 
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 
Jerrv 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 letting 
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 wt> 
chased him as far as Patterson's crossing, 



THE LOVE OF CHANCE. 



137 



shoot in' at him all the time got him one 
in the hip, I guess; anyhow, he rode into 
Patterson's barn instead of tryin <v 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 Eanch, 
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 split 
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- 1 - 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 horso 
and turned him on his side. 

There was a sudden sinking of hor>o 
and riders, followed bv a violent slanuin / 
of waves against the ices' edge, and the 
innocent boy, side by side with the iron- 
clad character, who loved chance dear-. 1 !' 
than life, was tided away into. the -"i- 
kriowable sea of silence. 



THE WESTERN CALL 

BY MADELINE HUHES PEI.TON 



'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 asah 1 . 




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 fhe 
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 to a gHobe-ftrotter 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 West in 
pursuit of what the newspaper man calls 
"stories/' 

We admitted 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 dead and gone, so you've 
timeliness for vour storv. He was a char- 
acter down here in the Southwest, for 
many and many a day. Latterlv 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 evor 
knew. 

What added to his picturesqueness was 
a long, swarthy beard, glasses with gold 




THE STREET IN TUCSON WHERE THE INSTRUMENTS WERE BOUGHT. 



rims 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 dav Kelley 
took sick, and they 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-Moiave 
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 passeng-er, 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 ri^ht on 
the edge of the trail. 

"The man, too, had come out of the 
nowhere, and with next to nothing. He 
was, however, more buoyant than the rest 




PHIL, KEL.LEY. 




"TARNAL STRANGER, GIT OUT O' HERE! 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 
Sa 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.' 

"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 ifche 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.' 



"What 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 v didn't care. 
When you're at the work of finding go id 
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 Indies 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 ;ind kept busy, until all arrangements 
were completed. Arrived at the city, Kel- 
ley and his friend soon found themselves 
in the midst of the convi vials 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 ^eculiar turn. They were 
dealing with the "Haunt" or the "Spirit" 
of the desert. 

"There is an old, old tradition on the 
Moiave 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 OP THE TKANS-MOJAVE. 



113 



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 ouc 
io Kelley's camp to look over what he hu,l 
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-i 
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 Keiiey 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 Kelley. 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 "f 
the monument. 

"'Again 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. Kel- 
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. 



" Tm 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 wag 
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? Whv, a graphophoue, 
of course. Thev had had the Indian k'ds 



hide these, one in each monument, all 
wound up and the spring set, so's the 
minute you'd move the boulder, you'd set 
it off. 

"The buyer of claims, of course, was 
only <i dupe of their's, standing in with 
the bunch." 

"Wjhat 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." 



IN 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. 



AN EPISODE OF THE FLOAT LANDS 

BY ERNESTINE WTN'CHE.LL 




ESTEKDAY 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 sen- 
iors 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 forgotten 
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: "Four more tides before 
the highest." 

Into her troubled speculations broke a 
frantic cry from Alice: "Edith! oh, run, 
now rim!" 

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 ditch 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 of 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 the am- 
bush of the yellow- jackets. To their sur- 
prise there wag no angry buzzing of fran- 
tic little fighters, A few of the guards 
fiew aimlessly about in the unwonted 
silen'.'p. 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 levc 
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 anc 
gone! At its flood point it had tricklec 
unresisted, into that stronghold so vali- 
antly defended so fatally pregnable ! 

Half-exultant, half-pitiful, the girl 
walked on, and Lester, valorously kicking 
at the spongy sods, followed with hands 
in pockets his small bein^ intent upon the 
control of a very young whistle, which 
was now beautifullv 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 
four or five along the course of the rivei 
were cutting peaty rectangles from tin 
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 d'j- 
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 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 sufq-ested, 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," 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 Frank. 
"His levees haven't been proved like 
Johnson's. Those old levees have stood 
for years and years haven't thev, 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-day."- 

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 ring- 
on every shininp- 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." reluctantlv. 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 grrav school house that day, 
for i.-ven the teacher was not calm. Often 
she looked out on the placid, mercile-'S 
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 th3 
night. 

Out in the sunshine, all along the river'.s 
tor r nous 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 seeminsr 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 tha 
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 thc;n 
after school was out, Edith and Alica 
had the ^ospect of hard work to reach 
home. The current, brown now with the 
drpina^e 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 a^ain 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. 

Fin all v. weary stroke b" wear- 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 sympathetic 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 
Range. As the blue turned to black, the 
flaming sun dropped suddenly, splashing 
the whole western sk ir with a glorv of 
scarlet and srold. The ^old slowlv changed 
to canary to o-reen 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 wakefulness by a ray of warm light 
falling on her face, she sat up in bed and 
stared out of the window. The morning 
sunshine bathed the pasture lands, t^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 
patroled 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 wheM 
the night was cleft by a hoarse, strangle.'! 
cry in the near distance which hushed 
every voice. 

Into the stillness rang a thin clamor in 
Chinese, sweliino- 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 
jargon, 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 gaina-1 
strong headway than hie stopped with a 
backward leap. One hundred yards of 
tnrbid water rolled and tumbled where 
the levee had stood ! 

He chilled in sudden comnrehension of 
the coolies' tangled phrases. A patrolm 
and a Chinaman had one down with t: 
levee. He shouted and shouted again, b 
there came no answering cry from tl 
flood. 

Rapidly the men gathered on either si 
of the fatal gap. Question and ans 
were flung across the torrent. Boa 
were brought, and desperate search a: 
watch held every man till the tide we: 
out at dawn. 

With the day came confirmation of the 
fear of the night. The treacherous float- 
land, for the protection of whidh 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, iideless, 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 naper invocations and petitions upoii 
the waters. And at night the air was per- 
fumed with propitiatory incense; while 
upon the river's bosom countless sacred 
tapers glowed and shimmered and twinkled 
weirdly star r in? the darkness. 



THE SUCKERS' SATURDAY NIGHT 

BY CHAKLTON LAWRENCE EDHOLM 




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 frorw 
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 j bearded kidney- 
'11 iv vender might claim your attention 
next, and sell vou the Fountain of Youth 



(with an alcoholic tang), done up in six- 
bit bottles. 

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, tamch-bethumbed 
Bible. He had the whine and drone and 
twang of a backwoods preacher, and an 
occasional outburst aerainst "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 



OVEKLAND 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 7oice 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 stenographer 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." 

"Tt's a wonder they don't lock him 
up." 

"So they would in Germany, doubtless 
in Prance, 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, anc 
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 sucl 
a lofty dome such a thin trickle oi 
thought 'Should proceed, beaten into 
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 
watched 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 
front bore the painted torso of a Hercule 
bunched with muscles like a sack full 
cobble-stones, and advertising "Viri- 
cult." 

Professor Tom stood erect on the bad 
seat and allowed the mob to gaze upon his 
vigorous beauty, a combination of the 
ideals of Michelangelo, Buonarruoti anc 
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, hid 
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 
days, he affirmed. 



THE SUCKERS' SATURDAY NIGHT. 



151 



But now he had retired from the ring, 
and 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- 
ings 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-steeri 
Grant avenue." 

"His book ought to be worth one-fifty 
ao 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 fiat-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 

/ 1 " O 

finish. 

"When a man has learned to fence with 
such weapons," said the doctor, "there is 
no problem he cannot solve by sheer 
wo;-d-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 Royal 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 surfer? 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 



OvEliLAND MONTHLY. 



one dollar, or six for five, and your 
money back it' 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. Well 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 foiir dozen boxes. 
Then he went to a credit grocer and se- 
cured a hundred pound sack of well, I'Jl 
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 curec 
sore throat and prevented that drea 
scourge, diphtheria, As a lotion it 
lieved sore eyes. It was sure death 
germs and prevented decay. 

"None guaranteed unless done up 
green starshaped boxes under the name 
Astral Saline Crystals. One dollar 
box, six for $5. 

"Well, the public had often bought lit 
tie red boxes and little white boxes, litt 
round boxes and little square ones, bi 
a green, star-shaped box was somethu 
new. They kept him busy handing 01 
Astral Saline Crystals for two or thre 
evenings, after which time he suddenly 
left town. 

"The following week I received a stat 
ment for a bill of goods from my grocer 
He said the goods had been ordered fc 
my use by my colleague, Professor Sc 
and So, M. I). It read : 'To one sack roc 
salt, $2.00.' " 




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 t 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 plun^.d 



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 tor> 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 srjlendor 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 Mountains. 

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 
end 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 sentle old Spruce, 



154 



OVERLAND MONTHLY. 



all booted and spurred and armed as she 
was ! 

To-day, Curl Ealey 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 
hazy 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 century 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 hti 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 pulsed up and over Marian in a 
rush of delight. The glorious air was 
drawn down into her quivering nostrils 
with wonderin^ exhilaration. 

Back in Iowa nothing was wasted, 
thought Marian now with contempt. Thia 
lesson had been thumped into Marian's 
revolting brain again and aerain 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 ro 
Curl Raley, below her in the oak-lin 
ravine, it had all the charm of an angel 
song. 

Suddenb r the voice ceased, and Rale; 
glanced warily up the slope to where sh 
sat, quite still,, on her horse. She 
caught the stroke of his horse's hoof o 
the granite strewn ground, and ha 
checked her horse, fear for the insta 
rampant in her heart. She might 
awaiting a Mexican or Indian ruffian'; 
advent into her world she knew n 
what! 

Raley could see her quite plainly no 
with eves dilated, her hand on the pisto 
which she had half-slipped from its ho 
ster. She was not to be caught nappin 

Then as Curl Raley swung into view o: 
his horse, the defiant fire burned out 
her eyes, leaving only the soft glow 
their warm, brown depths. Her voi 
was still trembling as she said choki 
Iv: "For a minute 1 didn't know it w 
you, Mr. Raley. I am just going home. 

He said not a word to her about t 
strange direction of her trail homewar 
but fell in beside her, and after they hi 
crossed a ravine or two, she was faci 
the settlement again, and had not a s 
picion that her horse's head had be 
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 
b- 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 seldoi 



ie 



THE EOMANCE 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 side 
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." 

Eaiey privately doubted the truth of 
this statement, but she was so honest in 
her thirst for knowledge that he answered 
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 sing-ing 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 CUD 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 7 - 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." 
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 Ealey, watching her from the shel- 
ter of his big hat, saw the weary lines 
begin to settle over her face, where lie 
saw with pity that they had long before 
this traced a nath of patient protest 
against this life of unmated ' loneliness 
with all its pinching economy, which only 
a woman can know. Sitting there, *ie 
no longer thought of lathing 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 
fairly in her nostrils, she still had mo- 



156 



OVERLAID MONTHLY. 



ments when she doubted the truth, the 
beautiful truth of it all. 

As he lay there, relaxed full length on 
the sand, he saw a vision forminer a vis- 
ion of liberty for both. It was so near 
that he could almost touch it. He felt 
an unaccountable intuition that all the 
forlorn loneliness of his hard life was 
nearing its end. It was for this that he 
had been laboring and hoarding for 
years. He saw now that never before had 
he been fully ready to appreciate life and 
the mystery of its wonders. He wished 
he might tell her, might lift the sad, pa- 
tient lines from her face ; but not yet, not 
yet! That glorious moment in all its 
fullness would cuuie. 

He stirred restlessly, sat up, and then 
suddenly got on his feet. She started 



violently as if roused from absorbing 
thoughts. 

"Come," he said, erently, reaching down 
a helning hand to her. It was a strong, 
well-formed hand, deeply tanned with 
wind and sun. 

Laying her slim hand confidinglv in his 
warm clasp, she allowed him to lift her 
to her feet where she stood silent, her 
eyes still abstracted, while he brought 
the horses. There was no word of pro- 
test now when he lifted her to her saddle. 
She was learning a lesson of a different 
kind now a lesson of widely different 
import. A gentle flushing of pink stole 
up into her cheeks as her eyes fell on his 
face-; the strong, noble face of the kind 
of men she had dreamed about and was 
now to know in her dailv life. 



AUGUST 

BY 
CLYDE EDWIN TUCK 



THE 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 5 ; 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 tasseled corn, where strays 

No fresh'ning 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 OP THE BAND THAT WAS SOLD TO THE "WILD WEST SHOW" IN 1903. 

THE PASSING OF THE BUFFALO 

BY JASO^ J. JO^ES 



1 LLUSTRATED 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 Eiver. 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 Rocky Mountains and 
from Texas northward into central Can- 



158 



OVERLAND MONTHLY. 




A PORTION OP 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 lialf-famished people. The meat 
appeased their hunger, the great, shaggy 
robes shielded their persons from the most 
intense cold; therefore, the buffalo was 
doubly dear and valuable to them. Tn 
aftei vears, when the whites began to en- 



croach upon the Indian's most precioi 
hunting grounds and to wantonly destrc 
his most precious game, the latter look- 
upon it with awe and suspicion and ange 
was at once kindled in his heart. We mu- 
agree with the red man to-day when 
says: "The ' white man has 'taken 01 
hunting grounds and destroyed 
game." 

When we realize what enormous her 
of buffalo roamed the plains even as lat 
as 1875. it is a mystery to us to know hoi 
they could have been so completely e 
terminated in less than one short decad 

In 1868 began the wholesale slaughter 
of this animal, and from the above date 
until 1881, or a period of thirteen 
a ceaseless war was waged against thes 
helpless brute?. And to what purpose! 
When the Kansas Pacific Railroad hac 
been extended far enough west to read 
the buffalo count ry, the carbon works oi 
St. Louis and other places began payii 
$8 per ton for all the bones that migl 
be shipped to them. The natural cons 
quence was that the hide, horn and bone 
seekers formed brigades in partnershij 
against these vast herds. The hide anr 
horn seekers were naturally very welcome 
fore-runners of the bone seekers. In su-:h 
numbers did they slaughter the buffalo 
that in particular localities, it is said, on? 
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 th<3 
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. 



151) 



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, Avhich must have numbered millions. 

At first appearance, these vast herds 
grazing on the plains seemed to be oria 
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 TT sentinels, which were composed of the 
chainpion bulls, while the cows and calves ' 
grazed toward the center. The little 
yellow calves looked very awkward, yet 
thev 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 generally for the mere nov- 
elty of the trip. In many places on either 
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 migratory 
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 nortliward, where, on the wids- 
extencled plains, they would spend the 
loner, 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. Sd- 
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 ye-ir 



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 
hearts 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 knj>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 his 
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" Ean;;h 
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 Missoula 
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 the 
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 



OVERLAND 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 becomes 
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 ij 
would teach posterity, we believe tha 
our Government should own and protec 
all the buffalo now living. 

Those now owned by private individual 
which Constitute possibly five-sixths o 
all in exigence, are most likely, in year, 
to come, t<_ fall into the possession of care 
less hands, "hose who would let the las 
vestige of th/m be annihilated. 

Our public domain is extensive enougl 
and will be for years to come for th< 
buffalo to run at large without molesta- 
tion. The grazing lands of our Westen 
States, which our stock-raising public 
have so completely appropriated to them- 
selves, might, in part at least, be used bj 
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 airain 
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 




ILLUSTRATED BY W. R. 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, atween 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 spendin', 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 Peters, 
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 year] in', 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 1 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 sohim promus never to borrer from 
anybody 'ceptin' me a promus none to 
my likin', you bet. 

You see what's libul to come to a man 
what's got a twin what looks more like 
himself than he does himself; but 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? Well, 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 Eiver 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 tips and takes his furnootur 
an' his horse, durned old plugs, you bet, 
an' his pig, ain't never got more'n one, an' 




BILL. 



his cows an' with his famulle folleriiv 
ahind, 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 thisj 
here neck of mine twisted up like lookiri' 
at a sky what don't alwus look to suit. 

This littl' gal what Jim gets stuck on 
was a sky farmer's gal, an' 'cordin' to 
Jim, was purty as a colt's what curried. 
I'm no judge, so I says nothin' 'bout her. 
looks an' so forth, but when Jim took toj 
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 
gal's name an' where's her ole man's 
shack?" 

Jim's freckles turns sorter red, an' he 
gets interested 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 
snuffles, "could you let me wear your best 
close to-morrer, an' might you put a 
twenty in the pockut ? I'm broke, honu.st, 
I am, an ? kin 1 take your horse an' saddle 
an' bridle? There's a friend I know 
what's hankei-in' for a ride on a good cay- 



THE KED-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 v to everything. I never could go 
them snuffles o' Jim's. 

"What time'll you be wantin' them?" 
F asks, after sayin' "yep." 

"'Bout two, an' if " He snuffles 

agin. 

I stampeded, an' didn't hear, not to 
this day, 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 
erclock 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 sky- 
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' 
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 
Tsout 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 M r hat 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 agin that colt 
what's buckin' like blazes an' tearin' 
round that yard like a bee stung him. 

"Slide !" 1 yells, me only ridin' with a 
hackamore an' her there ahind me hoo- 



dooin' things an' givin' that colt, what 
thinks 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 intentung 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. 



^^ _-J -^~r^?^Ziz^ 




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- 



JEALDS 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' 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, seem' 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 lota 
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. 





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. 




H**. M> 

^ .'.* ^ 



^^iSfi^jfo^ 

. . ^> ^E^5&O^"l^^i^_ J ^' TiT~* .*- 





IN DEL GADDO PLACE 

BY EDITH KESSLER 

ILLUSTRATED BY CLYDE COOKE 



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- 
bered, 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. Ther 
were rankling memories of a former time 
in another land that bit into his present 
poverty as a corroding acid. His son 
to be his salvation, the magic hand which 
was to make bright a distant, long-intend- 
ed future. This little unctuous oily max 
cared nothing for his daughters. "Let 
them go/' he said. And they were gc 
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 hei 
entrance. He was always uncomfortable 
when with her, and she frankly loath oc 
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 Sai 
Francisco clear day. She sat by the opei 
window,- and leaned her chin moodily upoi 
her upturned palm. Her clear olive fac 
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. Ths 
two were very plainly brother and sister, 
but in the boy'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 



DEL GAD DO PLACE. 



171 



his head. Come to me. I've got some 
good friends. They'll get you something 
to do, for me." 

"How do yon 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? 1 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 slender, 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'.? nice," she ventured, gravely. Lotta 
laid i 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 
t'hi>. all for you 11 own." 



"Yes, 1 will," she answered solemnly. 
"I won't tear Carlo's music, or scare old 
Rossi'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 .'s 
she?" 

This, although both could hear her 
crooning over house-wifely mud pies in 
the little yard outside. Carlo shrugged 
his shoiilders 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 



OVERLAND 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 
Pippa 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 
forget 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 
Pinna's crooning song, the bewildered pro- 
test, the angry, frightened cries as th-i 
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. Ami 
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 ">B 
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- 
ancv of childhood, she was living in the 
jov of the present moment. The prospect 
of a rare treat was before her. She was 
going 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, half-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: again* 
the pillar. She evidently saw what si 
sought, and more, for a half-startled loc 
came into her eyes, as they dropped froi 
Carlo's to the bright, eager little orbs 
side him. She turned to the other gii 
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 aud 
artificially radiant cheeks. It changed 
quickly, and its hardened vivacity came 
back like a mask. 

"We'll pull it otf 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 couple 
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 oiance 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 Red" 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. 



176 



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 
lier half-asleep sister. 

"Well?" said the man, as he held out 
Iris 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 group, 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 
hilariH 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 o* 
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 I 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 pat 

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 
forests 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 a.'e little lagoons, innocent 
of ail life except fish and game, even the 



THE LAND OF AKT, SPORT AND PLEASURE. 



[ndians 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 along 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 
everv 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, ptarmagar, 
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- 
thy men and women, lovers of the grand 
and of the beautiful, fond of sport and 
an out-of-door life, to sr>end a few months 
years, I should personally say than 
to make headouarters in a sturdily-built 
lodge in some of the coves and bays 
which line the islands named, and thence 
to sally forth on trips into the surround- 
ing neighborhood after game and sport 
and exercise. The parties should go 
armed at all times, tor there are not only 
wild animals that might, in a pinch, be 
uglv, but there are still Indians in some 
places who do not look kindly upon the 
white man's invasion. But they are ...10 
more dangerous than the perils of the 
mountains and the plains of. other more 
familiar parts of the country, and add 
the spice of danger which makes the whole 
experience more enjoyable. The timid may 
stay nearer their base, with ready refuge 
in the house, for the animals and the 
Indians never approach too near to the 
white man's settlement. 

I may suggest a few of many spots 
where such a lodge might be built easily 
and favorable. Such are Tebenkof bay, 
Patterson bay, Port Malmesbury, Port 
Conclusion, Egg Harbor, Port Armstrong. 
Gedney Harbor and Port MJcArthur. Were 
more known about these wonderful re- 
sorts, I am sure that they would not long 
be left to Indians, a few surveyors and an 
occasional nrospector. 




THE REVENGE 

OF THE I 
BLUE HORDE 

BY CLARENCE HAWKES 

ILLUSTRATED BY W. R. DAVEN T PORT. 





HE WARM SOUTH 
wind is dancr g a "" 
down the aisles oi ' 
forest. He has b .. 
so long exiled from 
his 'beloved fields and 
woods of New. Eng- 
land that he is mak- 
ing up for all he has lost in the winter 
months that have passed. His 'boisterous 
cousin, the North wind, has had it all 
his own way too long. It is time he was 
taught his place, so the South wind is 
pushing him rapidly back towards the 
poles, and he is so glad that his hour has 
come again that he whistles a merry tune 
upon his pipe as he goes. 

How sweet the woods are now he has 
passed. He was fresh from a race 
through the orchard and had filled his 
wings with crab-apple scent and scattered 
it lavishly through the woods. The wild 
azalia, too, he has gentlv swayed in pass- 
ing 1 . He has brought a whiff of arbutus 
and wild cherry., and the pugent, whole- 
some smell of balsam and pine needles 
quickened into fragrance by the warm 
May sunlight. 

What an important air the South wind 
has to-dav. as he dances through the for- 
est, blowing lustily upon his flageolet. 
You would really think he owned the 
whole universe. 

What a thrill of life is stirring to-day 
in the half-grown leaves and the bursting 
buds, in the groping fronds and the ger- 
minating seeds. 

Now the South wind has passed, the 
forest is as still as though enchanted. 
Not a leaf rustles, not a breath is stirring. 
Hark, what is that? A song in the top of 



a spruce, low-keyed and liquid. A won- 
derful love dittv, now it is repeated softer 
jre exquisitely than before. What 
oird in all the forest sings like that? It 
is not an oriole or thrush, but quite as 
sweet as either. Then a bough bends, and 
a wonderful blue coat flashes in the sun- 
light, and the most strident, querulous, 
rasping voice in the forest cries: "Jay, 
Jay, Say, Say. Didn't know I could sing 
like that, did you? Well, I can when I 
am a mind to, but I won't for you. Jay, 
Jay, Jay!" 

He flashes out of the ' tree and across 
the fields, and is gone. A veritable blue- 
coat, but altogether a noisy, quarrelsome 
fellow, the spy of the woods, always 
squawking and calling when you want 
listen, and many times drowning t 
sweet son^s of other birds with his hide- 
ous squawking. A gay Barmen"' " ico^ 
all show and bright feathers, but at 
heart a saucy, shallow fellow. 

The song we heard this morning was 
the jay's spring love song. His one musi- 
cal attempt, that only his mate on the 
nest with the warm eggs under her can 
inspire. You did not suspect him of such 
sentiment. Neither did I until J heard 
him with my own ears. 

But when you stop to think of it, that 
miracle going on in the top of the spruce 
is enough to make a crow or any living 
thing that has warm blood in its veins 
sing. 

But there was one menace that May 
morning to the feathered folks of the 
woods. It was a silent, stealthy, gliding 
danger that was always with them. No 
matter how fresh and green or inviting a 
grassy plot or a bunch of brakes might 



THE REVENGE OF THE BLUE HORDE. 



179 



look, this stealthy, creeping danger might 
oe coiled in the sweet green depths. 

There was a peculiar enmity between 
this subtle something and the jay family, 
for the jays were the spies of the woods. 
Many a bird's plumage had been saved 
b ir the strident squawl of the jay. When- 
ever any of these gay-liveried, saucy spies 
saw the black snake creeping upon its 
prey, or lying in ambush along some 
favorite path, or coiled in the trees, the 
jay would at once set up a great squawk- 
ing, and alarm the whole forest for a 
quarter of a mile about. Then birds and 
squirrels would be upon their guard, and 
perhaps the black evil would go hungry, 
thanks to the jay's vigilance. So there 
was a particular hatred between the jay 
family and the black snake, who made the 
i swamp above the old mill pond an 



meant a snake. Then a slim head, blacker 
even than his own, was lifted high above 
the grass, and two eyes glittering and ter- 
rible, burnino- with hatred and glowing 
with malice, were riveted upon the water 
snake. 

But what cared he was he not the ter- 
ror of the mill pond? Who was this 
stranger that dared to invade his king- 
dom, defy 'him and even appear con- 
temptuous of his sway? So he made one 
or two extra coils in his long, powerful 
form, and glared back at his enemy, dart- 
ing out his tongue with lightning rapidity 
and returning hate for hate with stead v. 
glowing eyes. 

The black snake lifted his head still 

higher above the grass and came on, cir- 

ol ; "? alout his rival and seeking to taice 

off his guard, but the water snaka 





. 

The same morning that the black snake 
left his headquarters in the swamp and 
went on a journey, a huge, dark water 
snake crawled out on the bank and took 
a nap in the warm May sunshine. He 
was larger even than the black snake of 
the swamp, and this morning he felt 
quite contented with the world in general 
and his own lot in particular, for he had 
dined the morning before upon a half- 
grown musk-rat. 

Up, up, from the swale the black snake 
came creeping, and the young grass wrig- 
gled at his coming, while the terror of 
the mill pond slept upon the muddy bank. 
Finally the sleeping water snake awoke, 
raised his head and looked cautiously 
about. Something was coming his wav. 
There was a tremor in the grass, and this 



ward his tail. Then with a lightning 
motion, the black snake wound his own 
tail about a small elm that stood upon 
the bank. With a convulsive contortion 
he raised his own uglv form in the air. 
and with it that of the water snake. Like 
a long, 'black rope the double length of 
snake rose and fell, beating the earth, 
but the third time the black rope made 
a srraceful half-circle, then shot forward 
with a lightning motion. With a report 
like the crack of a whip, the head of the 
water snake rolled into the pond, while 
his body writhed and twisted in the grass. 

Then the black snake unwound his coil 
from the water elm and hatched the 
dying contortions of his enemy. 

When the wriggling of the water snake 
had ceased and it was apparent that Le 



180 



OVERLAND MONTHLY. 



was quite dead, his enemy gloated above 
him and swelled with pride over his greit 
victory. Then he swam the pond and 
went into the woods beyond in search of 
more foes to conquer. 

It happened this same morning that a 
partly fledged jay had fallen from the 
nest. He was r.ot ready to fly, and his 
parents were in a great dilemma. The 
old snake heard their cries afar off, and 
knew quite well that some one was in 
trouble. Trouble for the birds at nesting 
time usually meant plunder for him, so 
he hastened in the direction from which 
the squawking and cries of distress came. 

~ 



and still another and another. The call 
was answered from across the mill pond, 
and from far and near the blue-coated 
rogues came flying, calling as they came, 
"Jay, jay, pay, pay, flay, flay!" 

Tho outraged father led them hurried- 
ly back to the spot where the deed hadj 
been committed, and where the grievinj 
mother still watched the greedy snake* 
swallowing her fledgling. One would noji 
have imagined there was as many jav.s 
within ten miles as soon flocked above the 
snake, all squawking with rage and 
Each moment the cries grew louder, aJofl 
soon the birds began darting viciously at 






The poor victim squawked once or 
twice, fluttered feebly, and was still; the 
life had been crushed out of it by the 
destroyer. 

Both of the jay parents darted viciously 
at the snake, but he paid little attention 
to them, and began leisurely swallowing 
his prize. 

Then the male jay rose in the air high 
above the tree tops, and flew rapidly away, 
calling at the top of his strident voice 
as he flew : 

"Jay, jay, pay, pay, flay, flay !" 

Another jay in a distant tree-top took 
UD the cry and flung it far on into the 
woods. Soon another was heard calling 



""^5 ' *"* J * 

over him and he slunk into the grass, 
feeling actually afraid for the first time 
in his life. 

As long as he faced them and struck at 
them, whenever they came too near, he 
had been comparatively safe, but now 
he had turned tail and was fleeing, it was 
different. 

At the moment he showed the white 
feather, the whole angry horde fell upon 
him like furies. A half dozen darted 
down at once, picking at as many places 
in his wriggling black coils. He turned 
and struck, and his motions were so 
quick that the eye could hardly follow 
him. Two wounded jays fluttered down 



STAGE OF THE WOODS. 



181 



into the underbrush, but what cared the 
rest. The horde was aroused and noth- 
ing but blood would atone for the mur- 
der that the snake had done. 

The black fury could not strike in a 
dozen places at once, and some of them 
were sure to wound him. Soon his skin 
had been broken in many places, and he 
was covered with blood, but none of his 
great strength was gone. A half dozen 
beaks tore at his tail, and he turned, 
writhino- with pain, to strike at these tor- 
mentors. At the same instant, a jay 
struck him fairly in the right eye, and 
that organ lay out on his cheek and was 
useless. This was the beginning of the 



end, but his end was terrible, as was his 
desert. Never punishment fell from 
heaven upon the guilty more swiftly or 
surely. In a few seconds more his other 
eye was gone, and he could only strike 
blindly and thrash and writhe in convul- 
sions of pain. Slowly and relentlessly 
tlhey picked and tore at the writhing 
mass. In five minutes after the battle be- 
gan, the snake's skin was stripped to rib- 
bons, his entrails dragged upon the 
ground, and he was so torn and pecked 
that his own mate would not have known 
him. Thus was justice meted out, and 
the black destroyer went the way that he 
had sent so many helpless fledglings. 




STAGE OF THE WOODS 



LOUISE AYKES GAKN T ETT 



I SIT unnoticed in a woodland spot 
And touch my golden lyre. 
Its notes are plaintive with a world of sighs, 

Or bright with rhythmic fire; 
I sing a song, a happy winged song, 
That echoes my desire. 

Ah, what a perfect stage ! no ears to hear 

My voice lament, or troll, 
Save those most friendly critics of the woods 

The blossoms on the knoll, 
The trees, the purling stream, the flying birds, 

And my attentive soul. 



A TRIP TO CUERNAVACA 

BY MARY E. S^YDEB 

ILLUSTRATED WITH PHOTOGRAPHS. 




Mexico City, March, 1907. 

Y DEAE FLO: In 

this I am going to 
tell you of my trip to 
Cnernavaca, consid- 
ered here one of the 
most intere sting 
places in this part of 
the Eepublic. 
We rise early and are away before the 
business of the day begins. Half circling 
Mexico City, we view historical Chapul- 
tepec Castle, the summer home of Presi- 
dent Diaz, from three sides, pass several 
of the quaint suburban towns, then tra- 
verse miles of maguey plantations. Let 
me explain here that the maguey, a mem- 
ber of the agava family, closely resembles 
the century plant, and the juice extracted 
from it is the pulque, an intoxicant drunk 
by men, women and children of the lower 
classes, much to their detriment. 

The morning, like nearly all here, is 
perfect, and soon spread before us in the 
.bright sunshine is a panorama of the 
whole Mexican basin, near the center of 
which the spires of the metropolis glisten, 
and forming a background for the spark- 
ling waters of Lake Texcoco, are the snow 
crested "Popo" and "The White Woman," 
as the qrand old peaks of Popocatepetl 
and Ixtaccihautl are commonly called, 
standing guard, as it were, over the coun- 
try for miles in every direction. A little 
later only a great bank of fleecy clouds 
marks the location of these mountains. 

ITp. up we toil until Cima (summit), 
10,000 feet above sea level, is reached. As 
our starting point is considerably more 
than a mile up in the air (a little less 
than 7,500 feet above sea level) slightly 
more difficult respiration is the only effect 
we feel from our elevated position. 

We make short stops at Julia, Olivar, 
Toro (bull), Tres Maria (three Marys), 
and other places bearing such euphonious 
appellations, which usually consist of a 



box car for a depot and a few straw 01 
adobe huts, as residences. The whole 
population is at the train, one or more 
heavily armed Rurales (country police) 
pacing up and down, the Indian women 
with offerings of fruit, ensalades (a mix- 
ture of chopped vegetables, chile always 
being one of the important ingredients, 
wrapped in tortillas, turn-over style) and 
other edibles, with "pulque," served in 
little brown pottery pitchers, to drink. 
These venders are well patronized by the 
"Segunda Clase" passengers, as the Mexi- 
can seems always hungry, at least he 
never loses an opportunity ~ to eat. Many 
of these articles of food have an appetiz- 
ing appearance, but the women offering 
them are so disgustingly dirty that for- 
eigners have little inclination to buy any- 
thing except fruit. At one station we se- 
cure some of the most delicious strawber- 
ries I have ever eaten. 

Leaving Cima, we begin the descent, 
and drop down something like five thou- 
sand feet in twenty-five miles. We look 
down upon the clouds, then pass through 
them, and the view for most of the dis- 
tance is very pretty. Away below us in 
the valley we see Cuernavaca, first on one 
side of the train, then on the other, as we 
gradually approach over our tortuous 
route. 

At the station there is a scramble to se- 
cure one of the antiquated looking "o 
ches," which convey those who do not 
care to patronize the mule trams to the 
town. 

I have heard much of the beauties of 
this old Mexican town, but this is one 
rare instance where reality surpasses an- 
ticipation. All is so quiet, peaceful, 
primitive and quaint, as we pass through 
narrow, crooked streets, with low, tilod 
roofed, adobe buildings on either side, the 
colorings, which were no doubt harsh 
when new, having been reduced by time to 
such delicate blues, greens, creams and 
terra-cottas, all blending to produce a 



THE TRIP TO CUERNAVACA. 



183 



Lost mellow, harmonious effect. The set- 
jiiiu seems so appropriate for the moving 
Igurcs the men with the usual white cot- 
lo'n suit, sandaled or bare feet, and im- 
laense sombrero, eniding' a train of cli- 
ininutive burros, which are nearly hidden 
leneath great panniers, bales of hay, sacks 
If charcoal, etc., or themselves balancing 
|eavy loads on their heads; the women, 
jometimes in the cheap cotton skirt, some- 
jlimes in the more picturesque hand-made 
}rool ones, consisting of one long strip 
If cloth drawn straight across the back, 
lath deep plaits laid in the front, and the 
Iver present rebosa, which serves not only 
Is a head and shoulder wrap, but also for 
tarrying the baby or great bundles of 
Merchandise, often both together. The 
|eon women may not be the bread winners, 
lut they certainly contribute their share 
loward the family supply of tortillas. 
I After much jolting over the cobble- 
i|>aved streets, wielding of whip and utter- 
Ing of the peculiar whistle employed by 
native drivers, my sombreroed "cochero v 
fleposits me at the hotel, where new sur- 
prises await me. Following a broad cor- 
ridor, I find myself in one of the most 
ipeautiful patios I have ever seen, and that 
s saying much there are so many beau- 
ftiful ones in Mexico. Properly speaking. 
Ihe corridor separates two patios, a foun- 
lain almost hidden by flowers and foliage 
relaying in each, diffusing myriads of dia- 
monds in the sunshine. A part of the 
Building was commenced in the time of 
Cortes (about 1535), and happily the an- 
itique feature? have been preserved. The 
treat hand-hewn timbers and massive 
masonry show few evidences of the spoils 
Ipf time. Flowers are everywhere, set in 
inuaint Mexican pots (jardiniers sounds 
altogether too modern), and an old stone 
image, a relic of pre-historic times, occu- 
pies a position near the entrance. From 
jthe roof garden, where are also plants in 

. 

Hi. A PORTION OF THE OLD BUILDINGS ON 
THE CORTES HACIENDA. 

>B. MAGUEY PLANT, FROM WHICH PUL- 
QUE IS OBTAINED. 

3. FRANCISCAN CHURCH,, SEVERAL CEN- 
TURIES OLD, IN THE SAME ENCLOSURE 
WITH CORTES CATHEDRAL. A NUM- 
BER OF TOMBS EITHER SIDE OF EN- 
TRANCE. 




184 



OVERLAND MONTHLY. 




great profusion, a fine view of the citj 
and surrounding country may be had. 

But, attractive as this hotel is, I mus 
not neglect other places of interest. 

After lunch we ordered horses, and ac 
companied by an ex-member of the Lon 
don Guards (I only quote his word fo 
this, for his riding gave no evidence of th 
fact), we set forth. The Falls of 
Anton hardly seem worth the climbing 
necessary to get a view of them, so wi 
ride on, between rows of fruit laden trees 
with here and there the red coffee berrie 
showing among the green to the potteries 
The pottery made here is among the pret 
tiest in Mexico, but unfortunately for m 
little of the \vork is done during the raiD] 
season, and we did not see its manufac- 
ture. However, we see evidences of i: 
about the little nuebla, composed of adotx 
huts set picturesquely among the trees 
and we find many pretty pieces for sale 
in the town. 

The next visit is to the "Victory Stone/' 
a huge boulder with a flag design carved 
on one of its faces. I have been unable 
to learn anything definite about this, bul 
it is supposed to be commemorative of 
some long passed battle. 

In the evening, resting in the great easy 
chairs, with the electric stars gleaming out 
from among the foliage, we are regaled 
with good instrumental and vocal music 
by a native orchestra, and I feel tha 
am in a happy dream, my only care be: 
the fear of waking. 

In the morning we mount again 
start out through the narrow, serpenti 
streets toward Atlaltemulco, a sugar ha 
enda founded by Cortes, and still owned 
by his descendents. Sugar was ^ 

manufactured here about a hundred years 
before the Pilgrims landed at Plymouth, 
and the same crude methods are employed 
to-day. The old buildings, forming a 
hollow square about a patio, look as though 
they might serve their present purpose 
for a thousand vears to come. 

4. A PART OP THE WALL SURROUNDING 

THE CORTES CATHEDRAL, SHOWING 
SEVERAL TOMBS. 

5. A STREET IN CUEBNAVACA, SHOWING 

THE CORTES PALACE ACROSS THE 
END. 

(5. A MEXICAN PATIO. 






THE TEIP TO CUEKNAVACA. 



185 



To reach this hacienda, we pass over 
the remains of one of the old stone paved 
roads,, hundreds of miles of which were 
built during the Cortes regime, now prac- 
tically impassable for any style of vehi- 
[le. It is to be hoped they were kept in 
Letter repair in those early days, other- 
vise El Sr. Don Cortes must have suf- 
fered some severe joltings. 

"Returning, we make a detour through 
pore of the beautiful fruit-lined lanes to 
kcapacingo, the country home of Maxi- 
milian. A most picturesque little chapel 
itands near the entrance to the grounds, 
where fruit trees of various kinds, coffee, 
etc., grow in wild profusion, and what 
pnce served as the home of an Emperor 
s now devoted to the practical occupa- 
tion of chicken raising. "Thus are the 
nighty fallen." 

Cuernavaca boasts a number of old 
puildings, the most important of which 
are the Cortes Palace, now the State Capi- 
tol, and the Cortes Cathedral, which is 
the most imposing of the many churches 
pf the place. I was shown through thi 
Former building by a genial old native, 
\vho pointed out with apparent pride por- 
traits of many of Mexico's great men, and 
explained the use of each room, my know- 
edge of Spanish being sufficient to enable 
tne to understand most of what he said. 
Vluch to my surprise, he refused a "pro 
sina," which is about as un-Mexican as 
my thing I can imagine, but I have since 
earned that onides in the public build- 
nsrs here are not allowed to accept gratui- 
ties. 

A chapter should be devoted to the 
churches of Mexico, and I will leave them 
for a future letter. Many are several cen- 
turies old, quaint in architecture, outlines 
iind colorings softened by age, and. to me 
|verv beautiful. No Indian puebla is too 
diminutive to have its chapel, and many 
small towns possess church buildings that 
koulo grace a large city. Cuernavaca has 
per full quota of these interesting old 
Structures. 

A well kept plaza is found in every vil- 
lage, the larger places usually designat- 

TITE SIMPLE LIFE. 

P. PORTION OP PATIO OF MORELOS HOTEL. 
:) . <;':\KI;AL VIEW OF CUERNAVACA CORTES 
CATHEDRAL AT THE LEFT. 




-i v 







SEPTEMBER 





V 

<: m 

' f/ 

'" 



F 



i 



7 



* V IV 

* \% ' t 



IN THIS NUMBER: 

DEFENDING THE 
PACIFIC COAST 

BY ARTHUR H. BUTTON 



SPENDIN(i si), 181,403.23 
ARTICLE TELLING WHERE 
THE RELIEF FUNDS 
WENT 

HIGH POLITICS IN OHIO 



r 



QUAINT FURNITURE 

STICKLEY BROS. CO., Grand Rapids, Mich. 

cTVlanufacturers and Originators 



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Which 

We 

Guarantee 



Our goods can be found in all the large Furniture Stores on the 
Pacific Coast. 

The name STICKLEY insures Quality, Durability and Style. 
Sold through Dealers only". 



Please Mention Overland Monthly When Writing Advertisers. 



TIFFANY & Co. 

Fifth Avenue and 37th Street, New York : 

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Tiffany & Cp.'s stock of gold and jeweled bangles and bracelets 
has never been so large or so rich in assortment as at present 
A few at moderate prices are quoted below 

Bangles Bracelets 

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^Photographs of the abdbt or richer banglts and bracelets or other 
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Upon receipt of satisfactory references from any National Bank 
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Vol. L 



No, 3 



OVERLAND MONTHLY 

An Illustrated Magazine of the West 



CONTENTS FOR SEPTEMBER, 1907 



PROTECTED CRUISER MILWAUKEE 

DEFENDING THE PACIFIC COAST 

Illustrated with Photographs. 

MY PLACE. Verse 

HIGH POLITICS IN OHIO 

Drawing by R. W. Borough. 

NEGLECT. Verse ... ... 

SPENDING $9,181,403.23. . . 
Illustrated with Photographs. 

CLIMBING FUJI . 

Illustrated with Photographs. 

THE ENDING. Story 

CAMPING OUT IN CALIFORNIA . " . 

IN NEW SUMMER LANDS .... 

Photographs by the author. 

WIND ON THE SEA. Verse 

LITTLE MUSKY'S STORY. Story . 

Illustrated by Eloise J. Roorbach. 

THE MAN WHO INSPIRED "RAMONA." 

Illustrated with Photographs. 
"GRANDMA" VARNER and "TOMMY" 
Photograph by F. P. Stevens. 

OBSCURITY. Verse 

OUR SURFMEN 

Photographs furnished by S. I. Kimball. 

COLLEGE AND THE WORLD 

Illustrated with Photographs. 

A BUSINESS MAN'S VIEW OF COLLEGE 
JUST OUT OF COLLEGE .... 
WHY I AM GOING TO COLLEGE 

THE GOLD OF SUN DANCE CANYON . 

Illustrated by Clyde Cooke. 

COWBOYS ASTRAY. Story 

Illustrated by W. R. Davenport. 

UNLIMITED ELECTRIC POWER 

DEATH ON THE MARSHES. Verse RAYMOND SUMNER BARTLETT 

REFLECTIONS. Editorial Comment 

POUSSE CAFE 

THE LADY AND POLITICS . . ALLIS ROSS BURNETT 



FRONTISPIECE 

ARTHUR H. DUTTON 199 

MABEL PORTER PITTS 207 

WASHINGTON DAVIS 209 

W. G. TINCKOM-FERNANDEZ 210 

WINNIFRED MEARS 211 

ANNIE LAURA MILLER 221 

JENNET JOHNSON 233 

ROCKWELL D. HUNT 236 

FELIX J. KOCH 238 

ARTHUR POWELL 246 

CLARENCE HAWKES 247 

LOUIS J. STELLMANN 252 

ELIZABETH A. KELLY 255 

DONALD B. TOBEY 259 

JOANNA NICHOLLS KYLE 260 



HARRIS WEINSTOCK 270 

DENISON HALLEY CLIFT 274 

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Vol. L 




BATTLESHIP OHIO. 



DEFENDING THE PACIFIC COAST 



AN EXPLANATION FOR THE GREAT MILITARY 
AND NATAL MANEUVRES IN THE WEST 

BY 

ARTHUR H. BUTTON 

Late Lieutenant U. S. Navy. 

ILLUSTRATED WITH PHOTOGRAPHS. 



TRANGELY enough, 
the misnamed Pacific 
Ocean is now the 
scene of the greatest 
military activities in 
the world. Far from 
being pacific, this 
ocean promises to be- 
come the scene of the world's greatest 
struggles of the future, just as the Medit- 
erranean sea was their scene in the past. 

The immediate cause for this is the 
long-predicted awakening of the Orient 
from its lethargv of centuries. This awak- 




ening has already commenced with Japan 
which, within two generations, has taken 
her. place among the great powers. China 
will follow next, and when that leviathan 
reaches the stage of progress reached by 
Japan, events passing the power of the 
imagination to conceive will take place. 

That the Pacific Ocean is destined to 
play the leading part in the coming great 
wars is fully appreciated by the United 
States, which will naturally be the first 
to feel the awakening. The Navy De- 
partment at Washington has long foreseen 
the imperative need for strengthening our 




MONITOR MONTEREY. 



Pacific fleet, and exactly a year ago it 
was well known that a "force of battle- 
ships was about to be sent to this coast. 
Then came the Japanese school incident, 
and it was deemed impolitic to reinforce 
the Pacific fleet until that incident was 
closed. Now, a sufficient time after the 
settling of the school incident, it is offi- 
cially announced that the main battleship 
fleet of the Atlantic, together with an 
armored cruiser division, with numerous 
smaller auxiliary vessels, will reach the 
Pacific Ocean this winter. This will at 
once give the United States the vitally im- 
portant military command of the Pacific 
Ocean, for no nation in the world save 
Great Britain can muster a fleet suffi- 
ciently powerful to defeat this Atlantic 
fleet, which is composed of the flower of 
our navy, as regards both material and 
personnel. 

The Atlantic battleship fleet which will 
come to the Pacific is composed of the 
modern, up-to-date battleships Connecti- 
cut, Louisiana, Maine, Missouri, Georgia, 
New Jersey, Rhode Island, Virginia, Ala- 
bama, Illinois, Kearsarge, Kentucky, 
Ohio, Minnesota, Kansas and Vermont, 
to which will be added the Nebraska and 



the Wisconsin, already in Puget Sound, 
making a fleet of eighteen first-class, mod- 
ern battleships, in excellent condition. 

Already in the Pacific, in Oriental 
waters, are the fine armored cruisers West 
Virginia, Colorado, Maryland and Penn- 
sylvania. Their two sister ships, the 
California and the South Dakota, are 
now on this coast, and the still more pow- 
erful Washington and Tennessee are on 
their way f rom the Atlantic to join them, 
making eight powerful armored cruisers 
to add to the eighteen battleships. Of 
course, there are already in the Pacific 
several protected cruisers, gunboats and 
other lesser craft, but still more will ac- 
company the battleship fleet hither. 

This concourse of warships will of it- 
self be more powerful than the entire 
Japanese navy, which is the navy in the 
Pacific which has a fleet of any strength. 
In a word, with the arrival of 'the Atlan- 
tic battleship fleet in the Pacific Ocean, 
that great body of water will be domi- 
nated by the United States, for as every 
tyro knows, command of the sea is the 
key to success in war between maritime 
nations. 

Even with this great movement of war 



DEFENDING THE PACIFIC COAST. 



201 



vessels from the Atlantic to the Pacific, 
the former will not be left unguarded. 
There will still remain the new Missis- 
sippi and Idaho, the old Iowa, Massa- 
chusetts and Indiana, on the Atlantic sta- 
tion. But what is of greater importance, 
new battleships of greater and greater 
power, are being steadily turned out from 
Eastern shipyards, to be added as com- 
pleted to the Atlantic fleet, which, in ad- 
dition to the five relatively weak battle- 
ships already named, will have, within a 
year, the great Michigan, South Caro- 
lina and New Hampshire, and within 
three years, the three monster 20,000 ton 
vessels of the new Constitution class, 
which will be even more powerful than 
the much-vaunted British Dreadnaught 
and the Japanese Satsuma and Aki. More 
armored cruisers are also being con- 
structed in the East. 

The Atlantic fleet, which, will soon be- 
come the Pacific fleet, has been undergo- 
ing severe and unremitting drills, 
manoeuvres and target practice for many 
months, until it is now in the highest 
state of efficiency. The marksmanship of 
the American navy is better than that of 
any other nation of the world, some of 



the record shooting being little less than 
marvelous. 

Taken altogether, the new disposition 
of the ships of the American Xavy means 
security for the Pacific Coast from attack 
by any nation. An important point, 
which seems to have been missed by most 
writers on the subject is that the pres- 
ence of a powerful fleet in the Pacific will 
insure the retention of our outlying coal- 
ing and repair stations, such as those in 
Hawaii and the Philippines. If any of 
these were threatened, the fleet could be 
despatched to them to drive off the at- 
tacking ships. Even if they should fait 
before a sudden onslaught, they would 
not remain long in the enemy's hands, for 
we could retake them in a short time. 
However, these depots are now being for- 
tified so that they would probably be able 
to stand off an attacking fleet until the 
arrival of our own. 

It must be admitted that in torpedo 
vessels, the United States is inferior to 
Japan. In the Japanese Navy there are 
54 destroyers, 79 torpedo boats and five 
submarines, while the American navy pos- 
sesses but sixteen destroyers, 33 torpedo 
boats and 12 submarines. All of the 




MONITOR WYOMING 



202 



OVERLAND MONTHLY. 



Japanese torpedo fleet are in the Pacific 
Ocean, where the United States navy has 
but eight destroyers, four torpedo boats 
and two submarines. 

Still, it must be borne in mind that the 
experiences of the Spanish-American war 
and of the Eusso-Japanese war prove 
conclusively that the torpedo boat is a 
much over-rated weapon. They are of 
great value for certain things, such as 
reconnoitering, making sudden dashes un- 
der cover of fog or darkness, and for giv- 
ing the coup-de-grace to large vessels al- 
ready disabled by gun fire. They are but 
auxiliary to the larger ships, just as light 



destined for the Pacific fleet; a few small 
cruisers and gunboats and the torpedo 
fleet mentioned. 

The United States Pacific fleet alone, 
when the vessels ordered here arrive, will 
consist of the following: 

Battleships (18) Connecticut, Kan- 
sas, Louisiana, Vermont, Virginia, Geor- 
gia, New Jersey, Rhode Island, Alabama, 
Illinois, Kentucky, Kearsarge, Ohio, 
Maine, Missouri, Minnesota, Wisconsin, 
Nebraska. 

Armored cruisers (8) West Virginia, 
Maryland, Pennsylvania, Colorado, Cali- 
fornia, South Dakota^ Washington, Ten- 




GUARD MOUNT AND INSPECTION AT THE PRESIDIO. 



cruisers, gunboats, colliers and repair 
ships are auxiliary to them. The battle- 
ships and big cruisers are the mainstays 
and backbone of a navy. Our inferiority 
in torpedo craft is far more than compen- 
sated for by our superiority in all other 
classes of vessels. Japan's whole navy, 
now afloat, comprises but 17 battleships, 
many of which are old, such as some of 
those captured from Russia and refitted; 
34 large armored or protected cruisers, 
not one of which is the equal of any of 
the eight American armored cruisers now 



nessee. 

First class protected cruisers (3) 
Charleston, Milwaukee, St. Louis. 

Second class protected cruisers (9) 
Chattanooga, Cincinnati, Galveston, Ra- 
leigh, Denver, Cleveland, Chicago, Al- 
bany, New Orleans. 

Gunboats, sea-going (3) 'Princeton, 
Helena, Wilmington. 

Armored coast defense vessels (3) 
Monterey, Monadnock, Wyoming. 

The battleship Oregon is now undergo- 
ing an extensive overhauling, and within 




PRACTICE WITH MOUNTAIN HOWITZERS 



a year will be added to the Pacific fleet, 
making nineteen first class battleships in 
all. Excluding the Oregon, however, it 
will be seen at once that before the end of 
this year, the Pacific fleet will consist of 
29 armored vessels, most of them heavy, 
modern, powerful battleships and armored 
cruisers, the entire fleet, exclusive of tor- 
pedo and other auxiliary craft, number- 
ing 44 sea-going fighting ships. 

That the total battery power of this 
great fleet is enormous may be realized 
when it is considered that the fleet carries 
74 12-inch guns, 12 10-inch, 118 8-inch, 
and several hundred guns of lesser cali- 
bre. The weight of metal that the com- 
bined fleet can throw is a matter for the 
imagination to attack. 

So much for the naval factor of the de- 
fense of the Pacific Coast. 

As for the army factor, it is comforting 
to know that San Francisco is, with the 
exception of New York, the most strongly 
fortified city in the country. Its batteries 
are ample, well placed and heavily armed. 
and its harbor is divided into fields, which 
can be strewn with submarine mines at 
two days' notice. At the Presidio, Fort 
Miley. Fort Baker and Point Bonita, guns 
of the heaviest calibre 12-inch are 
mounted on disappearing carriages; 12- 
inch mortars are placed at several places 



in pits, where they cannot be reached by 
an enemy's shot, however powerful ; 8 inch 
and 5-inch rapid-fire guns are mounted 
in advantageous places for engaging at 
close range, and an admirable system of 
lange finding and fire control has been 
installed. Puget Sound is also thorough- 
ly fortified, its narrow waters being 
fringed with batteries carrying guns of 
high power. Forts Flagler, Worden, Co- 
lumbia and Casey are strong strategic po- 
sitions, well armed. At the entrance to 
the Columbia river is Fort Stevens, up- 
to-date and well armed, but it is thought 
that other batteries might with advantage 
be placed at this important entrance. San 
Diego is defended by Fort Eosecrans, and 
with this the list of Pacific Coast ports 
which are provided with fortifications 
ends. Puget Sound, Portland, San Fran- 
cisco and San Diego are the only ports 
on the coast which can stand an enemy 
off until the arrival of a relieving fleet. 
An enemy, in the absence of a fleet, can 
land anywhere on the Pacific Coast he 
likes, except at the places named, pro- 
vided, of course, that our navy permits 
him to reach our shores. 

At the principal ports along the coast 
plans have been perfected for the speedy 
laying of submarine mines, the great effi- 
cacy of which was so well demonstrated 



204 



OVERLAID MONTHLY. 



during the Russo-Japanese war. Hundreds 
of mines are stored away in secure places, 
and there are torpedo companies included 
in the coast artillery, composed of men 
specially trained in the handling of mines. 

One manifest weakness of our coast de- 
fense, particularly on the Pacific Coast, is 
the scarcity of trained artillerymen. Mod- 
ern ordnance is complicated, and requires 
expert artisans and mechanicians not only 
for its use but for its preservation in a 
high state of efficiency. Although the ar- 
tillery corps was increased by Congress 
at its last session, the increase was still 
far below the needs of the service. Even 
with the increase, the coast fortifications 
are barely manned when every company 
is called out. In time of war, when re- 
liefs must be furnished for the guns, there 
would be no reserve upon which to call. 

It was due to an appreciation of this 
fact that the War Department has called 
upon the National Guard to act as a re- 
serve for the coast defenses. For several 
years, in the East, the experiment has 
been found successful, and within the last 



two months the National Guardsmen of 
California have been mobilized at the for- 
tifications of San Francisco and at San 
Diego, where they have received instruc- 
tion in the handling of the artillery, large 
and small, at the various batteries. 

The Second, Fifth and Seventh regi- 
ments of infantry of the California Na- 
tional Guard, were called out and for 
over two weeks had practical exercise? 
with modern ordnance. The zeal and pro- 
ficiency they displayed won for them the 
highest praise from the regular officers 
and men, who were pleased to find that 
such good material existed for them to 
call upon should hostilities occur. Day 
after day, the militiamen participated ic 
all the acts that would be performed 
should an attack be made upon San Fran- 
cisco. There were simulations of attacks 
from seaward, both by day and by night, 
during which the heavy guns were brought 
into play, and the mortar batteries dis- 
charged at proper times. 

These mortar batteries are among the 
most interesting details of the coast de- 




MACHINE OUNS IN ACTION". 



DEFENDING THE PACIFIC COAST. 



205 



fenses. They are in pits, and are used 
for high angle fire. No shot can strike 
them, for they are far below the surface 
of the hillocks in which they are placed. 
So remarkable is their accuracy and so 
refined the delicate instruments used in 
aiming them, that the great 12-inch shells 
they discharge can be dropped with pre- 
cision in any chosen spot. There are 
usually four mortars in each battery, all 
of which may be discharged simultane- 
ously, and it means disaster for any ves- 
sel to receive one of these deadly projec- 



so as to fall upon that spot, which they 
may be depended upon to do. 

Throughout the coast defense, there is 
an elaborate system of inter-communica- 
tion between the various batteries, range- 
finders and other important points. By 
means of telephones and visual signaling, 
the commanding officer is in constant 
touch with all of his subordinates, and 
with every gun in the defenses. Fire- 
control, which does not mean suppression 
of conflagration, but control of the firing 
from the guns, has been elaborated until 




OFFICER DIRECTING MOVEMENTS THROUGH FIELD TELEPHONE. 



tiles, falling from skyward, upon unar- 
mored deck and plunging down into the 
vitals below. 

The harbor and its approaches are di- 
vided into a large number of rectangles, 
each of which is numbered and its exact 
distance and bearing known to the offi- 
cers in charge of the mortar batteries. 
When a ship is seen entering, say, rec- 
tangle 365, that number is telephoned to 
the mortar batteries commanding the rec- 
tangle, and the mortars are quickly aimed 



now the entire method of fire is actually 
under the thumb of the commanding offi- 
cer. There is no firing at will unless he 
so desires H. 

Recently it has been decided to enlarge 
the Benicia arsenal, with a view of carry- 
ing on there the manufacture of ammuni- 
tion and other military supplies on a 
larger scale than ever before. This ar- 
senal, on account of its central and con- 
venient location, will then be the main 
ammunition depot of the Pacific Coast. 




VISUAL SIGNALING "WIG-WAG"" SYSTEM. 







FIELD ARTILLERY ON THE MARCH. 



MY PLACE. 



207 



At the present time, there are stationed 
in the States of Washington, Oregon and 
California, twenty-seven companies of 
coast artillery, of which one is a torpedo 
company; three batteries of light artil- 
lery; two batteries of mountain artillery; 
one company of the hospital corps; one 
company of the signal corps; ten troops 
of cavalry, and four regiments of ,infan- 
try. There are also two battalions of 
infantry in Alaska and one in Hawaii. 

This represents a total of about 11,000 
regular troops now stationed on the 
Pacific Coast. In time of war, this num- 
ber would have to be increased to 100,000 
at once, for defensive purposes alone; to 
man the permanent fortifications and to 
have an army to repel an invasion until 
the navy could arrive to defeat it. 

It is almost impossible, however, to im- 
agine any serious attempt being made to 
attack any Pacific Coast town, unless by 
a sudden raid, which might do damage, 
but would not last long enough to work 
any permanent injury to the coast. The 
arrival of the great Atlantic fleet of bat- 
tleships insures that no formidable ex- 
pedition can reach our shores in a short 
time, if at all. 

There is, too, that great factor of war- 
fare, wealth, on our side of the Pacific 
Ocean. Money is needed in vast quantities 
in war, and no nation has quite as much 
wealth, actual and potential, as the United 
States. The only hope that another na- 
tion could have in the way of recouping 



its treasury would be by securing a great 
indemnity from the United States, but 
that would mean defeat for this country. 
Defeat can only come if we neglect our 
navy and permit it to fall into ineffi- 
ciency. As long as we have a strong, alert, 
efficient navy, we can retain the command 
of the Pacific Ocean, and having this com- 
mand, we can regard any warlike demon- 
strations in the Pacific with composure. 

It is another important and fortunate 
fact for the United States that we are 
self-reliant in every military sense. We 
do not have to go abroad for ships, guns, 
food or money. Every kind of arm and 
munition of war is found right in this 
country. We have our own shipyards, 
our own armor factories, our own gun 
foundries, our own ammunition depots. 
We can build the largest ships and guns 
and do not have to go abroad to float our 
public loans. Our own people quickly 
snap up our war bonds. 

Doubtless there will be great wars 
waged on the waters of the Pacific Ocean 
in the future, with the great changes 
brought by the awakening of the Orient 
and the competition between Occidental 
nations for the Orient's trade. Doubtless, 
the United States will take a hand in some 
of these great conflicts but by maintaining 
our naval supremacy the conflicts will be 
fewer and shorter, and above all, it is 
not probable that the severe fighting will 
be on our own coast. It will take place 
farther West. 



MY PLACE 

BY MABEL PORTER PITTS 

I watch the sunshine on the distant fields, 

I feel the glory of a moonlit sky, 
And know by vague desire which through me steals 

That not a cause, but pensioner am I. 



>. 




r / 

mft;:.. -ffflftM'/, i'' I 

^/i : ;:MmW." ' li-v-iiA.-/ 




HON. JOS. B. FORAKER, UNITED STATES SENATOR OF OHIO. 

Drawn by R. W. Borough. 



HIGH POLITICS IN OHIO 



BY 
WASHINGTON DAVIS 

Author of "Camp-Fire Chats of the Civil War," "The Syndic," 
Literary Associate of Huhert Howe Bancroft. 

DRAWING BY R. W. BOROUGH. 



and 




T'S GETTING warm 
in Ohio politics. 

California's view of 
the Foraker-Taf t fight 
there may be ex- 
pressed in a few blunt 
words, based on the 
positive facts of the 
personal political history of the United 
States Senator as compared with that of 
the Secretary of War. One short para- 
graph will do for each. Both are natives 
of Ohio. 

"William Howard Taft, born in Hamil- 
ton County, Ohio, 1857, was appointed as- 
sistant prosecuting attorney in 1881 ; ap- 
pointed collector of internal revenue by 
President Arthur, 1882; appointed by 
Governor (now United States Senator) 
Foraker, Judge of the Superior Court "of 
Cincinnati, 1887; appointed Solicitor- 
General by President Harrison in 1890; 
appointed president of the United States 
Philippine Commission by President Mc- 
Kinley in 1900; appointed civil governor 
of Philippine Islands by President Mc- 
Kinley in 1901; appointed Secretary of 
War by President Eoosevelt, 1904." 
Congressional Directory. 

Now, with due respect to the Secretary 
of War, let us look at the record of the 
United States Senator: 

"Joseph Benson Foraker was born July 
5, 1846, on a farm near Eainsboro, High- 
land County, Ohio; enlisted July 14, 1862, 
as a private in Co. A. 89th Ohio Vol. In- 
fantry, with which he served until close 



of war, at which time he held rank of 1st 
Lieutenant and brevet Captain; was 
graduated from Cornell University, 
Ithaca, N. Y., July 1, 1869; admitted to 
the bar and entered on practice of law 
in Cincinnati, Ohio, Oct. 14, 1869: was 
elected Judge of the Superior Court of 
Cincinnati April, 1879; resigned on ac- 
count of ill health May 1, 1882; was the 
Eepublican candidate for Governor of 
Ohio in 1883, but was defeated; was elect- 
ed to that office in 1885, and re-elected in 
1887; again nominated and defeated in 
1889; was chairman of the Eepublican 
State Conventions of Ohio for 1886, 1890, 
1896, and 1900, and a delegate at large 
from Ohio to the National Eepublican 
Conventions in 1884, 1888, 1892, 1896, 
1900 and 1904; was chairman of the Ohio 
delegation in the conventions of 1884 and 
1888, and presented to both of these con- 
ventions the name of the Hon. John Sher- 
man for nomination to the Presidency; 
in the conventions of 1892 and 1896 served 
as chairman of the Committee on Eesolu- 
tions, and as such reported the platform 
each time to the conventions; presented 
the name of Wm. McKinley to the conven- 
tions of 1896 and 1900 for nomination to 
the Presidency ; was elected United States 
Senator January 15, 1896, to succeed Cal- 
vin S. Brice, and took his seat Ma-rch 4, 
1897; was re-elected January 15, 1902, to 
succeed himself. His term of service will 
expire March 3, 1909." Congressional 
Directory. 

Thus, while the Honorable Secretary of 
War has always been appointed to every- 
thing, never elected to anything, the Hon- 
orable United States Senator has been 
Governor of his own State twice; is now 



210 



OVERLAND MONTHLY. 



his own state's senior senator, serving 
his second term; nominated McKinley 
both times, and appointed the present 
Secretary of War to a Judgeship. 

These ase the facts. From this side of 
the Great Divide, it appears like a case of 
Foraker vs. No. 2. Taft has always played 
second fiddle, even when President Roose- 
velt did all he could to take him from the 
Philippines and put him upon the Su- 
preme Bench of the United States. 

High politics in Ohio and some other 
places are now being cut and dried for the 
next national Eepublican nomination, and 
whoever gets it is to be supported by all 
good Republicans; but California often 
skips a lot of details when wishing a de- 



sired end. We were made a State without 
going through any territorial process, and 
we like Ohio all right, but we prefer to 
deal with men who are and have been 
elected rather than those who have been 
appointed. 

It's Foraker vs. No. 2. Though Taft 
might make a good president, he would 
still be No. 2, for we've had one Fat 
President already. 

Senator Foraker, as the facts of history 
prove, has always been No. 1 or nothing, 
generally No. 1. I think he ought to be 
President of the United States. 

California wants no No. 2's either in 
National, State or Municipal administra- 
tions. 



NEGLECT 

BY 
W. G. TINCKOM-FERKA^DEZ 



IF Time the reaper brushed his sleeves of gray 
Through this old garden, bidding me request 
Some trifle of the weeds that all unguessed 
Long flourished here, I know what I would say. 
Into this garden on an autumn day 
There came a man bound for the weary West, 
Who spake me fair, and paused to be my guest, 
Grew warm beside my fire, and went his way. 

But never more I saw him : Dark years fled, 

And often I recalled the pleasant hour 

We lonely souls had spent; and soon there grew 

Eegret upon regret, for then I knew 

We might have been good friends But now that flower 

In my garden blooms, and he is dead. 




NEW HOME FOR AGED AND INFIRM ON THE ALMSHOUSE TRACT. 

SPENDING $9,181,403.23 

THE FIRST ACCURATE ACCOUNT OF THE SAN 

FRANCISCO RELIEF FUND AND ITS 

ACTUAL DISBURSEMENT 

BY 
WINNIFRED MEARS 

ILLUSTRATED WITH PHOTOGRAPHS. 

There have been many published articles on the distribution of the funds 
which flowed so generously into San Francisco immediately after the disaster of 
April, 1906. But the actual account of how every dollar was spent has been until 
now withheld from the people of this city. We are glad, therefore, to publish the 
following account of what was really done with the nine million dollars sub- 
scribed by the world for the relief of the city's sufferers. EDITOR. 




UGH HAS been written 
and read of San 
Francisco and its dis- 
aster of April 18, 
1906. The calamity, 
unparalleled in his- 
tory, the indescrib- 
able mass of fugitives 
made homeless by the fire, the excep- 
tional bravery of these 200,000 men and 
women, confronting an uncertain future 
with smiling and determined faces all 
have had their share of wonderment and 
commendation. 

The resumption of commercial and 
business activities of the city has been 
of equal interest and importance, but of 



the actual work done by the Kehabilita- 
tion Committee, and what was accom- 
plished by the disbursement of the Re- 
lief Funds, the public at large has had 
little, if any, account of. 

Never in history have greater demands 
been made upon the sympathy and gen- 
erosity of this nation, and the methods 
to be used in disbursing the millions do- 
nated in such a manner as to accomplish 
the most good and least injury to Ihe self- 
respect of families hitherto independent, 
needed wise and grave consideration, and 
called for a committee endowed not alone 
with necessary finances, but with a keen 
knowledge of human nature and much 
experience in dealing with men. 



212 



OVEKLAND MONTHLY. 



This ".Relief" comprised the relief sup- 
plies, the Congressional appropriation, 
and the direct and local subscriptions, 
with those of the Amercan National Bed 
Cross and its branches in all, $9,181,- 
403.23 (of which $312,035.82 was for- 
eign.) 

The first important problems of food 
and clothing solved by the distribution of 
the relief supplies to the long lines of 
patient and hungry refugees, the next es- 
sential feature presented was the provid- 
ing of adequate shelter in the relief camps 
for these homeless thousands. The $2- 
500,000 Congressional appropriation was 
disbursed by the United States army, un- 
der the direction of the Headquarters of 
the Pacific Division, during the emergency 
period of April and May, 1906, and also 
in the following months of June and July, 
1906, during which time it was possible 
to administer relief in a more systematic 
way. This money provided food and 



porated, with a board of twenty-one direc- 
tors and an executive committee of five, 
with James D. Phelan president, F. W. 
Dohrmann vice-president, and J. Downey 
Harvey secretary, which has carried on 
the work to the present time, through its 
fire departments. 

Commencing in the month of Septem- 
ber, 1906, the thirteen camps which had 
been "under canvas" were changed from 
the "tent" to "cottage" camps. These 
cottages, size fourteen by sixteen feet, 
contain two rooms, others three rooms, and 
were erected by the Lands and Buildings 
Department. The maximum population 
of these permanent camps has been about 
seventeen thousand. 

In all the camps, the cottages are oc- 
cupied by self-supporting families or 
widows with children. The small sum of 
$2 per room per month has been paid by 
the occupants, not as rent, but held by the 
corporation, and now being refunded to 




SOME REFUGEE SHACKS NOT UNDER THE CORPORATION. 



clothing, bedding, tenting and medicinal 
supplies for the relief camps and for the 
transportation of them, and for the mov- 
ing of troops. 

On July 20, 1906, the "San Francisco 
Relief and "Red Cross Funds" was incor- 



the occupants at such time as they move 
their cottage to a lot, either leased or 
owned by them. These camps were es- 
tablished mostly in the public parks and 
on leased land. 

In some of the camps the element is 




JOHN E. EMERY. 



RABBI VOORSAJSTGER. 



FATHER CROVVLEY. 



largely Italian, in others Oriental. No 
single men were granted cottages, as the 
existing high wages were considered suffi- 
cient to afford room rent and have ample 
funds for living expenses. 

The occupants of the camps could be 
called "certified refugees" those who 
were burned out, those shaken out, and 
those raised out by excessive rents; base- 
ments which formerly could be had for 
$10 to $12 now demanding $40 to $50. 

Each camp was supplied with sterilized 
water, wash-houses with hot and cold run- 
ning water, and bath-houses with shower 
baths of both hot and cold running water. 
In a few camps, bath-tubs were also 
placed. The sanitation of the camps was 
excellent, the sewer, water system and 
drainage being carefully arranged. Am- 
ple numbers of fire extinguishers, ladders, 
axes and hose wagons are visible as a 
precaution for frequent small blazes. In 
fact, they are model camps. 

An amusing incident is related of an 
Italian family who, although they insisted 
that they had been "burned out," when 
they appeared to take possession of a 
camp cottage, had eight express-wagon 
loads of household goods. The comfort 
and cleanliness of the cottages had ap- 
pealed too strongly to them ! 



The thirteen camps of self-supporting 
families are of especial interest and exem- 
plify a harmony of organization and disci- 
pline. Probably never before had some of 
this class lived in cleanliness and com- 
fort, nor were able to earn such high 
wages. In place of ill-ventilated tene- 
ment houses, each family had its own 
tiny cottage, with the ultimate hope of 
owning not only a roof over their heads, 
but the lot on which it will eventually 
stand, for among the poorer classes the 
problem of rent (whether for house or 
room), sometimes takes precedence over 
the amount to be used for food and cloth- 
ing. Truly, a great calamity is not with- 
out its compensation at least to some. 

The Park Commissioners have re- 
quested that the Relief Corporation assist 
in moving the refuge cottages from the 
public squares to permanent sites between 
August 1st and 17th, 1907, or as soon 
after as possible. This notice, printed in 
seferal languages has been distributed 
through the camps. About fifty per cent 
of the refugees already own lots, upon 
which to move their homes, and about 
seven hundred have already done so. The 
total number of cottages has been reduced 
to about five thousand five hundred at 
present. What arrangements will be 



214 



OVEKLAND MONTHLY. 




FIRST REFUGEE COTTAGE BUILT IN SAN 

FEANOISCO BY FATHER CROWLEY 

AND JAMES RALPH, JR. 

made for those who cannot move is one of 
the problems left for the corporation to 
unravel; however, the issue of meal tick- 
ets was reduced in six weeks' time from 
twenty thousand eight hundred and sixty- 
seven a day to one thousand four hundred 
and ninety-seven a day, and thus will all 
the relief camps be closed and the parks 
be cleared. 

The Ingleside Home for Aged and In- 
firm, of all the camps, is the most unique, 
with its twenty-four adjacent buildings to 
be used gratuitously by the corporation for 
the purpose of housing refugees, so old or 
infirm that they could not work, or those 
who were temporarily unable to work as a 
result of illness or accident. There were 
about one thousand inmates, but less than 
six hundred now, some of whom will 
eventually become public charges. These 
buildings, formerly the shelter for the 
finest of race horses, were changed into 
very comfortable abodes. Each stall was 
floored, and the dividing walls covered 
with unbleached muslin, and in each 
building hot and cold water was installed, 
also one or more large stoves for heating 
purposes. Several buildings were devoted 
solely to the poor old ladies, some to the 
aged men and others to married couples. 
Still other buildings were converted into 
a chapel, an assembly hall, a store-house, 
a butcher shop, blacksmith shop, cobbler's, 
dining hall, dispensary, hospital and laun- 
dry, each and all well heated and supplied 



with electricity. The chapel has its or- 
gan, the assembly hall its stage and piano, 
books and tables. Several times a week 
the different charitable organizations hold 
various entertainments for the refugees. 
The sewing cottage has five or six ma- 
chines for the use of those able to make 
their own garments. There is even a cob- 
bler to mend their old shoes, who receives 
SI a day and material. 

The food furnished is good and well 
cooked. Each building is perfect in its 
order and cleanliness, and regular inspec- 
tions are held every week. New inmates 
were furnished with changes of under- 
wear, as well as the outside clothing, and 
on Wednesdays the old men receive a 
given portion of tobacco. While some re- 
pented the idea of going to Ingleside at 
first, as synonymous with the Almshouse, 
yet ivh&n there, are quite content, and 
spend much time roaming over the fields 
of beautiful golden poppies and basking 
in the glorious California sunshine. The 
Ingleside improvements cost $26,737.95. 

The maintenance of Ingleside camp 
has been a little less than 50 cents a head 
per day. By October 15th or November 
1st, the refugees will be moved to the new 
Home for the Aged and Infirm, now in 
process of completion on the Almshouse 
tract. To many this move will be the last 
fall of pride, and some few who are able 
to work even a little are saving their pen- 
nies, so that when the dreaded day arrives 
they can again face the world as self-re- 
liant citizens. 

This new Home for the Aged and In- 
firm will cost about $200,000, and is built 
in the form of an exact "E," on the crest 
of a hill flanked by the Sutro forests, with 
the Twin Peaks in the distance, and fac- 
ing a magnificent view of the Pacific to 
the west. The building will be 502 feet 
long by about 350 feet wide, contains ten 
wards, arranged in five buildings to a 
side, each accessible to the other. There 
will be two hundred and forty rooms, and 
the building can house about two thou- 
sand people. 

The expense of water and plumbing has, 
perhaps, been sacrificed to "view" a fact 
which the inmates of the future will en- 
joy, because of the chosen site on a hill. 

There will be two dining rooms, one 
40x150, and the other 36x96, and a 



SPENDING $9,181,403.23. 



215 



kitchen 76 feet square. Besides this, there 
will be one thousand feet of covered porch, 
seven hundred feet of it enclosed with 
glass. This building will contain, prob- 
ably, the most complicated plumbing con- 
struction of any building in the city. 

The operative expenses of the camps 
and warehouse was $566,370.14, including 
Ingleside and South Park. Mr. Eudolph 
Spreckels was chairman of the Camps and 
Warehouses department. 

From a rough census, taken in April, 
1907, approximately twelve thousand peo- 
ple (of which 20 per cent were single 
men) were found housed in shacks and 
tents, outside of the permanent camps. 
The greatest number were found in the 
Mission district. The sanitary conditions 
were shocking, and in striking contrast 
with the camps under the supervision of 
the Eelief Corporation. Some of these 
houses are fairly comfortable, and have 
been built on leased land, signifying 
the occupants' intention to remain in- 
definitely. The Eelief Corporation 
ceased on April 1, 1907, to grant money 
monthly to the city for the payment of 
sanitary inspectors under the city depart- 
ment of public health, only continuing 
contributions for the permanent camps. 

The money spent by the Lands and 
Buildings Department, Thomas Magee, 
chairman, was $1,690,604.60, of which 
about $490,000 was used for the '"bonus 
plan." 

(A bonus was offered to any one 
building in the burned district, the bonus 
to be a third of the cost of a house, but no 
bonus to exceed $500. No stipulation 
was placed on the cost of the house.) 

The eight hundred applicants for the 
last one hundred thousand proved the 
success of the plan. 

The improvements on the Ingleside 
buildings, the erection of the new Home 
for the Aged and Infirm, the building of 
the cottages on the public squares and the 
nineteen apartment houses at South Park, 
reflect great credit on the "Lands and 
Buildings" Departments. The cost of the 
nineteen apartment houses at the South 
Park camp was $38,627.24, averaging 
$2,000 each. 

The six thousand cottages were built at 
an average cost of $100 for two rooms and 



$150 for three rooms, including plumb- 
ing. 

The buying and transporting of the 
lumber to the city for the cottages was ac- 
complished with great difficulty under the 
conditions existing at that time. Ground 
was broken in September, 1906, and there 
were enough cottages to house the refugees 
in camp before the winter rains com- 
menced. 

The Department of Eelief and Ee- 
habilitation, F. W. Dohrmann, chairman, 
disbursed $3,020,000 for rehabilitation of 
individuals and families. 

The work of this bureau was divided 
among seven sections, one member of the 
Eelief Committee acting as chairman of 
each section. The expenses were $331, 
430.73.* 

A large number of men and women who 
had been connected with charity work be- 
fore the fire volunteered their time and 
services to this committee for the admin- 
istering and apportionment of the special 
relief funds. Their assistance was given 
untiringly and unselfishly, for one long 
year, totally ivithout compensation of any 
sort whatsoever, except the gratitude and 
appreciation of the citizens, and their own 
vital interest in relieving suffering and 
want; or civic pride in work well done. 
These sections handled twenty-eight 
thousand five hundred and four applica- 
tions for aid, which were passed upon by 
at least one member of the Committee of 
Seven. The grants ranged from $20 to 
$300. The average was $100. 

To some of the applicants, "investiga- 
tion" was looked upon as an injustice; 
nevertheless it remains a necessary evil, 
for this system prevented possible dupli- 
cation and imposition, and secured to the 
needy necessary aid 

Pleas varied, from the old woman who 
wanted "a piano to rest her soul at night ' 
after a hard day's washing, to the woman 
who appeared with a soup tureen, having 
heard that something was to be given 
away; she did not know whether it would 
be wet or dry, so came prepared. 

To some it was a temptation to de- 
ceive, and the investigators were necessar- 
ily careful in eliminating frauds. Few 

"This $331,430.73 includes the $165,144.88 for 
the Bureau of Hospitals; the $58,330.30 for the 
Bureau of Special Relief; and the $35,902.52 for 
the Industrial Centers. 



216 



OVERLAND MONTHLY. 



grants were made to those able to find 
suitable employment, unless death or ill- 
ness had proved an additional burden. 

The arduous duties of the Transporta- 
tion Committee, 0. K. Gushing, chair- 
man, can be realized in the days when the 
line of applicants extended more than 
half way down the block. In one instance 
a man appeared who had the day before 
been granted transportation to Seattle, 
and when asked why he returned, replied 
that he wished to return it to purchase a 
half-fare ticket, money having been re- 
ceived by him in the morning's mail. He 
had stood patiently, the additional four 



Gallwey, chairman, disbursed $253,833. 
About two thousand applications were re- 
ceived, and the average grant made was 
$127. Most of these were from people 
over sixty years of age, about sixty per 
cent of whom enjoyed good health, and 
could be rehabilitated in a small way in 
order to become self-supporting. (Less 
than three per cent were sent to Ingleside 
to be cared for.) 

Homes for the homeless or unsupported 
children were found with families some- 
times relatives, on payment of a small 
sum per month for support the grant 
usually placed in trust with the Asso- 




LOBOS SQUARE CAMP. 



or five hours, in line waiting a second 
time for conscience sake. 

This section supplied aid in case of ill- 
ness or emergency, when the relief re- 
quired a grant of money instead of cloth- 
ing or groceries. 

During the "emergency period" $166,- 
831.02 was disbursed, including freight, 
under "Transportation," and but 
$4,639.51 under the regular administra- 
tion. 

The section on aged and infirm, unsup- 
ported children and friendless girls, Dr. 



ciated Charities. Friendless girls re- 
ceived assistance by providing them with 
grants for clothing to equip themselves 
suitably for positions. Some were aided 
with money to complete their education as 
bookkeepers, stenographers and training 
for nurses. Many elderly people were 
made comfortable by granting furniture 
and necessities during the winter months, 
until their condition improved such as 
those who owned their homes, and previ- 
ous to the disaster had small incomes from 
rentals, most of which was lost in the fire. 



SPENDING $9,181,403.23. 



21' 






Under the section on "unsupported and 
partially supported families," many were 
the pathetic tales poured into the ears of 
Mrs. Merrill and Mrs. Scott, and not once 
did these women of character cease to 
listen to the cry of "make me glad again." 
Tales of a woman's hands tied by care 
of large families, with sick, dissipated or 
deserting husbands cases of patient wait- 
ing and of suffering, calling not only on 
the committee's sympathy, but executive 
ability to plan a practical solution of 
pressing needs. Each and every one was 
met with listening ears and helping hands 
irrespective of color, race or religion. The 
sad case of a handsome young woman (of 
the half-world) who was given a grant 
for medical treatment at a hospital, where 
after the operation she died of heart fail- 
ure. The funeral expenses and hospital 
hills were paid and her personal effects 
sent to her mother. 

The amusing and pathetic case of a 
Swedish widow, whose song had built a 
neat three room cottage, only to find that 
they had placed it upon the lot next their 
own. The small wages earned by the 
sons was scarcely sufficient for the in- 
stallments on their lot and their frugal 
meals. A grant for furniture, clothing 
and the moving of their house was given 
them. 

A refined old colored woman and daugh- 
ter were found living in a shack made 
from waste lumber and boxes: the roof 
tipped to one side so they could not stand 
erect. They were sleeping on wooden 
bunks with insufficient covering, and with 
a broken camp stove to cook upon. The 
mother suffered from cataract in both 
eyes. The grant supplied the necessary 
needs of clothing and furniture and 
patched up their house. 

The Confidential Section, Archdeacon 
Emery, chairman, expended about $150,- 
000. This work reached cases only to be 
discovered through a parish priest, minis- 
ter or a family physician. The tuition for 
the six remaining months of a senior year 
was paid -for a young Calif ornian taking 
an M. D. in an Eastern college; also for 
an expert librarian. 

Another case provided special treatment 
until cured to a young lady afflicted with 
melancholia and confined in a public 
ward of an asylum in a foreign country, 



to which city the mother and daughter 
had sought refuge with relatives after the 
fire. Money was sent to a private charity 
which cared for poor children, convales- 
cent from typhoid fever, and insure for 
them rest, fresh air and proper nourish- 
ment through the summer. Relief was 
given an aged scientist whose collection 
was burned, and his only means of a live- 
lihood taken from him.' Professors, den- 
tists, lawyers and physicians were assisted 
to purchase libraries and instruments. 

The section on Housing and Shelter, 
.Reverend Father D. 0. Crowley, chair- 
man, have nearly completed 1400 houses 
at an expense to the corporation of $600,- 
000, the other half of the expense being 
paid by the owners. 

Never before in the history of San 
Francisco have so many of the working 
classes owned their homes. They are 
scattered all over the city limits, from 
Telegraph Hill to Ocean View, and from 
the Richmond District to the Potrero. 
The committee did not limit the cottages 
to the burned district, and this wide scat- 
tering will for generations to come pre- 
vent the former congested districts where 
the families of the "great unwashed" 
lacked living space and "soul space." 

Many of the hard-working laborers with 
families of five to eight children are liv- 
ing at .present in comfortable homes of 
three, five and six rooms with bath. For- 
merly they occupied one or possibly two 
rooms, either in basements or at the rear 
of their small shops. Their children now 
play among the sand hills or grass and 
flowers, in the pure, clean air, where pre- 
viously these poor little wharf-rats played 
in the dark alleys or cold cellars. Some 
of these modest homes have already pretty 
gardens of vegetables and flowers started 
by the children, while the bread-winners 
are at work, for there will be no lack of 
employment of unskilled labor for many 
years. 

Mark Twain has wisely said, "No man 
shoiilders a gun to fight for a boarding 
house." 

About one thousand six hundred appli- 
cations were adjusted for business re- 
habilitation, the appropriation $500,000. 
Charles F. Leege, chairman. Grants were 
made for the purpose of rehabilitating 
numerous boarding and lodging houses. 




JEFFERSON SQUARE CAMP. 



metal and marble works, restaurants, deli- 
catessen stores, wicker works, a tamale 
restaurant, patent medicines, laundries, a 
church supply store, a phonograph store, 
horses and wagons for junk peddlers, gro- 
ceries, butcher shops, a sausage and pickle 
factory, florist, an artificial flower shop, 
one application for a washing machine 
was granted, Christmas tree venders, an- 
tique furniture stores, fish-nets and vats 
supplied; one woman started in the real 
estate business; bake shops, one years' in- 
stallment on pianos for music teachers 
paid; a dog and bird store, instruments 
for physicians and dentists and a cosmetic 
shop. Among the applications came one 
to establish a "hair-restorer business," the 
applicant even offering "to try it on" the 
bald-headed investigator. History does 
not record the result. 

One street sweeper wanted to become 
a scavenger, and his ambition was grati- 
fied. Do not let me forget the Chinaman 
who was re-established as a cigar manu- 
facturer, to the amount of $250; nor the 
reteran of the civil war, who was given 
tools for a small carpenter shop as he 
was too old to compete with younger car- 
penters. 

About three thousand applications for 



furniture were received, and the average 
grant made was $100. 

The committee, believing that general 
relief was no longer needed, the taking of 
applications was ended on February 15, 
1907, except in cases of dire want, and on 
March 15th, the Application Bureau was 
closed, and the Bureau of Special Relief 
attended to all emergency claims. By 
July 1st, all cases were adjusted, and ac- 
tive work stopped, the committee leaving 
any further relief to the regular chari- 
table societies, and for whom there will be 
work for many months. Even the Hous- 
ing Committee is winding up its affairs. 

The Bureau of Hospitals supplied care 
to three thousand five hundred and sev- 
enty-one patients, for the total expense of 
$167,229.10, from April 18, 1906, to July 
1, 1907, which includes the cost of sup- 
plies given during the emergency period 
to hospitals as part payment for medical 
service rendered. 

The payment of $2 a day per patient 
to the seven accredited hospitals was of 
great assistance to these institutions, and 
helped them to meet expenses. At pres- 
ent there are about 200 patients in the 
hospitals, at the expense of the relief 
fund. The care of patients in hospitals 



SPENDING $9,181,403.23. 



219 



at the expense of the fund must of neces- 
sity be continued as long as the permanent 
camps are maintained, to avoid the spread 
of contagious diseases and because the 
camp cottages do not afford sufficient room 
for the sick ones. The general health of 
the laboring classes has been greatly im- 
proved by the outdoor life. 

The Bureau of Special Belief opened 
August 15, 1906, and have disbursed since 
then $58,330.30 to eight hundred families 
in distress, for clothing, fuel, food, medi- 
cine and repairing shelters: also the ap- 
plications for sewing machines were in- 
vestigated, and one thousand six hundred 
machines, at an expense of $36,000, were 
quickly distributed. 

The Bureau of Industrial Centers 
comprised many sewing centers, 
where over seventy-five thousand gar- 
ments were made, mostly by volunteer 
workers. Several cutters were in paid em- 
ploy. This bureau had charge of all the 
social halls in the camps, and superin- 
tended the kindergartens in the camps in 
the mornings, the sewing classes in the 
afternoons, and arranged for lectures, con- 
certs and various entertainments given for 
the camp refugees in the evenings. 

The social halls served alike for club 
and reading room, and were used im- 
partially for divine service by all de- 
nominations. The kindergartens and sew- 
ing classes for the camp children were a 
great factor for discipline during the ab- 
sence of the parents at work, keeping the 
little ones busy and out of mischief. 
Amount, $35,902.52. 

The Department of Finance, James D. 
Phelan, chairman, and William Dolge, 
auditor, was the machinery and backbone 
of the corporation. The receipt and col- 
lection of all the relief moneys, and the 
filing of numerous letters demanded ex- 
pediency and accuracy. 

Among the letters is one filed from a 
sympathetic citizen of the South, enclos- 
ing seven cents and stating that this spe- 
cial donation would have been larger but 
for the fact that two weeks previous to the 
disaster he had taken unto himself a wife, 
(an expensive proposition.) 

While this subscription was small, it 
was not without its "strings" also, to 
quote "for a poor widow with three child- 
ren, the oldest three years of age/' Messrs. 



Lester Herrick & Herrick, Certified Pub- 
lic Accountants, maintained a continuous 
audit. The expense of this department 
was $63,421.43. 

It is not without interest .to notice that 
the entire cost of administration has been 
less than four per cent a fact that 
speaks for itself. 

The Department of Bills and Demands, 
M. H. de Young chairman, adjusted 
nearly eleven thousand claims, amounting 
to $2,717,170.33 for the sum of $1,501,- 
781.52 for relief supplies confiscated by 
the authorities during the emergency per- 
iod, and for the expense of feeding, shel- 
tering and transporting the refugees, as 
well as the expense for sanitation and re- 
storation of the water supply. 

A few more figures are of interest by 
contrast: The relief of the hungry during 
the emergencv period following the dis- 
aster for three weeks, cost $729,752.39, 
while under the regular regime the maxi- 
mum cost for four weeks (July) was $75,- 
756.30. Again, under the emergency, tha 
relief of the sick and wounded, and for 
transporting them to hospitals, cost $46,- 
088.43, but during the typhoid epidemic 
in September only $17,335 was used for 
this purpose. Clothing (emergency) and 
boots and shoes, cost $29,272.55; while 
only $2,500 a month for clothes for the 
Ingleside refugees was spent under the 
corporation's rule. The amount of $23,- 
033.36 was used for the reorganization of 
the city, a small sum after so great a dis- 
aster. 

The relief and Rehabilitation of Hospi- 
tals and Charitable Institutions cost 
$355,798.05. 

The merging of the relief funds with 
those of the National Eed Cross was a 
most wise decision, in light of the recent 
municipal graft exposures, for it is cer- 
tain that the money was used to the best 
advantage, absolutely irrespective of re- 
ligious denominations. Of the members 
of the San Francisco Committee from Mr. 
Phelan down, it must be said that the 
selection could not have been improved 
upon, for they are men of ability and in- 
tegrity. This committee came together, 
forgetting their own individuality and 
personality, in a humane interest for the 
relief of the needy and civic pride in the 
betterment of their city and the relief 



220 



OVEBLAND MONTHLY. 



policies adopted, proved a test of these 
men. The committee and employees went 
right into the homes of the poor people as 
well as those of better circumstances, and 
worked, and accomplished a great amount 
of good without the hlare of trumpets. 

"The good men do lives after them.*' 
Let this be the monument to the Eelief 
Fund Committee. 

Their motive was protection of the poor, 
not patronage, for relief is indemnity, not 
charity. The plans to devise, methods to 
employ and difficulties to overcome, often 
seemed as difficult problems as the "squar- 



were, of course, some mal-contents, who 
wanted to get something for nothing 
whether they were in need or not. It was 
mainly on this account that the committee 
made every effort to close their work as 
soon as possible. 

Of the four thousand nine hundred and 
seventeen subscriptions recorded, there is 
still about one million dollars outstanding, 
of which $700,000 is held by the American 
National Eed Cross, all of which money is 
needed for the closing of relief affair^ On 
account of the removing of all the refugee 
camps, there is some chance that ma$y 




A COTTAGE BEING MOVED. 



ing of a circle," and have shown a blend- 
ing of love and law. Mr. Phelan and the 
committee proved that a wise and careful 
administration of relief should be a part 
of good government. 

The amount of red tape in some in- 
stances was slow, but was probably un- 
avoidable. One claimant remarked that 
"she earned her grant through time lost 
before getting it." 

One great difficulty was discriminating 
among applicants who were not actually 
destitute, and where investigation and re- 
fusal caused much complaint. There 



individuals will remain in need for some 
months yet to come, and in case the camps 
are not successfully moved within a few 
months the committee feels that the $700,- 
000 will be needed to relieve those still 
in distress. 

For generations to come, the blessings 
of the people of San Francisco will rest 
upon the heads of the donors of the re- 
lief fund, whose generosity has helped 
them toward faith in their city, hope for 
their prosperity, and charity for their 
losses and mistakes. "But the greatest of 
these is charity." 




CLIMI 



. 
ANOTE 

PHOTOGRAr 




HE MOUNTAIN 

stands alone, majes- 
tic and beautiful, 
dominating land and 
sea. In summer it is 
veiled in a thin blue 
haze, and in winter it 
rises snow-covered and 
clear-cut against the sky. The Japanese 
love Fuji; the common coolie has its out- 
line stamped on the towel that he wears 
twisted about his head; it is painted on 
tea cups to sell to foreigners ; it is painted 
on the walls of the Kyoto palaces; it was 
the favorite subject of Hokusai, the mas- 
ter, and about it have grown myths, fairy 
tales and poems until the mountain is 
sacred to the people of Japan. We for- 
eigners share in some degree the feeling 
of the Japanese, and, here on the Bluff, 
we climb to our attic window, sure of an 
inspiring view when a chill wind blows 
on a winter's morning, or when the sky is 



-^^ -3.U-L.tlUK. 

red at sunset. A favorite way from the 
Bluff to the Settlement takes us past the 
historic tea house of 0-kin-san, down the 
101 steps. Here a carpenter's apprentice 
may be coming up and a house coolie go- 
ing down, but we all pause and stand to- 
gether at the half-way place to gaze at 
the "Honorable Mountain." When we 
meet our friends, it is often "Good morn- 
ing! Isn't it a fine day? Fuji is glori- 
ous." Only during the nyubai that in- 
cessant warm June rain which makes the 
rice grow do we feel certain that all 
looking is useless, that Fuji is hid behind 
a curtain of gray mist. 

So the mountain on the horizon made a 
part of our lives each bright day until a 
friend said : "Would you like to climb 
Fuji?" Then we remembered a man who 
had refused to make the ascent, saying 
he feared to lose his respect for the moun- 
tain; we remembered tales of exhausted 
people being pulled to the summit by 



coolies, tales of people, snow-bound in the 
huts, who never reached the. top, and tales 
of pilgrims blown off the slope by the 
wind and dashed to pieces; nevertheless, 
we made the ascent in August of last year 
and all this winter, when we have seen 
Fuji from the attic windows or from the 
101 steps, we have recognized, in spite of 
the chill wintry aloofness, a much loved 
friend whom we would like to visit again. 

In the middle of July, when the snow 
is quite gone, the huts are opened on the 
mountain side, and they remain open un- 
til the middle of September. We planned 
to go on the 25th of August, and forthwith 
began taking long country tramps, that 
our flesh might be willing, and began 
reading what we could find about Fuji 
that our spirits, too, might be prepared 
for the climb. 

First, there were facts to learn. Fuji 
is 12,365 feet high, a volcano, not active, 
yet not extinct, for steam still comes out of 
holes near the crater, although the last 
eruption was in 1707-8. A hump was 
formed then on the south side, the one 
break in the otherwise perfect symmetrv 
of the mountain, and showers of ashes 
covered the country for miles around. 



MONTHLY. 

There are several paths for ascending, each 
divided into ten stations where one may 
stop for food or to spend the night. In 
the old days, women were not allowed to 
climb beyond the eighth station of a sa- 
cred mountain, and the first woman to 
reach the summit of Fuji was Lady 
Parkes, the wife of the British Minister 
to Japan. She made the ascent in the au- 
tumn of 1867. 

Having learned these few facts, there 
were myths that delighted our legend- 
loving souls. Near Kyoto, where Lake 
Biwa is in these days of 1907, there used 
to be many hills grouped together. One 
night there was a fearful rumbling and 
the morning light showed a lovely lake 
where the hills had stood. News came 
in a few days it traveled slowly on foot 
along the Tokaido then that a beautiful 
mountain had sprung up that same night 
I miles and miles away from Kyoto, near 
. the shores of Sufuga Bay. All the little 
hills had hurried by subterranean ways 
and bursting forth had formed Fuji. The 
mountain remains symmetrical because 
the stones and scoriae that are brought 
down by the pilgrims' feet as they descend 
all creep upwards of themselves by night, 
On the summit, to this day, lives a Shinto 




NEAR ONE OF THE LOWER STATIONS. 



CLJ 



goddess, whom the Japanese call: ' 
Princess who makes the Blossoms oJ 
Trees to Flower." I think myself 
she is the very same goddess whom 
poets love and our artists paint, onlj 
call her spring. 

On the 24th of August such a typl 
raged that we sat looking at our s 
skirts, our big hats and leggins and s 
American boots with dismay. I 
seemed absolutely unattainable. But 
25th was clear and bright, and we 1 
the train for Gotemba, picking up m 
bers of our party at Oiso and Kodzu. ' 
had made the ascent the year before, 
their pilgrims' staffs bearing the stamp 
the different stations drew murmurs 
admiration from Japanese passengers, 
was late in the afternoon when we reac 
Gotemba. The first sight to greet 
eyes as we left the station for the tea he 
near by was a throng of pilgrims, com 
down the street, real religious pilgri 
in white, with rosaries about their nei 
straw mats hanging from their should 
great round hats on their heads and st 
in their hands. After tea a little tram 
drawn by one poor mountain horse A 
hired, and we started for Subashiri, 
town some miles away at the foot of the 
mountain. We went with a clatter 
through the long street of the village, 
catching glimpses now and then of rooms 
heaped with cocoons before we got out 
into the country among the mulberry 
trees and paddies where the early rice was 
headed, and finally out on a grassy moor 
dotted with lavender scabious and white 
clematis and other late summer flowers. 
Back of us stood the Hakone mountains; 
on our right were the mountains of the 
Oyama Kange, and to our left was Fuji, 
cut by a long line of white cloud, a some- 
what ghost-like Fuji in a hazy atmos- 
phere all its own. The surrounding haze 
seemed to separate the mountain from the 
rest of the world ; we felt that we were get- 
ting no nearer and that Fuji was shrink- 
ing from us. Occasionally our conductor 
wound a pewter horn, an answer came 
from across the moor and we waited on a 
side track while another little tram-car, 
filled with returning pilgrims, went rat- 
tling by. 

It was dark when we reached Subashiri 
and found our rooms at the Yoneyama 



carrying our wraps and bags to an upper 
room. We dined in state on cold roast 
chicken and other home foods, for while 
a Japanese meal can carry a Japanese sol- 
dier for many hours on a campaign, it 
cannot carry a foreigner up Fuji. Japan- 
ese food has a way of filling a foreigner's 
stomach, while it leaves his mouth still 
hungry for more. Then to a wing of the 
house we three women folk went, climb- 
ing up a steep, winding .stair by the light 
of a quaint old lamp, held by a giggling 
neisan. Then when the neisan had bowed 
herself away, wishing us good-night, we 
saw our three little beds in a row on the 
floor, while all about the room the shoji 
and amado were shot tight, in true Jap- 
anese fashion, lest a breath of air should 
reach the honorable foreigners. We slipped 
the amado back and stood looking out into 
the night; the moon and stars were shin- 
ing down on Fuji, and Fuji, wrapped in 
a silver veil, was beautiful, majestic be- 
yond words, but unsubstantial as a dream, 
a veritable ghost mountain. 

At three we arose, and at 4.30 left the 
"Hoteru Yoneyama." Lamps were burn- 



MONTHLY. 



green slopes with the dark green of the 
forest below. We could see flags -flying 
and three stations on the slope. Then 
sunlight struck the summit, and turning 
in our saddles we saw that the sun was up, 
a red ball, above the Eastern hills. 

So we came to Umagaeshi "horse send 
back" where we were supposed to dis- 
mount and send away our ponies. Every 
way up, Fuji has its Umagaeshi. This 
one was a big open shed, with benches, 
tables, and, wonder of wonders, table 
cloths of thin muslin. Fluttering from 
the roof were hundreds of bright colored 




FROM A PHI NT BY HOKUSAI. ONE OF THE THIRTY-SIX VIEWS OF 1 I .1'. 



traiuv to a temple in the outskirts. Low 
bushes and trees by the roadside grew more 
distinct as the light grew brighter and 
the mountain as we approached seemed to 
grow always flatter and smaller until it 
looked a mere hill tr be overcome in per- 
haps an hour. Back of us, between Su- 
bashiri and the Oyama Range white clouds 
lay like the waves of the sea, and the sun- 
rise glow was red above the hills. Ahead 
of us Fuji changed from red to purple, 
then red with purple shadows and bright 



pieces of cotton towels printed especially 
for the Fuji pilgrims and left by them as 
business cards are left. Or these towels 
are often the cards of some association. 
Many villages have pilgrims' societies, to 
whirl) each member contributes a sen a 
month. Then lots are cast, and the fortu- 
nate go on the pilgrimage, led by some 
one who lias l>een before, who tells the 
stories of sacred spots and escorts his fol- 
lowers to the inn most favored by his as- 
sociation. A short distance back of the 



226 



OVERLAND MONTHLY. 



tea shed stood a torii, marking the be- 
ginning of the ascent and framing a view 
of the sacred mountain peak beyond. Then 
we plunged into a forest of evergreens and 
larches, with other trees growing from a 
carpet of fern and grass and strange flow- 
ers. At a small tea shed we left our horses 
and the walk up the mountain began. 

Presently we came to a little temple 
place with a font where pilgrims washed 
their hands and left cash and prayed for 
fair weather. Here, too, were towels for 
sale, neatly folded to tie about one's fore- 
head, and the keeper of the shrine pressed 
them upon us, predicting headaches when 
we reached the summit. 

Next we came to another shrine, a sort 
of shrine and shop combined, for here we 
bought our staffs of white wood and had 
them stamped with a hot iron by a priest 
who sat enthroned before a shrine where 
the sacred Shinto mirror and paper strips 
were hanging. 

Each tea shed, we thought (and there 
were several at convenient intervals 
through the forest) must be the first sta- 
tion, for the way was steep, and we had 
climbed long. At last as we left the wood 
and came out on a slope of bare black 
lava. "Here is the first station," our guide 
said. There it had been, and there to the 
Japanese mind it still was, though to our 
foreign eyes not a stick nor stone of it re- 
mained. Then the toil began; slow climb- 
ing on a path of cinders and scoriae for 
an hour until we saw far above us the 
rounding shoulder of the mountain and 
came to the second station. Such a 
primitive hut it was, with a low lava wall 
before it, the hut's walls of lava, too, with 
a shingle roof held down by lava. Japan- 
ese tea, bovril with pea soup and crackers, 
cheered us on to the third station, and so 
we climbed ever steadily and slowly up- 
ward through scant shrubs and hardy 
flowers. At station 4% we lingered only 
a few minutes, for the white flags of the 
sixth station seemed just above us hurry- 
ing us on. We were an hour climbing up 
the steep slopes of grey and red scoriae and 
ashes before we reached that station. The 
sixth is one of the largest and best built 
of lava, as are the others, with a high lava 
wall in front; but the room is bigger. In 
the corner on the floor were piles of quilts 
and round pillows, and up in the rafters 



were a few of the high wooden rests that 
Japanese ladies use for the backs of their 
heads, that their hair, dressed for several 
days, may not become untidy while they 
sleep. There are no chimneys in the huts, 
and the smoke of the charcoal fires is al- 
lowed to wander about choosing its own 
outlet. They brought us cushions and a 
low Japanese table, and we dined from 
the box of provisions that one of our 
coolies carried. Some students were hav- 
ing dinner, and so were two young girls. 
The girls interested us ; they seemed about 
twelve and fourteen, very young to be 
alone climbing Fuji, and they were very 
pretty, with their rosy, smiling faces and 
picturesque dress. Their blue and white 
cotton kimonos were tucked up in their 
obis, showing bright red petticoats; they 
had towels bound about their heads with 
straw hats tied over them, framing the 
fresh, young faces; they wore leggins and 
waraji (straw sandals), carried staffs, 
and had bundles tied to their shoulders all 
in orthodox pilgrim style. Dinner finished, 
we saw a peasant pilgrim buy some brown 
roots to rub on his blisters, then stood 
gazing in amazement at the great heap of 
worn-out waraji outside the door. Our 
coolies bound waraji over our boots, and 
we started on again. 

Here there was no path; one coolie led 
and we followed wherever we could gain 
a foothold on the surface of a grey lava 
stream. To our right was a slope of red 
scoriae ; to our left pilgrims went running 
and leaping down a zigzag path of loose 
cinders; far above us were other pilgrims, 
mere white specks in the distance; below 
us we could see little, for the day was 
cool, and clouds and mist advanced with 
us up the mountain side. It was hard 
climbing then for two hours without a 
stop, for there was no seventh station, only 
an abandoned hut at 7^, and it was a 
weary stretch to the eighth. Here was a 
post-office, a tiny little place built in the 
mountain side, where a thriving business 
was done. Another path comes in here, 
and as we started on again chanting the 
pilgrims' song, "I am not tired; all is 
well," a party of people coming up from 
Yoshida, some young men, a woman of 
middle age and an old man, joined in the 
song and passed us. Before we reached 
the ninth station every one of us saw that 




PILGRIMS RESTING. 






228 



OVERLAND MONTHLY. 



the other members of the party had lost 
their natural color and looked pale and 
yellow. It was a trick of the altitude, our 
leader told us. So leaning on our staffs 
and going always slowly, we reached the 
summit at 3.30 in the afternoon. Few 
go so slowly, but few perhaps arrive at 
the top so fresh. 1 have walked a mile and 
felt more tired than I felt then. We were 
wisely led, and there was none of the wind 
that often forces travelers to give up the 
ascent and put back. 

At the summit, we chose one of a row 
of primitive huts to spend the night in, 
put on our heavy coats for the ther- 



to tumble them over; then the children 
cry and begin again. In the world below 
only Jizo helps them, and on this earth 
only the pious who heap stones here to 
save the baby hands some labor in Pur- 
gatory. "We came to holes where hot 
streams come out. The mountain is not 
dead: perhaps it is only sleeping. Not 
far away on the edge of the crater was a 
torii, with a Shinto mirror and a cash 
box dedicated to the goddess of the moun- 
tain. There was a good view into the 
crater, which sloped down steeply some 
400 feet with rock walls and one long 
drift of snow. At the "Silver Well" were 




THE TEMPLE AND INN AT THE TOP OF THE GOTEMBA ASCENT. 
BACK OF THEM IS THE CRATER EDGE. 



mometer was near freezing and set out to 
walk around the crater. Through the 
clouds far below us we caught glimpses of 
the outlying slopes of the mountain, the 
chain of lakes about its base, and the far- 
distant Tokio Bay. We came to a spot 
sacred to Jizo, the compassionate, the god 
of travelers and little children, and we 
added some to the heaps of stones that 
marked the place. The Japanese believe 
that the poor dead children are condemned 
to pile stones in the dry bed of a river, 
and as the stones are piled, a hag comes 



bottles of water which the pious buy and 
take home as a cure-all for their ills. A 
group of peasants stood about the well, and 
some distance away climbing the steep, 
red incline of Kengamine, the highest 
point, were other pilgrims dressed in 
white, all the color and their toil making a 
picture like a Hokusai print come to life. 
A temple and inn, the most pretentious on 
Fuji, stand at the top of the Gotemba as- 
cent. Quartered here were some foreign- 
ers who had climbed to the summit before 
sunrise, and got the glorious view of the 



ci"* 




A HUT NEAR THE SUMMIT. 






230 



OVEKLAND MONTHLY. 



country about that was denied us. 

Yet I wonder if the panorama of coun- 



far glimpses of the real sea, and through 
the cloud sea, sometimes we saw bits of 



try could have been more wonderful than country and lakes and distant mountain 
what we saw from Kengamine. The peaks. But for the most part we felt 
mountain rose straight like a volcanic that we had dropped many centuries from 




SUNRISE FROM THE SUMMIT. 



island above a restless sea of clouds, and 
such clouds, luminous, shining with a lus- 
tre like pearls, rising and falling, chang- 
ing incessantly. Over the edges we caught 



us, and were back in those remote geologi- 
cal periods before life was on the globe, 
before we human beings began to be. The 
sun did not set; it slipped away without 



CLIMBING FUJI. 



231 



splendor. The air grew colder, and we 
hurried back around the crater to our 
primitive rock hut. 

That hut! Perhaps our ancestors back 
in the dim ages would have found it their 
ideal of comfort, but for us, though we 
went to bed at seven, there was sleep from 
only one till four. It grew so cold that 
the amado could be opened a crack; smoke 
from the fine charcoal filled the room ; at a 
late hour our coolies had a meal of fish 
and rice and tea and their mothers had 
trained them well, for they ate with noisy 
politeness while we wrapt in rugs and 
quilts, lying on the board floor, remem- 
bered that our friends had warned us 
against fleas. At four unspeakable hour 
for arising from a spring bed '"we got 
up joyfully. 

Lines of pale green and blue showed 
above the sea of cloud which was broken 
by other darker clouds that looked like 
mountain peaks till the light grew 
stronger. The morning star faded away, 
and a flush of red came in the sky. Pil- 
grims hastened past our hut to reach a 
higher point to watch the sunrise. Pil- 
grims were coming up, led by a man who 
had his head draped in a cloth and wore a 
bell that rang as he climbed. He was the 
headman of a village, leading the lucky 
ones of some association. They were 
chanting. The sun rose, and all the pil- 
grims on the mountain faced the East, 
clapping their hands and praying to be 
purified by the first rays of the rising 
sun. 

Down at the sixth station, where we had 
breakfast, there were students, two sailors, 
a coolie with a load of charcoal, the two 
little girls whom we had seen the day be- 
fore, and two aristocratic girls with their 
father, who wore foreign clothes. Break- 
fast finished, we went running down the 
slope of loose scoriae as we had seen others 
running when we went up. Down in the 
forest we rested while the two. girls of the 



red petticoats, there before us, ate a meal 
of rice and beans and pickles. Again at 
a tea shed we rested, and here we found 
the little pilgrims again; one had taken 
off her hat and leggins, let down her 
kimono, and presented herself as a demure 
little neisan bringing us tea. The shed 
was her home, while her friend came from 
a village not far away. 

Did you ever feel that your knees had 
turned to blocks of wood and that they 
were about to split, that your feet below 
the wooden joints were going of them- 
selves, quite regardless of your will, while 
you, somewhere aloft, looked down at them 
wondering helplessly if they were going to 
stop, go on at a funeral pace, or dance an 
Irish jig in the pathway, the fact that you 
did not know an Irish jig making no dif- 
ference; if your feet wanted to dance one 
they would? That is the feeling two of 
us had : but much to our surprise, our feet, 
like trusty servants, carried us on to Uma- 
gaeshi. The horses met us there, and it 
was a joy to climb into the queer old high 
saddles and let the horses walk. 

One picture at Umagaeshi remains in 
my mind; an old white-haired man with 
two younger ones, kneeling in the torii 
facing Fujisan. Bowing reverently and 
praying, they did not heed us as we passed. 
All their thought was of the sacred moun- 
tain. 

So we came, weary in body but exalted 
in spirit, to Subashiri and back to Yoko- 
hama. While we who went hope that old 
age will bring no such pains and aches to 
our muscles as we felt the next few days, 
yet we want to climb again for the view 
that eluded us. As for us, give us not 
the artist's snow-clad Fuji, Fuji of the 
winter, cold and unapproachable, far away 
on the horizon, but give us the summer 
time Fuji, known to the peasant pilgrims 
and the keepers of the rock huts, and to 
those foreigners who find a pleasure in 
the life on the "Honorable Mountain." 



THE ENDING 



BY 



JENNET JOHNSON 




WAS very glad that the 
invitation to spend 
the week-end on 
Scott's yacht came 
when it did very 
glad indeed. For be- 
sides the usual pleas- 
ure of a cruise 
through the summer waters of the Sound 
in the "Lurline," I had a special reason 
just then for wishing to get among a lot 
of gay people, and I am sure Helen had 
too. You see, when a man has given up 
a rather cherished plan for his wife's sake, 
and she has declined the sacrifice (I don't 
like to use that word, I'm no martyr or 
model husband, Heaven knows ! ) when, I 
say, he has decided the matter in the best 
way for her, it is not the pleasantest thing 
in the world to have his wife refuse to 
accept his reasons, and finding him of . 
decided mind also, to go about with set 
lips and miserable eyes. 

You will grant that under a week of 
such circumstances a solitude a deux is 
to be fled from at the earliest opportunity. 
From the night, a week before, when 
Helen had congratulated me upon being 
invited to be attorney for the Denver and 
Rio Grande, and I had briefly told her 
that I had no intention of accepting it 
and asking her to begin a new menage 
and make new friends in the sage-brush 
wastes of Arizona from that very argu- 
ment which ended in my request that the 
subject should not be alluded to again, 
life at home was a nerve-racking series of 
attempts to be natural. 

The idea of Helen's continued protest- 
ing! As if I hadn't grown up with her 
from youngster-hood and seen the things 
which her nature requires just as the rest 
of us need air. It would kill Helen to 
have to live more than a hundred miles 
from her mother she would lose all in- 
terest in life away from these girls and 
men she had grown up with and the 
babies to whom she is godmother and sil- 



ver spoon giver. To say nothing of leav- 
ing properly built and heated houses, and 
the opera and ocean. Wlhy, it was out of 
the question. Of course she would object, 
trust Helen not to consider herself first 
but her insistence and blindness to reason, 
to say nothing of her final injured cool- 
ness well, as I said, I was glad enough 
to get away to the gayety of Scott's yacht 
for a breathing space. 

Helen didn't bubble over when I hand- 
ed her Scott's note, but she seemed willing 
enough to go, so on Friday afternoon I 
left the office early, met her at the Grand 
Central at four, and by dinner time we 
were at Bridgeport on the white deck of 
the yacht lying at anchor off Black Rock. 

We were the last arrivals, and a jolly 
lot we were who sipped our coffee under 
the stars and watched the great eye of the 
channel light-house blink and disappear 
and blink again. Scott always knew the 
right kinds of people to put together ; that 
is, if there were to be any gunpowders on 
board, there were no matches invited. On 
this occasion I decided that we were large- 
ly of the soda water variety. The remarks 
were all surface wit you know the kind 
a pop and froth of laughter that is all 
over in a minute. Only worth a nickel, 
too, but it was pleasing and refreshing 
somehow, after those intense days at 
home. Besides it gave me time, when it 
wasn't my turn to pop, to think I had a 
lot of thinking about Helen to do. She 
sat over by the rail facing me. I could 
only see her hands in her lap and the 
white outline of her coat against the black 
sky. She didn't laugh very much I won- 
dered if she was thinking, too. 

Heaven keep all my friends from a diet 
of soda-pop especially if they are afloat 
on the deep, cut off from fresh supplies! 
By the third morning we had all tacitly 
admitted our weariness of that form of 
intellectual nourishment and each one 
of us had retired to his or her deck chair, 



THE ENDING. 



233 



to try for a while "the gentle art of enjoy- 
ing oneself." 

I smiled as I noticed the various forms 
the art was taking. Mrs. Armand, the 
plump, vivacious matron in black and dia- 
monds (not more of the latter than are 
good taste on a yacht, of course), was 
yawning over a green-covered volume with 
purple trees and gold letters on the front 
and more purple trees on the back. (I 
wish I had the designing of book covers, 
but that is in passing.) 

Carlton Brier was napping in the 
shadow of Miss Greville's deck-chair. He 
is forty-five, and as handsome a man as 
ever was made on the big dark lines, a 
rousing good fellow and as poor as a 
mouse. And if Carlton napped in the 
morning, you can depend upon it there 
was "nothing doing." 

Harricott, the blonde English lad whose 
life is gold-lined and automobile-trimmed, 
was walking up and down, smiling at the 
sallies of black-eyed little Miss Van Dyne. 

Weedon, the cynic and dyspeptic, was 
reading a fat book probably statistics on 
proper and improper mastication Helen 
and Kitty Scott weren't in sight 'Scott 
was aft, talking to the captain. 

Well, this quiet state of things lasted 
about half an hour, then presto ! Some- 
body produced a brand new, shiny, uncut 
magazine from somewhere, and we all be- 
gan to quarrel. We were matching for it 
when Scott sauntered up and suggested 
like a tactful host that some one pick out 
a good tale and read it aloud to the crowd. 
So we matched for that, and it fell to Miss 
Greville. She picked out a story, and we 
all drew up our deck chairs in a circle. 

I haven't the faintest idea what the 
name of the tale was, but after all, that 
doesn't matter. It was a good piece of 
work at least it began so. 

The hero was a young lawyer of the 
promising, hopeful kind that I guess 
Helen thought I was when she married 
me. I looked at her once or twice when 
the story began, but she didnt' turn in my 
direction, and her mouth hadn't gone up 
much at the corners. 

\\C11, as I said, the hero was an ambi- 
tious young idiot, and was especially anx- 
ious to make a start at law, so that he 
could hurry up and ask a certain girl to 
preside over his coffee pot. They were en- 



gaged, but the coffee pot picture seemed a 
long way off. But one day, just as the 
man was getting discouraged, a case was 
offered him that looked mighty fine to a 
beginner. A certain old gentleman had 
left an interesting will which his niece 
was trying to break, and if the hero could 
win for the other side and defeat the girl's 
lawyer (who was one of the biggest men 
in the State) his fame would be pretty 
well clinched. All his friends congratu- 
lated him on getting the chance, and the 
best (or rather the worst of it, as he 
found out later) was that he felt perfectly 
sure he had the right side. So he threw 
his hat up in the air, treated his friends 
all round and accepted the case. 

Then he found out that the niece, the 
girl he would be fighting, was his fiancee I 
Naturally, his first impulse was to with- 
draw his acceptance, but just as he was 
hunting round for a pen or stamp 01 
something, a note came from the girl, a 
nice, ambiguous note, telling him that it 
was a business matter and that he mustn't 
be influenced by any unbusiness-like feel- 
ings he might have in regard to her. 

So the hero's professional ambition 
sprang up again for a minute, and then 
his feeling for the girl began to fight with 
that, and he began to pace the floor and 
ask himself what he should do. 

I tell you we were all pretty interested 
Helen was leaning forward and Weedon'a 
mastication book had fallen under his 
chair. Miss Greville's voice went on, fol- 
lowing the conflicting thoughts of the poor 
chap. 

"Suddenly there was a loud cry in the 
stern, and we saw the sailors all rush to 
one side. "Man overboard!" some one 
shouted; a life-preserver was thrown out, 
and orders began to be shouted "to put 
her about into the wind !" We all sprang 
up and rushed to the rail. I tell you, noth- 
ing less than a man overboard would have 
stopped that story. We hung over as far 
as we could, and watched the life pre- 
server go out into the white wake, and we 
saw the sailor strike out for it. Of course 
he got hold in time, and was hauled in, 
mad and shivering. Then we turned back 
to our deck chairs for the rest of the 
tale that is, all except Miss Greville. 

But Miss Greville evidently hadn't seen 
many rescues, and she got pretty well ex- 



234 



OVEKLAND MONTHLY. 



cited. Just before the man grabbed the 
rope, I had heard her breath coining fast, 
and I noticed that her hands which still 
held the forgotten magazine were clasped 
so tightly that the nails marked her 
flesh. 

After the rest of us had turned away she 
still stood there, watching the thing to 
the very end. Then when the last drip- 
ping foot was safely deposited on the deck, 
she gave a little cry of relief and clapped 
her hands. 

Imagine our horror ! Out into the wind 
and down into the sound it went our 
magazine rustling away like a yellow- 
winged bird and with it went our poor 
hero still pacing the floor and wringing 
his hands ! 

Well, it wasn't any use. Some one 
rushed madly for a boat hook, but at the 
rate we were clipping along, we had lost 
sight of the thing in the swirls of foam 
before I had a chance to shout "Another 
man overboard !" 

After we had lamented and scolded 
all around, we turned to the culprit. "Miss 
Greville will have to finish the story," we 
said. 

Just then Scott stepped in with his 
hostful suggestions. "Let everybody fin- 
ish it as he or she likes," he said, "and 
we'll compare endings." 

Weedon flung out both hands. "Why 
didn't we lose that magazine yesterday?" 
he groaned. Weedon always did shirk re- 
sponsibilities. But, as Mededith says, 
"One is not altogether fit for the battle of 
life who is engaged in a perpetual con- 
tention with his dinner." 

"Shut up, Weedon," Brier commanded. 
"We're going to do it alphabetically," and 
it won't be up to you for a long time. Now 
then, begin, Mrs. Armand." 

Mrs. Armand clasped her plump, be- 
diamoned hands and gazed out over the 
water. 

"Wtell, the hero decided to keep the 
case," she began. "So he tried to forget 
about the girl and win his side. And he 
was terribly eloquent, and all the papers 
talked about him. But just as he was 
about to make a last thrilling oration 
(Mrs. Armand's husband was in the shoe 
business) he happened to glance across 
the hushed court-room, and there he saw 
the girl, her face white and trembling, 



and he forgot everything else in the 
wor ld " 

"And shouting, 'All for love,' rushed 
across the room, clasped the girl in his 
arms and lost his case," Weedon inter- 
rupted. 

"Hi, there, Weedon, it isn't your turn," 
Scott called. "Brier comes next." 

Carlton Brier straightened his long 
frame and took the cigarette from his 
mouth. 

"Mine's brief," he said. "The man had 
a good friend who came to him in the mid- 
dle of his pacing and told him to go ahead 
with the case; so, being a sensible chap, 
he went in and won, and cinched his career 
for the rest of his life." 

"But what about the girl?" Miss Gre- 
ville asked. She was looking intently at 
Brier. 

He laughed and took another puff. 
"Why, of course, she wouldn't speak to 
him after he had made her lose all her 
money, so he went on a cruise in the Med- 
iterranean and she married a gilt-edged 
pork-packer in Chicago." 

Brier sat back comfortably in his chair. 
"Next!" he said. 

Miss Greville clasped and unclasped her 
hands. 

"Mine is something like Mr. Brier's," 
she said. "The man went ahead and won 
the case, and made the girl lose the 
money. 

"The girl wasn't angry at all; he only 
thought she was, and on the night before 
he started for the Mediterranean she sent 
for him and told him that it didn't mat- 
ter whether she was rich and he was poor 
or, or anything." 

Miss Greville finished breathlessly, and 
her face flushed as she sank back in her 
chair. Brier was smiling lazily. I saw 
Miss Greville glance at him quickly, but 
he shook his head. He had evidently de- 
cided upon the Mediterranean cruise for 
his hero. 

"Harricott! where's Harricott?" Wee- 
don asked. We all looked around, but 
Harricott had slipped away. He realizes 
his duty in society, Harricott does, as the 
Appreciative Audience and the Motor- 
Trip Furnishing Branch. 

"Now, it's up to you, Trent," Scott 
turned to me. "Or rather Mrs. Trent 
and you. Place dux dames." 



THE ENDING. 



235 



Helen was tearing a bit of paper into 
tine shreds in her lap. 

"No, you first/' she said, without look- 
ing up. "Arthur comes before Helen." 

"Oh, well," I said easily, "I think you 
have made entirely too much out of the 
situation. The man did the natural thing, 
of course, the only thing .he 'cbuld do, 
which was to put aside the girl's note (of 
course an expected protest) and refuse- 
to accept the case." 

Dora Van "Ryne began to protest. "Oh, 
make more of a story than that," but Scott 
pacified her. 

"Wait till we have Mrs. Trent's version 
'then we'll have a recess and everybody 
can talk at once." 

Helen began to arrange the pieces of 
paper in her lap into a pattern. There 
was a bright pink spot in each cheek, and 
she talked very fast. 

"The man was a fine fellow," she said, 
looking out over the wator, "but ne wasn't 
used ' to seeing the two sides of things. 
So he believed that there was only one 
sacrifice to be made, and that was the sac- 
rifice of his career for the sake of the girl. 
It never occurred to him that he was sel- 
fish in wishing to monopolize all the sac- 
rifice. He cared more for the girl than 
for his career, but he never considered 
that the girl might care more for his ca- 
reer than for her money, or herself. 

"So, when the man insisted upon refus- 
ing to accept the case, she wrote another 
note he had so evidently not understood 
the first one and this time she spoke 
very plainly. She wrote sometning like 
this: 'If you won't (supposing you win) 



accept the sacrifice of my money, whj 
should you expect me to accept the sacri- 
fice of your career?' 

"And then she ended by telling him 
what she believed about a man's work 
that when he had "touched the c.ore of 
his capacities," when he was putting his 
best into his work, there was little place 
for woman in his thoughts. She might 
inspire in victory or compensate in loss, 
but she would come before and after the 
completion of his life, perhaps, but not 
the whole." ... 

Helen stopped abruptly, and looked 
down at the bits of paper in her lap. We 
were silent for an instant. 

"Well, did he still refuse; did he miss 
her point?" Brier asked, after a long 
silence. 

For a fraction of a second Helen's eyes 
were on me. Then, "He accepted, didn't 
he?" I said. 

Helen nodded. 

"Gee! you ought to be a novelist, Mrs. 
Trent!" Weedon looked at her with ad- 
miration. "Wasn't that realistic, though. 
You've got the 'touch,' all right." 

"But you didn't finish," Dora Van 
Dyne pouted. "He accepted, but did he 
win the case ?" 

Helen was looking at the water again. 
The corners of her lips curved upward 
just enough to bring out two dimples. 
(Jove, I'd almost forgotten she had them.) 

"Did he win?" Helen repeated over to 
herself. 

I leaned forward and pulled the rug up 
over her knees. 

"She won," I said, absently. 





BY ROCKWELL D. 




ATUHE has done her 
part with lavish hand. 
Our Yosemite, Tahoe, 
Santa Cruz and Men- 
d o c i n o redwoods, 
Mariposa and Tuol- 
umne Big Trees; our 
snow-crowned moun- 
tains of Siskiyou and Inyo, our Lake 
County, with its myriads of wonder-work- 
ing springs, our seaside attractions from 
north to sunny south these are sample 
dishes from the menu infinitely rich in 
quality, in variety inexhaustible. 

Americans are slow at becoming inti- 
mately acquainted with California's best, 
except at long range, and in the externals 
of conventionality. Even our own home 
people, jaded dwellers in teeming cities 
and faithful farmers after harvest in our 
opulent valleys, are slow to come to their 
own. Multitudes have never yet known 
the joy of the camp. And it is an abound- 
ing joy that multiplies with the sharing. 
To insure a successful camping trip, 
three conditions must be present. First, 
congenial company; second, wholesome 
provision in ample supply; third, ade- 
quate means of getting from place to 
place in your own time, and not at the 
signal of a conductor or the crack of the 
stage driver's whip. The third is best 
secured for most occasions by a stoutly- 
built covered spring wagon, drawn by a 
span of sound, true-and-tried horses; for 
rare occasions, the tough, sure-footed 
pack-horse is the sine qua nan. 
Under the second head great depend- 



ence may be placed in gun and rod; but 
experience has fully demonstrated that it 
is not the part of wisdom to subject the 
enormous appetites of California camp 
life to the monotony induced by an ex- 
clusive diet of wild game and fish. The 
commissary department is simplified by 
the infinite variety of prepared foods of 
wholesome quality now everywhere avail- 
able, and by the camp devises of an inven- 
tive generation. Yet nothing quite takes 
the place of the "flap jacks" of our fathers 
and the "Dutch Ovens" of our mothers. 
A bewilderment of foods and of dishes in 
camp is a delusion and a snare. 

I lay chief stress on the first condition, 
good camp company. Boon companions 
will suffer dire hardship, hard luck, and 
even low provisions, and yet report a 
splendid time on returning from a trip, 
but no amount of material success will 
compensate for the absence of a congenial 
camp mate. 

I have been specially favored. In Yo- 
semite it was my joy to make camp at the 
base of Three Brothers peaks with two 
brothers of my own as companions. We 
called it Camp Tres Fratres. The snail- 
pace of the burros creeping along from 
splendot to splendor was not to our lik- 
ing, but in bounding health and vigor we 
were free to make record time from Senti- 
nel Dome to Glacier Point and on down 
the zig-zagging trail to the picturesque 
little chapel on the floor of the valley op- 
posite grand El Capitan. The conven- 
tional life of the* so-called rich, lounging 
around the lobby of the hotels we would 



CAMPING OUT IN" CALIFORNIA. 



237 



have none of that: give us the freedom 
of the camp and the more intimate wealth 
of sublime nature. With face to ground 
we were lulled reluctantly to sleep by the 
grateful thunderings of the ponderous, 
magical, miracle of God, to be awakened 
in early morn by a warbling robin who 
had builded her a nest in a near-by pine 
sapling, fearing no evil. 

Very different, though not a whit less 
charming, was the prospect at Tahoe, with 
camp cosily set under those balsamic pines 
the wind soughing through the upper 
branches. What possibilities of delight 
north, east, south, west, with camp head- 
quarters here on the border of that most 
beautiful of all lakes. Here the true 
lover of nature forgets his gun, and for a 
time even his rod, as he in grateful hu- 
mility drinks in the myriad marvels of 
creation at its finest. How entrancing 
was the moon's shimmer upon the dancing 
waves as we sat at the base of majestic 
Tallac, our gaze losing itself in the pale 
distance on the lake's bosom. No dream 
of record-breaking time here, whether en- 
joying a boating excursion to the enchant- 
ed haunts of Emerald Bay or looking 
down from the heights of Tallac upon a 
panorama of snowy areas with jutting 
peaks, mountain lakes, and meadows of 
brilliant green all fit for the eyes of 
gods. No haste, I say, amid these sur- 
roundings ; for she who was my chief com- 
panion then has since assumed charge of 
my household affairs. Wihat is so rare as 
a moonlit night on the lake ! 

John Bidwell, prince of California pio- 
neers, was my chief in a memorable camp- 
ing trip in the northern Sierras. What a 
magnificent camper was Bidwell ! What 
a world of experience, what a wealth of 



reminiscence! What a knowledge; what 
unbounded hospitality! Not while life 
lasts can I forget the gentle yet command- 
ing greatness of this man whose friend- 
ships and benefactions were as broad as 
his spreading acres of Rancho Chico. 
"Annie," he remarked to his charming 
wife the first morning, "we must see how 
many plants we can name to-day," and 
before nightfall some four score, from 
tiniest lichen to the stately pinus ponder- 
osa, had been accorded their proper names 
at sight. It is said that the general could 
at the age of eighty give the scientific 
names of all the plants of every descrip- 
tion, indigenous and introduced, that 
grew on his vast estate of 25,000 acres. 
He had a passion for science, whether as- 
tronomy or geology, and delighted to en- 
tertain in camp as well as mansion visit- 
ing scientists from far and near. He 
loved poetry as well as science, and how 
pleasant it was to hear the becoming 
verses from Wordsworth or Longfellow, or 
a psalm of David from the lips of this 
venerable man. 

Withal he was a benefactor to his 
neighbors. The real objective point of 
this and many another of his camping 
trips was the survey and improvement of 
mountain roads. Scores of miles of the 
public highway, resurveyed and greatly 
improved, will long continue as evidences 
of the devotion of the Father of Chico. 

I shall forget many of the sights of that 
short trip in the region of Lassen's Peak 
it was in itself far from sensational 
but the wholesomeness and uplift of its 
companionship shall never pass. Nature 
has indeed dealt lavishly with California, 
but she has nurtured too few noble men 
like John Bidwell. 





IN NEW SUMMER LANDS 

BY 
FELIX J. KOCH 

PHOTOGRAPHS BY THE AUTHOR. 




E WAS of that sort of 
men to whom if you 
say they shouldn't, 
they answer "they 
will," and if you tell 
them they should, 
they won't. 

He was going 
away from staid old vacation lands, and he 
wanted to try something just a bit differ- 
ent from his friend, who was summering 
in the Eiviera, and his other friend, in 
Algiers, and the college chum of years 
standing who had gone to Australia. In 
short, he wanted to dispell the illusions 
his friends might all have of some little- 
known land. 

He had heard that in Turkey there 



were new worlds to conquer, and that, if 
one wanted to run the risk, he could go 
by horse through the most delightful re- 
gion in Europe, the Ivan Planina (or 
ridge) of the Balkans. So he started for 
that little district the Sandchak of Novi- 
pazar. 

In the first place how should he get 
there? By rail from Buda-Pest to Sara- 
jevo, that was easy. But all the way 
down people told him not to go beyond 
that point. 

"You will never come out alive; you 
will certainly regret it!" 

Then when he got to Sarajevo, the 
capital of Bosnia, he heard another story. 

"The Austro-Hungarians are occupy- 
ing all that section of Turkey as far north 



IN NEW SUMMER LANDS. 



as Plevlje, and if you go in the post stage 
you go in perfect safety. Even now they 
are building the railway to that point, 
down the plague spot of Europe." 

Where was the post stage? He inquired 
at the post-office. 

There was an affable Austrian on duty, 
and he enlightened him, pleasantly. 

"It leaves three times a week, and it is 
an experience. Yah, you really should 
take it !" 

So he wanted to do, but there was no 
room in the diligence until three days af- 
terward, liesult, he took "place." 

The eventful day arrived, as it must, 
when he should venture into new vacation 
lands, the famous sandchak or district of 
Novi-pazar. Incidentally, the post dili- 
gence left at four in the morning, and all 
four passengers were warned that if not 
on time, it would bowl along to the end 
of the Austrian occupation, and into Tur- 
kish domains without them. The fare 
was a mere trifle, five dollars and four 
cents, and you could take ten kilograms 



of free baggage along, providing that this 
was not in wooden or iron trunks. In 
other words, it must be in parcels, for 
out there leather wallets were totally un- 
known. 

The ticket further went on to say that 
you couldn't smoke if any one else ob- 
jected. Then you could take no dogs. 
Furthermore, you had to declare the value 
of your baggage, otherwise you couldn't 
recover. 

The only possible loss seemed to be 
from highwaymen, so that the American 
didn't particularly relish this last state- 
ment. But it was there, both in Croat 
and in German, on the large white ticket, 
and there was no way out of it. 

He studied the map of the route. It 
really meant very little. He was to go due 
southeast of Sarajevo to Plevlje, but as 
matters of fact, he would first travel south 
to Croljavac, then southeast along the 
Malj.acka and the mountains to Goro- 
vic, and after that paralleling the river to 
Praca and Cemernica, and to the boun- 




THE BAGGAGE. 



240 



OVERLAND MONTHLY. 



dary of Bosnia and Turkey. If, then, he 
went on, remained to be seen. 

He had them wake him at three at 
the Hotel Bosnia. Then, while the porter 
took his valise to the post-office, he in- 
vested in sausage at a neighboring gro- 
cer's, as he had been advised to do. 

The 'bus, of course, was not ready when 
he got to the post. That was all part of 
the programme, enabling the cheery 
young barmaid at the stand where the 
]i(|imrs arc dispensed to the waiters to in- 
dulge in flirtations with guests. 

He, too, had his coffee, then stepped 
into the diligence. 

It seemed quite the limit of transpor- 



whole, was quite friendly, and a peasant 
woman who spoke the Serb language only, 
were the only others aboard. The fourth 
passenger, evidently, was late, so they set 
out without him. 

Out of the city, out through the dark, 
empty streets, in the night, and with the 
military 'bugles blowing, as they rounded 
the corners, the start was made. Despite 
the cravenette and the heavy underwear, 
it was cold, withal that it was well to- 
ward the end of August. 

Here and there, out of the dark, an 
electric-light flickered at the corners; 
otherwise this outset of the ride was much 
as Dickens described coaching on similar 




AN INN EN ROUTE. 



tation, this canvas-covered affair. One 
could enter from either side, and there 
were two seats for two persons each, fac- 
ing one another within. In front was the 
seat for driver and guard. To see the lat- 
ter take his place, gun in hand, sent a 
sudden thrill to the heart. 

Meantime, down in the bottom, and in 
the rear of the seats, they were stacking 
parcels that would go by mail far into the 
interior. 

A pock-marked, non-talkative Serb, 
who spoke German, and who, on the 



stilly nights in England. The driver and 
the guard were discussing the mail > 
thirty-four parcels in all wood boxes, 
card board and bundles. 

The others aboard were silent so he 
sank back into his seat, on the right, in 
the rear, to doze. 

Ahead, in fact all day to the end (for, 
by law, the two must keep in sight of each 
other), there rumbled the box-like post 
wagon, also a two-horse equipage, with 
driver and armed guard on top. 

His own guard had his gun in instant 



242 



OVEKLAND MONTHLY. 



readiness now, and it and the uniform, 
added their powerful part in giving haz- 
ard to the prospect. 

It seemed as though everywhere was 
silence silence only save when the 
church bells chimed the hour or the elec- 
tric light globes, swayed by the breeze, 
creaked above the stage's rumble, and of 
the night one heard some distant cocks, 
and their cries seemed warnings that this 
trip might be in the end fatal. Nearer, 
geese, too, cackled angrily at the driver. 
in the red jacket lined with blue, red 
trousers, tall boots and red cap with a 
button as he lashed at them with his 
whip. 

Again and again the bugle sounded oui; 
on the silent night, ordering teams to give 
right of way to his Majesty's mail. 

Then they were in the country, on a 
rustic's pike. In place of the bugle now 
the driver substituted a shrill whistle 
when some wagon blocked the way. The 
colder it grew the more the passengers 
huddled far in the wagon's depths, and 
maintained a half-conscious doze. There 



were no covers in the stage, and with the 
growing altitude it became actually icy. 

Then a second post wagon joined the 
cavalcade, and the three rolled out, pro- 
cession-wise, as in England in coaching 
days. The whistle, the horn, the night, 
and the guard with the gun; then the 
mountains, and the increasing cold, one 
would have slept away with the monotony 
of them, but that the hands and the feet 
were freezing. 

Dim, high forms of mountains on right 
and left became gradually more visible/ 
and now and then a pack-train of mules 
was signaled ahead from the vanguard 
of the post train. 

Just at the time when sleep had come, 
the stage came to a halt. 

Of course it must be robbers ! 

Instead, it was a young signal corps 
officer, who had overslept himself, and 
hurried by puzzling bridle-paths to over- 
take the stage. He greeted one and all in 
German as he took his, the fourth, place 
in the stage; spoke of the white frost on 
the fields, and how nice it would be if 




AUSTRIAN PATROLS. 




A LAND OF MOSQUES. 



they could stop in at the kavana, all lit 
up, just beyond, for some coffee. Then he 
looked at the moon and the clear, spark- 
ling stars, and likewise fell asleep. 

So, too, did the American. When he 
di(J wake once or twice they were pass- 
ing a church, or an occasional wagon, 
with the driver walking beside his horses, 
or some more of the innumerable pack- 
trains, while the ever-rising, towering 
mountains were always just perceptible 
in the dusk. 

When daybreak came, they were fol- 
lowing the line of a new spur of railway, 
then just under construction. Instinct- 
ively, while they breathed on their hands 
and shuffled their feet in an attempt to 
fight that stinging cold, they compared 
this ride to American travel, even in olden 
times, and then to what it would be here, 
perhaps, three years hence, when the 
railway got this far into Bosnia. And 
meantime he was congratulating himself 
that he had made the trip now, and se- 
cured this taste of old-fashioned staging. 

Everything, too, served for distraction. 



A great herd of pack-horses, tied to- 
gether with clothes-line, and a peasant 
walking at their head or their sides, served 
for a moment to ward off sleep. Then the 
mutual expressing of the wish for sun-up 
or for 'covers, kept the four in some sort 
of life. 

It was quarter past five when the sun 
made its first appearance over the moun- 
tains, and one could begin to see things 
distinctly. The mountain peaks -grew 
yellow against a ground-work of brown, 
and great valleys of pines iseemed .to 
open. 

A passenger suggested that they tie the 
covers to the side entry to the stage, and 
they found it a little warmer, now that 
the draft was shut off, only that obstructed 
the view ! 

Time seemed to pass very slowly. At 
5.25 they were stopping in the twilight 
at two little homes, and while the sweat 
rose in steams off the horses' backs, and 
their breath, too, floated skyward, they 
worked fingers and legs that were stiff 
with cold, and tried to break the frozen 



244 



OVERLAND MONTHLY. 



silence by suggesting they imitate the 
peasants they saw outside, with the queer, 
be-turbaned fezes of red, twisted cloth 
and walk side by side with the horses. 

Those peasants interested the Ameri- 
can deeply. There were some who wore 
European attire throughout, excepting for 
conventional fezes. Ihere were others 
who had the Bosnic fez 'that of the red, 
twisted cloth. There were others with a 
handkerchief about the head. Most of 
them carried bags of alternate gray and 
brown stripes on their backs. 

They were all prone to argument, and 
notably so one with whom the stage- 
driver picked a quarrel, because the peas- 
ant refused to return an article he had 
found on the road. 

Other men in ordinary attire, but with 
great alpen-stocks, to whose tops bouquets 
of fresh flowers were tied, and with a 
"ruck sack" on the back and typical Swiss 
caps (even to the green felt and one 
feather), were likewise clambering on to 
the deep blue mountains, where the sun- 
light had not yet fallen. 

Rapidly, now, however, the light of day 
was spreading over the endless peaks, and 
at a kavana where the cavalcade stopped 
that the three drivers and guards might go 
in to their coffee, the cocks were pro- 
claiming the fact, Mean-time, for fifteen 
minutes or so of the halt, the four inside 
the 'bus were freezing. 

Some pack-horses, with great loads of 
hay wrapped entirely round their bodies, 
made themselves objects of envy, for their 
covers. Likewise, some peasants, in the 
thread-crossed brown slippers, the black 
stockings rising to heavy red garters, the 
white trousers and the long white vests, 
beneath queer coats of black, who seemed 
not to heed the temperature a trifle. 

With full dawn the mists on the Balkan 
peaks ahead were dispelled rapidly, and 
the fogs fell away into a vale of blue 
clouds, one of the prettiest sights in the 
world. 

If only it had been warmer, that one 
could rightly enjoy overlooking then 
peaks some with slopes well-tilled and 
patched by crops, the others wooded and 
their slopes irregular, though well-covered 
by vegetation. 

And the music of the road, too it was 
so pretty but for one's shivering! Where 



the black-gowned peasants walked at the 
leading animal's head a bell swung, tink- 
ling merrily the live-long day. Every 
train had its different burden, too. Here 
were thirteen burros, laden all with hides, 
coming out of the mountains as the pack- 
trains do far away in India. Yonder, 
others had a keg at each side of the horse 
with olives, perhaps, for the valley. 

Down in one vale was a goat-pen, and 
the alpenstock bearers made for it on a 
run, perhaps for the goat's milk or cheese, 
while the other trains wound on in the 
forest. 

Wagons hauling supplies for the new 
railway, or great kegs of material under 
tarpaulin, so as to resemble American 
beer wagons, became numerous by six, 
when, frozen to the bone, the first creek 
was reached, and with each yard of ascent 
the mercury seemed to fall lower. 

Then they took to the forest of pines 
very erect and laden with balsam. Pines 
seemed to cover even the crags, and where 
there were windows were farm houses 
with great white-washed ovens in their 
gardens, beneath a protective roof. There 
was the summer villa of a consul here also, 
in a great ever-green preserve, and across 
the way was an inn. 

That was the first morning's stop it 
was only six-ten now. The wagons drove 
off to a military reservation (which no 
stranger may enter), that the guards 
might breakfast. The travelers remained 
behind. 

They went to the inn, but it was closed. 
Luckily, over the road was another, the 
lian, or tavern of Bale. Out of the cold, 
through the guest room of the inn, into 
the kitchen, where cooking was in progress 
on a most modern range, the travelers 
flocked. Two or three women, wearing 
very cheap gowns, were engaged in pre- 
paring breakfast. 

There were scrambled eggs and black 
bread that was all, excepting, of course, 
coffee. Would it do? Most certainly, yes. 

So, while the eggs were cooking, they 
thawed out, and discussed the cold, the 
worse after yesterday's rain. Then they 
looked out the window at the great pano- 
rama of beautiful, forested mountains, 
rolling beyond the barnyards. 

Their hands finally warm, and the chat 
at an end, they withdrew to the guest 




WOMEN OF THE REGION. 



246 



OVERLAID MONTHLY. 



room, where the floor was of planks, and 
the walls had a green plaster, and the 
ceiling was of heavy, raised boards. In 
one corner was a bed, and beside it a 
sofa. Then there was a little iron stove 
and a sewing machine, some tables and 
chairs. Ever since 1885, when the sol- 
diers were quartered here, the Magyars 
had run the place. Now, however, the 
soldiers were useless for protection, as 
there were no longer any robbers about. 

They gave other interesting gossip, too, 
of the hunting club of Turkind beys, close 
by, that was kept so exclusive because of 
the price of membership, and which had 
wiped out practically all the big game, 
notably bear and wild boar, leaving only a 
few deer and chamois. 

Then they called attention to the sun, 
rising on the pine-cla'd mountains. After 
that they let them go on with the coffee. 

There was time to spare still before the 
wagons returned. Nearby at the roadside 
was a kavana, all of white plaster, and 
with over-hanging roof. The door was 



open, and inside on a divan or bench, 
against the wall, sat the Turk, cross- 
legged, at his tray, with the cafe can and 
the little, handleless cup, the sugar and 
spoon, swilling the live-long day. 

The American photoed him and his 
home and inn. Then he took a "snap" 
of a passing Serb by his horse, and the 
man shook his hands in exceedingly grate- 
ful thanks. 

Wagons with supplies went by in as- 
tounding numbers, showing the import- 
ance of the trade route that the new rail- 
way will take to connect with the Oriental 
Express in the future. 

After that, it was time to go on. 

Did he want to go? He had had only 
a taste of the Balkans! The Turkish 
coffee, the han, the out-door oven, appealed 
to him greatly. It was getting warmer 
now, too that the \sun wag up! Of 
course he did ! So he went. 

On to the heart of the sandchak, and 
the trip was as unique as any he had heard 
of before. 



WIND ON THE SEA 



BY 



ARTHUR POWELL 



THE wind is high, though clear the sky; 
The great seas rise and fall 
Like the heaving breasts of a monstrous shape 
Spawned in some under hall, 

Where the ceiling is light as the green of the grape, 
And the floor dark,- dark as a pall. 

The big ship swings ; the rigging sings ; 

The deck is a swivelled plane; 
We painfully cling and climb, till now, 

One beat, we are level again; 
Then down we slide with the dipping bow 

To a clank-and-creak refrain. 

Before the gale, with swelling sail, 

We reel in drunken glee ; 
The brute we ride is the wind- whipped tide 

That heavily rolls a-lee; 
There, where the lash has cut the hide, 

The crystal spray flies free. 




LITTLE MUSKY'S ,STORY 



BY 



CLARENCE HAWKES 



ILLUSTRATED BY ELOISE J. ROOEBACH. 




ITTLE MUSKY had 
been born about the 
first of February, in 
one of the conical- 
shaped m u s k r a t 
houses upon the 
island in the great 
river. He had been 
one of a family of nine rats, for the musk- 
rat always has a good, large family. His 
parents lived in a three-story house, about 
six feet high, and six or seven feet in di- 
ameter. The muskrat houses had been 
built higher than usual the autumn be- 
fore, for by some wild instinct, the wary 
rats expected unusual freshets in the 
spring; and their prophecies usually came 
true. By observing these sagacious little 
creatures, man can often get valuable hints 
as to the weather, for many months ahead. 
When the winter is to be long and cold, 
they build the rush and reed walls of their 
houses thicker, both to keep out the cold 
and to serve them as provender. When 
there is to be high water in the spring, 
they build their houses high, so that they 



will not be drowned out when the freshet 
comes. 

The family of muskrats to which 
Musky belonged, had been very cozy in 
their nicely constructed house, where 
they nestled close to their mother's warm 
fur and were content. It was several 
weeks before they were large enough to 
crawl about, but they grew much faster 
than other small creatures, so in two 
months they were exploring the house for 
themselves. 

Before the spring freshet came they 
were large enough to go outside, and run 
about in the tunnels that the old musk- 
rats had made in the snow. These tun- 
nels were very winding and led from point 
to point, where provender had been stored. 

About the middle of April there were 
several days of hard rain, and the tee in 
the river broke up, and the spring flood 
began. 

At first the three conical houses on the 
island had seemed very secure, for they 
were on a high point, and several feet 
above water. But an ice-jam was formed 



248 



OVEBLAND MONTHLY. 



in the river below, and the water rose 
rapidly. This was something that the 
rats had not expected; so, like the wisest 
of us, they were taken unawares. Soon 
the water came into the lower story of 
their house, and they went to the second 
floor. Then that, too, became flooded, and 
they went to the third and last. But the 
water still rose, and the fate of the poor 
muskrats looked dubious. The water was 
so deep about their house that they could 
not escape by the water passage, and reach 
a place of refuge before their breath and 
strength would be gone. Finally, the 
floor of their last refuge became wet, and 
they huddled up in one corner, frightened 
and miserable. 

Then a lucky accident delivered them 
from the trap in which they had been 
caught, for a log came rushing and tum- 
bling about in the current, and stove in 
the top of their house, and their escape 
was made more easy. 

But where should they flee, for on every 
side was water, water, water, and nothing 
but water. It was not placid and inviting, 
as they were used to see it, but turbulent 
and angry, and they feared it with an un- 
known fear. 

Soon a long, queer object began slowly 
moving across the meadows, towards the 
island. Occasionally a bright flame would 
leap from this strange thing, and a thun- 
derous noise would reverberate across the 
water. The muskrats did not know what 
it all meant, but it doubled their fears, 
which were already great. 

Soon the monster drew near the island 
and its three conical houses, and the old 
rats became alarmed. They were all out 
on the top of the house now, and could 
see the moving object quite plainly. Then 
the thunder stick spoke again, louder and 
more terribly than it had before, and one 
of the old rats and three of the children 
rolled, kicking and splashing, into the 
river, and the water about them was red 
with blood. Then a friendly plank came 
floating by, and the remaining old musk- 
rat, and three of the youngsters swam and 
climbed upon it. Bang, bang, bang, went 
the thunder stick again, and the old musk- 
rat and two of the children on the plank 
tumbled off, as the others had done from 
the top of their house; and little Musky 
was left alone upon the plank, in a hostile 



and terrible world. But the water was 
more merciful than man, for the current 
bore him swiftly away, out of reach of the 
thunder-stick. 

On, on, the current swept the friendly 
plank, and this queer little mariner was 
borne far away from all familiar things, 
and never again in his adventurous life 
did he see any of his own family. Some- 
times the plank rushed through narrows 
with a speed that fairly took his breath 
away, and then it glided gently along, 
where the river was broad and not so tur- 
bulent. Once it rushed into a whirlpool 
and was sent spinning round and round. 
The poor rat became quite dizzy, and near- 
ly lost his hold, but he knew intuitively 
that his only hope was in clinging tight, 
so he clung. 

Several times the plank shot under long 
bridges, where the swollen waters nearly 
washed the floor. At another point it shot 
over a great dam, with the speed of an 
arrow. 

Finally, after several hours, it was car- 
ried into back water, and lodged in some 
bushes, and Musky's travels ceased for a 
while, for which he was very glad, for it 
tired him and made him so dizzy he could 
hardly tell water from land. 

Soon another plank came floating by 
and lodged still nearer the shore, so he 
left the plank that had served him so well, 
and swam to the second one, and from that 
to an old log, until at last he was on 
land. Here his first care was to eat some 
last year's dead water grass, and stop 
the gnawing at his vitals. Then he crawled 
into a hole in the bank and went to sleep. 

When he awoke he was sore and stiff, 
but a run in the sand soon restored his 
good feelings. There was plenty of good 
food, both in the wash along the shore, and 
in the reeds and water grasses, so he fared 
very well as far as food was concerned, but 
he was very lonely. He had always had a 
dozen or more young muskrats for play- 
mates and companions, and it seemed 
strange to be left all alone. He had no 
idea where the island in the great river 
could be found again, and soon gave up 
looking for it. 

The second day he made the acquaint- 
ance of a drowned-out skunk, which made 
it a little less lonesome. The skunk did 
not have very much to do with him, but 





ON, ON, THE OTJRRENT SWEPT THE FRIENDLY PLANK. 



250 



0\ 7 EELAND MONTHLY. 



it was nice just to have some one to look 
at, and to know that there were other liv- 
ing things, besides himself, that the flood 
had pushed from their homes. 

After about a week, the flood subsided, 
and the river went back to its old channel. 
The sun then came out warm for the time 
of year and dried up the sand. The young 
muskrat found the sand a great delight, 
and was never tired of playing in it, but 
he soon learned that his element was the 
water. On land he was awkward, and did 
not know just how to make his legs go, but 
in the water they went all right. So he 
concluded that he was made for swimming 
and kept much to the water. 

Two very serious mishaps befell him 
this first summer, which he might have 
avoided if he had been in the company of 
wiser heads, but he was alone in the world, 
and had to buy all his wisdom. 

One morning in midsummer he was 
playing on the shore, after having made a 
fine breakfast on lily bulbs, when he no- 
ticed a shadow upon the ground beside 
him. It had not been there a second be- 
fore, and he wondered what made it. The 
next second he found out in a way that 
astonished him, for there was a great flap- 
ping above him, and before he knew what 
was about to happen, a large fish-hawk 
had wrapped steely talons about him, and 
strong wings were bearing him away. 

With that instinct of self-preservation 
that is strong in all wild creatures, and 
which tells them to do the right thing at 
the right time, the young rat drew him- 
self up, and buried his teeth in the hawk's 
leg. 

The old osprey had caught many young 
muskrats before; none of them had ever 
bitten him, but he had taken this one up 
in the wrong manner. It was so sudden 
and unexpected that for a second the hawk 
loosed his grip, and the poor rat dropped 
back into the river, with a suddenness 
that knocked the breath out of his body, 
and left him kicking and gasping on the 
surface of the water. The hawk could 
easily have taken him again, but the musk- 
rat's teeth had sunk deep into his leg, and 
he concluded to go after a fish instead. 
Fish did not act in that uncivil manner. 

So little Musky escaped this time, but 
he never forgot the lesson. After that, 
whenever he saw the fish-hawk hovering 



above the river, he sought a safe shelter, 
and was very careful not to show himself 
until the osprey had gone. Musky's sec- 
ond adventure, and one from which he 
learned a valuable lesson, was with his 
worst enemy, the mink. 

One evening, when he was playing in 
the shallows of a little brook, which ran 
into the river, he saw a slim, sleek-looking 
animal, not much larger than himself, 
come gliding noiselessly down the brook. 
His movements were all stealthy, and his 
head was turned this way and that, inquir- 
ingly ; his eyes were sharp and beady, and 
Musky did not like his looks, although he 
seemed small and harmless. 

Presently the stranger caught sight of 
the muskrat and fixed his glittering eyes 
upon him. This made Musky feel un- 
comfortable, and, deciding to give the 
fierce little stranger all the room he 
wanted, he moved to the other side of the 
brook, but the mink followed, his eyes 
getting brighter and brighter. Then 
Musky concluded the stranger was not to 
his liking, and fled towards the river, 
where there was plenty of water, the mink 
following fast. Out and in among the lily 
pads they raced, the mink gaining on the 
rat, and Musky getting more and more 
frightened. What could this little fury 
want of him? 

Wihen they reached the river, the mink 
was but a few feet behind, and he glided 
after the muskrat like a snake. In his 
great fright, the muskrat did the only 
thing that he could have done to save hia 
life. He knew of no burrow in which to 
take refuge, so he swam for deep water, 
and dove to the bottom. His lungs were 
much stronger than those of the mink, so 
by a series of dives he soon winded his 
pursuer, and escaped, hiding in the lily 
pads until he was gone. 

After this thrilling chase, the muskrat's 
life went on quite uneventfully, until the 
fall freeze. When the rivers and streams 
began to skim over with ice each morning, 
and the grass along the bank was covered 
with hoar-frost, something told the musk- 
rat that snow and cold were coming. He 
knew by some rare instinct that he would 
not always be able to make his breakfast 
at the brook-side, as he now did. 

So with prudent forethought he began 
building a great mound of reeds, rushes, 




A FINE BREAKFAST ON LILY BULBS. 



lily pads, moss and other plants that grew 
in swampy places. 

Higher and higher he piled this heap 
of plant life, until it was five or six feet 
high, and nearly as far across at the base. 
The inside of this queer haycock he left 
hollow, and when it was finished, he made 
two channels underground, from the in- 
side of his house, to the brook. 

He made these channels quite long, so 



that his enemy, the mink, would have a 
hard time holding his breath if he should 
undertake to enter at his front door. 

This queer house that the muskrat had 
built was to serve two purposes. First, 
it was his place of refuge and shelter, and 
secondly it was his food. Who ever heard 
of any one eating his house? But this 
was. what the muskrat did, while the 
winter days went by. 




THE MAN WHO INSPIRED 
"RAMONA" 



BY LOUIS J. 



ILLUSTRATED WITH PHOTOGRAPHS. 




F THE many millions 
who have read Helen 
Hunt Jackson's fam- 
ous novel of Southern 
California, very few 
realize that the story 
is true, and a still 
smaller number know 
that the man who inspired a young and 
then unknown writer to produce her mas- 
terpiece has just been laid to rest in 
San Diego. 

Father A. D. Ubach, for forty years 
priest of St. Joseph's Church in San 
Diego, is the original of one of the strong- 
est characters in the story of Ramona : 
"Father Gaspard, the bearded priest; 
more of a soldier than the man of God." 
Thus he is described by the author of 
"Ramona," to whom he told the dramatic 
story of the beautiful half-caste girl and 
her red-skinned lover many years ago. 

Miss Helen Hunt, as was then her 
name, met Fathej Ubach while visiting 
San Diego, and was deeply impressed by 
the latter's striking personality. Father 
Ubach, also, was attracted by the young 
writer, and, learning of her literary ambi- 
tions, told her the story of Ramona and 
Allesandro, whose dramatic fortunes and 
ill-starred union were always among the 
most vivid memories of his stirring and 
eventful life. 

Graphically, and with the realism of 
combined eloquence and intimate personal 
knowledge, Father Ubach poured into the 
eager ears of his fair listener the sub- 
stance of the story so well elaborated in 
the resultant book. He described the mis- 
givings, perplexities and battlings with 
Self which shook Ramona's heart and 
mind when she found herself in love with 
the young Indian chief employed on her 



foster parents' estate; how the call of the 
free, wild blood in her veins clashed with 
the Castillian heritage of restraint, dig- 
nity and pride which were also there, and 
of her final abandonment of home, social 
position and all her former world held 
dear, to follow Allesandro into the moun- 
tains a penniless outcast, yet radiant 
with happiness and hope. 

No other could have told the young 
writer of these things, for Father Ubach 
was the confessor, comforter and truest 
friend of both Allesandro and Ramona. 
It was he who counselled the girl before 
her fateful marriage. He performed the 
marriage ceremony in the ancient adobe 
mission church at Old San Diego, fol- 
lowed their subsequent career of continued 
misfortune with words of cheer, wise coun- 
sel and even more material assistance, and 
performed the last rites over Allesandro's 
remains, when he fell a victim to the 
rapacity of a murderous land-grabber. Nor 
did Father Ubach's beneficent influence 
end here, for through all the subsequent 
years of Ramona's widowhood and the de- 
cline of her grief-shortened life, he re- 
mained the friend, counselor and advisor. 

All this Miss Hunt learned from the 
lips of Father Ubach, and that she might 
have further opportunity to clothe the ro- 
mance with dramatic realism, he guided 
her, personally, to many of the scenes 
where its principal events had been en- 
acted. 

The result was a novel which took im- 
mediate rank among the world's master- 
pieces, and has sometimes been called the 
"Uncle Tom's Cabin" of the red man, 
even as Ramona and Allesandro were the 
Romeo and Juliet of the Indian race. The 
pen picture of "Father Gaspard," in 
which Father Ubach and his noble, active 




FATHER UBACH S ORIGINAL CHAPEL NEAR SAN DIEGO, WHERE HE HELD 

SERVICES IN 1868. 




OLD ADOBE MISSION NEAR SAN DIEGO, WHERE RAMONA WAS MARRIED. 




FATHER UBACH, FROM HIS LATEST PHOTOGRAPH. 



life have been so vividly portrayed, is con- 
ceded to be the best description of the 
venerable priest extant, and the friend- 
ship between him and Mrs. Jackson was 
never broken during his life. 

Aside from his connection with Ea- 
mona, Father TJbach's career has been 
such as to win him renown of the first 
order. He came to San Diego forty years 
ago from Missouri, where he had emi- 
grated from his home in Barcelona, Spain. 
Until his twenty-first year, the church 
was not his aim, for, despite his youth, he 



ranked as one of Spain's best swordsmen 
and a poet of no mean ability. An affair 
of the heart is said to have turned his 
purpose to a consecrated life, and soon af- 
ter he left his native land, never to re- 
turn. 

Wihen he first arrived in San Diego, the 
business center was at a point consider- 
ably removed from the present one, and 
the population mostly Spanish and In- 
dian. His popularity was immediate, and 
his policy of firm, unwavering justice won 
the esteem and confidence of all alike. 



"GRANDMA" VARNER AND "TOMMY." 



255 



During some of the most momentous 
events of Southern California's history, 
Father Ubach was a leader, unfalteringly 
advocating the right, and usually winning 
his point, though he never made use of 
Church influence on such, occasions or 
took any advantage of his cloth. 

Father Ubach was looked upon as a 
demi-God by the Indians, whose friend he 
always remained, and during the trou- 
blous days of disputed land rights, when 
many contended that the red man was be- 
ing outrageously treated by a thoughtless 
Government and unscrupulous land grab- 
bers, Father Ubach righted many a glar- 
ing wrong and averted many an uprising 
which might have cost countless human 
lives. 

Perhaps the one marked idiosyncrasy 
of Father Ubach's well balanced mind 
was his antipathy to photographers seek- 
ing for his picture. To one and all of 
these he kindly but firmly refused permis- 



sion to "Kodak" him, and although thou- 
sands have tried, surreptitiously, to snap- 
shot him, his curious watchfulness, 
amounting almost to second sight, pre- 
vented one and all from achieving any 
measure of success. He would simply 
turn as the photographer was about to 
press the button, and without any attempt 
to turn away or cover his face from view, 
would hold up his hand in a majestic ges- 
ture of protest which no one ever dared or 
cared to disregard. 

As a result, no picture of Father Ubaeh 
was printed until after his death, when a 
San Diego photographer finished two 
negatives he had exposed of a group con- 
taining Father Ubach at the funeral of 
the Bennington victims. On this occa- 
sion, Father Ubach could not well object, 
but kept his eyes on his book. He never 
explained this whim, but many consider 
it a regard for the sanctity of the vest- 
ments he wore. 



'GRANDMA" VARNER AND 
"TOMMY" 

BY ELIZABETH A. KELLY 



WITH A PHOTOGRAPH BY P. P. STEVENS. 




RANDMA VARNER, 

the last of the "types" 
selected by Helen 
Hunt Jackson for her 
stories of the rugged 
Rockies, is dead. 

In a little hut on 
the outskirts of 
Denver, she closed her eyes while the 
June sun was sinking and her pain-racked 
body found relief. It had been a long, 
long time since she had feasted on the 
beauties of the everlasting hills, and it 
had been weary months and years since 
she has been able to reach the door of her 
hut without assistance to drink in the 
warm, invigorating air. 

Years ago Helen Hunt Jackson trudged 



the Colorado plains and journeyed through 
the mountain fastnesses, looking for ma- 
terial upon which to build the fascinat- 
ing stories which have since made her 
famous. 

She was a busy woman in search of 
"types." She had grown to know the men 
and the women who peopled the villages 
which nestled in the foothills, and while 
there was a charm about their very rug- 
gedness of character, in those strenuous 
days, intuitively the woman felt that the 
mountains sheltered a still sturdier army. 

And so it came about that Helen Hunt 
Jackson discovered "Grandma" Varner, 
and heard from the thin, worn lips the 
stories of hardship and suffering, the 
stories of love and devotion, which she 



256 



OVERLAND MONTHLY. 



wove into "Bits of Travel at Home," a 
book which holds a place in the library of 
every Coloradoan. 

if was more than thirty years ago when 
the clear Colorado skies smiled on a 
smaller band of men and women and the 
canyons echoed less frequently the shrill 
whistle of the engine, that Mrs. Jackson 
made her way out of Colorado Springs 
into the mountains which were even then 
being blasted to meet the demands of the 
march of progress. 

On a lonely mountain road she came 
upon an old woman, stooped and gray, 
with her arms well filled with kindling. 

The type fascinated her. She stopped 
and interrogated the wrinkled creature. 
Her heart was touched; she wanted to 
offer help, but almost the first words that 
fell from the pale and drawn lips were 
these : 

"Oh, no; I ain't never suffered. I've 
always had a plenty. I've always been 
took care of. God always takes care of 
me." 

It was the key to the character of the 
woman, and with it Helen Hunt Jackson 
opened up a treasure house which fur- 
nished the most delightful pages of her 
"Bits of Travel at Home." 

Until a few weeks ago, this same old 
woman, with hair whiter if whiter it 
could be with lips more purple and more 
drawn, but with her tired old brain still 
alive to the happenings of the strenuous 
days of which she told Helen Hunt Jack- 
eon, still lived, "waiting for the call to go 
home." 

In a little frame house of a single room 
on the borders of Denver she lived with 
her son Thomas, the "Tommy" of the 
book, and every day the little children of 
the district which lies 'below the railroad 
tracks would gather about her to hear 
again the stories of the long ago, when 
Colorado was new, when its wealth was 
unexplored, and when sturdy men and 
women, and heroic little children, endured 
privation and hardship that they might 
grow with the new country, and one day 
taste of its treasures. 

It isn't so very many years since Helen 
Hunt Jackson was buried in the hills out- 
side Colorado Springs on the brink of a 
precipice where she used to sit and weave 
her stories, but it is many years since her 



"characters" passed into the Great Be- 
yond, with the sole exception of Mrs. Mary 
Varner, whom every one knew always as 
just "Grandma." 

Although blind, as if her eyes had never 
opened on a beautiful world, and crip- 
pled so that she could only with difficulty 
move from her bed to her chair, "Grand- 
ma" Varner clung tenaciously to life, and 
the memories, sweet and bitter, which her 
tired old brain sheltered. She loved to 
talks of the days of long ago, and best of 
all, she loved to tell the story of her first 
meeting with Helen Hunt Jackson. It is 
this meeting which Mrs. Jackson uses in 
her story called the "New Anvil Chorus," 
which appears toward the end of "Bits of 
Travel at Home." 

This is the way Mrs. Jackson tells of 
the meeting: 

"The boards of a wagon top were set 
up close by the doorway, and on these 
were hanging beds, bedding and a variety 
of nondescript garments. A fire was burn- 
ing on the ground a few steps off, and on 
this was a big iron kettle full of clothes 
boiling; there were two or three old pans 
and iron utensils standing near the fire; 
an old flag-bottomed chair, its wood worn 
smooth and shining by long use, and a 
wooden bench on which was a wash-tub 
. full of clothes soaking in water. I paused 
to look at the picture, and a woman pass- 
ing said : 

" 'That's Grandma's house.' 

" 'Your grandmother ?' I asked. 

"'Oh, no,' she replied. 'She ain't no- 
body's grandmother; but we all call her 
grandma. She's here with her son; he 
was weakly, and she brought him here. 
There ain't many like her. I wonder 
where she's gone, leavin' her washin' this 
way.' 

"Then we fell into talk about the new 
city, and what the woman's husband was 
doing, and how hard it was for them to 
get along, and presently we heard foot- 
steps. 

" 'Oh, there's grandma now,' she said. 

"I looked up and saw a tall, thin wo- 
man in a short, scant calico gown, with an 
old woolen shawl crossed at her neck and 
pinned tight at the belt after the fashion 
of the Quaker women. Her sleeves were 
rolled up above her elbows, and her arms 
were brown and muscular as an Indian's 




GRANDMA VARNER. 



Copyrighted by F. P. Stevens 



Her thin, gray hair blew about her tem- 
ples under an old limp, brown sunbonnet, 
which hid the outline of her face, but did 
not hide the brightness of her keen, light- 
gray eyes. Her face was actually seamed 
with wrinkles; her mouth had fallen in 
from want of teeth, and yet she did not 
look wholly like an old woman. 

" 'Grandma, this lady's from Colorado 
Springs,' said my companion, by way of 
introduction. 

"Grandma was carrying an armful of 
cedar boughs. She threw them on the 
ground, and turning to me, said with a 
smile that lighted up her whole face : 

" 'How d'ye do, marm ? That's a place 
I've always wanted to see. I've alwa}^ 
thought I'd like to live to the springs ever 
since I've been in this country.' 

" 'Yes/ I said, 'it's a pleasant town ; but 
do you not like it here ?' 

"She glanced at her shanty and its sur- 
roundings, and I felt guilty at having 
asked my question ; but she replied : 

" 'Oh, yes, I like it very well here. When 



we get our house built we'll be comfort- 
able. It's only for Tommy I'm here. If 
it wan't for him I wouldn't stay in this 
country. He's all I've got. Wfe're all 
alone here; that is, so far as connections 
goes; but we've got plenty of friends, and 
Gods' here just the same as everywhere.' 

"She spoke this last sentence in as natu- 
ral and easy a tone as all the rest; there 
was no more trace of cant or affectation 
in her mention of the name, of God than 
her mention of Tommy's. They seemed 
equal]y familiar and equally dear. Then 
she went to the fire and turned the clothes 
over with a long stick, and prepared to 
resume her work. 

" 'How long have you been here ?' I 
asked. 

" 'Only about a week,' she said. 'Tommy 
he's working's hard's ever he can to get 
me a house built. It worries him to see 
me living this way. He's got it three logs 
high already,' proudly pointing to it only 
a few rods further up the hill. 'But 
Tommy's only a boy yet. He ain't six- 



258 



OVERLAND MONTHLY. 



teen ; he's learning ; he's learning to do for 
hisself ; he's a real good boy, and he's get- 
ting stronger every day; he's getting his 
health real firm, 'n that's all I want. 
'Tain't any matter what becomes of me, 
if I can only get Tommy started all 
right/ " 

And this is the story of "Grandma" 
Varner told to the last. She did not 
know until sixteen years ago that her 
stories had been incorporated in one of 
Mrs. Jackson's books, but the knowledge 
filled her with pride, and as long as her 
sight lasted, she read and re-read the little 
tale of the hills. 

To the end of her days, as when Mrs. 
Jackson first met her, "Grandma" Var- 
ner wore a scarf about her neck, crossed at 
the waist in Quaker style, and her hair 
was combed with faultless precision just 
as it was three decades ago. Although 
she could not see, her fingers were still 
nimble, and she had learned by long prac- 
tice the little touches that would lend 
charm to her personal appearance. 

Hardly a day went by that the little old 
woman did not breathe her story in the 
hut on the outskirts of a flourishing city. 
She was away from the noise and the din. 
of busy life, but the mountains lay off 
to the west of her window, and their com- 
panionship, though she could no longer 
feast her. eyes on their snow-capped peaks 
shut out the loneliness from her heart. 

Eighty-nine years had rolled over her 
head, and eighty-nine years filled with- 
out trouble stood out in her memory. No 
flowers grew near the dusty spot which 
"Grandma" Varner called home, and no 
sound of music penetrated the frame 
walls. 

But the memory of other years cheated 
her into utter forgetfulness of the presen* 
and the hope of "home" at last buoyed her 
up. 

"I remember Mrs. Jackson just as plain 
as I do my mother," the old woman would 
generally say by way of preface to her 
story. 

"Oh, yes, it was years ago when they 
undertook to build the new railroad out 
from Colorado Springs. I had only a 
little while before taken Tommy out with 
me to Colorado, for he was kind of delicate 
like, and I lived in fear of losing him. He 
was a slip of a boy about sixteen, and he 



was all the help he could be to me, but 
times were hard. We took our wagon and 
tried to follow the men along the road, 
Tommy earning money hauling for them 
and I doing their washing and mending. 
The day I met Mrs. Jackson stands out in 
my memory as bringing into my life a 
character altogether new. She was the 
first person who was ever really kind to 
me. 

"One day while I had the clothes a boil- 
ing over the fire beside the wagon-box 
where we lived, I noticed that I was out 
of wood, and I had to go and gather some 
so that my clothes might be dried that 
night. 

"I was walking down the road with my 
arms filled with twigs and wood when I 
saw the strange woman. She seemed kind 
of interested in me, but I was just a little 
bit annoyed, for I had my work to do, and 
did not want to be disturbed. 

"A woman I knew pretty well intro- 
duced her as Mrs. Jackson, and I stood 
and talked a minute and then told her ifi 
she wanted to visit with me she'd have to 
sit down and let me go ahead with my 
work. I was out of money and had to 
get the washing done as quick as I coulc 
to get a dollar or two. While I worked 
she talked to me and asked me many 
questions. I did not think I was ver) 
agreeable to her, but as she left she gave 
me $2 and asked me to come and see her 
when I went to Colorado Springs. 

"I never had any intention of going to 
see her, for I knew she was a grand lady 
but when the work gave out in the moun- 
tains, Tommy and I went to the springs 
There I took in washing for some people 
in Consumption Row, and Tommy he ran 
chores for others. One day Mrs. Jackson 
was down in that part of town doing some 
charity work, when she heard of Tommy. 

"She wondered right away if it was my 
boy, and looked us up. She called, and 
was mortified to death because there wa 
no fire. I told the visitor that Tommy 
must have forgotten to order coal, and she 
said she didn't mind the cold, but a littte 
later that day a ton of coal came to us,, 
a present from her. She wanted us to 
come over to her house that night, ani 
she had her cook give us a basket full of- : 
good things to take home. We took to. 
going over there often, but I had no idea 



OBSCUKITY. 



259 



the stories I told her would ever see print.'"' 

"Grandma" Varner approached the 
ninetieth milestone with the recollection 
of having experienced fewer comforts, per- 
haps, than any living person. From her 
childhood days the fates treated her un- 
kindly. Wihen she married, back in Mis- 
souri, years ago, her first home was a 
cabin, the logs of which were so far apart 
that the cats walked through the aper- 
tures with ease. 

A ladder ran up the side of the house so 
that water could be carried to the chimney 
after each meal had been prepared to ex- 
tinguish the flames. 

She had six children, of whom only one 
lives. There is also a great-grandchild 
playing in the familiar streets of Colo- 
rado Springs. Two sons were shot down 
before her eyes in the Civil War. Of her 
husband she never spoke. 

Her story of how she happened to come 
to Colorado is one which she told Mrs. 
Jackson. 

"Tommy and I were living alone," she 
said, in telling this phase of her story a 
day or two before she died. "And he was 



sort of delicate. I took in washing to sup- 
port us, and one day the clothes came to 
me wrapped in a newspaper. The paper 
told all about Colorado, and I remember 
reading, 'They don't die in Colorado ; they 
have to kill them to fill the graveyards.' 

"I immediately thought of Tommy and 
of the chances of saving him, and so I 
sold the little place and started West 
with a horse and wagon. My box con- 
taining my household goods and my 
feather bed became too heavy for the old 
horse to pull, and a man we met on the 
way freighted it through for me with his 
things. When I reached Pueblo I could 
not find it, and it was a year later that it 
was sent me from some place in Kansas. 
I was in Las Animas then, and every one 
in the town knew when 'Grandma's box' 
arrived, and they all gathered to see me 
open it. 

"Yes, it was a hard life for an old wo- 
man with a sick boy, but I am all right 
now; Tommy's well and strong, and as 
soon as God is ready I am going home to 
rest." 

And she has gone. 



OBSCURITY 



BY 



DONALD B. TOBEY 



kAME glanced a moment on my eager face, 

And placed the crown upon another's head; 
Bereft and barren seemed the petty place 
Where long my fretting, fettered footsteps led. 

Until one day in Nature's solitudes, 

I found companionship and learned content. 

For there where seldom human foot intrudes 
Were hidden gems proclaiming His intent. 

In forest fastnesses the orchids hide, 

The seas hold richer pearls than any mart, 

And all by one perfected plan abide 
T am content with my appointed part. 




OUR SURFMEN 



BY 



JOANNA NICHOLLS KYLE 



PHOTOGRAPHS FURNISHED BY S. I. KIMBALL. 




OFF ! Here he 
comes !" A simulta- 
neous burst of ap 
plause went up from 
a handsomely dressed 
group of men and 
women, members of 
the Clover Club, as- 
sembled in one of Philadelphia's largest 
hotels, as their guest of the evening en- 
tered bluff, weather-beaten Captain 
Mark Casto, who has risked his life in 
volunteer service, taking his fishing vessel 
out to the stranded steamer "Cherokee/ 
to assist the life saving crew of Atlantic 
City then struggling against fearful odds 
to rescue her passengers. 

We catch up the cry and echo it: Hats 
off to our noble life savers ! Honor to the 
valiant surfmen who guard our coasts ! 
Theirs is a life of daily hardship, peril, ex- 
posure and exhausting toil, independent 
of those occasions in the event of a ship- 
wreck which call forth acts of .super- 
human strength and heroism. Our little 
army of life-savers, now more than two 
thousand strong, are enlisted annually for 
the service after a rigid physical exami- 
nation. They reside at their respective 



stations, at lonely, desolate localities, iso- 
lated from human association on the At- 
lantic and Gulf Coasts, from the first of 
August to the last of May (the open sea- 
son), on the lake shores from the opening 
of navigation early in the spring till its 
close, some time in December, on the 
Pacific Coast throughout the entire year, 
because the accidents occurring here are 
due to independent local causes, not to 
changes of season. Only one day's absence 
from duty is allowed to each man during 
his year of enlistment. Every hour of 
every day has its appointed task care of 
the station, drill with the beach appara- 
tus, watch from the tower, and drill with 
the life boats, the last always a hazard- 
ous performance, not infrequently attend- 
ed with drowning. By night, patrol of the 
beach is maintained in spite of wintry 
storms. Fighting against wind and rain, 
snow and darkness, the surfman trudges 
on his beat, ever f^ert to warn some ves- 
sel from running into danger or render 
aid to those involved already in disaster. 
No words can measure the depth of un- 
speakable comfort conveyed by that crim- 
son flash from the life saver's torch. To 
the ship-wrecked it announces that their 



OUR SURFMEN. 



261 



distress is known and help is coming! 

The first rude contrivances for saving 
life and property on the seaboard of the 
United States were established by the 
Massachusetts Humane Society, in 1791, 
but it was not till many years later that 
our Government took any practical inter- 
est in this work, when revenue cutters 
were ordered to cruise along the shore in 
winter to assist merchant vessels in pos- 
sible distress, and a few poorly equipped 
stations were erected at points of special 
danger. Thirty-six years ago, Hon. Sum- 
ner I. Kimball was appointed Chief of 
the Revenue Marine; when the benevolent 
little adjunct to his bureau found an en- 
thusiastic friend and patron. Under the 
direction of Mr. Kimball, life saving be- 
came an important feature; its area was 
widely extended, and finally, through the 
championship of Hon. S. S. Cox, in the 
House of Representatives, a separate bu- 



and which commanded success at every 
move. In a recent interview he said : "I've 
got a fight on my hands at present. I am 
always fighting for the service, I believe. 
It cost me a twenty-year battle to rid it of 
politics, and now I'm struggling to get 
a bill through Congress giving us a re- 
tired list like the army and navy. The 
revenue cutter service has recently been 
granted a retired list, and I think our 
men are entitled to the same." 

At the present time there are 278 life 
saving stations in the United States, on 
some portions of the coast placed at such 
short intervals that they form chains of 
continuous posts within communicating 
distance of each other, while in contrast 
with this large number the whole Pacific 
Coast has but seventeen. True to its 
name, this coast is a peaceful one. From 
the port of San Francisco extending south 
the climate is so bland that wrecks are of 




reau was created, in 1878, and Mr. Kim- 
ball in recognition of his exceptional fit- 
ness for the post, was appointed General 
Superintendent of the Life Saving Ser- 
vice, a position which he still occupies. He 
is an indefatigable worker and continues 
to feel the same warm affection for his 
duties that characterized his early efforts 



rare occurrence, while the northern part 
of the seaboard is irregular, bold and un- 
broken, and contains but few harbors. The 
prevailing winds are veritable monsoons, 
and blow, not towards the shore, but along 
its line. The weather, therefore, is easily 
forecast, and navigation is practically 
safe, but there are, however, a few ex- 




THE ORLEANS CHEW. 



tremely dangerous points, mostly situ- 
ated at the entrance to important har- 
bors. A striking illustration of these facts 
is the bar at Humboldt harbor, California. 
Accidents here are so startlingly sudden 
that upon one occasion a schooner cap- 
sized and her entire crew of eight men 
were lost before any attempt could be 
made to save them. The masts of the ves- 
sel were snapped by contact with the bar, 
and she was turned keel uppermost the 
whole sad affair from the instant she was 
overtaken by the destroying waves till 
she was drifting a helpless wreck having 
occupied only a few moments. The wind 
was blowing fresh off land at the time, but 
the sea was rough on the bar, and the 
captain had under-estimated the difficulty 
of entering the harbor. 

One of the finest rescues ever enacted 
in the history of the Life Saving Service 
took place at this locality. Its object was 
the steamer "Weeott," having on board a 
crew of seventeen men and seven passen- 
gers, December 1, 1899, which, attempt- 
ing to cross the bar at Humboldt Harbor, 
met with instant and appalling catastro- 
phe. It is a curious coincidence that the 
steamer "Chilkat" stranded at the same 
port in a precisely similar manner eight 



months earlier in the year. The captain 
of the "Weecott" had waited nearly an 
hour for a flood tide, and the water ap- 
peared to be smooth, but so treacherous is 
the spot that just as the vessel reached 
the outer edge of the bar a huge comber 
of green water burst on board with tre- 
mendous force, smashing in the after end 
of the house, staving to pieces two life 
boats, floating the cabin and engine room, 
and carrying away part of the rigging. 
In another minute the vessel broached 
broadside to and began to roll with fright- 
ful violence, the waves breaking over her 
constantly, while a powerful current be- 
gan to carry her around the south jetty. 
There she tossed for half an hour before 
she struck the rocks, with so heavy and 
sudden a shock that the main mast went 
by the board and one seaman was hurled 
from the rigging to the deck and killed 
instantly. It was now pitch dark, and 
great seas were rushing over the deck, 
breaking at times mast-head high. 

Meanwhile the disaster had been wit- 
nessed by two surfmen in the watch tower 
of the adjacent life-saving station, who 
ran to give the alarm, and within two 
minutes a boat was launched and being 
propelled "with all the energy and 



DUE SUKFMEN. 



263 



strength of willing men bent on sav- 
ing human life." They made marvelous 
speed, but attempting to pull around the 
end of the jetty, they were met by an ugly 
sea indeed. Again and again, with dia- 
bolic opposition, a big comber would pick 
up the resolute little bark and throw it 
fifty yards astern, but the men tugged 
desperately at the oars for half an hour, 
when surfman Nelson, who was in com- 
mand, observing that the wreck had 
worked in near the shore, determined to 
land in hopes of being able to reach her 
with the lines carried in the boat. Pulling 
back to smooth water, the surfmen landed 
and made their way over the trestle 
abreast of the wreck, but they soon dis- 
covered that the vessel was too far off to 
be assisted without the beach apparatus. 
Hailing her captain, Nelson told him to 
try to hold on for half an hour, while he 
returned to the station for the necessary 
appliances, at the same time warning him 
against the risk of quitting the ship. 
A scylla and charybdis of surf and rocks 
lay between the ship and the mainland. 
Back to the station sped the surfmen, 



loaded the beach ^apparatus into their 
boat, and brought it to the nearest land- 
ing. But now they were confronted by 
the necessity of hauling it up from the 
rocks to the trestle. Determination and 
main strength overcame this obstacle, and 
the various parts were then parceled out 
to the men, keeper Hennig and one man 
carrying the heavy whip line, the inde- 
fatigable Nelson shouldering the Lyle 
gun, a weight of fully 175 pounds, and 
leading the way. The surf was breaking 
over the trembling frame work, darkness 
inky black enveloped the scene, and it 
was almost a miracle that the heavily bur- 
dened men ever reached their destination. 
With dogged patience they tramped on, 
for every moment was precious. The cap- 
tain of the doomed vessel had answered 
that he could probably hold on half an 
hour longer, but had implored them to 
make haste. The life savers were short 
one man, too, for hardly had they landed 
when they came across a disabled man 
crying out for help. He was lying in a 
pool of water, in imminent danger of 
drowning, and surfman Ericksen had been 



A WRECK OFF CAPE COD. 





CAPSIZING TEST WITH THIRTY-FOUR FOOT LIFE BOAT. 



detailed to take charge of him. After ad- 
ministering a stimulant, Ericksen took off 
his own dry woolen shirt and put it on the 
poor fellow, then lifted him on his back 
and carried him to the nearest dwelling, 
an arduous task in the darkness, for the 
path was long and cijcuitous, around 
fences and rocks, over eand hills and 
through pools of water waist deep. The 
task accomplished, Ericksen, though half 
naked, rejoined his mates on the jetty, 
where the keeper gave him another woolen 
shirt, as he was himself wearing two. 

When about half way to the wreck, the 
party met the ship's engineer crawling 
shoreward over the slippery timbers, but 
he seemed able to help himself, so they 
only hailed him with a word of encourage- 
ment and passed on to their more urgent 
work. The wreck had by now worked in 
to about eighty feet from the trestle, and 
five sailors had taken the risk of jumping 
overboard and had effected a landing. A 
heaving line had been thrown to them 
from the ship by means of which they had 
hauled out a two and a half inch rope. In 
this rope they had rigged a sling, and 
with the rude contrivance had proceeded 
to bring their fellow sufferers ashore. One 



of the ship's crew and a lady passenger 
had made the perilous trip in safety, but 
the life of the second lady who attempted 
to cross the maelstrom had been sacrificed. 
After she had been dashed out of the sling 
by a breaker the line had fouled among 
the rocks and could not be cleared. The 
unfortunate seamen were thoroughly dis- 
'heartened by their failure ; the trestle was 
swaying under the repeated blows of the 
surf, and they could scarcely keep their 
footing, when the arrival of the life sav- 
ing crew inspired new hope and spirit. 
Communication had to be re-established 
with the wreck, but an end of the heavy 
whip-line was caught up by one of the 
sailors, a powerful fellow, and hurled 
successfully on board. Eagerly it was 
seized by the anxious sufferers, then with 
an impatience bred of fear they hauled 
out the hawser so fast and persistently 
against all protestations that there was 
no time to adjust the breeches buoy block. 
Surfman Nelsen deftly bent a bight of 
the whip line to the buoy, and let it go. 
His after testimony in the case says: 
"They hauled it right out of my hands. 
We were not men enough to stop them." 
There was no delay in the operations from 



OUR SUEFMEN. 



265 



that time onward. Fourteen persons were 
taken from the wreck, the captain, as is 
usual, being the last to quit his ship. He 
had hardly set foot upon the trestle before 
"the wreck made a sudden lurch forward, 
a heavy sea broke over her, she leaned over 
to one side, and shot away out of sight." 
And now began the precarious journey to 
the mainland, nearly a mile over the open 
frame work of timbers three feet apart, 
with two stringers on them, where any one 
of the forlorn company might fall through 
and be lost. Fireman Quinn had a broken 
leg and a lady passenger was suffering 
agonies from a fractured spine, injuries 



The currents at this locality are capricious 
and utterly unreliable. Even in calm 
weather and without warning, great comb- 
ers arise unexpectedly and pile up on the 
river bar, extending their baleful influ- 
ence within the estuary and threatening to 
capsize the little fleet of boats engaged 
in taking salmon. There are at least thir- 
teen hundred of these tiny craft pursuing 
their venturesome vocation daily, each 
requiring two men to manage it, a boat 
puller and a net tender. As the remunera- 
tion of these poor fishermen depends up- 
on their diligence during a short period, 
are supposed to be more plentiful and 




WRECK OP SCHOONEB ELWOOD BTTBTON, CAPE COD. 



incurred when the vessel first struck. Both 
disabled persons had to be carried, but 
the wharf was finally reached without fur- 
ther mishap, and they passed on board a 
steamer which was generously offered for 
their use by its owner and were thence 
transferred to the life saving station. 

Other casualties besides those which 
may happen to large vessels are provided 
against by the life saving service. At the 
mouth of the Columbia river, a spot 
peculiarly treacherous, it has placed two 
stations to guard the fishermen who come 
here annually for their catch of salmon. 



continuing their labors far into the night. 
Familiarity with the dangers of their call- 
ing also renders them careless, and many 
a life would be lost were they not watched 
over from the tower on the bluff at Cap< 
Disappointment Station. In case of need 
an alarm gun is fired, and the surf men's 
boat, which also patrols the fishing 
grounds, is directed to the spot of the 
casualty by signals. At a meeting of the 
Council of Federated Trades of Astoria, 
Oregon in 1893, a vote of thanks was 
they naturally incur extraordinary risks, 
sein close to the breakers where salmon 



OIJK SUKFMEtf. 



267 



rendered to the Cape Disappointment 
crew for their "heroic, noble and grand 
work in rescuing the lives of fishermen at 
the risk of their own." 

An incident of which the life saving 
service may well be proud, while it mourns 
the loss of a gallant leader, was the "ven- 
ture in which Keeper Henry lost his life. 
It was made in behalf of the ship Eliza- 
beth, which stranded, February 21, 1891, 
on Four Fathom Bank, northwest of the 
entrance to San Francisco Bay, ten miles 
from the Fort Point life saving station, a 
locality clearly beyond the reasonable 
scope of the surfmen's duties. There had 
been some dispute between the captain of 
the Elizabeth and the master of the tug 
Alert over the price to be charged for tow- 
ing her in, and an agreement was not 
reached until the vessel was in imminent 
peril. When she struck, signals of dis- 
tress were set, and another tug steamed 
to the assistance of the "Alert." The cap- 
tain's wife and child were transferred to 
the latter craft in safety, but when the 
record of that dreadful day was written, 
Captain Colcord and sixteen of his crew 
were numbered with the dead. A third 
tug arriving, passed her hawser to the 
doomed ship, which had pounded over the 
shoal and was afloat again with the loss 
of her keel and leaking badly. The tes- 
timony of Mate Barclay, one of her sur- 
vivors, states that subsequently the ship, 
with two tugs pulling on her, was driven 
rapidly across the North Channel which 
is very narrow directly on to the rocks, 
and within forty-five minutes she was 
splintered into fragments. Meanwhile, her 
signals had been seen by a surfman of the 
Golden Gate Park life saving station. A 
tremendous surf was breaking on the 
beach, making it impossible to launch a 
boat, so the keeper telephoned the situa- 
tion to the Fort Point crew, advising them 
to go to the rescue. Keeper Henry bore 
the reputation of a cool, courageous and 
careful man, so when he ordered out the 
life boat his men obeyed with absolute 
faith in their leader, although the dark- 
ness was intense, the sea sharp and choppy 
and the wind blowing in gusts, which 
mounted to hurricane speed. The tug Be- 
lief, on being hailed, took the little craft 
in tow and proceeded slowly, shipping 
heavy seas until Point Bonita was 



reached. Here the master of the tug 
stopped and strongly urged Keeper Henry 
not to go any further, declaring that it 
was "blowing a living gale out on the 
Xorth Channel, and no boat could live 
outside the point." Their colloquy was 
interrupted by a powerful sea which threw 
the life boat partly under and athwart the 
bow of the tug, and to save her from be- 
ing stove the crew were ordered to cut the 
tow line. The surfmen gave way at the 
oars and were rapidly swallowed up in the 
darkness. With a supreme effort, they 
kept the life boat off the rocks toward 
which the fierce gale, the strong eddy and 
the heave of the sea were driving her, and 
when the westerly arm of Point Diablo 
was reached, it was found to be impossi- 
ble to weather it. Fortunately at this 
moment they were met by the tug Alert 
returning in a crippled condition from her 
struggle to save the Elizabeth. She 
stopped and took the life boat's hawser, al- 
though in the operation of making it fast, 
both craft were momentarily in danger of 
being hurled on the rocky shore. But the 
two boats had scarcely gathered headway 
when the life boat took a broad sheer and 
filled with water. Her rudder was broken 




SUMNER I. KIMBALL, GENERAL SUPER- 
INTENDENT LIFE SAVING SERVICE. 



268 



OVERLAND MONTHLY. 



and Keeper Henry, wh/> was steering, was 
washed off into the blackness of the tem- 
pest. In vain the surfmen shouted that 
they had lost a man overboard; the roar 
of the sea and the howling of the wind 
drowned their voices until they had been 
towed some distance beyond the spot of 
the accident. The captain of the tug then 
answered that it was too hazardous to turn 
back with his vessel in such a disabled 
condition; so the devoted surfmen cut 
loose once more, got out their oars, and 
went back alone in search of their chief. 
But the enraged elements were more than 
a match for even such indomitable cour- 
age, and the men were finally forced to 
return home thoroughly disheartened, 
leaving the fiends of Point Diablo to re- 



land on a raft, but about a dozen individ- 
uals still remained on the sinking vessel. 
Two nights had passed, and her hull had 
broken in two. The men had taken refuge 
in her foretop, and all through the third 
day they watched the persistent struggles 
of the indomitable Bergman to reach them 
undaunted by squalls of snow and the 
fury of the waves. Once his boat was 
capsized, once she was swamped, but the 
faithful volunteers, emulating their chief's 
example, renewed the battle till night-fall. 
When morning dawned, however, all need 
for their tireless vigil was ended the 
mast, with its living burden, had fallen 
during the night. 

In telling the acts of heroism performed 
by our surfmen, it must not be forgotten 



A WRECK ON THE LAKES. 




joice above the watery grave of their vic- 
tim. 

Volunteer acts of heroism and self-de- 
votion irr the rescue of human lives are 
recognized by the life saving service the 
same as if performed by surfmen under its 
jurisdiction. A gold medal was awarded 
to John Bergman for rescuing eighteen 
persons from the wreck of the steamer 
Takoma, which went aground four miles 
from Umpquah river, January 29, 1883. 
In spite of dissuading advice from seafar- 
ing men, Bergman went out twice to the 
wreck with five companies, volunteers like 
himself, and at each trip brought in a 
boat load of human beings. A number of 
the ship's company managed to reach the 



that women have helped to embellish the 
records of the life saving service. Mrs. 
Martha White, a resident of Chehalis 
County, near Gray's Harbor, Washington, 
had made it her noble mission in life to 
frequent the beach in quest of such errands 
of mercy as the cruel ocean might cast at 
her feet. At six o'clock on the morning of 
January 29, 1892, the neighbors of this 
charitable woman roused her with the aw- 
ful news, "A ship in the breakers." Mrs. 
White and her husband made all haste 
to go down to the beach, carrying with 
them a field glass, a musket and a piece of 
cloth for a signal. But the gale was too 
strong to permit the shots fired being 
heard out at sea, so Mr. White went slow- 








ALL READY. 



ly up the beach looking for any unfortu- 
nate waifs that might be washed ashore. 
While her husband was absent, Martha 
White stood still, gazing intently upon 
the tumbling mass of surf. Suddenly she 
descried a man struggling in the breakers, 
and boldly dashing into the water, she 
dragged him out and aided him to walk 
to her dwelling. Kunning back to the 
shore, she perceived another sailor, the 
unconscious toy of the surf, and fearlessly 
plunging in again, she floated the helpless 
body to land, and after a short time had 
restored him to consciousness and placed 
him under shelter. Once more she re- 
turned to the scene of the tragedy, and 
discovered a third sailor, a long way out 
in the breakers. To reach him was a des- 
perate undertaking, but the courage of 



the noble woman did not quail before a 
task of which she fully realized the dan- 
ger. Divesting herself of some of her 
cumbersome clothing, she threw herself 
into the foaming sea. Once her life was 
seriously imperiled, as she was overthrown 
by a huge comber, but regaining her foot- 
ing, she came alongside of the man and 
floated him to shore. She managed to 
drag him beyond the danger line, then 
fell fainting from exhaustion on the sand, 
where she lay till found by her husband. 
The rescued men who were the sole sur- 
vivors of the British bark Ferndale, with 
the frankness of English sailors, made 
oath that but for her timely and self-sac- 
rificing assistance they must have died 
within sight of land, and a gold medal 
was awarded to the heroic woman. 





COLLEGE AND THE WORLD 

A SYMPOSIUM OF COMMENT OK THE PROBLEM 
OF HIGHER EDUCATION 

AT THIS time of year there are many young men and women who are debat- 
ing whether or no to go to college. Will it pay? they ask. The following 
three articles seek to answer this question in an entirely novel way. The three 
divisions completely cover the field of opinion, and shoiv the different view-points 
of the college freshman, the graduate and the successful business man of the world. 
We are glad to publish this article with a view of helping some possible college stu- 
dents settle the question for themselves. 'EDITOR. 

A BUSINESS MAN'S VIEW OF COLLEGE TRAINING 



BY HARRIS WEINSTOCK 




HAVE BEEX asked to 
tell the value of a col- 
lege training on the 
young men that, in 
my business career 
have come under my 
notice. 

An observer of mod- 
em coimiu'ivial and industrial systems 
cannot but note the exacting methods now 
in vogue. He cannot but observe that in 
all great commercial and industrial en- 
terprises costs and profits are now figured 
out in percentages running to the fourth 
figure. The observation is forced upon 
him that the keener the growth of com- 
petition the smaller the margin of profit 
for the producer and distributor ; and that 



the smaller the margin of profit, the more 
careful and exact must be every movement 
and every calculation that enters into com- 
mercial and financial transactions. 

The day of the careless operator, the 
loose calculator and the indifferent worker 
is gone for good in every walk of life and 
in every occupation that is not in the 
nature of a monopoly. 

This means that the business world of 
to-day demands men who are exact and 
thorough, who are reliable and depend- 
able. The business world demands this 
and more besides. It demands for execu- 
tive and managerial positions men who are 
not only exact and thorough, but who can 
at one and the same time specialize and 
generalize, who can reason backward and 



COLLEGE AND THE WORLD. 



271 



forward, that is, from cause to effect and 
from effect to cause. 

The all-around business man is the one 
who can theorize as well as practice, who 
cannot only do things, but who can ex- 
plain the theory or the philosophy upon 
which things are done, who can take an 
idea, develop and exploit it, and who can 
also take a proposition, dissect and 
analyze it. 

A man who has entered business from 
the grammar or high school may learn to 
do all this in the course of a great many 
years of experience. Here is where the 
work of the college comes in. The young 
man who has put his four years in college 
to good account has trained his mind so 
that, first of all, he should be able to con- 
centrate it upon any given task. He should 
have cultivated an intellectual machine 
that can dissect and analyze any proposi- 
tion that may come before him. He should 
have taught himself to reason backward 
and forward, to trace out the causes from 
effects and to forecast the effect of cer- 
tain causes. 

With the sharpened faculties at his com- 
mand, he should learn in active business 
life in five years what it is likely to take 
the man with the untrained mind twenty 
years to learn. 

If he started with fair mentality and 
made the most of his collegiate opportuni- 
ties, his years of study have therefore sim- 
ply been a matter of putting out his time 
where it is likely to bring him compound 
interest. So that after all, a university 
training should, despite long years of pre- 
paration, prove in the end a short cut to 
reach the best practical results. 

Business alone can give and does give 
admirable training. This has been made 
evident by the splendid specimens of men 
to be found everywhere in the business 
world, who had little or no early educa- 
tional advantages, but business alone, as 
a rule, does not give the best training. 
That comes from college experience, 
broadened by actual business experience. 
The blending of the two should, as a rule, 
give the highest type of men of affairs. 

Were I asked whether, in my opinion, 
all college men are likely to prove to be of 
this type, I should answer that I have in 
my time met college men whose university 
training seemed to have proven to them of 



great value, and I have met others who 
could not have been less fit, if their col- 
lege years had been spent merely in count- 
ing beads. So much, after all, depends 
on the man. A young man with the right 
sort of stuff in him is likely to land in the 
front rank of like's activities, even though 
he be a graduate of a third-rate college, or 
of no other college than the college of 
"hard knocks," and the chap without the 
stuff in him will fail, despite his diploma, 
signed by the president of the greatest col- 
lege in the land. 

Given a blade, for example, made out of 
good steel, and the grind-stone will bring 
out the'best in it, and perfect an edge that 
will do things to surprise the beholder. 
But given a blade made out of base metal 
and the world's finest grind-stone practi- 
cally fails. So it is with the student. If 
he has wits, and brings them to college, 
they will be sharpened and his powers 
will be increased. If he is barren, the 
college can do little for him. 

I cannot recall one instance of a young 
man entering college with bad habits, low 
tendencies and poor mentalities, coming 
out of college reformed morally or sharp- 
ened intellectually. Instances, however, 
have come to my notice where young men 
of previous good habits, have been unable 
to stand up against college temptations, 
and have become dissipated in college and 
acquired bad habits, and despite a good 
mentality, have proven a keen disap- 
pointment. The things most to be feared 
from a college course is the undesirable 
habits likely to be acquired while there. 

By a careful analysis, however, of the 
biographies in America's "Who's Who," it 
has been found that although but one per 
cent of the men of the country are col- 
lege bred, they represent fifty per cent of 
the distinguished men in the various walks 
of political, commercial and financial life. 
This is a wonderful showing for the col- 
lege. 

The point of failure noticeable in some 
college men who have taken social science, 
commercial or culture courses, is theit 
lack of exactness, the want of thoroughness 
in what they do. The problem with them 
seems to be how to get through, rather 
than how to perfect their work. They do 
not seem to realize that it is better to eat 
little food and have that well digested. 



272 



OVERLAND MONTHLY. 



than to gobble up much that simply clogs 
the human system. They seem to have 
cultivated the habit in college of getting 
through the task in hand as speedily aa 
possible, with little thought of master- 
ing it in detail. These habits of super- 
ficiality must in active life retard their 
growth and impede their progress. Next 
to character and health, the most valuable 
asset that any man, the college man not 
excepted, can" have, is the habit of doing 
things thoroughly. 

One of the great marvels of the pres- 
ent age is the wonderful strides made in 
the direction of the utilization of waste 
materials. The statement is made that in 
the great pork packing houses of the coun- 
try everything about the hog is utilized, 
except the squeal and the curl in the tail, 
and it is said there are hopes somehow, 
somewhere of utilizing even these. The 
great achievement of the coming age will 
be the utilization of waste labor, so that, 
despite the shortening of the hours of toil 
more will be accomplished by each indi- 
vidual giving forth his highest and best, 
thus tending to perfect the human species, 
and thus also increasing its earning power. 

Herbert Spencer asked the question: 
"What knowledge is most worth know- 
ing?" And after a careful analysis of dif- 
ferent kinds of knowledge reached the 
conclusion that science is the knowledge 
most worth knowing. Spencer's conclusion 
is as true to-day as when he uttered it. 
The most effective man, as a rule, is the 
man who has knowledge that has been 
gained and verified by exact observation 
and exact thinking." It is for this rea- 
son that . the scientific training afforded 
by an engineering course is of inestima- 
ble value in many walks of life. It does 
not follow that a college man who has 
taken his degree as an engineer will there- 
after be exact in his observations or in 
his thinking. 

He is more likely to be so, however, 
than if he has followed any other colle- 
giate career. The mathematical train- 
ing, which an engineering course enforces, 
the exactness and correctness imposed by 
his studies, are likely to tend toward hab- 
its of thoroughness and rigid mental dis- 
cipline, which must prove to him of great 
value in any walk of life. 

History is important. Philosophy is 



important. Languages are important. 
General culture is important. Yet were 
I to advise a young man about to enter 
college, with a business career in mind, 
I should urge him by all means to take 
an engineering course, even though he 
should not intend in active life to put his 
scientific training to professional use. I 
should advise him to take an engineering 
course, not only for its mental training 
and discipline, but for the power it gives 
in analysis, the love that it cultivates in 
him for being exact in his work and in 
his statements. 

The man whose mind has been trained 
in the sciences is more likely to be the 
one to devise ways for the utilization of 
waste labor, whose keen powers of obser- 
vation should enable him to see weak spots 
and how to strengthen them. 

What the world is more and more de- 
manding is efficiency, and all other things 
equal, the man with the scientific train- 
ing is likely to be the most efficient. 

The weak spot in most men, the weak 
spot as a rule, in college men, is taking 
things for granted. Science strives to 
prove its case. As a rule it must see the 
bricks before it will believe that the house 
will be built. It demands proof before it 
reaches conclusions. The men to-day 
who command the world's highest rewards 
and who are of greatest service to their 
fellows are those who have exact know- 
ledge and use it for creative purposes. 
What is called unerring judgment is not 
generally intuitive. It is the result, as 
a rule, of the most exact observation and 
the most correct thinking. The man 
whose mind has not been disciplined, 
whose thoughts wander hither and thither, 
who cannot analyze a problem, who acts 
from impulse and not from reflection, is 
not in a mental condition to observe close- 
ly or to think correctly. At best, he is 
likely to become a mere putterer, vacillat- 
ing in thought and in action. To be a 
successful doer of things, one must first 
be a seer of things. Euskin says, "Hun- 
dreds of men can talk for one who can 
think; thousands of men can think for 
one who can see. To see clearly is poetry, 
philosophy and religion all in one." 

In the decades of the past the college 
man seeking commercial employment was 
discounted. He was looked upon bv prac- 




PRESIDENT DAVID STARR JORDAN OF STANFORD UNIVERSITY. 






274 



OVERLAND MONTHLY. 



tical men as a mere book-worm, unwilling 
to begin with the drudgery at the bottom 
in order to learn business from the ground 
up. No doubt the. air of scholasticism 
that the college of the past imparted to 
its graduates justified this feeling of pre- 
judice against the holders of its diplo- 
mas. There are some countries where this 
feeling may be justified even to-day. It is 
said to be a significant fact that "a large 
portion of Paris cabmen are unsuccessful 
students in theology and other professions 
and unfrocked priests, and they are very 
bad cabmen." But the American college 
bred man of to-day, especially the college 
man whose mind has been trained in the 
sciences, as a rule, is of a different breed. 
The modern college earnestly strives to 
teach men how to think and how to do 
things. Captains of trade and industry 
are discovering more and more that a 
young man, who has made the most of 
his time during his college years is so 
equipped that he can learn in five years 
what it may take the man with an un- 
trained mind about twenty years to ac- 
quire. 

The college of yesterday trained men 
almost exclusively for purposes of cul- 
ture. The colleges of to-day, especially 
the scientific branches, strive to give an 
education for efficiency. It has been 
pointed out that "the man with brains 
needs a corresponding degree of educa- 
tion. The greater the natural fitness, the 
greater the need for thorough training 
and the more worthy the result/' 



The business world of to-day more than 
ever before is seeking efficient men, men 
who know the correct principles of inves- 
tigation, who have the power to reason 
from cause to effect, and from effect to 
cause ; who can concentrate attention upon 
a given subject, whose powers have been 
quickened and developed. All other things 
equal, the man with the trained mind is 
more likely to possess these qualifications, 
hence is also likely to prove the more effi- 
cient man. 

The successful men of the next genera- 
tion will have to be thoroughly scientific 
in their methods. Their efficiency will 
have to be of the highest and they will 
have to possess the faculty of bringing out 
the highest efficiency 'in their subordi- 
nates. 

The college trained man, because of his 
adaptability, his quickness and alertness 
of mind, and because of his largely in- 
creased numbers, is going to revolutionize 
conditions in the coming industrial and 
commercial world. The college will 
strengthen his powers, ripen and mature 
his judgment, raise his standards and 
shorten his apprenticeship in the field of 
practical affairs. This will be the advan- 
tage he will gain by virtue of his college 
training; on the other hand, his higher 
efficiency and his shorter apprenticeship 
in the world of practical affairs, will be 
the advantage gained by the business 
world and by society for its generous sup- 
port of its numerous schools of higher 
learning. 



JUST OUT OF COLLEGE 

BY DENISON HALLEY CLIFT 



F WHAT good has a 
college education 
been to me? Has it 
been worth the money 
spent, the valuable 
four years devoted to 
it, and, what is more 
pertinent, has it in- 
fluenced me during the four most impres- 
sionable years of my life in such a way as 
to develop in me the best powers that I 




have to offer the world and society? 

These are questions that are asked by 
hundreds of thousands of vigorous, prom- 
ising young men all over the country every 
spring. They involve a degree of serious- 
ness which becomes obvious when we re- 
member that thousands of young men are 
being added to the number of graduates 
of our American universities every year. 

Is a college course worth while? Is it 
a good investment for $2,000? Will such 



COLLEGE AND THE WORLD. 



275 



a training enable the man and woman of 
to-day to do their work better than the un- 
trained brother and sister who may work 
beside them in the factory, in the engi- 
neer's office, in the newspaper world? 

To those young men who go to college 
to better themselves, I would answer most 
decidedly, yes. But to the man who at- 
tends a university for the sport that is in 
it, for the dances and social good times 
that college brings to him there will be 
nothing in it for that fellow but the im- 
mediate pleasure of college society. 

A college community is a world in itself, 
wherein all the learning and culture of 
the past is brought to the door of him who 
will enter. But the memorizing of this 
learning is not what a college stands for. 
The subjects of study is only the vehicle 
by which the aim of the college is wrought. 
It is in the methods of study, in the train- 
ing of the human mind, that the real 
worth of our universities finds its ex- 
pression. The American college does not 
aim to fill its students with final know- 
ledge on all subjects ; it tries primarily to 
arouse and develop the dormant powers 
of the individual, to awaken their minds 
to the real worth and value of the achieve- 
ments of their fellow-men, to so train the 
intellect that it will know in just what 
manner a piece of work can be done the 
best and the quickest. 

Four years ago a freshman class entered 
Stanford University with all the ambi- 
tions and enthusiasms of first year stu- 
dents. In his welcoming address to that 
class, Dr. David Starr Jordan, the beloved 
head of the University, told them what 
the university would offer them, and said 
he hoped they would take advantage of 
their opportunities. "And after you have 
been here for four years," he concluded, 
"you will come to realize that a straight 
line is the shortest distance between two 
points." 

The expression was a striking one, but 
it made little impression then on those 
' who listened to it. But the years passed 
on, we became more mature, we began to 
reap some of the benefits that were given 
free to us, and when at last we stood on 
the threshold of the world, the expression 
was given to us again. And then we un- 
derstood for the first time. 

"The shortest line between two points." 



That is the key note of our modern educa- 
tion. The trouble with most of the men 
of this world who are occupying menial 
positions is that they do not realize that 
a straight line is the shortest distance 
between any two points. The line that 
they draw when they strive to connect two 
points is a very crooked one, roundabout 
and very out of place. 

What is meant by drawing this straight 
line is simple enough. It means that there 
is just one effective way in which to ac- 
complish a given task, and that the man 
who understands what the best way is, is 
the man who will succeed best in this day 
of keen and bitter competition. 

The aim of the college is to teach the 
man how to draw the straight line, and 
there is no other institution in the world 
that is better prepared to do this than 
our universities. 

To arouse and develop a man's talents 
is to give him an opportunity to find out 
just what thing he can do better than any- 
one else, and then to train him until he 
has reached the maximum o f per- 
fection. That is the quality of a man that 
the world is demanding to-day. This is 
the age of the specialist, and the man who 
can do one thing better than every one 
else is the one whose success will never be 
retarded. 

The best estimate of a college training 
that has ever come to my attention is a 
little golden book by President Jordan, 
called "College and the Man." No man 
who intends going to college should neg- 
lect reading it. There, in the soundest 
and sanest manner is set forth the emolu^ 
ments of education. 

"The whole of your life must be spent 
in your own company, and only the edu- 
cated man is good company to himself," 
is one of the many basic truths of the vol- 
ume. I wonder how many readers ever 
thought of that before? There is no bet- 
ter method of making yourself agreeable 
company for yourself than through the 
medium of higher education. Through 
the portals of the college the ages are laid 
before you in one grand panorama; the 
record of the progress of civilization is told 
to you in the evolution of a nation's lan- 
guage; all the history of the world is un- 
folded, from the dawn of civilization to 
the Renaissance, with its gigantic awaken- 



OVERLAND MONTHLY. 



ings, to the present age, with discovery and 
advancement marked in every forward 
step of the nations of the world. 

From the standpoint of mere culture 
that is reward enough. Your education 
will give you a certain understanding of 
what men have done since the world be- 
gan. You will know just how the nations 
have stepped forth as powers, and what 
elements in society have seeked to form the 
degrading characteristics that have 
brought about their ruin. All this, you 
say, will not bring you a larger salary 
each week or month. Not immediately 
but we are coming to that. 

The individual makes the nation, makes 
society, makes up the character of the 
race. If the race is to be one of rugged- 
ness and supremacy, the individual must 
be rugged and healthy-minded. The blood 
that flows through the veins of the aver- 
age man will be the blood of the nation. 
So, as has so painfully often been pointed 
out, in the education of the individual lies 
the salvation of the country. 

Nothing can better bring about the 
amelioration of present social conditions 
than higher education. Our college 
softens the animal man, and strengthens 
the mental and moral make-up of the in- 
dividual. And a man is far better com- 
pany for himself after he has spent four 
years at college. 

The college will do only what the man 
allows it to. A book will yield only so 
much entertainment and profit as the 
reader is able and willing to get from it. 
But all the entertainment and profit is 
there for the reader to take freely. 

Still, this will not sufficiently answer 
the demands of the layman as to the direct 
benefits of a college training. How will it 
enable us to make more money? they ask 
of us. What will we get back from our 
$3,000 investment ? 

It is easy enough to answer this if the 
reader will only be willing to see for him- 
self. The American college has one aim 
above all others in educating its youths. 
That aim is to so train and drill the mind 
that the man with the college education 
will know how to go about a given task, 
and how best to accomplish it in a given 
time. Life is made up of a million tasks. 
The man who best does these things is the 
better man. No one will doubt this. 



Only the other day I heard a business 
man ask a college graduate a question in 
equity. The college man was at a loss for 
a moment. "Why, you ought to know; 
you're a college man," jeered the business 
man. But that was no particular reason 
why the educated fellow should have 
known. He isn't supposed to know every- 
thing. His university didn't try to make 
a walking encyclopedia out of him. What 
it did try to do was to teach him just how 
to find the answer to the question. And 
I'd wager ten to one that the college man 
would know instantly where to turn to 
find the answer, where the business man 
might flounder around hopelessly. 

The mind of the college man is trained 
to know how to do things. .He knows that 
a straight line is the shortest distance be- 
tween two points and he draws the straight 
line. That is, he does if he has gotten out' 
of college what he should have gotten. 
Every college man is not better than the 
uneducated man. The college only fur- 
nishes the opportunity. The man must 
have the brains and the faculties for learn- 
ing and acquiring how to do things. 

In most of the professions of San Fran- 
cisco the university men are the more 
prominent. In all the newspaper offices, 
men from Stanford and the University of 
California are at the head. Among doc- 
tors, lawyers and leading business men 
the college man occupies a prominent 
position. They are able to do in five years 
what it takes the uneducated man fifteen 
or twenty years to dig out for himself. 
The university man knows how to draw 
the straight line between two points. He 
has been trained to think. The routine 
of his college days if he has gotten the 
most out of it should enable him to see. 
His minds and wits are sharpened. His 
brain is a regular, clock-like machine. He 
can look ahead and see the result of his 
efforts. His mind has been made accu- 
rate. He does not vacillate weakly. He 
is able to grasp facts, to reason, to ob- 
serve, better than the brother who has 
worked the thing out alone. 

In addition to this the college-bred man 
is able to put a value on the work of 
others. He can tell the worth of a man, 
because he has the criterion of the ages to 
judge by. He does not worship false 
gods in his ignorance. He knows a thing 



COLLEGE AND THE WORLD. 



277 



is good because his college work has given 
him the best that the world can offer to 
judge by; he can tell what is bad for the 
reason that he knows what such a thing 
should be. His mind is thoroughly awak- 
ened. He knows the quickest way to solve 
a mathematical problem because he knows 



would shun, and much that I would do 
that I neglected to do. The four years 
spent at Stanford or the University of 
California, or any other college, are the 
best years of a man's life. Nothing is 
asked of him but soundness of character 
and an attitude of willingness to learn. 




PRESIDENT BENJAMIN IDE WHEELER OF THE UNIVERSITY OF 
CALIFORNIA. * 



a great deal about mathematics, more 
than he really needs to know to solve this 
particular problem. 

A man never appreciates his alma mater 
until he has graduated. Were I to go 
to college again there is much that I 



Everything is offered to him; the gates 
are freely opened to him who will enter. 
And having once entered, he will be 
thrown among men of all classes. There 
will be rich young fellows whose only am- 
bitions are to sport and enjoy a high old 



278 



OVERLAND MONTHLY. 



time. These butterflies and namby- 
pamby youths are the blood-suckers of a 
university. They are parasites who usu- 
ally lack real ambition, and after their 
two or three flighty years are over, you 
will never hear of them again, unless it 
be in an automobile scandal at midnight. 
On the other hand, the back-bone of the 
nation will be found at the American 
universities to-day. These men are the 



men who go to a college because they 
realize that a college training will allow 
them to get higher up in this world of 
ours. These fellows are not sent, as Dr. 
Jordan points out in his valuable book. 
And after ail is said, the fellow who sac- 
rifices something and struggles to get his 
college training is the fellow whom you 
and I will hear from five or ten years 
from now. 




THE QUADRANGLE, STANFORD UNIVERSITY. 

WHY I AM GOIl^G TO COLLEGE 

BY BERTRAM WELLS 




AM almost too ashamed 
to write this, and 
were it not for the 
fact that hundreds of 
others are in the same 
position that I now 
find myself, I would 
not. The editor has 
asked me why I am* going to college, and 
I must answer, I don't know. I enter 
in August, when the class of 1911 makes 
its bow to the academic world, but that 
is because my parents have chosen so, not 
for any very definite reason of my 
own. 
There is a certain joy in being able to 



call oneself a college man, and that may 
account for my docility in being led to 
slaughter. An infinite amount of respect 
seems to be commanded by the fellow who 
wears a numerald watch-fob, talks of 
"rushes," "booze-fights," and "queens," 
and strides along in baggy trowsers, with 
a bull-dog pipe between his teeth. The 
rest of the world looks up to him; the 
newspapers talk about him; his position 
excuses a multitude of sins. The college 
man lives in a world of his own, and as 
long as he stays there, may do things 
nobody else would dare to do. When he 
emerges he may talk of these doings and 
the tone of his voice as he does so has a 



COLLEGE AND THE WOELD. 



279 



subtle charm to the outsider, and creates 
an envy. 

Or curiosity? Perhaps it's that. The 
college man home on a vacation .speaks of 
"ax rallies/' "plug-uglies/' "night-shirt 
parades/' until you want to know more. 
But his .explanations are futile; you must 
see these things, live with them, partici- 
pate in them, before you can understand 
the spirit infused. All the explaining that 
the enthusiastic university fellow may give 
does no more than heighten curiosity. 

Therefore, I say, perhaps it is this curi- 
osity that brought no protest from me 
when college was broached. I am curious 
to know why dignified, almost-men can 
lower their pride to take part in child-like 
rushes and plug-uglies; curious to know 
the spirit that rouses them to the point 
of foolishness; curious to know how it 
feels to be an insider. 

The life itself is an unconscious draw- 
ing card. The college student lives as no 
other part of humanity lives; and he 
lives, in the slang sense of the word. He 
has no regular hours, which is an attrac- 
tion far beyond many others. He may 
have classes all morning, and be free in 
the afternoon; or he may have three 
classes on Monday, Wednesday and Fri- 
day, and two on Tuesday and Thursday, 
with his afternoons off. Some of the un- 
lucky ones work from morning till night. 
But whatever the hours, they are irregu- 
lar, which means the student may rise 
when he wishes, dine as he will, and do 
what he wants at almost any time of day. 
In the afternoons he may be a spectator 
on the grand-stand and watch the teams 
practice, or he may go to town and spend 
his time and his money in various ways. 
His evenings are given over to pleasures 
beyond mention. If he is a fraternity man 
he sits around huge fireplaces, swapping 
stories and talking of his plans; or he 
queens, which is college slang for asso- 
ciating with co-eds. The man outside the 
fraternities has his societies and his 
clubs. Dancing and dramatics are a big 
help in passing time. To sum it all up, 



college life is a thing of beauty and a 
joy forever, and it may be that which at- 
tracts me. 

But all those things the joy of being 
able to call oneself a college man; the 
curiosity of the thing, the life are, after 
all, only incidental to what has just come 
into my mind. I think I have found my 
great reason for going to college have 
found it in the fact that I am big and 
strong and healthy have found it in 
sport. 

Athletics are paramount at college. No 
matter the institution, or the situation, 
sports hold first place in every student's 
mind be he laggard or "grind." A uni- 
versity is known by the athletics it keeps. 
Deep in the heart of every high-school 
youth is instilled a burning desire to one 
day be the idol of a hero-worshipping col- 
lege student body, and he knows that the 
successful athlete is the only man who 
can obtain such pre-eminence. Long ago 
I was fired with that ambition through 
seeing bleacherites go mad over a great 
play, and through newspaper accounts. 
The desire has grown with my age, until 
this minute I find that it is almost for the 
sake of athletics alone that I am going to 
college, without first asking myself why. 

As for study, I can say little. College 
talk, I have heard, dealt with athletics 
and the life. The papers contain nothing 
in the way of university news outside of 
scandal, small talk and sport; and the col- 
lege man never speaks of his books when 
away from them. And so I cannot say 
that I go to college to learn, though I sup- 
pose I shall. 

The other day I was talking to an un- 
successful college man one of the many 
"graduates by request," who manage to 
stay in college a year or so, and then 
"flunk." He sneered when I told him of 
my plans. "A freshman," said he, "is a 
fool; and fools rush in where angels fear 
to tread." Throw out the athletics, and 
perhaps that is why I take up my parents' 
choice, and ask no questions. I say per- 
haps, for I don't know. 



THE GOLD OF SUN-DANCE 
CANYON 

BY C. JUSTIN KENNEDY 



ILLUSTRATED BY CLYDE COOKE. 




ARVEY STEWART 
shifted sullenly be- 
side the camp fire. 
Why was it she could 
not let him alone? It 
was gold, gold he 
wanted. For years 
he had wandered 
through the Rockies, and the Selkirks, 
and the Gold Range, seeking at eternal 
sacrifice of self the yellow lodes ; starving, 
sweating, freezing, with never a gleam of 
comfort or of color, suffering, yet faithful 
always to the quest. And then for her to 
write to him, chidingly, reproachfully, as 
though the life he led were happiness, and 
not despair. She talked of the full, far 
freedom of the mountains, that was his ! 
Little he cared for the mountains or their 
freedom, save only for the gold they held : 
his was no soul of mystery, that craved 
the sweetness of the wilderness. 

"And yet," he muttered, "she writes 
and writes and writes, 'enjoying your life, 
while I am left here, all alone, with no 
friends, nothing.' Nothing, indeed! As 
if she hadn't every comfort and conven- 
ience, and me exposed to every kind of 
hardship." 

He snatched the letter from his pocket 
and crumpling it angrily, threw it in the 
flames. 

"What in hell did she marry me for, 
if she couldn't stand it?" 

But a sudden sense of heartlessness 
struggled in his breast, and he snatched 
up a stick to pull the letter from the fire ; 
it was too late, the paper was in ashes. 
"Poor little girl," he thought, relenting, 
"if she knew that!" 

"Please, please, Garvey," she had writ- 
ten, "come back to me I cannot stand it. 
I am so tired, so tired. I have waited 



all alone for six months. A woman can- 
not stand those things, especially when she 
loves a man. Oh, Garvey, can't you un- 
derstand? I am so tired. I know I told 
you it would be all right, when you took 
me from home, but a woman will tell a 
man anything to get the object of her love, 
and it is so much harder than I thought." 

So she went on; she wanted him to 
come back and take her away from the 
city ; she was not used to that ; she wanted 
to go over in the Yakima, where men had 
come upon the desert, and building in 
their flumes, drawn water from the moun- 
tains, until to-day the sands were fragrant 
with the bloom of orchards and the dust 
had turned to sward. Aye, she craved the 
sunshine and the sweetness of it all. But 
he would not come ; the gold, the gold was 
what he sought, and the momentary love 
of woman was as ashes in his heart, a 
faded thing. The very cruelty of that 
trifling act, the burning of the letter, had 
worked its own reaction. All that night 
he lay upon the blankets, restless; the 
starlight sifted lightly through the 
spruces, and the great white peaks loomed 
strangely through the Northern night, 
but these things had no mystery for Stew- 
art; they did not clutch, as the gold-thirst 
did. 

But at least, unconsciously, he softened 
in their presence, and humanity had its 
way. He would go back for a little while. 
At dawn he started through the woods, 
going light. He could not give much 
time, and had cached such things as might 
have hindered him, together with his pros- 
pecting outfit. 

All day long he tramped, stopping sev- 
eral times to examine rocks that seemed 
to indicate a vein, but turned out barren. 
At night he built a fire of duff and pine- 



THE GOLD OF SUN-DANCE CANYON. 



281 



wood, made a meal of bacon, beans and 
coffee, and then sat back to smoke. At 
times he was tempted to return, but the 
incident of the letter seemed always to 
bring back the censure of his heartless- 
ness: but even then a straw's weight might 
have turned the balance. He shut the 
girl from his thoughts, and as forcibly re- 
fused to notice further what signs there 
were of metal in the rocks. 

Some few hundred yards away, a moun- 
tain ridge rose steeply, and at the base he 
spied a Stoney Indian camp of half a 
dozen wigwams, nestled in the shelter of 
the valley. 

At that very moment, as he was figur- 
ing out the purpose of their presence, 
there came a low, deep, smothered rumble, 
and then the rattle of a multitude of 
stones, and glancing quickly upward, he 
discovered that a snow-slide had begun 
upon the mountain; it was not as large 
as the slides that frequently occur, but 
even so, the great white sheeted mass, 
starting at the summit of the mountain, 
tore out great rocks and logs and boulders, 
and sweeping down terrifically, snapped 
off the pines that blocked it, and hurled 
itself in awful chaos and confusion upon 
the Indian lodges. 

Stewart leaped up and rushed across 
the little stream that wound between the 
lodges and his camp. There seemed to be 
no further danger, as the slide was but a 
short one, and already over, but he found 
the lodges wrecked, and several Indians 
killed and buried in the debris; only one 
of them was left alive, a squaw, but even 
she had had her right arm broken, and 
suffered serious bruises. 

Stewart carried her across the stream, 
out of possible danger, as another snow- 
slide might occur at any moment. 

AS well as he knew how, in that un- 
skilled way which answers for the peril 
of the mountains, he set the fractured 
member and bound up the wounds, the 
squaw being scarcely conscious of what he 
was doing. Then he returned to the 
lodges, but everything was ruined or bur- 
ied, and there was nothing of the Indians' 
simple possessions that he could save. 

When he went back to his own camp, 
Garvey Stewart was puzzled what to do. 
He had started home only out of sullen, 
grudging pity for the girl who begged 



and pleaded so unhappily; but now he 
found himself perplexed anew. Surely 
he could not leave this Indian woman 
alone and helpless? He had but scant 
respect for Indians as a general thing, 
yet still it was a life, and human, and 
somehow asked for succor. But much as 
Margaret yearned for his return, deeply 
as she needed him, Stewart felt instinct- 
ively that she would not grudge him this 
delay, and eventually he decided to re- 
main. 

With easy, practiced skill, he fashioned 
tepees for the woman and himself, and 
having but a scant supply of food, de- 
pended on the forest and the rivers for 
provisions. Faithfully he attended to his 
patient's wants, and washed and bound 
the bruises. The Stoney squaw had ap- 
pealed more easily to pity than the white 
girl, although perhaps the latter was 
equally in need of it. 

Thus the days wore on, until the squaw 
was less dependent, and one night, as they 
sat before the wigwams, partaking of a 
forest supper, Stewart addressed her, as 
he always did, in broken English. 

"Takaho, to-morrow me go way, home 
you go back to Injun people." The 
woman started. "No, no go way, you. Me 
want you stay." 

"What for me stay? No use. You all 
right now. I go to-morrow, sure." 

The Indian woman hesitated; for a 
long time she gazed into the flames ab- 
stractedly, and at length raised her eyes 
to Stewart pleadingly. 

"No leave Injun woman. No go way 
off. Injun woman want you stay." 

Stewart felt a little sorry for her, and 
asked her unsuspectingly : "How long you 
want me stay?" 

The squaw's eyes seemed to burn across 
'the shadow to his own, as she bent for- 
ward, whispering passionately: 

"All time, stay all time. Wfhite man too 
good Injun woman. Stay all time me 
got have him. No go way off." 

Stewart stared in mute surprise. What 
would he say to her? He found it difficult 
to rouse affection for a white girl, attrac- 
tive as she was; but as for ever feeling 

warmly towards squaws Some men 

seemed to find them quite attractive, but 
for his part, they were, well^just Injuns. 
That was the only way he could express 







HE HAD FORGOTTEN THE LETTEE AND ITS ASHES." 



it. He answered carelessly, to show his 
lack of interest. 

"~So, no, me got wife, home; she sick, 
too; me go way to-morrow. You go back 
your people."' 

But the squaw was obdurate, and 
pleaded that she had no people ; they were 
killed, and she could not leave the white 
man; he had been too good to her, and 
she loved him: Stewart did not heed her, 
but insisted he must go to-morrow, and 
finding her too persevering for his com- 



fort at last he turned into his wigwam, 
and to all appearances, at least, was soon 
asleep. 

But the Indian woman would not yield; 
^he^ had never known a man so kind be- 
fore, and she could not give him up. All 
night she sat by the sputtering driftwood 
fire, swaying to and fro, clutching at some 
fragile means to hold the white man for 
herself. Was not she, too, a woman, that 
would not be rejected? Suddenly at 
early dawn, when the forest rustles ceased, 



THE GOLD OP SUN-DANCE CANYON. 



283 



and an eagle screamed uproariously from 
a fire-scarred pine, she rose, and going 
across to where Stewart lay, waked him 
gently. 

"White man stay," she said, tenta- 
tively. 

Stewart rolled over sleepily. "Me go 
to-day," he answered bluntly. 

The Indian woman bent down and whis- 
pered : "White man like gold, huh ?" 

Stewart turned upon her questioningly. 

"Look for gold long, long time; never 
find him, huh?" 

Stewart grunted acquiescence; he had 
told her that in their camp-fire talks, and 
could not contradict it. 

"Takaho know big gold plenty gold, 
plenty big oh many people." 

The prospector sat up uneasily. Was 
she lying; was this a trap? 

"White man marry Takaho she take 
him big gold." She waved her hand sig- 
nificantly. "Way off mountain what you 
call him, Sun-Dance Canyon." 

Garvey Stewart leaped to his feet and 
caught the Indian woman by the shoul- 
ders. (He had forgotten Margaret, for- 
gotten the letter, and its ashes, forgotten 
her unhappiness. Here was gold!) 

"Takaho," he said, fiercely, "if you lie 
to me I will shoot you, you hear? Cum 
tux?" 

She smiled meaningly. "Me tell truth, 
sure." 

"How big, how big is this mine, this 
gold?" he continued. 

The woman stretched her arms far 
apart, and then pointed from the wigwam 
to the mountain. Little she recked of that 
other love, the precious passion of the 
white girl's breast; little she thought of 
the pity and the pain, the hopeless, hate- 
less dragging out of life, lonely and alone, 
down in the brick-locked city where, from 
the quarters of the globe, had huddled 
profligates and fools. 

And Stewart? Aye, neither with him 
was reckoning or compassion. "Come 
on." he called thickly. 

The woman fell upon him, passionately, 
kissing the bearded face over and over 
again with still unsated lips. 

".I/;?/ man, my man?" she mumbled, and 
looked up at him in yet fearful question- 
ing. 

"Yes," he muttered. "How far how 
far?" 



"Way off mountain," she replied. "Sun 
Dance Canyon." 

Together they dashed along the river 
bank hand in hand, for she would have 
it so, despite the heritage of race; they 
journeyed through the dark, unglimmered 
forest. 

Stewart refused to stop for meals, re- 
fused to stop for sleep at night, and the 
woman struggled on obediently; what if 
she were tired, exhausted? What if she 
died for she was weak after days and 
nights of suffering; was he not her man, 
he to lead and she to follow to the 
death? 

In the morning they struck the creek, 
and followed downward to the canyon. 
Here for many moons the Stonies held the 
sun dance, with its orgies and its sacri- 
fice, with its triumphs and disaster of des- 
pair. 

Takaho stopped at the gorge and waited 
where the gurgle-lacking river, with a 
roar, dashed through the canyon. Then, 
as if she had caught the inspiration from 
the stream, she slowly turned about, and 
crossing over, led the white man to the 
mountain on the other side. 

"Hurry, hurry!" he called impatiently, 
his fingers working as though to clutch 
the treasure. 

"Ai" she answered proudly and tri- 
umphantly, and stooping down beyond the 
chasm, scooped away the earth. Stewart's 
face was drawn; somehow he was in pain 
the face, the cry, the letter; aye, but 
the ashes, and the waiting arms, and the 
white breasts heaving with the pain. He 
set the thin, hard lips, and clenched his 
fists, and knelt beside the squaw; aye, he 
hated her, but the gold, the gold ! She 
lifted up a rock, and chipped the vein, 
and the yellow glinted in the sunlight. 
"All way," she said, "way long river," and 
she pointed far below the canyon. Stewart 
watched it, exultingly. He was in pain; 
he had bartered off his birthright, bartered 
off a woman and a soul, but, oh, God, 
there was the gold, piles of it, piles of it. 
He grabbed a yellow-mottled piece of rock 
she handed him and almost kissed il. 

Again the woman fell upon him her 
man. Suddenly the man's brows dark- 
ened : he held the yellow to the light 
again ; he weighed it in his hand ; he 
tossed it to and fro; he scratched it with 







"FOOL'S GOLD!" HK GNASHED. 



a knife-point, and then with one long, picture that was almost gone, the birth- 
deep-drawn curse, he hurled it to the right he had bartered, and the woman and 
chasm-bed in scorn. the soul. "Oh, Margaret, Margaret," he 

/'s gold!" he gnashed. "Pyntfes moaned, clutching blindly at the vision. 

you!" He caught wildly at the "Oh, God, you have saved me." 



COWBOYS ASTRAY 

BY 
HERBERT COOLIDGE 

DRAWING BY W. R. DAVENPORT. 




NTONE GAECIA and 
Tom Dunlap sat on 
their blanket rolls be- 
side a lonely country 
lane, a lunch spread 
out on the grass be- 
fore them. They were 
in Illinois, strangers 
in a foreign land. 

"Son-of-agohns," growled Antone, 
reaching out a swarthy, unwashed hand 
for another piece of bread, "eef I bahk 
in Arizona I keel thaht fallar. He think 
we trampas; thay all think we trampas; 
blahnkets or no blahnkets, no de-efronce, 
we trampas, ju-ust the same." 

"Yes, if I'd been back in Arizona, I'd 
have had a shot at you for raising such a 
fool roar because the man wouldn't let 
you come in with your dirt and grime, and 
eat with his family. You ain't got the 
sense of a rabbit, Antone; when you were 
back in Arizona you never got to put your 
feet under the same table with the white 
folks, and you know it." 

Antone turned out both hands and 
raised his shoulders to make the "no dif- 
ference" gesture of the Mexicans. 

"Ah, que carramba, the feet no-o-ole- 
hace, table or ju-ust ground, no-le-hace 
to me. But I want sometheeng to eat; I 
want heem hot. I no lahk these hand- 
outs. I travel from El Paso to Phoenix 
and todos tiempos el ranchero say, 'Turn 
your caballo in the field an' go eat with the 
boys. Seguro qui si, they never geef me 
hand-out in Arizona." 

"But you're not in Arizona, get that in- 
to your head. These people haven't got 
any bunk houses. You kick about the 
hand-out. What do you take it for? I 
did my prettiest to head the senorita off, 
. and if you hadn't come in with your 'muy 
hambre' talk and begun shruggin' your 
shoulders and rabbin' your belt, I would 



have got out of there without being put on 
the soup-house list. 1 don't care what 
these old punkin rollers think; they can 
put me down as a trampa or a horse-thief, 
but when it comes to having their pretty 
daughters think I'm a dirt-eatin' beggar, 
excuse me. Antone, you'd queer a good 
man; try to fight the old gent and then 
five minutes later take a hand-out from 
his daughter." 

Antone did not speak for a few mo- 
ments ; he was forgetting the rancor of life 
in an onslaught upon a generous piece of 
pumpkin pie. 

"She's buena cuke," he said, compla- 
cently, as he stowed away the last bit of 
flaky crust. "I theenk thaht senorita 
lahk me, all right, eef she see me with no 
wheeskers and with good horse, saddle and 
bridle. Seguro qui si, I theenk she lahk 
me, all right." 

"Ya-a-as," said Tom, slowly, and with 
scorn, "I think she would like you if she 
could see you in your Arizona hang-out 
playing monte with that Digger Indian 
squaw of yourn. It's my plain duty to 
get you back there or you'll marry into 
some of these good families and leave your 
muchachos to starve in the brush." 

Antone, who had finished eating, and 
was turning all his pockets wrong side out, 
made no reply to this sally ; apparently he 
did not hear. 

"Sohn-of-a-ghons," he said at last, with 
grave concern, "no mas tobacco." 

"Certainly, no mas tobacco. I'm dying 
for a smoke myself. If you'd kept your 
face shut when we were at that last ranch- 
house we'd be in a fair way of earning 
some tobacco. Now I tell you, Antone, 
I ain't a-goin' to put up with any more 
of your monkey business on this trip ; I'm 
goin' to take charge of this expedition, 
savvy ?" 

Antone, with a deprecating shrug of 



286 



OVEKLAND MONTHLY. 



resignation, signified that he understood 
very well indeed. 

"All right, then," continued his part- 
ner, "turn over that knife of yours first; 
I ain't a-going to have you make any more 
knife plays on prospective bosses. Now, 
then, we're to go back to that last ranch 
and take that job. The boss said that he 
had work that needed doing, and I refuse 
to die for want of the price of a smoke 
just because he got into a row with you. 
Get under that bed now and come on." 

The American shut his jaws down with 
a snap as he closed the sentence and eyed 
the Mexican fiercely as he obediently 
shouldered his blanket roll and stood in 
readiness to travel. Then both men re- 
traced their steps to the Johnson farm 
house. 

The family were sitting out on the 
porch enjoying the summer gloaming, but 
began to talk together nervously, as the 
strangers entered the yard. 

"Dora," said the father, rising from 
his chair, "go out to the barn and tell 
John and Hiram to come to the house. 
Mother, you'd better go inside." 

Tom Dunlap left the Mexican at the 
gate with the strict injunction to stay 
with the blankets, and went up the path 
alone. He noted the consternation of the 
family with scorn, and smiled grimly be- 
hind his tawny mustache. 

"Well, pardner," he said, as he reached 
the porch where the farmer stood waiting 
to meet him, "I suppose you think we're 
hobos for a cinch since we took the hand- 
out, but if you'd heard me cuss the 
Greaser for beginning to rub his belt 
when I had just about lied out of taking 
anything, you wouldn't think so. No, 
we're not 'bos, and we've come back to 
take that job." 

Deacon Johnson, with ill-concealed dis- 
approval at the frank admission of two 
such cardinal sins as lying and swearing, 
pulled at his whiskers hesitatingly, and 
replied : 

"Your friend seems to be a man of 
violent temper. I don't " 

"Oh, that's all right," said Tom cheer- 
fully; "I cussed him for that, too, and 
took his knife away and told him that if 
he registered any more kicks on grub or 
anything else I'd take a shot at him. The 
Mexican is all right; he's a cross between 



a Digger Indian squaw and a cattle-thief, 
but he knows better than to monkey with 
me when I'm hostile." 

As Tom ceased speaking, the two stal- 
wart young farm hands came out on the 
porch: the girl, whom the farmer had 
called Dora, followed timidly and stood 
just behind the group, near her father. 

Conscious of the reinforcements, Dea- 
con Johnson became severe. 

"Does your friend smoke?" 

"Not when he ain't got the makin's of 
a smoke, he don't. No, I'll tell you, pard- 
ner, you won't need to lose any more fat 
worrying about the Mexican. Just give 
me a couple of lard buckets, a frying pan 
and a little grub; I'll make a camp back 
in the brush some place, and see that he 
don't bother nobody." 

"Young man," replied the deacon with 
slow dignity, "I am afraid that I cannot 
employ you or your friend. I've been 
farming for myself for twenty years and 
more now, and have never had any but 
Christian young men on my premises. 
John and Hiram are both members of my 
church." 

For a moment the Arizonan seemed 
totally at a loss as to how to take this 
statement; the three Christian farmers 
exchanged glances of firm self-approval. 
Finally Tom hitched up his overalls ag- 
gressively. ""Well, I'll tell you, Mister, if 
I can't pitch twice as much hay as any 
Christian young man you ever had on 
the ranch, you needn't pay me a cent. I 
have never worked with any of your 
Christian young men, but I've got a 
hunch that they can't qualify with me for 
a holy second. And the Greaser " 

The Arizonan was interrupted by the 
Greaser himself. 

"Que dice, Tom? What you say?" he 
asked. 

Tom, in his anger, forgot for the mo- 
ment that the Mexican was supposed to 
be with the blankets, and replied: 

"The old gent was sayin' that he didn't 
want nothin' but church men." 

"Que carramba!" raising his shoulders, 
and twisting his face with sympathetic 
consternation, "thaht make eet bad for 
you, no, Tom?" Then his swarthy face 
lighted with a bright idea. 

"But eet no le hace, Tom. I work and 
you keep camp till we have bastante 




"YOUNG MAN . . i CANNOT EMPLOY YOU OR YOUR FRIEND/'' 



288 



OVEKLAND MONTHLY. 



money to go back to Arizona. I church 
man," he went on, turning to the farmer. 
"I gude Catholique." 

The two hired men snickered a little at 
this; Deacon Johnson's face hardened, 
and he essayed to speak, when Antone, in 
anticipation, went on earnestly: 

"Oh, no, no! Tom bueno fallar; he 
no lahk church, but he gude boy ju-ust 
the same. Eef you no lahk heem for that, 
he keep camp por me and I work. Se- 
guro que si, Tom he cuss church todos 
tiempos, but he bueno pahtnah; I chase 
cattle on same ranch for cincos anos. 
Seguro que si, Tom gude fallar." 

The Mexican, who had been feeling 
nervously in all his pockets as he spoke, 
now pulled out a bit of brown paper, and 
drowning out both Tom and the Deacon 
as they attempted to speak in unison, 
said, with his politest shrug, "Sohn-of- 
a-gohns, I haff matches and papel but yo 
no tengo tobahcco. Senor haff 

Antone, seeing that something was 
wrong, stopped abruptly, and stood, un- 
consciously bellying the bit of cigarette 
paper into readiness to receive its charge 
of fine-cut, and wondering what there was 
about this most natural of requests that 
ould not be well taken. 

Tom, whose principal weakness lay in 
his pride of being a Bob Ingersoll man, 
had been very black and restless during 
Iris swarthy partner's apologies for his 
attitude toward the Christian religion, 
but now he left off biting at the corners 



of his mustache and began to grin sheep- 
ishly. Deacon Johnson, apparently be- 
wildered by the naive request of the un- 
tamed advocate of churches, seemed at a 
loss for something to say. For a moment, 
the group stood in embarrassment, then 
suddenly there was a stifled giggle that 
burst unexpectedly into clear, girlish 
laughter. That broke the spell; even the 
hard-featured deacon laughed heartily. 

"Father," said the daughter, taking ad- 
vantage of the lull that followed, "why 
do you not let the men stay? They are 
away from home and want to get money 
enough to get back to Arizona. It must 
be awful to be away from home so far." 

"That north field has been down a 
week too long now," suggested the elder 
of the farm hands. 

"Si, senorita, in my casa yo tengo tree 
Ml muchachos who last night say 'papa' 
to me when I sleep. And my pahtner 
haff una senorita." 

"Aw, cut that out, Antone," interrupt- 
ed Tom, shifting on his feet very uneas- 
ily. "You needn't eat any dirt for me. 
This is a business proposition; let's hit 
the road if he don't want us." 

"No," said the deacon, "we can use 
you both in the hayfield to-morrow. I'd 
like to have you stay." 

"And eef you 'fraid for fire," put in 
Antone, "I no smoke; I get some to- 
bahcco and chew heem. I no lahk heem 
thaht way, but eef you 'fraid for fire, I 
chew heem ju-ust the same." 




UNLIMITED ELECTRIC POWER 



BY 



BURTOK WALLACE 




ONDEEFUL as are the 
wireless telegraph, the 
Bell telephone and the 
Mergenthaler typeset- 
ting machine, which 
set civilization for- 
ward nearly a century 
within the past de- 
cade, there comes now a remarkable in- 
vention, made practical and put into op- 
eration for c6mmercial use at Los Angeles. 
It is called the Starr Wave Motor. 

Niagara Falls, between the great Lake 
Erie and the great Lake Ontario, two of 
the five great lakes, has been harnessed 
for man's use by special permission of the 
Governments of the United States and 
Canada, but it remained for California to 
take a mechanical appliance and run it 
steadily night and day, through storm and 
calm, simply by the up and down motion 
of the waves of the Pacific Ocean. 

White caps and gentle swells, ebbing 
and flowing tides, are no longer move- 
ments of the ocean to keep fishes alive, 
carry ships and excite the wonderment of 
man, for one man has pursued the enter- 
prise of harnessing the ocean waves until 
success now meets him, after thirty years 
of hard struggles and privations. 

Mighty power houses are being erected 
to -transmit this eeaseless and unlimited 
force, the first practical commercial plant 
being put in at Eedondo Beach, near Los 
Angeles by the Los Angeles Wave Power 
and Electric Co. They have leased a part 
of the beach from the Eedondo Improve- 
ment Company, one of E. E. Hunting- 
ton's companies, and are erecting a pier 
and a motor plant for the Starr Wave 
Motor, which will supply six southern 
counties Los Angeles, Orange, San 
Bernardino, Eiverside, Santa Bar- 
bara and Ventura with all the power 
needed for factory or transportation pur- 
poses. The plant will necessarily be en- 
larged after a short time, but its success 



and present commercial value can not be 
disputed. 

But first, let us look at this remarkable 
inventor and his more remarkable inven- 
tion. Briefly, it is a part of our education 
in twentieth century progress. 

Mr. Frederick Starr, a first class me- 
chanic, spent about twenty years in the 
Pullman car shops near Chicago putting 
the fine interior hardwood finish in the 
Pullman sleeping cars. All this time he 
had a notion that the up-and-down motion 
of the ocean waves could be made to run 
a force in one direction just the same as 
the piston of a steam engine pushes the 
drivers forward or backward at the will 
of the engineer, the only difference being 
that one force is horizontal and the other 
perpendicular; one worked by steam pres- 
sure, the other by water power. Both are 
practical. 

Mr. Starr, in his studies and experi- 
ments, while at the Pullman shop, saw 
that a wave motor to be a success, had to 
be so constructed that it would not only 
stand the worst storms of the ocean, but 
also that it must be so sensitive that it 
would receive the power from the smallest 
ocean swell; consequently, he developed 
and patented a machine, simple in con- 
struction, that will turn every ripple and 
surging billow into commercial value. 

Very small was the first wooden model 
of a wave motor built by Mr. Starr. The 
appliance was worked by hand with play- 
ing marbles used as rollers, which simply 
revolved the power shaft enough to show 
that the "clutch" would work. 

Larger was the second model, also made 
of wood, while the third model worked so 
perfectly in the shop that it was moved to 
Pier 2, Mission street wharf, San Fran- 
cisco, and there installed, and a barge put 
under the pier and connected to the ma- 
chinery on the pier with longer and heav- 
ier uprights, and with five-eighths inch 
cables. 



290 



OVEELAND MONTHLY. 




That plant was operated by the waves 
in the bay. It worked grandly, producing 
electricity from August, 1905, until Feb- 
ruary, 1907, when it was dismantled, be- 
cause it had served its purpose and they 
were done with it. But it had operated 
successfully through all the storms for 
eighteen months. One storm went over the 
bay in February, 1906, that the San Fran- 
cisco papers said was the worst storm for 
over twenty years, and that little model 
of the Starr Wave Motor, with its barge 
submerged, worked through the storm in 
perfect condition. 

What this wonderful wave motor is can 
be told in a few words. It consists of a 
pier built from the shore into the ocean 
until water is reached about twenty feet 
deep at low tide. Under the pier a barge 
(a hollow, flat boat) is anchored by an- 
chors placed in the bottom of the ocean 
that hold the barge so it cannot at any 
time touch any part of the pier. That 
barge is permitted to travel with the ocean 
waves ten to sixteen feet in and out (sea- 
ward and shoreward), and two to six feet 
sideways. These movements permit the 
barge to "play with the waves" and make 
it easy to hold. The barge is so construct- 
ed that when a storm is coming on, valves 
in the bottom of the barge are opened, and 
the barge is filled with water, which, with 
the pressure of the machinery, sinks the 
barge enough to make the storm waves and 
breakers pass over the barge during the 
storm. While the barge is thus submerged 
the wave motor continues to take tin 
power from the ocean swells, all that is de- 
sired, because the movement of the ocean 
at such times is so much greater that with 
the barge submerged there is yet all the 
power in the waves that is wanted. With 
the barge thus submerged, it is covered 
all over with the water that acts as a cush- 
ion, so that in the worst storm the power 
is in reality more regular and even than 
in ordinary seas. When the storm is over, 
the water will be blown out of the barge 
by compressed air, and then the barge 
floats upon the surface again. 

The great importance of this invention 
can scarcely be foretold. Comparing it to 
other inventions, we may get a notion 
of its value ; as, for instance, the West- 
inghouse air break. Westinghouse went to 
Commodore Vanderbilt, of the New York 



UNLIMITED ELECTRIC POWER. 



291 



Central Railroad, to interest him, but the 
Commodore said he had "no time to 
bother with damn fools who proposed to 
stop a train of cars with wind." To-day 
the air-break is in use all over the world. 
The same skepticism formerly attached 
to the wave motor, but has been proven 
baseless. 

The Starr Wave Motor has even a larger 
field than the air brake, because electric 
power, heat and light can be produced at 
one-third the present cost. 

It is estimated that the power used in 
Los Angeles, Orange, Riverside, San Ber- 
nardino. Santa Barbara and Ventura 
Counties is about 100,000 horse-power. 
That power costs consumers in those six 
counties an average of about $100 a year 
per horse power, while by the wave motors 
the same power can be produced and sold 
at one-third the present prices, and still 
make enormous profits. 

A plant equipped with these wave 
motors of 50,000 horsepower capacity 
when completed and in successful opera- 
tion with to-day's high prices for material 
and labor, will cost not to exceed $2,500,- 
000. The earnings of a 50,000 horse- 
power plant near Los Angeles, selling elec- 
tricity at $30 per horse-power per year 



(less than one-third the present average 
price), will be $1,500,000 per year, which 
is over 50 per cent per annum on the en- 
tire cost of the plant. 

The Los Angeles Wave Power and Elec- 
tric Company is incorporated, the follow- 
ing gentlemen being among the stock- 
holders, the main office being in the H. W. 
Hellman building, Los Angeles: W. E. B. 
Partridge, President of the American En- 
gineering and Foundry Co., Founders and 
Machinists, Los Angeles; 0. H. Mason, 
proprietor of the Up-to-Date Pattern Co., 
Pattern Manufacturers, Los Angeles; 
Fred Pilgrim, President of the Pilgrim 
Iron Works, Founders and Machinists, 
Los Angeles; J . C. Beach, Contractor 
and Builder, Los Angeles; Fred Starr, a 
Mechanic and Inventor of this Ware Mo- 
tor, San Francisco; J. H. Bacon, Invest- 
ment Banker, San Francisco. 

Since the force of the ocean waves is 
practically limitless, it is easy to see what 
a tremendous thing the Starr Wave Motor 
is. That it will follow the paths of other 
great inventions cannot now be disputed. 
It's capital stock is selling at fifty cents a 
share, and that colossal fortunes will be 
made, as well as reducing the cost of 
power to consumers, is evident. 








DEATH ON THE MARSHES 

BY 
RAYMOND STJMNEB BARTLETT 

The freshness of a summer's day 

Had filled the heavens with sound, 
And even the homely marsh flower smiled 

From her rest in the cold, wet ground ; 
The tall reeds nodded and beck'ed and bowed 

To the clumps of soughing willows 
And the woven dusks of the lily blew 

From her couch on the watery pillows. 

Salt laden from the wide bayou 

The glad breeze bent the rushes, 
Then marched along from tree to tree 

And kissed the trembling brushes; 
The wild shades blushed and quivered anew, 

'Neath the glance of the warm red sun, 
For the tent of heaven's pavilion lay bare 

And winter's last race was run. 

A-near the marge of the watery plain, 

Where the clamoring, shambling sea, 
Breath-laden from a sunnier south, 

Had filled the willow wide lea ; 
One of God's creatures, a feathery form, 

Lay fast asleep, for its breast 
Wlas torn apart and its sea-free heart 

Had sunk to its sylvan rest. 

The rising tide was at its full 

Along the sallow-ridged shore, 
It gathered and fell with a soughing swell 

And a dull, retreating roar: 
Far out on the channel a siren shrieked, 

And over the dipping swells, 
Like a voice in the dark, like a flickering spark, 

Came the melody of the bells. 

Dear bird, athwart the marginal moor 

Thy fellows are flying free, 
As glad as the breeze among the trees 

In their sea- wide liberty; 
The warm life throbs in their earth-born hearts 

Like the pulse of the tide that swings, 
For it quickens the beats in climes and heats 

With the fluttering of their wings. 

When the wan West shivers above the hills 

And the purple of. night sweeps down, 
Even then God knows each flower that blows 

And every soul that is flown ; 
For the meanest flower in wood and in bower 

In meadows and fields and leas, 
When withered and blown, when scattered and strown 

O'er the crests of the waving trees, 
Can hear his word, and thou, dear bird, 

Are even more than these 




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A Paper For Englishmen Abroad 

" 'Public Opinion' was much prized by Thomas Carlyle, and was one of the last journals he 
read," said Dr. W. R. Nicoll, in British Weekly.May 2, 1907. 

PUBLIC OPINION 

TWOPENCE WEEKLY 

Edited by PERCY L. PARKER 

The purpose of "Public Opinion" is to provide a weekly review of current thought and ac- 
tivity as they are expressed in the world's newspapers, magazines and books, and to put on 
record the ideas and activities which make for religious, Intellectual, Political and Social Pro- 
gress. 

It seeks to provide the busy man with a lucid summary of what is happening in the dif- 
ferent fields of human activity, and to focus within readable compass something of that teem- 
ing interest which comes from being in touch with many phases of life. 

This object has been achieved with considerable success ever since "PUBLIC OPINION" 
was started in 1860. In the 47 years since then it has consistently carried out its policy. 

The need for a paper like "PUBLIC OPINION" increases with the years, for life becomes 
more complex, and the busy man, though anxious to keep in touch with new developments of 
thought and activity, has not the time to read the many papers which would give him the 
needed facts. "PUBLIC OPINION" seeks to do this for him, and to present just that precis 
of life and thought which will enable him to quickly understand what is going on in the world. 

"Public Opinion" (published every Friday, price twopence, 32 pages) can be obtained from 
any newsagent or bookstall or will be sent post free for one year to any address in the 
United Kingdom for 10s. 10d., and to any place abroad for 13s. per annum. Orders should be 
addressed to 

"PUBLIC OPINION" 30 and 31 Temple House, Tallis Street, London, E. C. 

"I know of two Prime Ministers who have read regularly PUBLIC OPINION," said the 
Daily News, May 15, 1907. 

"We know of at least one who has misreadit," added "Punch," May 29, 1907. 
Specimens sent free on application. 



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xl 




ROAST MEATS 

Hot or cold, Soups, Steaks, Chops, Gravies, Cheese and all 
kinds of Salads are given a rare relish by the judicious use of 

Lea & Perrins' Sauce 

THE ORIGINAL WORCESTERSHIRE 

Leading Chefs say it is the Secret of their Success 

Beware Of Imitations. John Duncan's Sons, Agents, New York. 






Irving Institute and California Conservatory of Music 

2126-2128 California Street, San Francisco 

Boarding and Day School for Girls 

Mus'c, Languages, Art, and Elocution. Accredited by Univer- 
sities. The new term begins Monday, August 5. 

MISS ELLA M. PINKHAM, Principal. 
California Conservatory of Music. Send for 
Catalogue. 

HERMANN GENSS. Director. 



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Catalogues and reliable information concerning al 
schools and colleges furnished without charge. State 
kind of school, address: 

American School and College Agency 

384, 41 Park Row, New Yerk, er 384, 3I5 Dearbirn St., Chica 68 



THE HAMLIN SCHOOL AND VAN NESS SEMINARY 
2230 Pacific Ave. 

For particulars address 

cTWISS SARAH D. HAMLIN 

2230 Pacific c/4venue, 
San Francisco Telephone West 546 

The Fall term will open August 12, 1907. 



FEMININE LOVELINESS 

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rooms 200 with private baths. AMOS H. WHIPPLE, Proprietor. 




EDITORIAL 



C M M E N T. 



A PLEA FOR GOOD ROADS 



OSTE OF the leading features of Eu- 
rope that impresses the tourist from 
America is the general excellence of 
the roads. All over the continent, lead- 
ing from city to city, from village to vil- 
lage, is a labyrinth of smooth road-bed, 
which enables the automobilist and the 
bicyclist to reach with ease every little 
town upon the entire continent. 

This desirable condition of the roads 
has been accomplished through the public 
spirit of the citizens of the leading Euro- 
pean countries, and through the efforts 
of the respective Governments. As a con- 
sequence, thousands of auto fiends pour 
into Europe every summer to take advan- 
tage of the alluring opportunities for 
motoring, and it is reported: that they 
spend from six to eight million dollars at 
the leading resorts in France alone. 

Why should not the United States have 
a system of road beds just as good as our 
sister continent? Why should we not 
keep these millions of dollars wumn the 
limits of our own country? 

Why not begin in California ? At regu- 
lar periods a campaign is started for good 
roads in various sections of the State, but 
after a short time the matter is dropped 
and the roads are neglected. What more 
wonderful trip could be made than to 



skim through our fair State, starting at 
the beautiful southern partion among the 
orange groves and working up to Los An- 
geles, thence through the valley of the 
San Joaquin to San Francisco, along the 
Calle Eeal, and beyond into the recesses 
of the Sacramento Valley, skirting the 
mountain streams of the Sierra Nevadas 
and winding in and out among the big 
trees and the parks of the northern por- 
tion of the State? Such a road would be 
unrivaled in all the world. If the roads 
were made better, there could be a con- 
tinuous chain running to every town of 
consequence in the State, and nothing 
would attract tourists nor advertise Cali- 
fornia more than this feature of the 
West. 

To promote a sentiment for better roads 
in California, the Overland Monthly 
would be glad to receive photographs and 
accounts of road improvements. Photo- 
graphs taken of particularly poor roads, 
of bad roads undergoing improvement and 
of roads before and after improvement, 
will be welcomed. A short account of the 
location of the roads should be enclosed 
with all photographs. These will be paid 
for at our regular rates, and should ba 
addressed to the "Good Roads Editor," 
Overland Monthly, San Francisco. 



Please Mention Overland Monthly When Writing Advertisers. 



xiil 



Important Change in Life Insurance!! 

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Incorporated as a Stock Company by the 
State of New Jersey. 



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President. 



Home Office: 
NEWARK, N. J. 



xiv 



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BY DE^ISO^ HALLEY CLIFT 



BY far the most interesting book that 
I have read of late is Alfred L. 
Hutchinson's " The Limit of 
Wealth." This book deals with the ques- 
tion of Capital vs. Labor in a very novel 
manner. That the people of the United 
States realize that an impending crisis 
between the workingmen and the mil- 
lionaires is annually nearing a culmina- 
tion, is now no longer doubted. Many 
have been the remedies suggested to avoid 
this so-called "revolution," which include 
that of the socialists, the single taxers and 
those who demand Government ownership 
of public utilities. "The Limit of Wealth" 
is one more suggested solution. The 
uniqueness of this volume is in the pre- 



sentation of the subject. tEhe author 
dates his book 1944, and makes it seem 
that he is presenting the investigations 
of the monarchs of the world into the 
causes of the great industrial suprem- 
acy of this country. Like "Gillette's 
Social Kedemption," this is a book for 
men who think. It attacks our great 
social problem in a new way. The sug- 
gested remedy is, as the title indicates, 
the limit of wealth. The remedy is here 
given in a nutshell: "A man cannot take 
his wealth with him when he dies; allow 
him to provide a suitable sum for the 
proper maintainance of his surviving fam- 
ily, and let the surplus go to the Govern- 
ment, to be distributed among the people 



Please Mention Overland Monthly When Writing Advertisers. 



Continental Building and Loan 



of California 
ESTABLISHED 1889 



Subscribed Capital . . 
Paid-in Capital . . . . 
Profit and Reserve Fund 
Monthly Income, over . 



$15,OOO,OOO 

3,OOO,OOO 

. . 450,000 

20O.OOO 



ITS PURPOSE IS 

To help its members to build homes, also to 
make loans on improved property, the mem- 
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security. To help its stock holders 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. 

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along the lines I have indicated. Estab- 
lish a Government that will do this, and 
you will no longer ask, 'What can be done 
for the common people.' ' : 

The volume pictures the establishment 
of an omnipotent new party called "The 
Distributers/' who, in the election of 1912 
carry everything before them. The book 
is a valuable addition to the already-pub- 
lished solutions of our industrial prob- 
lems, and the Overland Monthly recom- 
- mends it to every workingman of America. 

The Macmillan Co., New York. 
* * * 

"Bait Angling for Common Fishes," 
by Louis Ehead, is a book that will be 
eagerly read by all lovers of the gentle art 
of angling. The volume deals with the 
gamut of baiting, from bass and trout 
to pearch and eels. The book is what it 
aims to be, "a handy guide of practical 
information on how to angle for common 
and familiar bottom fishes." Yet after 
all has been said in regard to angling, 
there remains one book of long standing 
that has never been displaced as the best 
book on fishing ever written. That is 
Walton's "Complete Angler," written 



more than a century ago, as inspiring a 
book as was ever published. 

Outing Publishing Co., New York. 

Three small volumes have come to our 
desk, and each one is a defense of the 
principles of socialism. "Capitalist and 
Laborer," by John Spargo, is a reply to 
Professor Goldwin Smith, who recently 
attacked the doctrine so dear to Spargo's 
heart. "Socialism: Positive and Nega- 
tive," by Eobert Eises La Monte, is a col- 
lection of papers that have appeared in 
the various socialistic periodicals. This 
book is full of much good food for thought 
and contains many maxims, such as "No 
man can be or do the best he is capable of 
unless he is ever reaching out toward an 
ideal that lies beyond his grasp." The 
third book, "The Eight to be Lazy," is 
a translation from the French of Paul 
Lafargue, by Charles H. Kerr. 

Charles H. Kerr & Co., Chicago. 
* * * 

"The New Apocalypse," by Henry Graf- 
ton Chapman, is a poetical work of 38 
pages, done in blank verse, and being the 
record of a dream. 



THE LADY AND POLITICS 



BY 



,ALLIS ROSS BURNETT 



I'VE COME over to talk to you, Anne, 
about women voting! I am quite 
sure that you are wrong in taking 
the stand you do against it, and I am 
going to convince you of the error of your 
ways. 

Have I ever voted? No, but I am go- 
ing to at this very next election. It is 
my duty and the duty of every good 
woman to do so, and after I have told you 
all I know about it, you will agree with 
me. 

Don't you think this hat is pretty and 
becoming? Such a time as I had getting 
the plumes put on right! Wftiy, I almost 
had nervous prostration. The milliner 
was a great strong creature without a 
nerve in her body. She just would not 
put the plumes on to suit me, and did 
not seem to care or even notice that I was 
positively ill with all the worry. I had 
to take a rest cure for a whole week af- 
terward. 

What about the milliner? I don't sup- 
pose that she was sick, though of course 
she deserved to be for not putting the 
plumes on to please me in the first place. 
\Yhat are you laughing at? Oh, you 
think I'm off the track! Well, I am not 
no, indeed! 

I will sit here in front of you and look 
into your eyes while I talk. Whenever I 
want to convince my husband, that is the 
way I do, and he gives up right away. 
Try it sometime, Anne; it saves so much 
trouble. 

Will I have a glass of lemonade? I 
shall enjoy it very much, for it is so warm 
to-day. Do you use distilled water? You 
don't? Why, you are really tempting 



Providence by using city water. We use 
Purity distilled water. Mr. Hargrave 
thinks it the best. We put it in the re- 
frigerator to keep it cool. The icemau 
forgot to bring us ice the other day, but 
I put the bottles in the refrigerator just 
the same, although the ice was all gone 
and the strangest thing happened. When 
dinner-time came, the water was as warm 
as when I put it in the ice-box. I don't 
see what an ice box is for if it won't 
keep things cool. There must be some 
scientific principle involved, and I am go- 
ing to study it out as soon as I have the 
time, but just now I must give my whole 
attention to the subject of voting. 

ISTow, Anne, here you are in delicious 
Colorado, where the sun shines three hun- 
dred and seventy-five days out of no, 
of course not. How silly of me ! Well, it 
shines three hundred and sixty-four days 
out of the year. You are just like Mr. 
Hargrave so particular about dates and 
things. Please don't interrupt me I 
can't bear to be interrupted. 

As I was saying, here you are in de- 
lightful Colorado (when I say Colorado, 
of course I mean Denver), where the sun 
shines all the year round, where you can 
sleep under a blanket all summer; where 
the air is absolutely pure; where you can 
look up at the grand old Rockies and see 
the snow in the hottest day. WJiat has all 
this to do with voting? Everything in 
the world, as you will see a little later on. 
Don't hurry me I never could bear to 
be hurried. You have broken the thread 
of my discourse, but I will do the best I 
can to go on with it. 

Here you are with all these blessings. 






Please Mention Overland Monthly When Writing Advertisers. 



xvii 




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and let me see yes, now I remember 
and added to these you have the privilege 
of voting for and putting into office good 
men to govern this beautiful State. (Yes, 
I am quite sure that was the argument 
they used to persuade me to vote.) 

Why. my dear, politics were was I 
can't remember which it is. Dear me! 
which can it be were or was? Never 
mind, were sounds better anyway. Poli- 
tics were in a frightful condition until 
women took them in hand. It is the duty 
of every good woman to go to the polls, 
and do her best to help purify politics, 
even if she must do it at great personal 
inconvenience. She should let nothing 
stand in her way. 

You say that the men managed politics 
before the franchise was given to the wo- 
men. To be sure, but just see what a 
failure they made of it. They meant 
well, but how could a man cast a pure 
vote when he had just been having a 
lunch of beer and onions? Think of it, 
Anne ! It makes me shudder. I don't eat 
beer and onions I mean, drink beer and 
onions for my lunch, so at least my vote 
won't smell of anything so awful. One 
vote will be purified anyway. 

You say that you don't know the good 
candidates from the bad ones, nor the 

ward-heelers from I don't know 

what a ward-heeler is either, but I should 
not wonder if that was one of them who 
stopped at the back gate the other morn- 
ing and asked me if I had any bottles to 
sell. I said that we had ever so many 
dozen beer bottles down in the cellar, 
and that if he would wait I would go and 
get them. 

When he spoke to me I was just going 
around to the grocery to get something 
for the cook, and I laid my purse down on 
the back step. When I got back from 
the cellar, that man was gone, and had 
taken my purse with him. Wasn't that 
mean? No, he was not a rag-man, for 
he said that he did not want any rags 
when I asked him. I am perfectly sure 
now that he was a ward-heeler. Well, 
everything has its good side. They can't 
fool me now. I simply won't vote for 
any man who looks as he did. 

Now you see, Anne, this is a case in 
point, as my husband says. Now that I 
know a ward-heeler when I see him, I 



need not vote for any one resembling him, 
so there will be one less ward-heeler get 
into office. Now don't you think it is a 
fine thing to have the privilege of keep- 
ing such men out of office? It is simply 
grand, glorious, to do one's duty! I never 
realized it before. 

Now that you are convinced, as I aiL. 
sure you must be after all that I have 
said, I want you to tell me just how I 
must go about it to get registered. You 
registered once didn't you? Please tell 
me how it is so embarrassing not to 
know how to do such things. 

Just wait a moment I can never re- 
member all that. I'll have to write it 
down. Now I am ready. 

Get up early so as to be down to the 
registration place by eight o'clock! Gra- 
cious, I never can do that, for I never 
get up until ten. Well, go on. 

Take your position in line. Wait a mo- 
ment, Anne. Will I have to wait long? 
Dear me! What next? 

After you are in line, there is not 
much more you can do for three or four 
hours but to move forward a step at a 
time, or to stand perfectly still when you 
can't move. If you grow too tired, you 
will, no doubt, for the sake of your coun- 
try, be willing to rest comfortably by 
leaning on the butchery looking man in 
front of you, and you must not mind the 
odor that emanates from the crowd 
around you some people look at a bath 
as an enemy. You won't mind it at all 
when you pause and reflect that you are 
doing your duty, though at the cost of a 
little personal inconvenience. 

After some hours have passed, you may 
find that you have crept slowly up the 
length of the corridor, and are at last in 
the room itself. You may be a little 
weary by this time, but as you are doing 
your duty, you will not mind having a 
woman with a baby in her arms passed up 
in front of you. She, too, has been stand- 
ing for hours, and the baby is tired, and is 
crying. The men who have been standing 
in line as long as you have, will smile and. 
look cheerful, so you may as 'well do the 
same. 

Wait a minute. Anne. I think I have 
contracted writer's cramp. Is there no 
other way I can be registered? Can't 
my husband pay some money to somebody 
and let me get registered quietly ? 



HE NEW POLICY OF THE PRUDENTIAL. 

The greatest insurance company to emerge 

torn the recent thorough and searching in- 

jfestigation of the insurance business of Amer- 

Ia with a reputation and a policy that could 

lot be impeached was the Prudential Company 

i Nt '\vark, N. J. 

f During the past few months this company has 
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(So keen is the competitions between insur- 
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Bit the lowest possible cost, and anticipating its 
Jfividends. This is just what the Prudential 
[i doing, according to its new line of business, 
which went into operation August 1st. 
A This policy has been best outlined by the 
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'( "The new Ordinary non-participating policy 
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1367 



1907 



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There is no other way? Then let us 
hurry and get this done. I am getting so 
tired. 

You must not mind having the fat man 
in front of you emphasize a joke by jab- 
bing you in the ribs with his thumb. He 
will not mean any disrespect 'he only 
looks upon you as his equal now, instead 
of his superior, as heretofore. 

That is the way they treated you? I 
can't understand it, Anne. I shall dress 
myself in a way to command respect. I 
have not planned quite all the details of 
my costume, but I know that I shall carry 
a chiffon parasol and wear patent leather 
Oxfords. 

Will' you soon be through? To please 
you, Anne, I will bear it to the end, but 
I am so tired. The back of my neck feels 
broken in two so please hurry. 

When you finally reach the clerk, you 
must give your name, your address, the 
color of your eyes and your exact height 
in feet and inches. 

But I don't know it. What a lot of 
bother about nothing at all. Well, go on. 

There is a post in the center of the 
room, you say, and that I must take my 
hat off and stand up to be measured? 

You may as well stop where you are, 
Anne Kaeburn. Do you think for one in- 
stant that I am going to take my hat off 
when it takes about twenty-seven hat-pins 
and three-quarters of an hour to adjust it 
properly? Never, as long as I live, will 
I do it for any old country, and you need 
not think that you can persuade me to 
vote if that is the way I have to do ! 



HAD A KICK COMING. 
"This opposition to race suicide may be 
all right," sighed Atlas, as he shifted the 
world over to the left; "but it certainly 
weighs heavy on my shoulders." 



* * * 



"An honest man is the noblest work of 
God !" exclaimed the reverend gentleman 
. sonorously. 

"Yes, and I honestly believe," observed 
Miss Synick, "that God rested six days out 
of the week and worked on Sunday." 



MEAN THING. 

"My dear," began the young husband, 
"this pie is just like mother used to 
make.' 

"Oh, you darling man!" and the wife 
threw her arms around him. 

"Yes," he continued, "the only thing 
mother couldn't do was make good pie." 

* * * 

"Tell me what you eat, and I'll tell you 
what you are." 

"And because I eat breakfast food, I 

suppose you'd call me a saw mill." 

* * * 

A QUESTION. 

"Pa, just one more." 

"Well?" 

"If Adam hadn't eaten that apple, do 
you think that Cain would have come 
along later on and hooked it?" 

* * * 

"Isn't it a misfortune that Spout, the 
great lecturer, stutters ?" 

"Decidedly not for Spout. He gets 
paid by the word." L. S. LEVY. 

* * * 

THE SHORT STORY CLUB. 

The Overland Monthly is the official 
magazine of the Pacific Short Story Club, 
an organization devoted to the literary in- 
terests of the West. 

Henry Meade Bland, San 'Jose, Coast 
President. 

Clyde Keynolds, Lodi, Secretary. 

Jannette Wtilliams Potter, San Jose, 
Assistant Secretary. 

Executive Committee Mrs. Mary B. 
Williams, Sevastopol, Cal. ; Mrs. Grace 
Hoover-Potter, Hanford, Cal.; Charlotte 
Ayer, Forestville, Cal.; Emma Schray, 
Laton, Cal. 

All wishing to become club members 
should address Henry Meade Bland, 
President of the club, San Jose. The club 
is not only for those who read and appre- 
ciate good literature, but serves as a 
school to those who would develop them- 
selves in literary art. Announcements 
further as to the scope of the club will be 
made from time to time. 



Please Mention Overland Monthly When Writing Advertisers. 



xxi 



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xxii 



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TSeOVERLAND 



Fiction Number 



Those who are fond of the Western story, with all its thrill of adventure and 
romance, will find the October number of the Overland Monthly the most attrac- 
tive issue of a Western magazine ever issued. This fiction number will contain a 
collection of strong, virile tales of the young West, telling the romance of the 
rugged, free-born Westerner. 



"SALT OF THE EABTH," by Robert W. Hartwell, is a story of life on the 
Western desert lands, and it has a bigness about it which will make it one of the 
notable stories that have appeared in the OVEBLAND MONTHLY. When you 
read this story, you will find in it all the elements of a great short story ; it grips 
you with its power, its compelling human interest, and its tense dramatic setting. 




Another tale that will command interest is "BUCKA- 
BOO JIM," by Herbert Coolidge. Mr. Coolidge is one 
of the younger generation of California writers who are 
winning fame as vigorous portrayers of distinctly Western 
fiction. "BUCK ABO JIM" is the story of a plainsman 
who fought a losing battle for life with a roving band of 
Mexicans in the Colorado country. The illustrations, 
which so well depict the tragedy of the story, are by W. 
B. DeLappe. 



HERBERT COOLIDGE 



A story that savors of the romance of the California 
vaquero is a tale by a promising CCalifornia writer, 
Stella P. Wynne. "AN IDYLL OF THE CIBCLE L" 
is one of the best stories ever published of California ranch 
life, catching, as it does, the spirit of the happy, care-free 
existence of the typical cow-puncher. The illustrations 
are by B. W. Borough. 







STELLA F. WYNNE 



These are not all. There will be other stories by well known writers of the best 
fiction. Our aim in presenting the fiction number is to gather together the best 
stories by the best writers of the West. The OVEBLAND MONTHLY is the 
magazine of the entire West, and its pages are filled with the work of writers who 
are best able to depict the life and environment of this land of the Pacific. 



Please Mention Overland Monthly When Writing Advertisers. 



xxiii 



for OCTOBER 



Special Articles 



The special articles in the October number will have an interest as strong as the 
fiction, and will reveal many wonderful things about a very wonderful country. 

Sidney J. Dillon contributes a complete and elaborate article on the "DES 
MOINES PLAN" of city Government. This article will attract widespread atten- 
tion. It gives an account of the recent successful government of Des Moines by 
five citizens. Eeaders in every city of the United States will feel a peculiar inter- 
est in this article because of the generalpolitical unrest of the nation. 

Charles Lorrimer, whose travel articles on Japan have in the past met with favor 
with all readers of the OVERLAND MONTHLY, will begin a new series of ac- 
counts of the conditions existing in Japan to-day. These articles will be extensive- 
ly perused because of an awakened interest throughout the United States in all 
things that pertain to the Japanese. The story, which is entitled "FROM 
TOKIO TO KOBE," is illustrated with beautiful photographs taken en route by 
the author. 

Those who are interested in the writings and work of Edwin Markham, will find 
in an article by Henry Meade Bland an absorbing study of the labors and literary 
masterpieces of the famous author of "The Man with the Hoe," in whom every 
Californian has a native interest. 

The various departments of BOOK REVIEWS, DILETTANTE and EDI- 
TORIALS will be carefully arranged and edited. Under the department of dra- 
matics, Julian Johnson will contribute an account of the rise of the drama in the 
West and its great future here in California. 




ILLUSTRATION ACCOMPANYING "FROM TOKIO TO KOBE." 

Ion cannot afford to miss this issue of the greatest Western magazine. On sale at all News-stands 
September 30th. Subscriptions may begin at any time. 



XX | V Please Mention Overland Monthly When Writing Advertisers. 

SEPTEMBER 
SUNSET 

CONTAINS 

Invasion of Oxford 

A critical study of work done at Oxford University, 
England, by the first Cecil Rhodes scholars. It is writ- 
ten by W. C. Chittenden, the first Californian to win 
one of the coveted scholarships. A large part of the 
article is devoted to describing the prominence of Amer- 
jcan men in scholarship and ^athletics. The article is 
well illustrated. 

The New San Francisco 

Architects' designs ot buildings for which contracts 
have been let and construction is under way; A SIXTEEN 
PAGE, TWO-COLORED TINT BLOCK FORM, show- 
ing buildings as designed, including the new White 
House, Thomas H. Williams building, Metropolis Trust 
Company building, Alaska Commercial building, First 
National Bank building, Emporium, Princess Theater, 
Phelan building, and others. 

The Spread of San Francisco 

A third article by Rufus Steele, beautifully illustra- 
ted, showing how San Francisco is rapidly extending 
down the peninsula. This article will be devoted espec- 
ially to suburban 'towns, pointing out that owing to the 
new Bay Shore Railway Cut-off the charms of country 
life are no longer only for the millionaire but are easily 
reached by the person of moderate means. 

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SAN FRANCISCO OFFICE B4C*LIRWA ST. 




133 Spear Street, San Francisco. 



For More than a Century 

various disorders of the stomach and bowels, 
such as indigestion, sour stomach, heartburn, 
biliousness, both in adults and children, have 
been relieved by 

HENRY'S 

Calcined Magnesia 

a mild and pleasant remedy. Corrects acidity, assists diges- 
tion and relieves constipation. Take the genuine only it 
requires a smaller dose than imitations and is doubly effica- 
cious without harshness. In use since 1772. Bottle sealed 
with old-style British "Inland Revenue" stamp bearing name 
'run A u/ff i ,*, Hfti\jpv Sold in the United States 
THOs. & WILLm. HENRY whh the name of Schieffelin 

MANCHESTER & Co. on label, which secures 

wrapper. Refuse inferior substitutes. Ask your druggist. 




Illustrated catalogue on application. Office and Factory 1808 
Market St., San Francisco. Branch, 837 S Spring St., Los Angeles 



For Breakfast 




The Pacific Coast Cereal 



THE JOHNSON-LOCKE MERCANTILE CO., Agents 
SAN FRANCISCO 



xxvi 



Please Mention Overland Monthly When Writing Advertisers. 






THE AUTOPIANO 

ANYONE CAN PLAY IT 

You have but to see this remarkable piano with the 
"SOLOIST" attachment to decide that you must own 
one. ANYBODY CAN PLAY IT with the aid of music- 
roll and treadles. It can also be PLAYED BY HAND 
in the usual manner, and is, consequently, TWO PIANOS 
IN ONE. 

You may never have played be- 
fore but you can play this instrument, 
and /Ay well. 

Think what this can mean for all 
your family. 

EILERS MUSIC COMPANY 

1130 Van Ness Avenue 1220 Fillmore Street. 

SAN FRANCISCO 
Oakland, Stockton, San Jose, Eureka, Gal. Reno, Nevada 



Come here, and see 
and play this AUTO- 
PIANO for yourself. 

Your used Instrument 
taken In part payment. 

Catalog mailed to any 
address on request. 



Please Mention Overland Monthly in Writing Advertisers. 



xxvii 




SAN FRANCISCO, CAL. 

An Illustrated Magazine of the West 



Magazine Offers for 1907: 

The prices are for a year's subscription. T he prices cover postage anywhere in United 
States or American possessions, and in Canad a, Mexico and Cuba. The magazines in com- 
binations may be for one or more persons. Be careful to give names and addresses clearly 
a nd fully. 



OUR MAGAZINE LIST 

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Pearson's 1.00 

Pictorial Review 1.00 

Suburban Life 1.00 

Success 1.00 

Sunset 1.50 

Woman's Home Companion 1.06 

World To-Day 1.00 

CLASS B Regular Price. 

American Magazine with Suburban Life.. $2.00 

Country Gentleman 1.50 

Etude 1.50 

Musician 1.50 

Review of Reviews 3.00 

Searchlight 2.00 



Regular Price 

Ainslie's $1.80 

Appleton's Booklovers' 3.00 

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Burr Mclntosh 3.00 

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TheOVERLAND MONTHLY CO., Publishers 

Offices 773 Market St., San Francisco. 



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Free Sample of Toxico Mailed to any Address 

TOXICO, the great discovery for ASTHMA, HAY FEVER, BRONCHITIS, 
and CATARRH, has cured thousands of the most stubborn cases. It makes no 
difference how long you have been suffering from any of these diseases, or how 
severe the climatic conditions are where you live, TOXICO WILL CURE YOU. 

If you have experimented with other treatments and have failed to find a cure, do 
not be discouraged, but try at our expense this truly meritorious remedy. 

This marvelous remedy is a scientific compound discovered by a professor of the 
Vienna University, Austria. TOXICO is an internal treatment, pleasant to take, 
and does not derange the stomach, as the dose is only 6 drops in a small wine- 
glass of water. GUARANTEED under the Pure Food and Drugs Act, June 30, 
1906. 

Read these letters from CURED PATIENTS 



A CASE OF CATARRH OF LONG 
STANDING. 

Dec. 31st, 1906. 
Toxico Laboratory: 

Gentlemen: 

I had a very severe case of ca- 
tarrh of long standing. On waking 
In the morning I would have to 
clear my throat, and a hard lump 
about the size of the end of your 
thumb would come from my 
throat. Now, after using your 
Toxico treatment, this lump has 
nearly disappeared, and the con- 
tinual ringing in my right ear has 
jntirely ceased. I am well satis- 
tied. Yours respectfully, 

W. R. BYNUM, 
713 N. 19th St., Birmingham, Ala. 



HAD HAY FEVER FOR 26 
YEARS. 

Sept. 13th, 1906. 
Toxico Laboratory: Sirs: 

I have had hay fever for 26 years, 
and no one knows what I have 
suffered. My head and eyes have 
bothered me so much that I have 
had to stay in a dark room. Noth- 
ing gave me any relief until I tried 
Toxico, and since I have taken 
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Yours respectfully, 
MRS. CLARAH KELLER, 
Elyria, Ohio. Route 3. 



Proof beyond 

a doubt that 

TOXICO 

is a positive 
cure for these 

diseases. 
These extracts 

are from 
original letters 
on file in our 
offices 

and have been 
selected from 

thousands 
of similar ones 

which we 
receive daily. 



HAD ASTHMA ATTACKS ONCE 
A WEEK. 

Dec. 3d, 1906. 
Toxico Laboratory: 

Gentlemen: 

I get asthma once a week regu- 
larly and I have to vomit and 
cough; my eyes get blood red and 
swell up. Your free sample did 
not help me much, as I have 
asthma a long time. You may 
send me a month's treatment, and 
I hope it will cure me. 

I remain respectfully, 
FORREST G. GLASSER, 

Kutztown, Pa. 



Read this letter, received more 
than three months later: 

March 20th, 1907. 
Sirs: 

I have not had an asthmatic at- 
tack since I received your first 
bottle that is, after I had taken 
Toxico for two weeks. I used to 
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cheerfully recommend Toxico to all 
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tions about the effect of your rem- 
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ferer to your wonderful remedy. 
I remain yours respectfully, 
FORREST GLASSER, 
Kutztown, Pa. 



Send right now for a free sample of TOXIGO before you forget it. Address 

THETOXIGO LABORATORY, 544 Townsend B'ld'g, New York City. 



Please Mention Overland Monthly When Writing Advertisers. 



xxix 



HOTEL CUMBERLAND 

NEW YORK 
S. W. Cor. Broadway at, 54th Street. 




IDEAL LOCATION. 
NEAR THEATRES, 

SHOPS AND 
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Close to 5th Ave. 
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and accessible to 
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lines. Transien 
rates $2.50 with 
Bath and up. Al 
outside rooms. 

Special rates for 
summer months. 



SEND FOR BOOKLET 

Under the management of HARRY P. STIMSON, formerly with 
Hotel Imperial, New York; B. J. BINGHAM, formerly with Hotel 
Woodward. 



THE GERMAN SAVINGS 
AND LOAN SOCIETY 

526 CALIFORNIA STREET. 

San Francisco, Cal. 



Guaranteed Capital and Surplus. $2, 603,755. 68 
Capital actually paid up in cash. 1,000,000.00 
Deposits, June 29, 1907 38,156,931.28 

OFFICERS President, N. Ohlandt; First 
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BOARD OF DIRECTORS N. Ohlandt, 
Daniel Meyer, Emil Rohte, Ign. Steinhart, 
I. N. Walter, J. W. Van Bergen, F. Till- 
mann, Jr., E. T. Kruse and W. S. Goodfel- 
low. 




A 

Famous 

EXGIN 



The G. M. WHE,LE,R 
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LLGINS of equal grade and reasonable 
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ELGIN NATIONAL WATCH CO., 

Elgin, III. 



Please Mention Overland Monthly When Writing Advertisers. 



Every reader of Overland Monthly should have this book. 



FACTS and FORMS 

BY PROFESSOR E. T. ROE, LL. B. 



A HAND BOOK OF 

READY REFERENCE 



A neat, new, practical, reliable and up-to-date little manual of legal ana business form, 
with tables, weights, measures, rules, short methods of computation and miscellaneous infor- 
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Describes the Banking System of the United States, obligations of landlord and tenant, 
employer and employee, and exposes the numerous swindling schemes worked on the un- 
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A saver of time and money for the busy man of whatever calling, in fees for advice and 
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SOME OP WHAT "FACTS AND FORMS"' CONTAINS. 

Bookkeeping, single and double entry. Forms of every kind of business letter. How to 
write deeds, notes, drafts, checks, receipts, contracts, leases, mortgages, acknowledgments, 
bills of sale, affidavits, bills of lading, etc. 

How to write all the different forms of endorsements of notes, checks and other negotiable 
business papers. Forms of orders. 



LAWS GOVERNING 



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Acknowledgments, agency assignments, 
building and loan association*, collection of 
debts, contracts, interest rates, deeding of 
property, employer and employee, landlord 
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property, subscriptions, transportation, 
trusts and monopolies, working on Sundays 
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Painting and mixing paints, parliamen- 
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finding the contents of carrels, tanks, cis- 
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amount of brick, lime, plaster, lath re- 
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A Swindling Note-Be On Your Guard-Hundreds Have Been Caught 



One year after date, I promise to pay to John Dawson or 
order Five Hundred and Seventy-five Dollars ($575) 
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payable at Newton, Kan. 

GEO. W. ELLSWORTH. 



bearer Fifty Dollars when I sell by 
worth of hedge plants 
Said Fifty Dollars when due Is 



Agent for John Dawson. 
SJ3E "FACTS AND FORMS" FOR FULL EXPLANATION. 



EVERY READER OF THE OVERLAND MONTHLY CAN SECURE A COPY OF "FACTS 
AND FOR,v,S," A BOOK WORTH $1, BY SENDING 30 CEN i S WITH HIS NAME AND 
ADDRESS TO THE PUBLISHERS, 905 LINCOLN AVENUE, ALAMEDA, CAL. 



iara 



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Please Mention Overland Monthly When Writing Advertisers. 



xxxi 



Ohltforma 
Art (Haas 




Wn\. grhnicfirr. Jlrruiiirnt 



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at all Worlfc J^atra anil itplnmaa 



ani (Eutttttg Works 



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Absolutely Without a Peer 

THE MELVILLE CLARK 

APOLLO PLAYER PIANOS 

They cannot be equalled in the trade for the following unanswerable reasons: 

1. They have the 88 note range, or the entire piano keyboard, each 
one of the 88 pneumatic fingers striking a piano key. The Apollo is the 
only player piano in the world that has this range. All others have only 65 notes or 5 
octaves. Would you be satisfied with a 5 octave piano when the standard range is 
7^j octaves? If not, you will naturally prefer the standard player with 88 notes. 

2. Another important feature in Apollo player construction is the effective 
transposing mouthpiece, which represents fully 95 per cent, of player piano 
value. By its use the key can be changed to accompany any voice or musical instru- 
ment. This one feature gives the Apollo player a great additional value in the musical 
home. The transposing mouthpiece also prevents the annoyances caused by the shrink- 
ing and swelling of the music rolls, which is oftentimes a source of great annoyance, and 
interferes with the proper execution of the score. No other player in the world has 
this transposing mouthpiece. 

These important features give the Apollo an unrivalled advantage and make it 

THE PLAYER FOR THE MUSICAL HOME 

None other can touch it in superior features. It is peerless. 
Send for illustrated booklet to the manufacturers 




Melville Clark Piano Co. 

Department O 
STEINWAY HALL, CHICAGO 










MANY things of the past have given 
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"Shave Yourself" with the "GILLETTE" which will 
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time. 





The Gillette Safety Razor coti- 

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10 Brand New Double-Edged << GILLETTE " 
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No blades exchanged or resharpened. 

The price of the " GILLETTE " Set is $5.00 everywhere. 
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Ask for the ' ' GILLETTE ' ' and booklet. When substitutes are 
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GILLETTE SALES CO. 
283 Times Bldg., New York City. 



WD RfNf 



:HE PRICE 




THE 

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NSURED 




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GENTLEMEN 

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WEAR THE IMPROVED 

BOSTON 
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VOSC PIANOS 



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The 

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LIES FLAT TO THE LEG NEVER 
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GEO. FROST CO., Maker* 
Boston, Mass.. U.S.A. 

ALWAYS EASY 



have been established over 55 years. By our system 
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Overland 












STIRRING FICTION 

Strong graphically told Stories, the 

kind that hold the reader from 

start to finish, in this 

Special Story Number 

Timely Articles 

San Francisco is emerging from an 

era of mismangement. 
Read 'The Des Moines plan of City 
Government," by Sidney J. Dillon 




The Overland Monthly Company, SanFranciscol 



Nothing Equal To It 





The Melville Clark Apollo Player Piano 

The only player piano in the world that can play 88 notes or the entire piano 
keyboard. 

The only player piano in the world with the effective transposing mouth- 
piece that changes the music to any key to suit the voice or accompanying in- 
strument. It also prevents the annoyance caused by the shrinking and swelling of 
the music roll due to climatic conditions. This mouthpiece represents 95 per 
cent, of player piano value. 

These two superior features make the 

APOLLO PLAYER ABSOLUTELY PEERLESS 

Every sensible buyer will want a player piano that will play seven and one-third 
octaves. That is the Apollo player range. Every one of the 88 piano keys is 
struck by a pneumatic finger. No couplers are used. 

ALL OTHER PLAYER PIANOS 

have a range of only 65 notes or 5 octaves 

Would you buy a 5 octave piano f Certainly not. Then why would you buy a 5 octave 
player piano, when you can get the APOLLO with its seven and one-third octave range? 

The Apollo is the Standard 

Its tone is beautiful; its mechanism perfect; its case designs extremely attractive. It is 
the highest type of the artistic player piano. 

Send to the manufacturers for a handsome illustrated catalogue. Address 

Melville Clark Piano Co. 

Dept. O 

Steinway Hall, Chicago 
The Apollo plays 58, 65 and 88 note music 







BENJ. CURTAZ & SONS, AGENTS, 1615 VAN NESS AVE. SAN FRANCISCO, CAL. 



Please Mention Overland Monthly When Writing Advertisers. 



TIFFANY & Co. 

Fifth Avenue and 37th Street, New York 

A Basis for Comparison of Prices 

Tiffany & Co. always welcome a comparison of prices 
While this applies to their rich as well as inexpensive 
jewelry, silverware, clocks, bronzes and other objects, 
it is possible for their patrons more easily to make 
comparisons on certain articles of silverware than on 
some of the more individual pieces from their stock 
To this end the method of marking prices on 
Tiffany & Co.'s copyrighted patterns of 

Sterling Silver Forks and Spoons 

At $1.00 per ounce 

furnishes exact information as to weights and values 
These patterns are not sold through the trade or other 
dealers and each piece is of English sterling quality 
9257 JOOO fine. Upon this basis prices per dozen 
range as follows; 

Tea Spoons dozen $ II upward 

Dessert Spoons " J8 

Soup or Table Spoons " 25 

Breakfast, Entree or Dessert Forks " J 7 
Dinner or Table Forks " 23 

Cuts of patterns sent upon request, also estimates for 
special sets to suit individual requirements 

Fifth Avenue Newark 

Tiffany & Co. 1907 Blue Book a compact catalogue without illustrations; 621 pages of concise 
descriptions with range of prices of jewelry, silverware, clocks, bronzes, pottery, glassware and 
other objects suitable for wedding presents or other gifts Blue Book sent upon request 



Vol. L 



No. 4 



OVERLAND MONTHLY 

An Illustrated Magazine of the West 



CONTENTS FOR OCTOBER, 1907 



MARION COOK 

DRAWING BY L. B. HASTE 

ROBERT W. HARTWELL 



OCTOBER. . Verse 

FRONTISPIECE 

THE SALT OF EARTH 

Illustrated by L. B. Haste. 

THE BIG BASIN 

Illustrated by the author. 

FROM TOKIO TO KOBE . . . . 

Illustrated with photographs. 

BUCKAROO JIM. Story 

Illustrated by TV. R. DeLappe. 

UNCLE ABE'S DAY DREAM. Verse 

Drawings by R. E. Snodgrass. . 

THE DES MOINES PLAN OF CITY GOVERNMENT SIDNEY J. DILLON 



ELOISE J. ROORBACK 
CHARLES LORRIMER 
HERBERT COOLIDGE 
JAY C. POWERS 



LOVE'S AWAKING. Verse .... 

THE NEMESIS. Story 

THE ICEBERG'S BIRTH. Verse 

EDWIN MARKHAM AND HIS ART 
Illustrated with portraits. 

RESTITUTION. Verse 

TEN CENTS TO THE FERRY 
Illustrated by W. R. Davenport. 

UMEKO SAN Story 

Illustrated by R. E. Schad. 

THE SANTA BARBARA MISSION . 

Illustrated with drawings and photographs. 

THANK GOD PER "CALIFORNY" 

AN IDYLL OF THE CIRCLE L. Story 
Illustrated by W. R. Borough. 

SOMEWHERE. Verse 

ON THE OREGON TRAIL. Story 

WAR AND THE COMMODORE 

Drawings by R. E. Snodgrass. 

TO A WILD ROSE. Verse 

DRAMATICS. The New World of the Play 
Illustrated with photographs. 

EL CAMINO REAL. Verse .... 

WHERE THE ORIENT MEETS THE OCCIDENT 

illustrated with photographs. 
MONTEREY WAKES UP 

STRIKING OIL IN MONTEREY 
Illustrated with diagrams. 



DONALD A. FRASER 
DON MARK LEMON 
CHARLOTTE W. THURSTON 
HENRY MEADE BLAND 

LEO LEVY 
OLIVE DIBERT 
SAMUEL NEWSOM 

ALICE D. O. GREENWOOD 
STELLA F. WYNNE 

ISABELLE M. TENNANT 
FRANK H. SWEET 
HORATIO LANKFORD KING 

FLORENCE SLACK CRAWFORD 
JULIAN JOHNSON 

M. TINGLE , , 

HAL JACKSON 

WASHINGTON DAVIS 
WASHINGTON DAVIS 



293 

294 
295 

301 
309 
317 
322 

324 
328 
329 
331 
333 

337 
338 

343 

350 

360 
361 

366 
367 
371 

377 
379 

384 
385 

391 
392 



Issued Monthly. $1.50 per year, in advance. Fifteen Cents per copy. 
Copyrighted, 1906, by the Overland Monthly Company. 

, r ! n * ry , a ~ second - c jass mail matter has been made at the San Francisco, Cal. 
Rntt' i!fo f Congress of Ma rch 3, 1879. Northwestern offices at 74 Hirbour Build- 
Butte, Montana, under management of Mrs. Helen Fitzgerald Sanders. 

Published by the OVERLAND MONTHLY COMPANY, San Francisco, California. 

773 Market Street. 



please Mention Overland Monthl> When Writing Advertisers. 




Ill 




CORSETS 

$1.00 TO $10.00 



AND 



BON TON 



A FAIR OFFER.! 



to convince 



$1.00 TO $10.00 

Combine features of Style 
and Fit which make ihem the 
choice of Modistes wherever 
fine dressmaking is done.-^D 

ID BY All LEADING DEALERS ON THE PACIFIC COAST 



DYSPEPTICS 

and those suffering from 

Stomach Troubles 

of the efficiency of 

Slycozone 



I will send a 



$1.00 BOTTLE FREE 



Only one to a family 

to any one NAMING THIS MAGAZINE, and 
enclosing 25c. to pay forwarding charges. This 
offer is made to demonstrate the efficiency 
of t*his remedy. 

Glycozone is absolutely harmless. 

It cleanses the lining membrane of the stom- 
ach and thus subdues inflammation, thus helping 
nature to accomplish a cure. 

GLYCOZONE cannot fail to help you, and 
will not harm you in the least. 

Indorsed and successfully used by leading 
physicians for over 15 years. 

Sold by leading druggists. None genuine 
without my signature. 




Chemist and Graduate of the "Ecole Centiale de Arlt et Manu- 
facture? de Paris," (France). 

57 Prince Street, New York City, 

FREEl-Valuable booklet on how to treat diseases. 



Please Mention Overland Monthly When Writing Advertisers. 




Free Sample of Toxico Mailed to any Address 

TOXICO, the great discovery for ASTHMA, HAY FEVEE, BEONCHITIS, 
and CATARRH, has cured thousands of the most stubborn cases. It makes no 
difference how long you have been suffering from any of these diseases, or how 
severe the climatic conditions are where you live, TOXICO WILL CUKE YOU. 

If you have experimented with other treatments and have failed to find a cure, do 
not be discouraged, but try at our expense this truly meritorious remedy. 

This marvelous remedy is a scientific compound discovered by a professor of the 
Vienna University, Austria. TOXICO is an internal treatment, pleasant to take, 
and does not derange the stomach, as the dose is only 6 drops in a small wine- 
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Read these letters from CURED PATIENTS 



A CASE OF CATARRH OF LONG 
STANDING. 

Dec. 31st, 1906. 
Toxico Laboratory: 

Gentlemen: 

I hajl a very severe case of ca- 
tarrh of long standing. On waking 
in the morning I would have to 
clear my throat, and a hard lump 
about the size of the end of your 
thumb would come from my 
throat. Now, after using your 
Toxico treatment, this lump has 
nearly disappeared, and the con- 
tinual ringing in my right ear has 
jntirely ceased. I am well satis- 
tied. Yours respectfully, 

W. R. BYNUM, 
713 N. 19th St., Birmingham, Ala. 



HAD HAY FEVER FOR 26 
YEARS. 

Sept. 13th, 1906. 
Toxico Laboratory: Sirs: 

I have had hay fever for 26 years, 
and no one knows what I have 
suffered. My head and eyes nave 
bothered me so much that I have 
had to stay in a dark room. Noth- 
ing gave me any relief until I tried 
Toxico, and since I have taken 
your wonderful medicine I have 
not been bothered once. Excuse 
me for not answering sooner, but 
I have been very busy since my 
hay fever has been cured. 
Yours respectfully, 
MRS. CLARAH KELLER, 
Elyria, Ohio. Route 3. 



Proof beyond 
a doubt that 

TOXICO 

is a positive 

cure for these 

diseases. 
These extracts 

are from 
jriginal letters 
on file in our 
offices 

and have been 
selected from 

thousands 
of similar ones 

which we 
.receive daily. 



HAD ASTHMA ATTACKS ONCE 
A WEEK. 

Dec. 3d, 1906. 
Toxico Laboratory: 

Gentlemen : 

I get asthma once a week regu- 
larly and I have to vomit and 
cough; my eyes get blood red and 
swell up. Your free sample did 
not help me much, as I have 
asthma a long time. You may 
send me a month's treatment, and 
I hope it will cure me. 

I remain respectfully, 
FORREST G. GLASSER, 

Kutztown, Pa. 



ReajJ this letter, received more 
than three months later: 

March 20th, 1907. 
Sirs: 

I have not had an asthmatic at- 
tack since I received your first 
bottle that is, after I had taken 
Toxico for two weeks. I used to 
have attacks every week. My ap- 
petite improved, and I am now 
strong and open chested, and can 
take part in athletic games. I 
cheerfully recommend Toxico to all 
sufferers, and will answer all ques- 
tions about the effect of your rem- 
edy. I hope this will direct a suf- 
ferer to your wonderful remedy. 
I remain yours respectfully, 
FORREST GLASSER, 
Kutztown, Pa. 



Send right now for a free sample of TOXIGO before you forget it. Address 

THE TOXICO LABORATORY, 544 Townsend B'ld'g, New York City. 



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D 



OCTOBER 

BY 
MABI<m COOK 



EAR Heart, 'tis true the summer's sun hath set, 
And earth no more can feel her warm pulse beat; 

But sheen and glory linger with us yet, 

Though touched with prints of autumn's footsteps fleet. 



In place of quiet green and softening shade, 

We have the flaming grandeur of the woods; 

Those kindling signal-fires by nature made 
To herald the approach of wintry moods. 

And it is true our love was warm and red 
And glowing as the rose must it, too, die? 

And, fluttering, fall as trembling leaves are shed, 
Unloosed by every breath that passeth by? 

Ah, no, it cannot be! beneath the snow, 

The tender green still lives though hid from view; 
Its life is safe; and when spring breezes glow, 

The perfect flower will open, love, for you! 




"i CAN'T DO IT NOW, FOR T PROMISED, AND SHE GAVE ME THIS TO REMEMBER/ 
Pago 800: "Salt of the Earth." 



Overland Monthly 



No. 4 



OCTOBER, 1907 



Vol. L 





[VILIZATIOX in the 
city of Tucson has 
been and is a contra- 
diction. Two hundred 
and fifty years ago, 
upwards, the crucifix 
was there planted. To- 
day, after these two 
hundred and fifty years of civilizing, there 
still clings more of the border than per- 
haps in any other city of the land; there 
exists at once the oldest and the newest. 
There, each day, as Phoebus' car rolls the 
heavens, the shadow of the cross falls up- 
on gambling houses, rendezvous to those 
that pry, pitfalls to the weak. 

In one such, Dave Hill found Tom But- 
ler. The two were from the same State, 
alike in their need of money, neither of 
squeamish morals. 

Butler, though a "new," had been under 
fire in the Philippines, was a dead shot, 
and would "stand for business;" more- 
over, he had a grievance against the Gov- 
ernment. Thereby hangs this tale; 
though, as will subsequently appear, other 
factors enter into the argument. 

I. 

"And what if I promise not, Anita, or, 
promising, do as the good Filipino who 
puts his Mauser in the cane (mud upon 



his carcass), says: 'Americano amigo, yo 
mucho ombre, muclio!' and with a belly- 
ful from the sentry's haversack, shoots 
him in the back half an hour later ? Ca ! 
Chito! What does the Government for me 
now that I must live in the damned coun- 
try or die by consumption? Six dollars 
a month bah ! What is chat ? Enough 
to pay your mother for washing, no more. 
Do they not owe me for what they have 
taken? We shall see, my girl. Cjala! 
I shall present a forty-four and a bill 
quickly payable. The pension needed six 
months, the bill shall need six seconds. 
Ca! it will be excellent." 

"Aye, excellent, Tomasso, it may be, but 
what will it make of vou and of the one, 
chiquito, that will come to us before the 
Christmas ? It is to be a boy surely, and . 
you would not pay the padre with gold 
that has blood-stains? Nor put upon me 
a greater weight for confession ? Is it not 
enough already, and not until to-night we 
marry ? 

"I have thought much, Tomasso, and 
this is the end of it ; if you are gone with 
this man, patting blood on your soul, the 
small one shall have no father; we shall 
not marry to-night, nor next week nor the 
week after ; I shall go amongst my peo- 
ple who talk not overmuch, being kind. 
The Holy Virgin will protect. You wear 



296 



OVERLAND MONTHLY. 



beneath the coat the star of the men at 
Washington, and have given oath. Keep 
the oath do as the star has said. Promise 
to me, or I go not with you to the padra, 
and he, chiquito there, naughty! kiss me 
no more." 

The shadows of the cane clump and of 
the mesquite bush were long and dim 
where they fell across the square, adobe- 
walled yard. The women had left their 
washing stones by the well. The odor of 
chile came from the kitchen beyond the 
well, where, about a fire upon the earth 
floor, squatted, chattering in the soft un- 
dertone of the southern lands, women and 
children. Convent street, hushed from the 
day's work, took on the lower, more per- 
vasive hum of pleasure. Sunset lights 
bathed the ancient pueblo of Tucson with 
rose and golden pigments; then upward 
they moved, ascending the cathedral till it 
alone was touched; hastening, leaped to 
the peaks of the East into the clouds 
and then came twilight, ancient and 
Lethean. Children played in the streets; 
later the populace would stroll forth in the 
balmy, ineffable night, while out from the 
flat-roofed adobe buildings of the Mexi- 
can quarter, sweetly, dreamily, floating, a 
song of old Spain "La Paloma." 

But he stood up and crossed the en- 
closure to the street wall. He rested his 
hands upon its top, looking over. The 
sun was just gone. A bell from the cathed- 
ral struck; another, and the evening call 
chimed forth. He turned to the sound and 
scowled; the church, always the church, 
was between him and this woman whom he 
had learned to love in a new, strange way 
to him. She was only a Mexican, he had 
used to reflect; but the hand in his with 
perfect trust, the eyes looking into his 
own, sometimes of late filled with tears 
'yhat was it, anyway? "Bah! a fool! I'll 
not go back again." Yet he always did. 
And placing his tanned, scaly palms, one 
on either of the girl's cheeks, turned the 
lips to him and kissed them with a tender- 
ness that was by himself as much marveled 
at as was the love itself. It was not that 
Tom Butler had known no other women 
no, that was not it. 

The church! It was where he should 
go within the hour or should he? to 
stand with Josepha before the priest. The 
priest would mumble words, make signs, 



and afterwards Josepha would be his wife. 
What did these things matter? All that 
had been in the year past was it of no 
consequence? Could this priest in less 
than a minute run through some stuff 
that meant more than all? Bah! He 
ground his teeth. Only it was her way. 
She would give her life for him, that he 
knew since she had nursed him in the 
smallpox. Here, there, somehow, was 
something to her more than life. Deeply 
he wondered. 

Down the street along the wall a child 
and his mother approached through the 
twilight. The child's mother held his 
hand. Absently, he watched them, for he 
loved a child, particularly a man child. 

"Ah, Juan, not so fast; papa will not 
yet be home. If thou art not a good boy 
he'll not bring thee candy, non chiquito. 
Dost love thy papa and thy mamma, my 
chosen. Rogue ! Not so fast !" 

But his eyes followed them to the turn 
of the wall. "Thy papa and thy mamma,''' 
he mused. "Thy papa and thy mamma." 
What had Josepha said if he forgot his 
oath and went away to rob for gold, the 
child should have no papa they should 
not marry to-night or ever. And he knew 
that she meant it strange that one so 
mild should be so firm. He turned from 
the wall. And though the light was 
fainter now, he distinguished, extended in 
her hand, the crucifix. At his footfalls 
she looked quickly up, arose, and held 
forth her arms. 

An hour later, Padre Juan moved along 
the quiet, darkened cathedral aisle, lifted 
his calotte and crossed himself before the 
Christ-image. Tom Butler, and Josepha, 
his wife, passed through the outer corri- 
dor and down the stone steps. 

II. 

The atmosphere was stifling with to- 
bacco smoke, through which arc lights 
glowed and sizzed in a peculiar wreathing 
light. Men entered and departed con- 
tinually, jostling as they crowded about 
the hall towards one table and another, 
craning to view the games, or pushing 
forward to place their coin. The empty 
bottle musician clanged assiduously from 
his platform ; there was the click of shuf- 
fled chips, calls of crap and roulette game- 
sters, cursing in undertone from particu- 



THE SALT OF EARTH. 



297 



lar unfortunates, orders for drinks, with 
the subdued, pervading drone of conver- 
sation. 

Even the quiet, white-haired old gentle- 
man at the monte board was crowded about 
by players, for the most part Mexicans. 
Dapper youths in shirt waists and cigar- 
ettes were playing disproportionate sums 
to a man for flipping an ivory ball about 
a circle track. Boisterous negroes whirled 
dice upon a buffered table. Stolid Chi- 
nese loaded the faro board with their 
wages. Determined looking, big som- 
breroed cattle-men, solemn and taciturn, 
were at poker in the corner room. The 
Blazing Stump had a good night. 

He saw the dollar gone before he placed 
it. No matter. Dave Hill was gambling 
and would not pause until, having no fur- 
ther money, he could do nothing else. The 
circle of players noticed the money placed 
upon queen high; they did not notice the 
man. All bets down. Two cards were 
turned queen came low, and the last of 
fifty dollars was gone. Hill walked away, 
relieved to be at the end of it. 

"Nine o'clock/' he observed mentally, 
glancing up as he passed the bar. "It is 
time I was quitting this damned place. 
Butler'll think I've got the cold. I would 
shake him if there was any way out, for 
I'm leary on that Mexican of his, but 
there ain't no way. Anyhow, this job's 
got to be done. If he gets queer, I'll make 
a good of him easy enough." 

He turned along the town's main street 
toward the railway. Flotsam and jetsom 
of the border passed him, miners, pros- 
pectors, cowboys, Indians, and that in- 
numerable company subject to no classifi- 
cation bearing no mark of trade or busi- 
ness, living no man knows how or why, 
with here and there a gaudy pink and lace 
creature, each human, each in the pursuit 
of his special phantom. Hill gave no 
heed. His only business was to see that 
the sheriff's office remained properly ig- 
norant, for although he was not aware of 
being known to any one there or elsewhere 
in Yuma, his photograph had an incon- 
siderate way of coming into the possession 
of these over-curious zealots of the law, 
and he could not be certain that this par- 
ticular office fell outside the class. He 
told himself that he was a fool to visit the 
gambling hall, but the light and the music 



and the crowd had prevailed against his 
fears. "Just how the boys all get pinched," 
he muttered, which was quite true. Dur- 
ing the day he had purchased a ticket to 
Mohawk Summit, and now, being in a 
mind of caution as dangerous because of 
its resultant eccentricity of action as his 
former rashness had been, he hurried 
down a by-street toward the freight yard 
and into the shadow of a car. A voice 
brought him out of his subjective con- 
siderations to a startled, abrupt stand. 

" Which way, Bo? Can we make the 
blind here?" 

But Hill's only answer was to move 
further along in the shadow. And thus, 
had he known it, the law drove home an- 
other nail in its structure of prosecution 
against the time when it should house 
him in. He was relieved when the express 
head-light glimmered through the cut 
from the depot; and catching a platform 
rail, he pulled up, entered the smoker, and 
sat down in a rear corner. 

From Yuma the railroad, by a heavy 
curve and gradient, rises to the mesa, into 
the distance interminable, mile upon mile, 
stretches of gravel covered sand, dotted 
with greasewood and mesquite. The man 
in the smoker saw none of it. What he 
did see, cursing his luck, was a big moon 
getting above "the Fortuna's" saw- 
toothed peaks. Incident mnltipl : ol 
against him. He looked away to the 
shadows at the base of the range there 
lay La Fortuna, the mine where in the old 
time, the miners' work was hard, but at 
the end of it came rest, with no unquiet- 
ness, with no spectres rising omnipresent 
to give him fear of all his kind. He had 
been the most joyous among them, loving 
his fellows and himself, fond of his beer, 
but not too well, liked by all. Then came 
an evil hour wherein she, laughing, told 
him that she was sorry, but that he must 
see, and drove away with a wave of a small 
white bit of lace to the railway station. 

God ! Yes, he saw it ! He knew why 
it was. He was poor. That night he had 
staked to the last dollar what he had saved 
in months and lost. He brooded. There 
was that damned Italian with a year's 
wages hoarded in his cabin. A pig what 
did such a life matter? He must hare 
more money to play to play for her. He 
killed and played and lost. 



298 



OVERLAND MONTHLY. 



No one knew, except he knew; which 
was the beginning. Within the forest 
trees are no longer seen. Hill did not 
dwell upon that which had followed. Suc- 
cess to-night meant twenty thousand in 
gold. That must surely be enough for her. 
And yet and yet; what of the San Diego 
blunder ? Might not his picture have gone 
as far East as Virginia even ? What then ? 
Suppose he won and lost? It was impos- 
sible. ' Yet he moved on his seat uneasily. 
He was displeased with the appearance of 
the man in the seat ahead; the conductor 
looked sharply at him; he was glad when 
he stumbled from the train at Blaisdell 
and walked along the bridge where Butler 
was to meet him Butler coming from 
Tucson. 

Half a mile west of the Blaisdell depot 
a broad wash carries the rain-time floods 
from the Fortuna Hills to the Gila river. 
Three hundred and sixty-four days of the 
year see here only the wide bed of dry 
sand and boulders ; yet the remaining day 
had by grievous lessons taught the rail- 
way builders that rivers must be bridged. 
Here, then, for two hundred yards, twenty 
feet above the sands, a bridge carries the 
rails. The plan of the robbery was sim- 
ple. A fire upon the track at the bridge's 
end would make it appear that the struc- 
ture itself burned, stop the special and 
draw a bead on the crew. Butler was to 
cut free the treasure car, while Hill drove 
the engine men, if they had not gone to 
the fire, from the cab, and handling the 
throttle: at a safe distance they were to 
compel the messenger to deliver the treas- 
ure or to blow the safe. Their escape lay 
towards Mexico, for . had not Hill pros- 
pected the mountains that way until they 
were home to him? He looked upon them 
now, calm, peace-giving in the white, cold 
moonlight, spectral almost, their canyons, 
their sharp serrations hid in shadows. Ah, 
the old days ! The man was not right for 
the business ahead too much of this 
thing was getting into him out of the 
past. What he needed was whisky. There 
was Butler now he would have it. 

A figure was advancing from the other 
side of the bridge, and Hill extended his 
hand. 

"You've come, Tom hev' you a bottle ? 
Ye ain't neither? That's hell I was 
leary of Yuma, and ain't got a drop. Well, 



an hour yet before the gold rattles. Let's 
go to the other end and size her up. We 
can get the brush from the mesquites for 
the blaze and fix up now, so as there won't 
be any danger of getting us unprepared. 
That moon's bad no helpin' it, though, 
now. What's wrong you're so mum? 
Ain't got cold feet, have you, pard?" 

Butler was following along the ties. He 
had revolved the thing in his mind for 
twenty-four hours ever since he had 
given Josepha his promise, when he told 
her that he should remember his star, that 
he should bring no money that was an- 
other's. Perhaps he was a fool, for he 
might have said to her that Hill was on 
the square, that there was nothing wrong, 
when that evening, coming suddenly in, 
she had heard the words that led to the 
question. Yet, he never had deceived her 
in anything .that is, never since the 
strange love had taken hold of him, and 
he could not now begin. 

In any case, his honor bound him to 
shield Hill. What should he say to him? 
He had put the question to himself a 
thousand times since the ride from 
Tucson. 

"No," he hesitated, "there ain ; t nothing 
wrong, Dave. But I've got a little to 
say. There ain't no hurry. Let's set a 
bit on this stringer." 

He turned to the side of the trestle 
where a twelve-inch beam lay bolted to the 
ends, and sat down. But he was not a 
coward, shy in speech, or lacking in self- 
assertion, yet here was something that for 
the moment left him groping. Dave would 
not understand him he did not himself 
understand he knew that a new force im- 
pelled him, possessed him as none ever 
had before, showed the way and he fol- 
lowed, though why he did not know. There 
it was, masterful always, since first the 
woman taught. 

"You know, Dave, the woman, the 
girl- 

"The Mexican that keeps house, eh?" 
Hill ground his teeth. Inwardly he 
cursed. He had feared possible trouble, 
for he had seen, and he had not been 
blind. "Well, what of her? Nice, quiet 
little woman enough, but what's she got to 
do here ?" 

He, too, sat down upon the beam. 
There was anger beginning to show in his 



THE SALT OF EARTH. 



299 



face, no need of whisky now. 

"Don't say nothin' hard, Dave; don't, 
because," but he winced "because, you 
see, the night you and me fixed the thing 
final at Tucson, we went to the Phantom 
and took on some liquor, and afterwards 
both goes along to my house, and settin' 
in the door talk some about disposin' of 
the stuff when we has it. Wtell, the booze 
must have been more than we thought, as 
most generally it is, limbered up our 
tongues, for we waked up the girl, and she 
hears the plan about buryin' the coin and 
the rest." 

"Go on, what's your play?" 

But he had paused seemingly to wait 
some question. His recountal was punc- 
tuated by frequent haltings, as of one that 
speaks with much effort. He placed his 
hand upon the other's knee. 

"Dave, we was married last night. And 
I promised her first that I'd have no hand 
in it and it's late, I know, but I can't 
do it!" 

"White! Well, by ! And for a 

Greaser !" 

"Don't, Dave." Butler started up, his 
voice was guttural. "Don't she's my 
wife. You've known me as marshal for 
nigh six months. Did I ever show white ? 
You see, the girl is goin' to be a mother, 
Dave; I'm telling you so's you'll know I 
ain't showin' white and I couldn't have 
the baby goin' with no name, bein' hers; 
because, well, because I couldn't that's 
all. I don't know why, exactly, and I 
can't explain. It's so, and there ain't no 
more to it. 1 never myself understood the 
meaning of such before." 

He was talking now more as one that 
thinks in speech, for the man at his side 
was no longer addressed. He wandered in 
the new country of his self, and looked 
about curiously upon what he found. 

"Well, by ! You, too!" 

And then it came about that for a little 
time the two men who had come together 
to rob, to kill if it was necessary, walked 
within the fane of love ; for that little time 
passed out of the characters, the world 
had trained them into, backward to the 
instinct that God gives us all, being male 
and female. 

"I thought only for a damned Mexi- 
can, a Greaser that's been keepin' your 
house, a woman that any man " 



"Dave !" 

Butler's Colt ripped from its holster. 
But the other was quicker and stronger; 
he wrenched the pistol away, threw it into 
the sand beyond, and flung the man back 
with such violence that he fell head-long 
between the rails. Hill drew his own re- 
volver. 

"Oh, no, Tom, you don't. Not this 
time. Sit up, man, and listen but no 
gettin' onto your feet, no damned foolish- 
ness, or it's all done with you. You'd a' 
shot, eh? Listen, now, to me," he pro- 
ceeded, when, after a moment the strug- 
gle had left him calmer. "I ain't takin' 
your play hard, ain't blamin' you so much 
as you may think. The woman's told you 
of stealin' and all I understand until 
you've got queer on it. You're looking 
wrong at it. Who earned the money on 
that train ? Who dug it out of the ground ? 
Not them ! They's the ones that stole it, 
milled it, out of such as you and me 
ain't no more right to it than you 'r me 
not so much it's grab and grab, and this 
is our grab, that's all. There's twenty 
thousand anyway in that safe more than 
you could get pluggin' away for the Gov- 
ernment twenty years. What do you owe 
to the Government, even if you do wear 
that piece of brass ? Ain't they killed you 
with fever in Manila ? What did you get 
for that more than a go-to-hell thank 
you ? They is agin us and I'm agin 
them." 

The face of the man between the rails 
was pale and hard. His lips moved me- 
chanically, without sound. Over the pro- 
truding bones of the cheek and jaw the 
muscles were taut, showing in faint, par- 
allel lines. He took from the lapel of his 
coat a faded rosebud, fingered it, twirling, 
turning and again holding it quietly with 
his head bowed toward it and his eyes up- 
on it. What was the process of his mind ? 
Untutored, he had probably never heard 
of Zeno or Epictitus; by balancing what 
against what, came the choice that he 
gave. Why not have lived for her? Did 
he know that a carpenter's son once saw 
the kingdoms of the earth, and would not 
for them bow down? He was morally 
weak or he would not at first have joined 
the plot. Yet at last he said : 

"Only she " 

"She? What's she? What's anything? 



300 



OVEELAND MONTHLY. 



D'ye s'pose I'm goin' to lose out at this 
turn of the cards, when I've throwed three 
years to hell? made plays as have took 
from me everything but that? Your wo- 
man, Tom! A damned Greaser there's 
millions of them. Mine ? God ! she ? Why, 
she's my queen those eyes, those lips, 
those little curls a-fallin' down, them 
dainty feet and hands. She? God! 
pard!" Dave Hill wandered again, half 
as he that dreams, looking now to him 
that bent to the rose bud, now to the des- 
ert, now to those stars above, so calm to 
our encompassed sense. (Yet do they 
not burn because of their desire, liter- 
ally?) 

"Tom, I'd kill my own mother for her. 
Y' don't know me. Murder is behind me 
now. Murder? What's the matter if 
they's more ? Her lips and arms is power- 
fuller than God himself to me. She's 
God she's heaven. And money between 
us! Money'll give her to me. Ye see 
that over yonder to me Fortuna?" He 
signaled with his hand. "Ye see that 
trail along there? That's where she 
waved back to me good-bye. I murdered 
there for her three years ago. I've mur- 
dered since for her. I give you the chance, 
Tom. Can't you lie to your woman? 
Tell her you wasn't in on't. Stay with me 
now, and it's all right. If you don't, by 
! you'll never go back to her, an' I'll 
leave you so's they'll say you was shot in 



the hold-up. You know me an' be in a 
hurry she's blowing up at Gila now." 

Faintly, borne on the wind, startling 
the reaches of the silence, over rock, over 
sand, over cactus and mesquite, came a lo- 
comotive's whistle dying and rising again. 

Tom Butler raised his head from the 
flower. 

"No, Dave," he said, "I never lied to 
her since then. I'm the child's father 
I can't do it now, for I promised, and she 
give me this to remember." And with 
both hands he carried the rosebud to his 
lips. 

Men stricken in battle fall from full 
height upon their faces, and are quiet; 
or under blind, final messages, self-con- 
structed and sent out by the motor nerves, 
leap marvelously into the air. The body 
of Tom Butler shot from its crouched pos- 
ture forward over the guard rail and fell 
to the sand below; while clutched in one 
hand in his death, as was afterward found 
and much commented upon, lay a faded 
rosebud. A wisp of smoke dissipated and 
disappeared. A man cursing that he had 
delayed until too late hastened away along 
the Fortuna trail. A locomotive's head- 
light rushed out of the darkness, dimly 
lighted sleepers whirled behind it, over 
the bridge, above the one that died, power 
and wealth and luxury above the clay that 
was the Salt of Earth, and the red tail 
lights passed from sight upon the mesa. 





I G (7 A? IN. 



BY ELOISE J. ROOKBACH 



ILLUSTRATED BY THE AUTHOR. 




UK FOREST reserves 
are becoming more 
and more appreciated 
not only because of 
their invaluable use- 
fulness, but for their 
unsurpassed beauty. 

The scientific for- 
esters are pointing out to us their mani- 
fold uses in other ways than merely the 
yielding of a good lumber crop. 

They place great value upon them as 
protectors of our water sources, as modi- 
fiers of our climate, as regulators of rain- 
fall, as preservers of our wild animal kin. 
They give them value as increasing our 
love for out-door life and encourage the 
establishing of parks that are sometimes 
in the heart of the city, so that all may 
have easy access to forest beauty. Some- 
times in such distant and inaccessible 
places that it takes a summer's vacation 
to reach and enjoy. 

There is something about a forest that 
compels introspection, and I would add 
this as one of their most valuable uses. 
We hurry through life, hastily dipping 
our cup into its various experiences, now 
quaffing nectar, now gall. 

The forests, serene and stately, turn us 
to search our own minds with the same 
zest we gave to the exploration of our out- 
side world. 



In their presence we experience the 
ecstasy of contemplation; we drink from 
the inexhaustible fountain of our own 
minds, and the more we drink the richer 
we become. 

Our far-seeing Uncle Sam is setting 
aside many thousands of acres yearly for 
parks and reservations, and we cannot 
now fully comprehend the great good that 
will come from this protection of one of 
our choicest heritages the forests. In 
California we have quite a number of 
these reservations. Some famous ones in 
the high Sierras and some less famous 
but very lovely ones along the coast and 
through the south of the State. 

Most of these reserves are patrolled, 
partly to prevent fires and partly to pro- 
tect game. One of California's State for- 
ests lies within easy reach of travelers 
who visit this coast. This one is called 
the Big Basin, and one can easily drive 
there and back from Santa Cruz in a day. 
One morning in the latter part of April we 
drove to this State park, starting from a 
little place called Brookdale. 

For a driver we had one whose life had 
been lived for the most part in these 
Santa Cruz Mountains. His face was full 
of the wrinkles that come from much 
laughing and squinting at the sun, and 
battles with the wind. His voice was deep 
and kindly, and he knew every man, wo- 




FATHER OF THE FOREST/ 



man, child, bird, tree, flower, canyon, on 
the whole varied drive. 

We drove about one and one-half miles 
to Boulder Creek, a lumber town whose 
main street is full of quaint lodging 
houses, that no doubt used to be lively 
places, but that are now resting from past 
labors. Following the main road out of 
Boulder Creek, we pass pleasant little 
homes; many brooks, a deep canyon with 
unreachable maidenhair ferns in tanta- 
lizing view; children trudging their 
miles to school; a three yoke ox team 
dragging lazily along. The hills were 
blue with masses of wild lilac; they were 
like smoke from a huge fire, only no 
touch of relentless flame was in sight. 

Before we come to the Big Divide, we 
notice the sad effects of the fire thai 
burned its way through this region three 
even so cheanlv as $2 a shining head. 
acres of living things, it could not de- 
stroy life itself. Triumphant life had al- 
ready covered the black scars with a man- 
tle of living green. Even the branchless 
trunks of the redwoods had put on a 
short, green coat of new leaves. The road 
turns and twists in the usual fashion of 
mountain roads, rounding and doubling 
on itself, but gaining steadily towards 
the summit. 

Part way up the divide, we come to a 
howling, roaring, fire-belching monster 
that was rapidly eating up grand old trees. 
This awful mill has wrought much havoc 
with the beauty of the forest. But since 
so many people prefer their trees in the 
form of clap-board houses, it is no more 
than fair that they have their choice. But 
it did seem a pity to see all these magni- 
ficent trees lying piled up like kindling 
wood, waiting to be thrust into the jaws 
of that mill. It was the only thing that 
saddened us that day, but it seems as if 
sadness must needs come. 

With every turn and every inch gained 
in height, fresh beauties were revealed. 
A vast country was unveiled, a large, 
lovely world, dressed in soft blues and 
violets, mauves and grays. 

A hawk soared high overhead, resting 
on strong wings, motionless in the heav- 
ens. He seemed enjoying the pure heights, 
but instead, his every sense was open in 
search of the carrion below. 

The road over the ridge is a master- 
piece, a proof of man's ability to get 



over mountains if he happens to want to. 
We paused for awhile, admiring the wide 
stretch of beautiful world at our feet. 

An abrupt turn shut out that pano- 
rama, with the ocean a blue line in the 
distance, but it revealed another almost 
as fine, into which we began a rapid de- 
scent. 

From Boulder Creek to the east line of 
the Big Basin is nine miles. To the Gov- 
ernor's camp is three miles more, and 
these last three miles are through a grand 
forest, .not awe-inspiring or solemn, but 
just a superb commingling of majestic 
trees and dainty flowers and shrubs. 

Imagine three miles of such a forest, 
with the road bending and winding 
wherever there was room to go without 
cutting down a tree. 

I was newly grateful to those wise peo- 
ple who made the victorious fight to pre- 
serve this particular forest from destruc- 
tion. 

There are thirty-eight hundred acres 
in this State park, with timber of great 
money value if felled, but of still greater 
value if allowed to remain as a great con- 
server of moisture. 

The trees are mostly redwoods (sem- 
pervirens), pines, tan-oaks, alders and 
madrones. 

I cannot say much for the beauty of 
the Governor's camp, where the Guar- 
dian lives during the summer. Neither 
can I say enough for the beauty of the 
location of it. 

It is on the banks of a lovely stream of 
water called Waddell's Creek. Watery 
mirrors reflect the restful green of sur- 
rounding trees, and the redwoods make a 
rich, red path across the surface. 

Moss embossed rocks, soft, leafy cur- 
tains, dainty flowers, graceful ferns, com- 
bine to form one of those alluring spots 
people travel far to see, and after seeing 
are satisfied. The driver, who loves every 
inch of the place, took us down a little 
trail and led us across the creek by means 
of a fallen pine. We knew he had some- 
thing fine in store for us, so we were 
hushed into expectant silence until we 
came to a gnarled, huge redwood that has 
been named the "Giant." 

It did not add to my admiration of 
that monarch of trees to be told it was two 
hundred and fifteen feet high. But I had 
to listen to the figures, so I have a fancy 




THEN THE OAKS, SO CURVING. 




PATCHES OF SUNLIGHT GLINT IN THE SOLITUDES OF THE FOREST. 




"A LOVELY STREAM OF WATER CALLED WADDELL's CREEK/ 



306 



OVERLAID MONTHLY. 



to intrude them upon you. Perhaps they 
may interest you more than they did me. 
The wonder of things does not appeal to 
me so much as the beauty of things; and 
it was the charm of strength and endur- 
ance of that grand old tree that called 
forth my love. I love any kind of strength 
whether of animal, tree or man; 
whether physical, mental or moral. 

So I love that fine, patriarchal tree, 
and would have liked to stay all day and 
listen to its chant. But this was to be 
a one-day visit, and time flogged me re- 
lentlessly on. The driver was disappear- 
ing down the trail, so we followed until 
he stopped and searched our faces that he 
might enjoy our pleasure at sight of the 
"Father of the Forest," that the next turn 
of the trail would disclose. 

This tree is greater in height than the 
"Giant," it being two hundred and thirty- 
seven feet high. It is not so .gnarled or 
twisted as the "Giant," nor does it seem 
so old; but it is more shapely, and the 
name, "Father of the Forest," is eminently 
suitable. 

It seems natural to liken venerable trees 
to grand old men. It is something to 
have lived through storms that try one 
so terribly, but only succeed in giving 
greater powers. Even the scars of a tree 
add dignity, and the loss here and there 
of a limb only makes for more character, 
makes it different from the vast gathering 
of symmetrical trees all around that have 
not yet been tested in individual strength. 

The "Mother of the Forest," only a 
short distance away, towers above all the 
others, and no one can look directly into 
her eyes except the near-by "Father," un- 
less, perhaps, she lowers them to notice 
the multitude of giant children clustered 
around her. 

Most motherly this beautiful tree looks, 
calm and full of queenly majesty; wise 
in the world's way, and full of infinite 
charity for the weak who are unable to 
resist the stress of life. She is wonderful 
and beautiful, and hovers over the entire 
forest with watchful care. 

She is not so broad-shouldered as the 
"Father," but is taller, being two hundred 
and ninety feet in height. 

There is a peculiar old tree close by that 
has been topped by the storms and black- 
ened and hollowed out by fires. 



Standing within the base of it, one can 
look up a straight, black shaft and see 
the blue sky as through a telescope. It 
is named the "Chimney." There are 
many trees all through this tract, that 
seem absolutely perfect in symmetry, but 
they are not so large as these four just 
mentioned. 

They are worthy of admiration, but 
cannot be compared in my mind to the 
rude, rugged beauty of the older trees. It 
is impossible to get satisfactory pictures 
of these trees, for one cannot get an un- 
interrupted view of them. We can get at 
the stocky, swelling base, and part of the 
noble shaft, or a good view of the crown 
of leaves swaying above all else. They 
defy camera or artist, who desire full 
length portraits. Smaller trees can be 
drawn into pictures more easily. 

They lend themselves as parts of a 
whole, or form a straight, aspiring line 
that is a fine complement to the curve of 
the oaks that generally keep close by them. 

Natural openings occur frequently, so 
that one can see almost to the top at least. 
Eedwoods are like columns, beautiful in 
color and symmetry, and a redwood forest 
is a wonder-wood, full of resinous fra- 
grance and with a thousand varied forms 
of leaf and branch. The Big Basin is a 
perfect example of a Coast Eange forest. 
There are the sequoias of first interest; 
warm, reddish-brown shafts so stately, 
with delicate, feathery green plumes to 
soften the branches and make the noble 
crown. 

Then the oaks, so curving, with mosses 
to cover rude twists; fine examples of the 
power of bending and yielding to life, but 
not breaking. 

And delicate grey alders, so feminine in 
grace. 

The distinguished madrono, with red, 
copper-colored or burnt sienna branches, 
and polished, shapely leaves. 

And there are tangles of graceful haz- 
els and decorative huckleberry, a wealth 
of brilliant lilies, dainty myriads of flow- 
ers, delicate masses of ferns, carpets of 
mosses and lichens, oxalis, ginger, salal, 
3'erba buena, bed-straw, violets. 

Many springs, brooks and rills singing 
and ringing, sparkling and shining, tum- 
bling headlong or loitering leisurely. 

And for every hour of the day and 




'WATERY MIRRORS REFLECT THE RESTFUL GREEN OF THE SURROUNDING TREES. 



308 



OVERLAND MONTHLY. 



every clay of the year, a wondrous change 
of mood. 

Soft night, with mysterious shadows, a 
robe of stars and gentle wind whispers, 
noonday with brilliant whistle and song 
of birds, and glitter of pine needles. 

And there is the grey of an incoming 
fog that shuts out some groups and re- 
veals others more clearly; the grey of a 
rainy day and the grey of an early morn, 
all making pictures too lovely and evan- 
escent to catch with mere brush and pig- 
ment. One day's wandering along the 
trails and brooks of this Big Basin gave 
me such endless subjects for pictures that 
I longed to stay for an indefinite time. 
So, consulting Mr. Pilkington, the fact 
was revealed that arrangements were be- 
ing made for a few guests who could 
choose between tightly boarded cabins, 
tents or an outside mossy bed, canopied 
with stars. 

The Sempervirens Club has a five acre 
grant, and they do much towards making 
it possible for people to revel in the beau- 
ties of this State park. Every season a 
camp is set up and members pitch their 
tents around a central dining room. In 
the evening all gather round a huge camp 
fire and impromptu talks are often given 
on forestry, dendrology, botany, arbor- 



culture, mountain climbing, art, <"'ic., by 
members of the club, many of whom are 
prominent in the literary and 
world. 

They plan new trails and roads, talk 
over methods of fire protection for timber 
reserves, and plot for new State forests 
in different parts of California. Famous 
guests from many parts of the world have 
admired this big forest, and encouraged 
the club in its efforts to extend forest re- 
serves. 

* * * * 

Too much cannot be said of the use- 
fulness of this reserve on the side of just 
beauty for beauty is useful beyond be- 
lief. We need these "beauty reserves" in 
our lives, our State, our country. Beauti- 
ful forms and colors awaken the best that 
is in us, quiets the worst that is in us. 

Beauty makes us appreciate the majesty 
of our national hymn, so that our song 
starts from our hearts and goes singing 
round the world and encircles the uni- 



verse. 



"I love thy rocks and rills, 
Thy woods and templed hills, 

Let music swell the breeze 
And ring from all the trees." 





FROM TOKIO TO KOBE 

BY 
CHARLES LOBRIMER 

ILLUSTRATED WITH PHOTOGRAPHS. 



whilt 



IOKIO during the sec- 
ond week of Septem- 
ber was still hot as 
the inside of a kettle. 
The long corridors of 
the Imperial Hotel, 
where we stayed for 
three stifling days 
completing plans for the journey 
Peking, were almost 




across Korea to 

empty not that even in the gayest season 
they are ever full for the place, except 
on those rare occasions when some func- 
tion is given in the musty ball-room, is al- 
ways dreary and half deserted. Built on 
a magnificent scale by the Japanese, of 
noble proportions more suitable for a 
House of Peers than a hotel, it has proved 
a perfect white elephant and quietly been 
allowed to deteriorate. The oppressive 
grandeur of a fine entrance hall filled with 
be-uniformed managers, sub-managers, 
porters and bell-boys, is considerably 
diminished by the dirt on these elaborate 
liveries. The effect of a grand staircase 
is equally spoiled by a worn and very 
grimy carpet, while the beautiful dining 
hall room is filled with utterly incompe- 
tent, shuffling waiters, who perform their 



duties so badly that fastidious guests find 
it as well to wipe the crested knives and 
forks on the corner of the table cloth 
before using. Such inconsistencies are 
typical of our little brown neighbors who 
can never be made to understand up- 
keep. They will sometimes plan grandi- 
osely (as they have in this building), 
measure out splendid rooms and fill them 
with orthodox red plush furniture, with 
canopied beds and shining electroliers, 
but when it comes to keeping these things 
in order they fail utterly. 

Just at present the hotel question is a 
burning one in Japan. A large part of 
the country's revenue like that of Swit- 
zerland is derived from the tourists who 
flock every year in greater number to its 
shores and there is no place to put them. 
At most of the famous resorts, hot springs 
and "sights," there are only tiny adapted 
semi- Western hotels with not more than 
fifteen or twenty rooms in each, and those 
neither capacious nor comfortable. Even 
in the capital itself the two bisr hotels 
could scarcely accommodate 300 people, 
and Japan had recently to excuse herself 
from receiving the members of a Tele- 
graphic Convention because she could not 



310 



OVERLAND MONTHLY. 



house them properly. Naturally, this en- 
forced refusal meant not only a very con- 
siderable loss to the country, but a very 
great blow to her national pride as well. 
A scheme for building another and a more 
practical caravansary in Tokio was imme- 
diately suggested, and during our stay, inn 
keepers from all over the country were 
assembled to discuss it. They proposed 
at the same time to form themselves into 
a trust, a federated league, or any other 
combination which should allow them to 
charge travelers a uniform and extor- 



interesting at the time, as riots were 
threatening. Popular indignation had 
been violently aroused by the new four 
sen tram fares so violently that we 
passed little groups of cavalry patrolling 
the streets, and saw by the activity near 
the barracks that everything was ready 
to nip any disturbance in the bud. The 
little affair which took place in Hibiya 
Park just after the Portsmouth Peace 
Conference had 'taught the authorities 
a good lesson. Luckily, just when all 
prospects . of harmony were tapering 




tionate rate. Both plans, however, fell 
through, as those concerned could neither 
agree on the site of tin- proposed building 
nor the price of their board and lodging. 
On the morning of the 12th of Sep- 
tember, all being in readiness, we collected 
our bags and baggage, scrambled for 
breakfast, hunted up a very sleepy Acting 
Assistant Sub-Manager to pay our bill 
'which was, of course, added up incor- 
rectly like every bill in Japan), and 
started off to catch the six o'clock express 
for Kobe. Tokio was more than usually 



down to a vanishing point, heavy rain 
damped popular ardor, and the rowdy 
element contented themselves with noth- 
ing more violent than holding a meeting 
and choosing a representative deputation 
of jinricksha men, coolies and loafers 
who were solemnly sent to examine the 
books of the Electric Railway Company 
and see if that institution was justified 
in charging four sen. Fancy a deputa- 
tion of New York newsboys and draymen 
gravely insisting upon Mr. Rockefeller's 
showing them the Standard Oil Co.'s 



LOTUS POND FROM THE CHAIN WINDOW 




books in order that they might judge if 
he was justified in putting up the price 
of kerosene. 

A trip across Tokio in the rain even 
with an occasional cavalryman by way of 
variety soon becomes wearisome. The 
distances seem interminable. The wide. 
bare streets, which look so much wider 
and so much lonelier for the low 
houses which usually line them: the won- 
derful mixture of architecture here a 
dainty bird cage of bamboo and paper, 
there an ugly and ungainly building of 



red or grey brick, are highly incongru- 
ous. Telegraph wires and electric trams 
look absurd beside crenellated moats 
over-hung with gnarled pines and the 
strange costumes as they pass by, the ki- 
mono? topped by bowler hats, the bicy- 
clists pedalling along in clogs, add to the 
traveler's feeling of perplexity. The ques- 
tion, "In what country and in what 
century am I ?" naturally rises to his 
lips. 

Once at the station, the modern tri- 
umphs over the antique with a perceptible 



312 



OVERLAND MONTHLY. 



jar. "Red caps," as the porters are nl- 
ways called, clustered about us, seized our 
bags, turned each carefully upside down 
and then started serenely for the plat- 
form. At the ticket office window we 
saw several new notices posted 1 up. These 
concerned the war taxes. Taxes in Japan 
now are as thick as hairs on an Angora. 
In the first place, there is the new in- 
come tax and the new business tax, addi- 
tional taxes on sugar, tea, tobacco and 
spirits, besides taxes enough on travelers 
to keep every one at home for years. We 
ourselves paid a transit tax as well as an 
express train tax. 

Unluckily, all this expenditure did not 
secure us much comfort. Other more en- 
terprising passengers earlier birds 
had arrived before us. Their bags, car- 
pet, leather, rattan, and their bundles, 
cloth, paper, silk, occupied at least half 
the seats. Some of the travelers even had 
their blankets and rugs neatly spread out 
already, their air cushions blown full, 
their elastic-sided boots kicked off and 
placed on the floor in front of them, and 
themselves stretched full length on the 
seats enjoying a newspaper. We entered 
the car, coughed, stumbled over the in- 
evitable spittoon to attract attention. Not 
the slightest result. Nobody moved. 
Those exquisite Japanese manners, fam- 
ous in two hemispheres, simply "were 
not." They never are we have since 
been told -in trains, which, being mod- 
ern Western inventions, were not pro- 
vided for in the old rules of politeness. 
The best-bred Japanese in the land can 
therefore indulge in the absolute selfish- 
ness of squatter rights to his heart's con- 
tent. 

We succeeded after some difficulty in 
squeezing ourselves between two yielding 
carpet bags just as 'the train started. 
Soon pretty scenery helped us to forget 
the discomforts of rocking and rolling in- 
cidental to the absurdly narrow gauge 
railways of Japan. Three feet six inches 
is not width enough to give steadiness to 
any line, but at present the Japanese can- 
not afford to relay miles of track for a 
little matter of comfort. Indeed, since 
the war, economy is the motto for every 
department of public works, and so even 
the old-fashioned carriages whose seats 
run sideways and have their backs and 



arms at exactly the wrong angles cannot 
be replaced for some years. 

With considerable trouble we screwed 
around in our places sufficiently to look 
out of the windows behind us at Fuji, the 
Incomparable, draped in tinted vapors. 
From a hundred points of view we saw 
the mountain, in profile and full face 
and found each aspect lovelier than the 
last. Towards noon the unbroken ter- 
races of rice fields began to give place to 
low patches of tea .shrubs. We were 
close to Shidzuoka, an ancient and in- 
teresting city, and the very center of a 
thriving tea industry. It is a very im- 
portant place, and the railway company 
acknowledges this fact by stopping the 
express there for one full round minute 
just long enough to allow passengers 
to walk unjolted into the dining car. 

We took advantage of this opportunity, 
installed ourselves at a table with the 
cleanest cloth in sight, and waited. At 
first we waited patiently. No attendant 
appeared. Then we waited impatiently, 
with the same result. As the car was 
small, but one "boy" (a nom de guerre 
applied irrespective of the incumbent's 
age) attended to all the guests, and he 
happened at this particular time to be 
engaged in painfully working up the ac- 
count of a Japanese gentleman and his 
daughter. In vain we beckoned, gesticu- 
lated, called; in vain we fumed and 
fretted, for we had all unknowingly run 
up against a simple law of Japanese 
society. Where servants in public places 
are concerned, the foreign guests wait 
for the Japanese. It does not matter if 
the tip of the latter is infinitessimal as 
compared to that of the former. Civility 
still comes in an inverse ratio, and while 
strangers are treated in a very off-hand 
manner to bows nipped in the bud, 
natives always receive cringing attention. 

All annoyances, however, come to an 
end, and we finally saw our hated rival 
leave the car and ourselves treated to the 
menu. It was short and quaint, leaving 
us a most limited choice. There was a 
table d'hote lunch (called tiffin, of course, 
according to Far Eastern custom) for 40 
cents; a set meal composed of three 
dishes chosen by the clemency of the cook, 
and then, besides, there were separate 
things a beefsteak at 10 cents, for in- 



MANY WERE COME PROM FAR AWAY IN THE COUNTRY 
TO CELEBRATE THIS HARVEST FESTIVAL/' 




stance, cold chicken at 7 cents, sand- 
wiches positively given away at 6 cents. 
Apples at one cent formed the dessert. We 
found the beefsteak plain and eat- 
able when washed down with the Japan- 
ese beer, which is so excellent and cheap, 
and the cold chicken neither more nor 
less tasteless than its colleagues all over 
Japan. 

Our scanty meal over, we returned to 
our car and the pleasant surprise of seeing 
our full-length neighbors astir. Thei'e 
was much folding of rugs and flattening 
of air cushions going on in preparation 
for Nagoya, a big and important city, 
with a beautiful old feudal castle, whose 
golden dolphins decorated the roof we 
saw quite plainly from our window. 
From Nagoya the train hurried on past 
Gifu, which, according to our combined 
railway time table and guide, is "known 
as a fisher of cormorants and also fam- 
ous with earthquakes," to Otsu, a little 
town on the graceful Biwa Lake. Tradi- 
tion tells us that this, the most famous 
piece of water in Japan, was born when 
Mount Fuji rose, and it was named Biwa 
because the gods had shaped it like the 
old Japanese musical instrument (Biwa) 



in order that the winds might play upon 
it in praise of the famous mountain. The 
railway guide here kindly informed us 
that we were "surrounded by charming 
sceneries and close to the mouth of the 
famous Biwa Canal, where "innumerable 
boats of the old style are plied towards 
Kioto for passengers." These statements 
we were obliged to take on trust, as it 
was too dark to verify them. 

At 7.30 p. m. the lights of Kioto be- 
gan to float past the windows like dainty 
fireflies singly or else in merry companies, 
and five minutes later we were in a big 
station bustling with directions and no- 
tices, "Station Master," '"Keep to the 
left," "Passengers must cross the line by 
the bridge only." A great nuisance we 
found this last direction. It would have 
been so easy just to slip across the track 
but that would be an unconventional 
proceeding calculated to strike terror into 
the heart of Japanese officialdom, so we 
toiled laboriously up steps, across the 
overhead gangway and down steps again 
with a law-abiding crowd who would 
never have thought of rebelling against 
even the authority of a porter. 

Once outside the station, jinricksha 



A SINGING GIRL OF KOBE. 




men immediately pounced upon us and 
whirled us away to the Yaami Hotel, the 
famous old hotel on the Maruyama pleas- 
ure hill. Last year the splendid main 
building, the most beautiful of its kind 
in Japan, was burned to the ground, but 
those who know the charms and intima- 
cies of Kioto life still insist upon lodging 
in its cheerful annex, and nowhere else. 

Who can describe Kioto, who can do 
justice to the queen city of Japan, seen 
as we saw it on a glorious autumn morn- 
ing? The city lay stretched beneath our 
windows a symphony in gold and grey 
and green gold in the sunshine and gold 
in the ornaments of temple and castle 
roofs warm greys, steel greys, - bluish 



greys in the roofs themselves, green in the 
gnarled pines of fairy gardens. There are 
a hundred things to see in Kioto, sights 
to suit all tastes. Three weeks, even 
six weeks, would scarcely suffice for them 
all, so we who had but one day to loiter 
were forced to choose very carefully, very 
wisely. 

After much consultation we chose the 
Hungangi, a temple built bv the people 
of the city from their own savings, be- 
cause a matsuri or festival was in pro- 
gress there. The first impression of its 
vast courtyards and high-peaked roofs set 
down among bright, narrow, busv streets 
of brocade and rosary shops was inde- 
scribable. The plain and ponderous 



FROM TOKIO TO KOBE. 



315 



gates looked more impressive than if thoy 
had been rich with carvings. The beau- 
tiful natural tones of the temple timbers, 
above all the enormous width of the ve- 
randas and the stupendous height of 
roofs so unusual in Japan gave to the 



far awa- in the countrv to celebrate this 
harvest festival. Most of them were 
poor, manv of them were burned black 
as the earth they toiled in. But all were 
clean, happy and reverent. One after an- 
other they disappeared over the edge of 



THE PASSIONLESS GOLDEN BEAUTY OF THE BUDDHA IN 
HIS SHRINE. 




place an air of sober magnificence and 
grandeur. As we entered the outer court- 
yard streams of gaily-dressed people were 
ascending and descending the steps. 
They were come, many of them, from 



the highest step into the dimness of the 
temple beyond. There they seated them- 
selves on the mats and prayed their pray- 
ers. The children, unstrapped from thtir 
mother's backs, wandered about playing 



316 



OVERLAND MONTHLY. 



hide and seek undisturbed among them. 
Even the sight of strangers like our- 
selves scarcely distracted the peasants 
even temporarily from their devotions. 
The plaintive murmur of Namu Amida 
Butsu, the clanging of a little bell, the 
deep humming of a priest's voice reciting 
the Sutras; the sweet, heavy smell of in- 
cense, the passionless golden beauty of 
the Buddha in his shrine, the happy 
laughter of the children at play among the 



worshipers all made' for us a picture 
never to be forgotten. 

Next morning we were in the train 
again and journeying for two hours past 
Osaka, the Japanese Venice, a city of 
queer canals and hump-backed bridges, 
came to Kobe, the city which in all Japan 
has the least to recommend it unless it be 
that singing girls can be bought there 
cheaper than elsewhere in the empire 
even so cheaply as $2 a shining head. 




A CHINESE STREET SCENE. 



BUCKAROO JIM 



BY 



HERBERT COOLIDGE 

DRAWINGS BY DE LAPPE. 




LD CARTNEE was 

hungry, yet he sat 
like a statue before 
his plate of smoking 
frijoles. 

"Only a steer com- 
ing down to the 
river," he said at last, 
and resumed his eating. 

But before a minute, he again became 
rigid. This time he recovered himself 
with a start. 

"This is the lonesomest dern country 
on earth," he exclaimed savagely, notic- 
ing how cold his beans had become. 

Gartner's cabin of cottonwood logs 
seemed like a match house beside the 
broad turbid river that swept ever silently 
past. Ever the mighty Colorado, with 
its wide-spreading, mesquite-covered bot- 
tom lands, was like a lost snake track 
in that unbounded waste of sand. 

The old man was right. The country 
was lonely. It would have seemed lonely 
to a group of men. Gartner had had four- 
teen days of solitary exposure. 

The listening spell had become like a 
curse to Gartner. He was eagerly await- 
ing the next wave of sound, when a big, 
well-fed cat trotted into the cabin and 
began sniffing and yowling about the 
room. 

"Shut up, Pinto," said Gartner, impa- 
tiently tossing him a -chunk of meat. 
"Shut up, or I'll throw ye out." 

But Pinto did not look at the meat, 
nor did he shut up; he only meowed 
more loudly, and rubbed against the lis- 
tener's leg. Suddenly the old man's face 
lighted, and he started to his feet; at 
the same moment a horseman pulled up 
before the door, and a laughing, hilarious 
voice shouted: 

"Hello, there, Gartner. What th' " 



"Hullo, Smiley !" broke in the old man, 
hastening out to welcome the arrival. 

"Where's Buckaroo Jim?" asked Smi- 
ley, returning Gartner's handshake. 

"He's gone up to Yuma, but he's liable 
to get back any time. Git off your horse 
and come in." 

"Oh, I'll do that. You couldn't keep 
me away from .that grub pile with a 
shot-gun," assented Smiley, airily. As 
" he loosened his front cinch he stated his 
errand. "We're gathering cattle, an' I 
came up to see if Buckaroo couldn't come 
and help us out." 

Gartner's face fell. 

"Well, I'll tell ye, Smiley, we ain't 
wprkin' our cattle any, but well, I sup- 
pose th' boy could go, all right, but I'd 
a dern sight rather you'd git some Mexi- 
can to do your buckarooin'. I git lone- 
some when I'm here alone, an' then I git 
to listenin' Gartner paused, start- 
led by an ear-splitting squall. 

"Dern that cat !" he exclaimed. "I 
step on him a dozen times a day when 
Jim's gone." 

"I'd think you could stand it if he 
can," laughed Smiley. "What's the mat- 
ter with him anyway ?" he added, noticing 
' that Pinto was again meowing about the 
old man's feet. 

"Why, he's kickin' because Jim's gone. 
I brought that cat all the way down here 
from Yuma, and gave him to Jim for a 
birthday present. That was when Jim 
was fourteen. Pinto was the worst-wilted 
kitten you ever saw when I pulled him 
out of my pocket, but the kid was tickled 
to death. He piled onto my buckaroo 
horse, chased out into the brush and 
lassed a fresh heifer and came dragging 
her back into camp proud as a lion. He 
kept that little cow in the corral for a 
couple of months, jest so he could have 

2 




PINTO WAS AGAIN MEOWING SYMPATHETICALLY/ 



BUCKAKOO JIM. 



319 



milk for his kitten. Jim fooled with him 
and petted him so much that the dern cat 
hadn't got his growth till he began to 
ran th' camp, and he's been getting worse 
ever since. He makes me so mad some- 
times that I feel like taking a shot at 
him. When Jim's been gone about two 
days, the old devil will begin to watch 
that trail; then he'll come in th' house 
and smell around Jim's bunk, then he'll 
rub around my legs and yell. He'll keep 
that up till he wears a path two inches 
deep between the cabin and the mesquite, 
where he sits when he's watchin'. It's- 
worth a dollar, though, to see him when 
Jim does git back. Pinto smells him be- 
fore he's within a mile o' th' camp, and 
th' way he hits the high spots down that 
trail is a caution. He ' 

"There he goes now," shouted Smiley. 
"Yi-i-i-p-ee-la, Pinto ! Look at 'im go, will 
ye?" and Smiley whooped and laughed 
after the manner of the Texan hilarious. 

A short time later, Buckaroo Jim came 
in on the run, holding the faithful Pinto 
in his arms. The father's eye lighted 
as the stalwart young man came in sight, 
his lithe body deftly ducking and swing- 
ing to avoid the overhanging~l)rush, while 
his wiry little mare scrabbled violently 
around the sharp turns of the trail. 

"He met me clear out to the sand-hills. 
He was so near winded he could hardly 
waddle," said young Jim, as he placed 
his pet carefully on the ground. And 
Pinto, although ruffled and still panting, 
rubbed proudly against his master's 
"chaps." 

As the men ate dinner, Smiley turned 
the conversation to the latest tragedy. 

"That lop-eared greaser who cooks fer 
us told me that some fellers let the wind 
out of his brother the other night. Did 
ye hear anything about it?" 

"Yes," answered Jim. "It was the old 
woodchopper who lived just above the 
line, on the California side of th' river. 
His woman was left with six little child- 
ren, and not enough flour in the house to 
make a tortilla." 

"Who did the killin' ?" asked Smiley. 

"Two outlawed Mexicans from Ari- 
zona. They came on down Into (this 
country. I cut their trail several times 
yesterday. They're riding shod horses," 
answered Jim. 



"I guess they've heard that old man 
Gartner has got some fat cattle runnin' 
in this brush," said Smiley, giving Jim a 
nudge and a wink. 

"You can jest bet yer darn life, young 
feller, that they don't pull down more 
than about one o' my cattle before I chase 
'em off onto your range," retorted the old 
man with a warmth that seemed to meet 
Smiley's expectations. 

"Send 'em along, dad," he said, grin- 
ning broadly. "We'll miake good citi- 
zens of 'em," and he tapped his six- 
shooter suggestively. 

The next day bright and early the two 
young cow-men saddled their mustangs 
and headed south through the mesquites 
for Smiley's camp. High and hot over 
the desert rose the sun; all the broad 
bottom lands brooded heat and stillness. 
Then, after a full hour's silent riding, the 
Texan" began to laugh. 

"What's the matter with you?" ques- 
tioned Jim, gruffly. 

"Nothin', nothin' at all," averred Smi- 
ley. "I wuz thinkin' how yer old cat 
rolled his tail out through th' brush yes- 
terday. He wuz scratchin' sand and 
gravel fifty feet into the air." 

"Yes, Pinto thinks a heap of me. That's 
the trouble he thinks too much of me. 
He'll bore pop half to death till I git 
back," said Jim. 

"Why don't the old man grease him 
when he rams around that a-way?" asked 
Smiley. 

"Aaw, give us a rest." 

"No, but that's straight goods. I ain't 
puttin' up any job on ye," retorted Smiley 
indignantly. "When I wuz a kid, back 
there in Texas, we used to have a cat that 
'ud git hog wild when there wuz a storm 
comin' up. When he got too onery to 
live, my mother used to rub some butter 
on his front legs. You'd never hear a 
yupe out of him till he'd licked it off. I 
used to nearly die a-la-afin' to " 

"I believe that would work, Smiley," 
interrupted the buckaroo. "Wish I'd 
known it before. I'll tell pop about that 
when I get back, you bet." 

"Sure^thing. lt'11- 

"Whish-h-h !" 

Jim reined in with a jerk and raised 
his hand in the silence sign. There across 
the trail were the fresh tracks of two 




"AND PAW JIM CHARGING DOWN ON HIM." 



BUCKAROO JIM. 



321 



ihod horses. At the same moment the 
itillness was broken by the crackling of 
)rush some distance to the left, followed 
)y a half-choked bawling. 

"They've lassed a cow," said Smiley, 
ind both men spurred toward the sound, 
hiding suddenly out into an open, they 
:ame upon two Mexicans in the act of 
>leeding a beef. Caught red-handed, the 
mtlaws threw themselves behind the car- 
:ass, and opened fire on the advancing 
lorsemen. 

"Git back to the brush," shouted Jim, 
is he made his mare wheel about on her 
lincl legs. As Smiley joined him behind 
i clump of mesquites, he added: "Stay 
)ehind your horse and keep 'em inter- 
:sted. I'll go around and shoot 'em up 
n the rear." Then he raced through the 
)rush as only brush vaqueros can. 

Smiley calmly trotted his horse back 
ind forth, sending a shot at the Mexi- 
cans as he passed the gaps in his brush 
shelter. 

The Mexicans were shooting at Smiley's 
raffs and congratulating themselves on 
their safe position, "when they were 
startled by an exultant yell and a volley 
)f shots from behind, and saw Jim charg- 
.ng down on them with his bridle reins 
between his teetii and a banging six- 
ihooter in each hand. 

With a rush the outlaws made for their 
lorses. One suddenly yelled and dropped 
to the ground. The other vaulted into 
the saddle and cut his tying rope as if 
with one motion. The next moment he 
was spurring and lashing his horse off 
through the brush, with Jim in hot pur- 
suit, and Smiley some distance behind. 

On through the brush tore the fierce 
horseman. Dry branches crackled and 
crashed ; thorny boughs whipped shrilly 
across the rawhide "chaps" spurs, 
quirts, sand and foam flew wildly. The 
Mexican sent a couple of shots over his 
shoulder. Smiley was gaining ground 
and whooping derisively. Jim's shirt 



was nearly gone ; a thorny mesquite tore 
the blood from his cheek; he thought of 
the murdered wood-chopper's children, 
and roweled and swung and ducked like a 
madman. The mesquites were getting 
thinner; pursued and pursuers dashed in- 
to an opening; the six-shooters banged 
and the Mexican rolled from his saddle to 
the ground. 

"He's your meat, Jim," shouted Smiley 
triumphantly. 

Buckaroo Jim made no answer then. 
When they reined in their dripping 
'horses he sat cheerlessly watching the 
limp form of the prostrate Mexican. 

"If they will murder and steal, some- 
body has to do it." 

Silently then they dismounted. Jim 
was leading the way when the treacherous 
Mexican gave a flop and fired a shot with 
the rapidity of lightning, then threw his 
revolver into the brush and begged for 
mercy. 

The Texan's face hardened. He squint- 
ed along the sights of his six-shooter and 
the Mexican covered his face with his 
hands. Smiley's aim was good, his inten- 
tions unwavering; but a sudden clutch 
at his "chaps" sent the bullet into the 
sand. 

He dropped his gun. "Your hide's 
white, Smiley; don't try to out-Greaser a 
Greaser," said Jim, and fell back limply. 

With a bound, Smiley was at his horse's 
side, and the next moment held a gur- 
gling canteen over his companion's face. 
At last Jim's eyes opened. "I guess he 
fixed me, Smiley. Watch that he doesn't 
knife you when " 

A rattle finished the sentence. As Jim 
closed his eyes, Smiley saw the crimson 
foam started to his lips. Suddenly Jim 
gave a start. An expression of anxiety 
came to his face as he struggled to speak. 
Finally a fierce gulp cleared his throat. 

"Tell Pop to 'keep Pinto greased ; 
he'll A gush of blood choked his 

utterance. Buckaroo Jim was dead. 



BY JAY C. POWERS 

DRAWINGS BY R.E.SNODGRASS 



DE times am changed in Georg'y 
An' none am lef but me 
Ob all de frien'ly faces 

My eyes dey used to see, 
A-settin' 'roun' de cabin, 

Ez day begun to dim, 
A-j'inin' sof an' mellow 

In some ole gospel hymn ; 
Or singin' S'wanee Eibbah, 

So sweet an' sof an' low, 
You couldn't he'p fum wishin' 

Dah wahn't no sin no mo' ; 
Or heah de han's a-patterin' 

An' shufflin' ob de feet 
Ez Ephrum stahts a-fiddlin' 

An' Hannah leabes her seat 



De trouble went a-kitein' 
Fum ouah fam-ly big 

When Ephruin played de fiddle 
An' Hannah done a jig. 

Ah 'membahs how de couples 

Come steppin' foh de cake 
(De one wif icin' trimmin's 

De missus he'pd to bake) 
Dah cert'ny wuz a rumpus 

When Dicy's Sid appeahs 
Wif Smilin' Sue, his lady, 

A-grinnin' to de yeahs ; 
An' Skinny-Mose b'hin' 'um, 

Wif turkey-gobbler strut, 
Escortin' Mancly Etta, 




'WHEN EPHRUM PLAYS DE FIDDLE." 




AN HANNAH DOES A JIG. 



I Who ALL de shines could cut ; 
kn' Shorty-Abe an' Sallie 
I Wuz shore a han'some pa'r, 
NJI' Snowy-Lize wif Blacky 
I Bof BLACK ez blaskes' tar. 
3ut dey wahn't in de runnin', 
I Wif big nor little nig', 
when Ephrum played de fiddle 
I An' Hannah done a jig. 

ID Souf, when lef fo'ebbah 
I An' we wif angels stan' 
jln dat Celestial City 
I Ob God's deah promised Ian', 
\n' j'in wif dem in anfums 



An' sweet His praises sing, 
An' shout de glad Hosannahs 

Dat make all heaven ring; 
An' fan de aer'al breezes, 

Wif wings so pure an' white, 
A-singin' hal-le-lul-jahs 

In golden shim'rin' light; 
An' all de choirs a-chantin', 

An' all de harps a-tune, 
Ez heaben's wing-ed chorus 

In harmonies commune 
won't de eyes ob Prophets 

An' eyes ob saints grow big 
When Ephrum plays de fiddle 

An' Hannah does a jig. 



THE DES MOINES PLAN OF CITY 
GOVERNMENT 



BY SIDNEY J. DILLON 



BECAUSE of the general political unrest among the City Governments of this 
country, the following article commends itself to every thoughtful Ameri- 
can citizen who is interested in clean municipal administration. The two 
great curses of this nation to-day are the evil of graft and the utter extravagance of 
the individual. Both these elements lead a country to its ruin and bring about 
misuse of public funds. Therefore we publish this article, which is an excellent 
account of a system that seeks to stem the mad race of political corruption. ED. 




3 HALL WARD politi- 
cians, without busi- 
ness ability, continue 
to mismanage the 
public affairs of 
American c i t ies ? 
Shall the epoil sys- 
tem longer control in 
appointing inefficient and untrustworthy 
men to responsible positions of public 
service? Shall city councils retain the 
right to legislate in spite of the people's 
protest, and the power to refuse laws 
demanded by their constituents? In a 
word, shall the immense business of the 
city be given over to incapable men, ward 
politicians, and corporation agents? The 
"Des Moines Plan" of city Government 
answers these questions with an emphatic 
AW 

This municipal charter, known as the 
"Des Moines Plan," and recently adopted 
by the electors of the Capitol City of 
Iowa, bids fair to be the first solution 
of these grave problems of modern city 
Government in favor of the people. Its 
adoption presents the most radical as 
well as the most important experiment 
of the age. It is in no sense the old 
system with the undesirable sections 
eliminated, others modified, and new fea- 
tures added, but is, in fact, an entirely 
new scheme, revolutionary in its charae- 
ter, and distinct in its fundamental and 
essential principles from all existing mu- 
nicipal systems. Public men and stu- 



dents of city Government have endeavored 
many times to draft a system under 
which we could secure a wise and honest 
administration of our public affairs, but 
they have tried to do so by revising the| 
old system, burdened with politics ana 
unadapted, as it is, for the government of 
our cities. Their efforts have therefore 
met only with discouragement and fail- 
ure, and so, if by breaking away from es- 
tablished ideas and framing a charter 
along lines hitherto unknown in city GovJ 
ernment, the framers of the ."Des 5loim>s 
Plan" are successful in solving these gravJ 
problems, it will be the greatest move ever 
made in the direction of an improved ad- 
ministration for our city affairs, and the 
little city of Des Moines will have ren- 
dered a great service to the world. 

The object and aim of the "Des Moines-. 
Plan" from first to last is to secure the; 
maximum of efficiency in the administra-., 
tion of city affairs, and at the same timfl^ 
provide the greatest possible opportunity 
for securing a government in accordance 
with the popular will of the governed. 
In order to accomplish this result, th 
authors of the system kept clearly in mind 
the two great objects and attempted to 
work out some practical methods whereby 
these things could be secured. 

A wise physician determines the nature 
of the disease before he prescribes the 
remedy, and so the framers of the "Des 
Moines Plan" first sought to locate the 
reason for the failure of the present sys- 



THE DES MOINES PLAN OF CITY GOVERNMENT. 



325 



[em. There is an interesting story in 
Biblical history about the great strength 
If Samson. His enemies were powerless 
against him until they discovered that 
|iis strength lay in the length of his hair, 
when they easily accomplished his over- 
throw. Those familiar with governmen- 
tal affairs ascribe the conspicuous fail- 
Eire of city government in America to the 
fact that politicians of mediocre ability 
nd questionable honesty have too fre- 
quently managed the affairs of our cities 
Ind to the further fact that the system 
now in vogue was never intended for the 
government of our cities and is wholly un- 
kdapted to perform the functions of mu- 
nicipal government. Now that these weak 
features have been mentioned, it will be 
nteresting to learn how the framers of 
he "Des Moines Plan" have attempted 
to correct the evils. In doing so they 
nave departed from the beaten path at 
many points, and their effort presents us 
with a system unique in character, em- 
bodying ideas foreign to the popular con- 
keption, and representing the most ad- 
jfanced thought in local self-government. 
ilThe numerous committees, boards and 
Departments of the old system, with their 
Ronflicting and overlapping duties, have 
been abolished, while the supposed ne- 
tessity of keeping the executive, legisla- 
tive and judicial functions of govern- 
inent entirely separate was purposely for- 
gotten. The complicated machinery and 
[mmbersome methods of the old system 
were eliminated, the number of elective 
Ipfficials greatly reduced, ward lines re- 
Inoved, and the people given an opportu- 
jkity to elect their officials at large. All 
llections have been made non-partisan, 
Ind the evils of party politics in city gov- 
irnment abolished. In these and in a 
llcore of other ways the form of our city 
Krovernment has been entirely changed. 

The first aim of the framers was to 
work out a simple system especially 
lldapted to perform the functions of city 
irovernment. Providing for the local im- 
provements of a city, such as sidewalks, 
Itreet pavement, and sewerage, has been 
'on; id to be the greater part, and perhaps 
the most important function of city gov- 
rnmont. A study of these functions of 
ity government disclosed the fact that 
n many respects they are identical with 



the management of a large business en- 
terprise, and that the duties of officials in 
office are quite similar to those which de- 
volve upon a board of directors. Our cor- 
porations, many of which do a volume of 
business much greater than that of our 
larger cities, are able to secure efficient 
and economic management of their affairs 
by use of a system thought out by prac- 
tical business men, aided by the best le- 
gal talent which they could secure. Af- 
ter being convinced that a municipal cor- 
poration was in its nature essentially a 
business proposition, and only in a limited 
degree governmental, and being familiar 
with the phenomenal success of our mod- 
ern business concerns, the framers of the 
"Des Moines Plan" thought it wise to 
follow in their footsteps ; and so placed the 
entire management and responsibility of 
the city's administration in a governing 
board consisting of a mayor and four 
councilmen. Taking, then, as a basis, the 
system of our large business concerns, 
they have attempted to incorporate into 
the new charter those salient features of 
business principles which have simplified 
and facilitated the successful manage- 
ment of private corporations. Immedi- 
ately following their election, the mem- 
bers of this governing board organize, 
with the mayor as chairman and elect 
the subordinate officials, such as clerk, 
solicitor, auditor and treasurer, just as 
a directory board elects its officers, se- 
lects its attorney, and employs its clerks. 
Thus, by placing the business of the city 
in the hands of a small responsible gov- 
erning board, centralization of authority 
was secured, and a long step taken in the 
direction of a more efficient city govern- 
ment. 

Civil service is made an important fea- 
ture of the law, and the remainder of 
the city employees, with the exception of 
unskilled labor, are appointed on ac- 
count of their merit, determined by an 
impartial test of fitness for the work to 
be done. It is intended that the quali- 
fications of the applicant rather than his 
political influence or party affiliation 
should control in his appointment; when 
this is true, partisan politics will no 
longer be the important factor in city 
elections that it is to-day; political bosses 
will lose their control over the offices, and 



326 



OVERLAND MONTHLY. 



with it their power for corruption; the 
temptation to create needless positions 
bearing fancy salaries with which to re- 
ward their supporters will vanish; effi- 
ciency and economy can again be secured 
and public officers will attend to the peo- 
ple's business instead of spending their 
time seeking to carry elections. The vast 
amount of public funds thus wasted is 
unknown to the patriotic tax-payer, and 
can be but slightly realized when told 
that in various departments of our large 
cities it is estimated that the public is 
paying from ten to two hundred per cent 
more than the services would cost if ren- 
dered by a reasonable number of men well 
fitted for the position, and devoting them- 
selves to their work instead of in the in- 
terest of personal or party politics. 

In order to simplify the system and fix 
a definite responsibility for all official 
acts in the conduct of the city's affairs, 
its business has been divided into five 
departments as follows: the department 
of Public Affairs, Accounts and Finances, 
Streets and Public Improvements, Pub- 
lic Safety, Parks and Public Property, 
and to each one of these departments is 
assigned that member of the governing 
board best qualified by reason of experi- 
ence and ability to act as manager of that 
particular work. As superintendent of 
the department, he is held responsible for 
the performance of those duties which 
fall within his division, and is made ac- 
countable to the people for its proper ad- 
ministration. By thus placing upon each 
of these four managers, and the mayor 
as general manager, certain specified 
duties, prompt and vigorous action is at 
once made possible a thing long desired 
but impossible to secure under the old 
system of ward representation, numerous 
committees, boards and departments. 

The wisdom of a compact and respon- 
sible governing board for the management 
of the affairs of a city will hardly need 
to be demonstrated, because under such a 
system the affairs of large private cor- 
porations have long been conducted with 
economy, efficiency and success. This fea- 
ture of the "Des Moines Plan" has, how- 
ever, been on trial in Galveston, Texas, 
for almost six years, and it has proved so 
wonderfully successful that Houston, see- 
ing its superior advantages, discarded its 



old ward system two years ago, and has 
since been operating under a new char- 
ter, embodying this feature of board man- 
agement. This idea has provided Galves- 
ton with a business-like administration of 
its city's affairs, and its great success is 
best shown by the financial reports of that 
city. By careful business methods, the 
credit of that bankrupt city has been 
raised to par, the running expenses have 
been decreased one-third, and the city, 
during the first five years of its adminis- 
tration under the board system, saved to 
its tax payers over one million dollars. 
The treasurer's reports from Houston for 
the two years of its operation are even 
more startling, and reveal the fact that 
during that period a floating debt of 
$400,000 has been paid, schools have been 
built, and streets have been paved, out of 
the general fund, though the tax rate 
had been somewhat reduced. An inves- 
tigation showed that its public affairs 
are being wisely and economically man- 
aged, and that the city government is 
highly satisfactory. These demonstra- 
tions of its working efficiency have at- 
tracted the attention of our cities through- 
out the United States, Ft. Worth, Dallas, 
El Paso and Austin have recently made 
use of the scheme, while other large cities 
of Texas are favoring its early adoption. 
The States of Iowa, South Dakota and 
Kansas have enacted general laws for 
similar charters, and one would not be 
surprised to see most of the city govern- 
ments of the future contain this feature 
of a compact governing body. 

Another startling feature of the "Des 
Moines" plan of city government, and one 
whicb will surely do much to improve the 
public service, is the effort put forth to 
change the personnel of our public offi- 
cials from ward politicians to the strong 
and representative men of the commu- 
nity. A city office, under the old system, 
was looked upon as a disgrace and re- 
garded as a mark of suspicion, while un- 
der the new plan the position has been 
made one of honor, influence and oppor- 
tunity. The business of the alderman, 
under the old system, was largely the 
performance of stipulated duties, while 
one can hardly find a more fertile field 
for the exercising of talent and original- 
ity than in the development of the great 



THE DES MOIRES PLAN OF CITY GOVERNMENT. 



resources and enterprises of the city un- 
der the new plan. Tinder the old system 
the service of officials was a matter of 
charity; under the new plan they are lib- 
erally compensated with adequate sal- 
aries. With the fixed responsibility of the 
new plan, bad men will be discouraged 
from holding office because they will no 
longer be able to accomplish their evil 
purposes, while desirable candidates will 
be attracted to the service by reason of 
the fact that under such a system they 
can receive credit for their conscientious 
efforts. Not only have they made the po- 
sition attractive to the best men of the 
community, but the manner of their 
choice has been so provided that men 
of this type can be elected with less diffi- 
culty, and the election of undesirable poli- 
ticians more certainly prevented. The 
primary as well as the election has been 
made non-partisan so that candidates can 
no longer depend for their election upon 
party affiliation, but must go before the 
people upon their own merits. Ward lines 
have been removed, and with the people 
voting at large the evils of ward politics 
are abolished, electors are freer to record 
their choice of candidates, and the busi- 
ness man is better able to secure his elec- 
tion without stooping to the low practice 
of the politician. 

To some it may seem that a system of 
government which prevents the election 
of many officials, formerly selected by the 
people, and centralizes the entire power 
of administration in the hands of five in- 
dividuals, a majority of whom may control 
is monarchical and destructive of popu- 
lar government. But, to these it should 
be said that the degree of popular govern- 
ment is determined, not by the number 
of officials elected by the people, but by 
the control which the people have over 
their officials during their term of office. 
This governing board is not vested with 
final powers, and the people may, if they 
so desire, vote directly upon all matters 
of importance, and it is this feature, safe- 
guarding popular rights as it does, which 
provides the way for an expression of 
popular will in all public matters of im- 
portance, such as has never yet been 
known in any other system of local self- 
government. Notice some of these pro- 
visions : 



The, initiative places the power of 
direct legislation in the hands of the peo- 
ple, and any law which is desired by the 
majority can be secured, whether it is 
opposed or favored by the governing 
board. Suppose that the board has re- 
fused to enact a necessary ordinance. A 
petition, bearing the signature of twenty- 
five per cent of the voters could be pre- 
sented, requesting the governing board to 
ena<3t such a law, and in such a case it 
must either pass the same without altera- 
tion within the next twenty days, or sub- 
mit the matter to a vote of the electors. 
If, at the election, the ordinance is 
favored by a majority, it thereby becomes 
a valid law and cannot be repealed or 
amended except by a similar vote of the 
people. The wisdom of such a provision 
is quickly realized when one thinks of the 
many times when the will of the people 
has been ignored by their representatives 
in office. 

The referendum has been greatly agi- 
tated during the last .few years as a 
necessary part of any complete system of 
self-government, and so it has 'been made 
a feature of the "Des Moines Plan." Un- 
der this provision, an unwise expenditure 
of the public funds or any other legisla- 
tion which does not meet with popular 
favor can be effectively blocked by a 
majority vote of the people. If within a 
stipulated time, twenty-five per cent of 
the voters present a petition to the govern- 
ing board, asking that objectionable legis- 
lation be recalled the proposed ordinance 
is thereby suspended, and does not become 
operative until it has been approved by a 
majority of the voters voting thereon at a 
general or special election. The people 
are permitted to vote upon all franchises 
without petitioning the governing board, 
because it is provided that no franchise 
or other valuable right in the streets of 
the city can be granted to any public ser- 
vice corporation, without first submitting 
the matter to the people, and receiving- 
the approval of a majority of the elec- 
tors. 

Our laws must be made and our public 
affairs administered by representatives 
elected by the people, but that system 
which limits the action of our governing 
bodies by granting them the right to act, 
subject to such direct and final action as 



328 



OVERLAND MONTHLY. 



the people themselves think best to exer- 
cise, is really the only system entitled to 
the term representative. The initiative 
and referendum, as provided for in the 
"Pes Moines Plan," are the only means 
for providing the people with this highest 
form of representative government. Need- 
ed public improvements can thus be voted 
directly, and a club held over the admin- 
'stration to stimulate progressive action 
on their part. Fewer franchises would be 
granted for inadequate compensation, 
and fewer contracts would be let to favor- 
ites if it were known that such ordinances 
could be promptly vetoed by the people. 
It would hardly pay the corrupter to 
bribe the council if its action was not 
final. Five thousand dollars might bribe 
five councilmen, but it could not bribe 
ten thousand electors. Corrupt legislation 
would receive a death blow. 

The Recall, designed for the purpose 
of placing all officials within the absolute 
control of the people, is perhaps the most 
important and most startling provision of 
the law. Although the officials, composing 
the governing board, are elected for a 
definite term of two years, yet under this 
provision of the "Des Moines Plan," their 
continuation in office is at all times sub- 
ject to the will of a majority of the elec- 
tors. 

The history of practically every city 
is disgraced with names of officers who 
had proven unmindful of the trust im- 
posed in them, but who could not be re- 
moved before the expiration of their term 
of office. With this provision of the char- 
ter such an official could have been quick- 



ly removed and replaced by one in whom 
the people had more confidence. A peti- 
tion, signed by twenty-five per cent of the 
voters and charging the official, in general 
terms, with incompetency or dishonesty, 
would be filed with the city clerk. This 
done, the guilty official would then, with- 
out further delay, be required to stand for 
re-election with any other candidate whom 
the people might choose to nominate, and 
the one receiving the highest number of 
votes would be the officer for the remain- 
der of the term. The constant danger of 
being removed from office will certainly 
tend to keep public officials in the straight 
and narrow path of their duty, ever faith- 
ful to the trust of their constituents. It 
would seem that with the initiative, refer- 
endum and recall, every public official can 
be held to the strictest accountability, and 
will seldom desert the cause of the people, 
and the more successful we become in im- 
pressing upon our officials the popular will 
and compel them to execute that will, the 
higher will be our form of Democratic 
government. 

The citizens of the Capitol City of Iowa 
have drafted a simple plan for managing 
the public business of their city. It in- 
cludes a number of common sense pro- 
visions, but it yet remains for them to 
prove, by actual operation, >the working- 
efficiency of the system. The experiment 
is one of vital concern to every American 
city, and they are anxiously watching the 
venture, hoping that experience will prove 
the "Des Moines Plan" a complete solu- 
tion to the vexatious problem of city gov* 
ernment. 



LOVE'S AWAKING 



BY 



DOXALD A. FKASER 



IN ANGEL came and touched my heart with living fire; 
Delicious strains she drew from her celestial lyre; 
And Love within me woke to dare Death in desire. 



THE NEMESIS 



BY 



DON MARK LEMON 




HE GAME was Mexi- 
can, similar to poker, 
except that a few 
cards of lower de- 
nominations had been 
discarded. Neither of 
the men had spoken 
for some time, the 
playing being carried on in pantomime,, 
but now the lips of the younger man 
parted, like one attempting to speak, but 
failing, and he s-tared over the head of 
the other into the obscurity beyond. 

The elder man noted this act upon the 
part of his antagonist, and half arising 
from his chair, looked behind him over 
his shoulder towards the door, expecting to 
see something, he knew not what. 

There was nothing to be seen, how- 
ever, and again facing his antagonist, he 
looked him questioningly in the face. But 
the other offered no explanation, merely 
gaped drowsily and looked down at the 
cards in his hands. 

The game would perhaps have gone on 
in pantomime as before had not a suspi- 
cion flashed into the brain of the elder 
man, at which he leaped to his feet with 
a Mexican oath upon his lips and a Mexi- 
can word which, translated into English, 
means "cheat." 

"You lie !" retorted the younger man, 
arising. "I thought I saw something 
passing behind you." 

"Liar yourself!" cried the other. "You 
stared over my head to distract my atten- 
tion while you stacked the cards." 

"Fool !" the challenger was answered. 
"Would I cheat at the game when I hold 
four queens? Look you, is that a hand to 
be changed? i call,' senor ?" 

There was a sudden glint of steel and 
the elder player crouched with one hand 
spread over the stakes, while in his other 



hand he gripped a heavy hunting knife. 

"Caramba ! am I a fool !" he panted 
fiercely. 

The younger man took a step backwards 
and as he did so, questioned: "Then you 
will fight?" 

The other made no verbal reply, but 
drawing himself upright struck angrily on 
his chest with his clenched hand. By this 
act his breast was wholly exposed to his 
antagonist, and sudden as the spring of a 
rattle-snake, a needle-like dagger, the 
handle of which was loaded with quick- 
silver, flashed through the air and buried 
itself almost to the hilt just above the 
heart of the challenger. 

For a moment the stricken man re- 
mained upright, his powerful frame 
scarcely jarred by the momentum of the 
needle-like yet terrible blade; then, still 
clutching his own weapon in his hand, he 
fell or was tripped by his chair, face up- 
ward at full length upon the floor, strik- 
ing his head heavily in his fall. 

With a smothered cry, the younger man 
leaped forward, and tearing the candle 
from the table, bent with it over the form 
stretched at length upon the floor. 

"Dead!" he whispered hoarsely, while 
the white, still face of the man before him 
with its glassy, up-staring eyes was 
burned upon his soul, an image not soon 
to be erased. 

Putting down the candle now, he 
clutched the two tall stacks of gold, which 
he had hoped to win by less foul means 
than murder, and thrust them into the 
heavy buckskin bag at his belt. This 
done, he again took up a light and started 
for the door. But to escape that way, he 
must pass the still form upon the floor, 
with the dagger in its breast, so he turned 
and went with the candle in his hand to 
one of the windows of the room. 



330 



OVERLAND MONTHLY. 



Unlatching this, and swinging it in- 
ward on its hinges, he unbarred the heavy 
wooden shutters without, and with his 
head still twisted over his shoulder, and 
his eyes fixed upon those other staring eyes 
as if he feared that the dead would rise 
up and follow him, he climbed backwards 
through the window, and in another mo- 
ment stood safely without, still clutching 
the lighted candle in his hand. 

A bright moon was up, and casting the 
candle aside, he hurried swiftly and 
stealthily around the tavern and unteth- 
ering and mounting his horse, he rode 
away, at first at a lope, afterwards at a 
furious gallop, towards the north. 

It was chance and not skill that con- 
cealed John Fuller's flight from the tav- 
ern, and pure good luck^ that set him down 
across the Mexican line in American ter- 
ritory, so that within two weeks he was 
again able to walk the streets of San 
Francisco and mingle freely with men of 
his own race and persuasion. 

It was not long before he fell in with a 
friendly speculator, and in less than a 
year his small means daringly placed by 
the latter he awoke to find himself a 
fairly rich man, with every dollar on the 
safe side of account. 

So it came that John Fuller was in a 
good way to cease worrying about his das- 
tard crime, and perhaps the memory of it 
had been greatly dimmed and he had mar- 
ried and settled down to live after the 
ways of civilization, only one day it 
chanced that while looking in his mirror 
after removing his beard he was suddenly 
stricken with the dreadful discovery that 
his face had taken on the lines and con- 
tour of the face of the man he had killed 
in Old Mexico. 

At first, he would not give in to this 
discovery, persuading himself that the re- 
semblance was wholly imaginary, but as 
the days passed and the similarity became 
more striking, a dreadful fear seized him 
and his health began to suffer profoundly. 

Murderers have been haunted with 
visions of the murdered, or by what 
seemed a ghost of the dead, but here was 
something even more terrible the fact 
of the murderer had taken on the sem- 
blance of the face of the murdered. 

As a man's thoughts sooner or later are 
reflected in his features, the mind of John 



Fuller again and again picturing the face 
of the man he had killed, had shaped his 
features to almost perfect likeness with 
those of his victim. 

The phenomenon could hardly be ex- 
plained otherwise, and now John Fuller 
must walk the streets by day and lie down 
to pray for sleep by night with the face 
of the dead constantly before him. 

To this, he was seized with a feverish 
desire to spend his easy-gotten money in 
the most extravagant manner. It some- 
what relieved the tension of his nerves to 
be spending his wealth by the thousands 
each day, as it would have eased his guilty 
soul to have mounted the cab of an ex- 
press and have sped a mile a minute, hour 
after hour. Before many weeks, he awoke 
to find that through his recklessness, his 
dissipation and the rascality of others, the 
only money he had in the world was a 
five dollar gold piece, left from a late 
debauch. 

He would spend this too; get rid of it 
as quickly as he could. He hurried down 
to a famous cafe in the heart of the city, 
and entering its corridors, paused a mo- 
ment before the swinging doors. 

These doors were faced with long 
French mirrors, and as he caught the re- 
flection of his own haggard face, bearing 
its ghastly resemblance to the man he had 
killed, horror unnerved him, and he was 
about to turn and dash headlong into the 
street, when suddenly the mirrors before 
him trembled, shimmered, then flashed 
with wide angles of light, and out of their 
center, or so it seemed, stepped that 
ghastly image of himself, and stood before 
him and looked into his face. 

Every pulse in the haunted man's body 
stood still a moment with fear, then 
stealthily, silently, he reached forth a pal- 
sied hand, which now came in contact, not 
with the smooth surface of the mirrors, 
but with the form of a man the dead in 
person ! 

No cry or sound escaped John Fuller's 
lips, as he sank down in a heap at the feet 
of that living image of himself. 

They bore him into a private room of 
the cafe and endeavored to restore him to 
consciousness and life, but unavailing. 
Like a lighted candle in a draught, John 
Fuller's strength had been wasted away 
by dissipation and a guilty conscience, and 



THE ICEBEBG'S BIBTH. 



331 



the most powerful stimulants were of no 
effect. 

"My God, he is dead !" groaned a worn- 
faced stranger, turning from the stricken 
man. 

The physician, the cafe proprietor, and 
those others gathered about the death-bed 
looked from the face of the stranger to 
that of the dead. 

"Yes," the stranger said, as in answer 
to a question, "this must be my brother 
for whom I have been searching the world 
over. My parents, dying when my brother 
was born, they placed me in one asylum 
and my brother in another, and we grew 
up without ever seeing one another 
without knowing of one another's exist- 
ence. When finally I learned that some- 
where in the world I had a brother living, 
I went in search of him, and had almost 
come upon him in Old Mexico, when a 
card sharp, over a game of cards in a tav- 
ern, stuck a dagger into my left lung, and 
I was tripped over and rendered uncon- 



scious, injuring my spine. I got a touch 
of blood poisoning, and gave up the search 
to come here for treatment. How it was, 
I do not know, unless he had heart trou- 
ble, but as I swung open the mirror doors 
and came face to face with him, he fell 
down dead at my feet. Great God!" the 
speaker broke off, turning and gazing hag- 
gardly at the face of the dead man, "how 
much like me he has grown to look." 
* "Will you take charge of the body?" 
questioned the cafe proprietor. 

"Yes, since you say he hasn't a wife or 
family." The stranger turned to the phy- 
sician. "Do you think, doctor, that I am 
mistaken. 

"His resemblance to you will warrant 
you to bury him for a brother," replied the 
physician. 

"Poor old fellow!" groaned the 
stranger, taking the dead hand of John 
Fuller in his own, and stroking it gently. 
"What good friends we would have 
been !" 



THE ICEBERG'S BIRTH 



MTJIR GLACIER 



BY CHARLOTTE W. THTJRSTOX 



Earth-born on Alaska's mountains, 

Pressed from Alaskan snow, 
Ground in her icy quarries 

While centuries come and go ; 
Slow-urged through the lagging cycles 

Slow to my northern sea; 
I am free ! I am plunging and rising 

And rising and plunging free! 
I have burst from the glacier-clutches, 

Leaped from the ice-walled shore 
A crash as the heaven were rended, 

A long-drawn thunderous roar. 
Low growls where the startled ice-bergs 

Wild splendors of iris-spray 
Dance a mad welcome round me 

Muttering in Titan play. 
Foam- waves, my birth hurls shoreward 

A seething, wavering white, 
Surge in wild radiance seaward 

Fringed with auroral light. 




EDWIN MARKHAM. 

"I never built a song by night or day, 
Of breaking ocean or of blowing whin, 

But in some wondrous, unexpected way, 

Like light upon a road, my Love comes in." 



EDWIN MARKHAM AND HIS ART 

BY 



HENRY MEADE BLAND 

.ILLUSTRATED WITH PORTRAITS. 




OT MANY days ago, in 
looking over a pack 
of clippings referring 
to Edwin Markham, 
I found on the back 
of some paper, to 
which an article had 
been posted, an origi- 
nal rough draft of "Lincoln." There was 
no mistake about the find. I rushed to 
my poet's volumes and read. 

Then comparing the finished product 
with the spontaneous pencil-lines, I ran 
through, line by line, the finished poem 
and the following sketchy outline : 

"When the 

Greatening and 

She left the heaven of heroes 
To make man, 
She took the tried clay 
Clay warm yet 

Dashed through it all a strain 

Then mixed a laughter. 

It was a stuff to hold against 

A man that matched 

The stars. 

The color of the ground 

The. tang and odor 

The rectitude and patience 

The loving kindness 

The gladness of the wind 

The tolerance and equity of light 

That gives so freely to the wayside weed 

As to a giant oak flung to the sun 

ro the grave's low hill as to the Matterhorn 

lhat shelters out the sky. And so he came 

J<rom prairie cabin 

One fair ideal led. 

Forever more he burned to 

With the fine stroke and gesture of a king. 

He built the rail pile 

Pouring his splendid strength through. 

J he conscience of him 

To make his deed. 

So came the 

And when the step 

Tearing the rafters 

He held the ridge pole 

PS rafters of the He held his place 

leid the long purpose 

^eld on through blame. 

And when he fell 

s when a kingly cedar 
^oes down with a shout 
-And leaves a " 

There are not many steps from these 
rough notes to the finished "Lincoln, the 



Man of the Hour." In fact, there is not 
an erasure upon the penciled page; and 
the poet must have taken another clean 
sheet upon which to carry his rhythm to 
perfection. We look in vain for the 
many, many polishings of Pope; or the 
careful gathering into a composite whole 
from multitudinous note books, such as 
was practiced by Emerson. 

The vision apparently came at once, 
and seemed ready immediately to be trans- 
ferred to paper. 

It must not be thought that Edwin 
Markham arrived at this wonderful power 
to body forth his conceptions in poetic 
form, all in a moment, even in the face 
of the fact that "The Man with the Hoe" 
brought him fame in a night. The op- 
posing truth rather stands out clear in 
Markham's work and life; that many 
minor attempts were essayed, and many, 
many influences fashioned his intellectual 
mold before the world sat up and listened. 

It is true that in the poet's ancestry 
there appears an unusual array of talent 
of little signification, however. It is 
Dr. Jordan, I believe, who says we may all 
of us trace our lineage to kings if we run 
far enough back. One thing does, how- 
ever loom up : Markham's widowed mother 
was a poetess, and the boy, Edwin, was 
raised in an atmosphere of poesy. Not 
only this : his poetic mother was given to 
musing, and was strangely taciturn and 
silent. And further, Markham's only 
brother was dumb. So the very family en- 
vironment forced him into a solitude 
which left him alone with his fancies. 

Coming with mother and brother at the 
age of five from Oregon, he began this 
life of solitude and musing. This was on 
the hill-circled farm not far from Suisun, 
California. 

Here his career as a student and reader 
began. His first models in poetry were 



334 



OVERLAND MONTHLY. 



Homer and Byron, for the instruction he 
received at his mother's knee naturally 
turned him to song. Moreover, the 
mother's poetic instinct divined for the 
son his career as a poet. All day long on 
the hills, while he tended the flocks, he 
mused over his favorite volumes and 
drank to the dregs every fountain of story 
his meagre environments afforded him. 
Joaquin Miller says, in speaking of the 
poet : "It is written that only a good man 
can live alone, and be happy. But here 
was a mere lad who lived alone with his 
horse and herds for whole summers, and 
far back in the mountains. It is said 
that when he would come in to get sup- 
plies, he would not take back much to eat, 
but would pillage the mountain camp and 
mining town of every book or paper he 
could buy, beg or borrow/' Thus, along 
with the nature-lore he garnered, he was 
filling his mind with all he could get from 
books. It was in this atmosphere, at the 
age of fifteen, that he wrote his first verse, 
"A Dream of Chaos," an imitation of 
Byron. 

It was in the Suisun hills that he had 
his first and only taste of adventure. Tir- 
ing of the mountain farm, he one day 
saddled his pony and vanished down the 
foothills toward the Sacramento. Not 
long after he joined a threshing-crew, and 
worked as one of the men. His mother, 
hoAvever, soon traced her runaway son and 
brought him again to the farm. She then 
as a sort of disciplinary procedure, moved 
with him to the State Normal School at 
San Jose, where he studied teaching, 
graduating in 1872. His appetite for 
learning seemed to be only the more whet- 
ted by his San Jose school experiences. He 
soon entered the Christian College at 
Santa Rosa, where he pursued the classics. 
After graduation, he read law, but did not 
practice at the bar. 

He now began to form his philosophy of 
life, and rapidly developed a deep interest 
in child life and in the poor. One of his 
first desires was to master a trade, for he 
felt to be vitally in touch with the life of 
the laborer meant to know how to do the 
laborer's work, or at least some line of it. 
To this end he entered a blacksmith's shop 
and mastered the work, carefully drilling 
himself m the technique of the craft. 
Then he taught school, becoming finally 



the principal of the Tompkins Training 
School for Teachers, Oakland, California. 
He was interested deeply in the philo- 
sophical side of education, and my first 
memory of his earnest face is in connection 
with a discussion of interest and duty at a 
California Teachers' Association. 

But his love of meditation and contem- 
plation never forsook him. He drifted 
rapidly towards his literary ideal. Wlhile- 
principal of the Tompkins School, he se- 
cured a suburban residence in the Ber- 
keley Hills, back of Oakland. Here, sur- 
rounded by his library, rich in poetry and 
philosophy, he communed with his muse. 
This country home was an old-fashioned 
story and a half house, surrounded with. 
a broad porch over which trailed vines, 
and roses. Into this retreat he went after 
the hard day's work in school, and the 
days went by in which he dreamed his. 
philosophies. 

In the meantime he was surely winning 
recognition. Edmund C. Stedman, th 
famous critic, had praised his verse, and 
three of his poems had been published in 
"American Literature." The following 
stanza on poetry: 

"She comes like the husht beauty of the night* 
And sees too deep for laughter, 
Her touch is a vibration and a light 
From worlds before and after " 

won a prize of one hundred dollars from, 
competitors from all over the world. 

In 1889 came the experience that made 
it possible for him to write the poem that 
gave him international fame. This was. 
not printed until ten years later, but dur- 
ing all the intervening time he brooded 
over his conception with an infinite fever- 
ishness of soul. 

The "Man with the Hoe" was printed 
in January, 1899. It was first inspired 
by Millet's painting of the same title. 
Markham's eye had first fallen on the 
picture about 1889, and at once the deep 
significance of the art was upon him. 

"It is more terrible to me than anything 
in Dante," he says. "I sat for an hour 
before the painting, and all the time the 
tenor and power of the picture were grow- 
ing upon me. I saw that this creation 
was no mere peasant, no chance man of 
the fields, but he was rather a type, a sym- 
bol of the toiler brutalized through long 
ages of industrial oppression." The "Man. 



EDWIN MAEKHAM AND HIS ART. 



335 



with the Hoe" brought the poet instantly 
into the flare of publicity. From paper 
to paper it went, until it was known by 
every fire-side in the country. He had 
touched the American intellect and intel- 
lect had responded true. 
To Mr. Bailey Millard belongs the 

redit of discovering the strength of Mr. 
Markham's great poem. The poet had 
originally intended to read the poem on 

iome labor-day occasion, but being invited 
to a gathering of literary people, at the 
suggestion of Mrs. Markham he had put 
the poem in his pocket to read as his con- 
tribution to the evening's entertainment. 
Mrs. Markham contrived to have the poet 
called upon, and the reading of the har- 
monious roll of the blank verse caught 
the ear of the critic. Mr. Millard said 
that even after the reading, the music of 
the lines surged and re-surged through his 
mind. The unmeasured beauty seemed to 
culminate in the lines : 

"What to him 

Are Plato and the swing of Pleiades? 
What the long reaches of the peaks of song, 
The rift of dawn, the reddening of the rose?" 

In "The Man with the Hoe" we catch 
the first clear glimpse of Markham's 
political philosophy. He stamps himself 
here outright a sympathizer with the poor. 
Brotherhood is his principle; absolute 
democracy his ideal. Nothing short of the 
full redemption of the poor can satisfy 
him. 

How completely he is committed to this 
championship of the poor can be gleaned 
from the following partial statement of 
his belief: 

"So, when I am dictator, every one shall 
be made secure in this primary right of 
man (the right to labor). I have a sug- 
gestion, and I think it would go deep 
enough to do some good, and yet not so 
deep as to interfere, either, with our pres- 
ent system of private enterprise. The 
idea is a simple one. I would make dili- 
gent inquiry as to the number of men idle 
in the several arts and crafts; then I 
would establish enough State or munici- 
pal shops to absorb all of this idle labor. 
Shoe-makers should be set to making and 
mending ; bakers to kneading and baking. 
Unskilled labor could be provided for in 
State farms and factories, or on public 
improvements. Good wages could be paid, 



as the element of profit-making would be 
rooted out, as it has already been rooted 
out of the post-office business. If at any 
time we were making too many good 
things, the hours could be shortened so as 
to keep all hands busy." 

In this way, through the reaction of 
self-activity upon the individual, the evo- 
lution of the race could be worked out. 

The poet now lives with his wife, who 
was M'iss Anna E. Murphy, of California, 
and his child, Kyka, on Staten Island, 
New York. Both Mrs. Markham and the 
boy have occupied a large place in the 
poet's art ; and some of his most beautiful 
lyrics have been inspired by one or the 
other. The lines, "My Comrade," begin- 
ning: 

"I never built a song by night or day, 
Of breaking ocean or of blowing whin, 

But in some wondrous, unexpected way, 

Like light upon a road, my Love comes in." 

were written with Mrs. Markham in mind, 
and the wonderful lyric, "Kyka" is a burst 
inspired by the infinitely loving father of 
a child. Mrs. Markham is herself a poet 
and a keen judge of books; and many of 
her lines have appeared in the magazines. 
Her stanzas, "The Sorrowful Christ," are 
among the best known. 

Mr. Markham is a constant thinker on 
deep questions. One of his greatest de- 
lights is a round-table of friends at which 
there is a delving into the mystery of 
things. Charles Warren Stoddard tells of 
one of these meetings on the hills near 
Joaquin Miller's home on Berkeley Hills, 
at which he, Ina Coolbrith, Adaline 
Knapp, William Greer Harrison and the 
poet were present. The subject up was, 
"What is poetry?" The entire day was 
passed in intellectual reverie upon the 
fascinating theme. 

Edwin Markham is profoundly religi- 
ous. God and the immortality of the soul 
are deeply woven in the fibres of his being. 
These beliefs make him see the worth of 
even the most insignificant human, and 
give hope that he has for those who are 
"dead to rapture and despair." He finds 
the infinite everywhere : 

"The little pool, in street or field apart, 
Glosses the deep heavens and the rushing 
storm ; 

And into the silent depths of every heart 

The eternal throws Its awful shadow-form." 

Growing out of this essential religious 



336 



OVEELAND MONTHLY. 



element is a divine humility which en- 
ables him to lean unreservedly upon the 
Absolute. 

"I have no glory," he says, "in these 
songs of mine. 

"If one of them can make a brother strong, 

It came down from the peaks divine, 
I heard it in the Heaven of lyric song." 

"The one who builds the poem into fact, 
He is the rightful owner of it all: 

The pale words are with God's own power 

packed, 
When brave souls answer to their bugle call." 



and changes of time. Praise always hum- 
bles me. Man is but an organ through 
which the higher power acts. If a man 
does good work, the joy of it is his, but 
the glory is God's." 

Here is the final prayer of his religious 
philosophy : 

"Give me the heart-touch with all that live, 

And strength to speak my word; 
But if that is denied me, give 

The strength to live unheard." 




MRS. MARKHAM AND THE SON, KYKA, WHO HAVE OCCUPIED 
A LARGE PLACE IN THE POET^S ART. 



When he is, therefore, talking of his 
literary successes, we may know that he 
will use the words in this spirit : 

"In the old days, obscurity did not dis- 
tress me : in these days, notoriety does not 
disturb me. I have tried to build my life 
upon a foundation deeper than the chances 



In poetic philosophy, Markham is of 
the school of Plato. The "worlds before 
and after" appeal first one then the other 
to his mind. Many is the time when he 
turns from his more sternly human politi- 
cal views to the little child, his own pro- 
totype in the long ago: 



BESTITUTIOX. 



337 



"Once. I remember, world was young; 
The rills rejoiced with a silver tongue; 
The field-lark sat in the wheat and sang; 
The thrush's shout in the woodland rang; 
The cliffs and the perilous sands afar 
Were softened to mist by the morning star; 
For Youth was with me (I know it now!) 
And a light shown out from his wreathed brow. 
He turned the fields to enchanted ground, 
He touched the rains with a dreamy sound." 

This is the full-voiced echo of Words- 
worth's : 

"There was a time when meadow, grove and 
stream, 

The earth and every common sight, 
To me did seem 

Appareled in celestial light, 
The glory and the freshness of a dream." 

Again in "Shepherd Boy and Nereid" is 
embodied the same beauty: 

"Ah, once of old in some forgotten tongue, 
Forgotten land, I was a shepherd boy, 
And you a Nereid, a winged joy: 

On through the dawn-light peaks our bodies 
swung, ' 

And flower-soft lyrics by immortals sung 
Fell from their unseen pinnacles in the air: 
God looked from Heaven that hour, for you 
were fair, 

And I a poet, and the world was young." 

This may symbolize Markham's child- 
hood, or he may be reveling in that at- 
mosphere of re-incarnation into which he 
has recently drifted, as may well be seen 
in "Virgilia" and "The Homing Heart." 

Once more, in "Lost Lands," gleams the 
light from other days the days of his elf 
child: 



"I mind me once in boyhood when the mist 
Swirled round me, ash of pearl and amethyst, 
How, in an unknown, difficult, high place, 
I pushed the green boughs backward from my 

face, 

And with a fire along the blood, a cry, 
Rode out upon a headland in the sky. 
***** 

"I looked down on a sea of fog below; 

Saw strange lands rise, strange waters furl and 

flow, 

Breaking on newly-lifted reefs and shores. 
***** 

"Where willows climbed and burst without a 

sound, 

While further still, on dim, untrayeled seas, 
Gleamed lost Atlantis, lost Hesperides." 

As he never tires ringing sweet changes 
on the beautiful Wordsworthian idea of 
happy, inspired childhood, so, too, he 
wears with becoming grace that other 
flower of the poetic intellect reincarna- 
tion : 

"It was ages ago in life's first wonder 
I found you, Virgilia, wild sea heart, 

'Twas ages ago we went asunder 
Ages and worlds apart. 

***** 

"I will find you there where our low life 
heightens^- 

Where the door of the Wonder again unbars, 
Where the old love lures and the old fire whitens 

In the stars behind the stars." 

Woven and interwoven with the "Elf- 
Child" life and the reincarnation dream 
is the web of his belief in the immortality 
of the human spirit. And after all, is not 
immortality the harp of a thousand strings 
upon which the poet is to play until the 
end of time? 



RESTITUTION " 



Across the buried years I come to you, 
From out the level path by ages worn, 
Be this the shrine whereat a day, new born, 
Brings offerings of olive leaves and dew. 
Where naught save silence all the cool air through 
Creeps, healing, I forgotten ride and mourn; 
The standard at my stirrup soiled and torn. 
A Pilgrim from afar, I come to you. 

NOT empty handed for, beloved, I bring 

A pinion from a broken, healing wing: 

And come as you have prayed and dreamed I would 

In all the fervor of true Motherhood 

With treasures from the Desert's fatal sands, 

And, wistful, lay them in your trusting hands. 




TEN CENTS TO THE FERR1 7 



BY 



LEO LEVY 



ILLUSTRATED BY W. R. DAVENPORT. 




"IT IS an ill wind 
that blows nobody 
good," the San Fran- 
cisco street-car strike 
has an awful name. It 
is responsible for the 
wild cry of "ten cents 
to the ferry," that 
reverberates hideously from early morning 
to early morning, rouging people out of 
deep sleep and sweet dreams to remind 
them of our return to the days of stage- 
coaches and "shank's mare." 

For the calling of the strike demanded 
a new means of conveyance for the thou- 
sands of 'laborers who lived, sometimes, 
miles from their work, and who dared 
not patronize the cars, and walking being 
out of the question, only one way was clear 
use of the horse ; and the equine remedy 
was applied with the avidity that will 
ever characterize the jehu. 

From the depths of deserted barns 
were drawn ancient vehicles, of kinds be- 
yond number and description, in every 
stage of must, rust and decay Louis 



Quinze barouches and antiquated deliv- 
ery wagons bumped up against prairie 
schooners and '49 \stage coaches; beer 
wagons hob-nobbed with police patrols, 
and doctors' rigs with hearses. It was 
an array to tickle the palate of the relic 
hunter. 

Knowing well that the S. P. C. A. was 
in its usual state of somnolence, pasture 
lands were searched, and pounds broken 
into. From these were driven what were 
once called horses a long, long time ago 
were called horses. 

Animal and vehicles were matched; 
there was the scuffle of mounting, the 
crack of whips, the curses of drivers, the 
agonized squeaking of gray-haired wagons, 
the weeping of animals and the game 
was on. (Oh, ye God-protector of horses, 
who looked upon that scene and raised not 
your hand in protest, the blood of a thou- 
sand animals is on your head ! Ye ghos't 
of the father of transportation, ye were 
asleep at the switch ! Both ye negligents, 
the groans of a suffering people will haunt 
ye to the end of things, and afterwards. 



"TEN CENTS TO THE FERRY." 



339 



And when we you iand I meet, my 
friends, when we meet on the other side, 
we're going to have an accounting, and 
my wrath shall give me strength, and the 
protectorship shall be vacant, and another 
ghost shall roam the earth. For I have 
ridden.) 

And the result of this infamous con- 
glomeration? One morning my friend, 
the reformed cow-puncher he reformed 
backward, from punching to poetry 
staggered into the room and sank upon 
the couch. 

"Look here !" I said, sternly ; "I 
thought you had quit all that ! What is it 



"Yes." 

"Then all I can say is, they're mighty 
ungrateful. Fifty-three bruises, a broken 
head and a sprained arm." 

T was puzzled as to his meaning, but 
seeing his condition, was loath to ques- 
tion him. That night the mystery was 
cleared up, when I found the following on 
the table: 

"I've busted Indian ponies in Nevada; 

I've ridden bucking camels on the plain, 
I've strode the goat in forty-seven lodges, 

In a row-boat I have sailed the briny 
main. 




ALWAYS ROOM FOR ONE MORE. 



thi 8 time, cocktails or something sensi- 
ble?" 

He shook his head. "Didn't I promise 
I never would again?" 

"You did. But your condition 

The stricken man raised himself on" his 
elbow. 

"Haven't I always been a good union 
man?" he demanded. 

"You certainly have." 

"And always paid my dues and sympa- 
thized with every movement?" 



These things I've done, I tell ye, and 

enjoyed them, 
And I've surely done 'em better than 

most men. 

But 1 ne'er before rode on a union wag- 
gin, 

And by gum, old man, I never will 
again." 

Two days later I encountered an ac- 
quaintance. "How's your wife?" I asked 
him. 



OVERLAND MONTHLY. 



"Not very well. She's in a hospital." 

"What! Too bad, surely. And the 
children?" 

"Same place." 

"That's hard luck. .But as long as you 
are well " 

"I'm. bound for the hospital now." 

"Great heavens, man! What is it 
something catching ?" 

"Regular pestilence. The union fines 
us fifty for riding, and it's too far to 
walk."" 

I understood. 

But to look at the thing in a serious 
manner, genuine physical danger lurks in 
every bolt and splinter of these strike 
conveyances. Half of them are made of 
old, springless delivery wagons, with 
planks for seats. The constant jolt and 
bang, as they rambled over cobble stones 
and ruts, is bound to wear the strongest 
constitution. A delicate woman can ride 
but once, and her stronger sister cannot 
keep it up for long. As for hard-working 
men, a ride is equal to a day's labor, and 
constant use of the wagons results in a 
condition which is not conducive to good 
work. 

To increase the discomfort, the drivers, 
who once must have worked in a sardine 
cannery, have an unhappy faculty of find- 
ing room for passengers where none exists. 
In their own language and they think it 
is a tremendous joke to sing it out 
"there is always room for one more." If 
there isn't, they make it. The capacity 
of the smaller vehicles is far greater than 
that of the larger. A laundry wagon al- 
ways carries twice as much human freight 
within its canvassed depths, as does a 
great made-over furniture van. That 
may sound like exaggeration, but prove 
it for yourself by watching the stream of 
conveyances. Or, better still, ride. 

And the horses well, there is some- 
thing else San Francisco has to blush for. 
The Society for the Prevention of Cruelty 
to Animals has a stain on its name that 
will take years to efface, and there are 
people who will never forget. That 
society, composed of people who are sup- 
posed to be the friends of animals, has 
allowed the fearful use of unfit horses, 
and abuse of good ones, to go on without 
scarcely a protest. Now and then there is 
an arrest, but only now and then. In the 



meantime, the real friends of the animals 
must stand by and wonder why broken- 
down horses, scarcely able to crawl, are 
allowed to singly drag heavily loaded 
wagons; why weak and worn-out horses 
are allowed to stumble along in an almost 
vain attempt to get their loads over the 
poorest streets in the world; why diseased 
horses are allowed to work at all. San 
Francisco already has a long list of moral 
and physical delinquents, but there is al- 
ways room for one more. 

Not long ago I stood in front of the 
Ferry building, deliberating as to the 
agent I would employ to inflict torture 
on my ride to the Mission. There was 
wide room for choice all sizes of ice- 
wagons, deliveries and 'busses; a covered 
express and a dead wagon. One convey- 
ance, especially, deserves special mention. 
It had an arrangement for strap-hangers, 
operated thus : when the entire lengths of 
the seats were filled, the knees of the pas- 
sengers meet in the middle, making a 
sort of carpeted floor. On this stood the 
strap-hangers, clinging to an iron bar 
overhead. 

After long thought, I selected a small 
and decidedly frail express, figuring that 
on account of its size and strength, care 
would be taken not to put too great a 
crowd on board. I was sadly mistaken 
but of that anon. 

I mounted. I did it carefully. Mount- 
ing a strike wagon is a serious matter, and 
may involve physical complications unless 
much care is taken in the operation. You 
mount by means of either a suspicious- 
looking set of .steps, a cracker-box or a 
chair. Sometimes you vault in. On this 
occasion I used what resembled a young 
step-ladder, and I accomplished my end 
without mishap. 

There was a young lady on board. I 
took my place at her side, a respectful dis- 
tance away, and but, what's the use of 
dwelling on the loading of that wagon? 
Suffice it to say that I was mistaken as to 
the driver's regard for the strength and 
size of his vehicle. He had no more re- 
spect for those than he did for his horse 
and his passengers. Also suffice it to re- 
mark that my respectful distance from 
the young lady soon grew to be highly im- 
proper. Before five minutes had been 
reeled off by Time, I was squeezing her 



N CENTS TO THE FERRY." 



341 



hard, and so great was the crush that the 
sides of my wind-pipe touched, and I 
couldn't ask her pardon. 

So there I sat, squeezed into the small- 
est compass possible, my hands awkward- 
ly on my knees, an agonized expression 
covering im^ identity, and a pressing en- 
gagement at both ends of the ride, await- 
ing the driver's inclination as to starting. 
The driver did not incline. He was in no 
hurry because his passengers were. That's 
part of the law of supply and demand, 
in which law a union man always seems 
to have a finger. As I said, there I sat. 

Finally, when the driver had finished 
his cigarette, and the conductor his chat 
with a neighbor, they inclined. But, alas, 
somebody else didn't. The horse looked 



Have you ever ridden a heavily-loaded 
wagon over block after block of cobble- 
stones? There is no other sensation that 
compares with it unless it is a train-wreck, 
an electric massage, or a series of infant 
earthquakes. Your in'ards reel, and your 
teeth do a castanet solo : 

"They chatter, chatter, chatter so 
("Again," you murmur, "Never!") 

For streets may come and streets may go, 
But cobble-stones forever!" 



At the end of the third block the horse 
stopped to get up steam, and the conduc- 
tor grasped the opportunity to take on 
three more passengers at least, I suppose 




AX ARRAY TO TICKLE THE PALATE OF THE RELIC HUNTER. 






around at what he was expected to pull, 
gazed at the driver with a "what-d'ye- 
take-me-for" expression on his face, and 
yawned. JSTo amount of corporal persua- 
sion could convince him that he was in 
the wrong. He absolutely refused to sup- 
ply the motive power demanded the law 
again. 

I'm not going to tell you how they fin- 
ally got ihe poor beast headed Mission- 
ward. I'm too much of a gentleman to 
repeat the language, and anyway, the edi- 
tor wouldn't allow it. When we turned 
into Mission street we were going at a 
fair rate very fair for one horse and 
thirty-one people. 



he did ; not being able to turn one way or 
the other I couldn't see, but judging by 
the increased pressure he must have. 

And thus it continued, cobble-stones 
and ruts alternating with the taking on 
of "just one more," reducing corpulence, 
making short people tall, and tall people 
taller. 

Just one word or so more about that 
ride: In the future I'll take an ambulance 
in the first place, and not wait until I 
get to my destination. 

I am no longer a union sympathizer, 
though it wasn't the above turned me. 
Far from it. I have a still deeper grudge, 
one that I will never be able to forget. It 



342 



OVEELAND MONTHLY. 



has turned me sour against all unions. 

Another ride that I took, one midnight, 
on an owl 'bus was responsible. I had 
three inches on the end of the seat, but 
thought that by bracing my foot on the 
steps I would be able to hold on. When 



I found out I couldn't, I gently but firmly 
put an idle arm around a girl who sat 
next me it was the last resort. 

Did she object? Not a whit. Then 
where is my kick, you ask? 
You should have seen the girl. 











DRAWINGS BY SCHAD. 




MBKO-SAN sat watch- 
ing her husband, Ki- 
yowara Taro, mend- 
ing a boy's shoe. Her 
child-like face gave 
forth no sign of the 
discontent in her 
mind certain at the 
lightest suggestion to break forth into 
petulant speech. 

"Why you sitting like a bloke of wood ?" 
she asked tauntingly. "I hate staying all 
times with a Jap-an-ese cload !" 

After a sigh of extreme weariness, Ki- 
yowara looked up. 

"You making too maeny complaints," 
he answered. "I don' cahn please you. I 
speak English language for your sake! I 
taell maeny times thaht som' day mebbe 
five year, mebbe ten we go bahk aht 
Hamamatsu ! Ah !" A tumult of emo- 
tional remembrance sent a dark red glow 
into his melancholy face. He lumbered 
to his feet ; he crossed and re-crossed the 
dingy shop, warming to enthusiasm. 
"Then we see grand temples and Fujisan 
with her beau-ti-ful snow-cahp and 
aeverywhere cherry-flower and wild lillee ! 
Ah!" 

"Mebbe I sleeping in my grave by thaht 
time," she answered coolly. Then, with 
alacrity, her voice and manner became im- 
bued with a business-like purpose. "I 
naever going bahk aht Jap-an. I stay aht 
United States foraever and aever !" 

Kiyowara again took his place on the 
bench. The woman followed him with 
short, waddling steps, pulling at her plum 
colored kimona with disgust. 



"I don' want wear Jap-an-ese clo'se. 
Jap-an-ese woman's dress or-na-men-tal, 
but no-boad-y cahn work ac-tive-ly in it." 

There was a faint smile on the shoe- 
maker's face. 

Umeko-San's eyes snapped angrily; 
they were as black as shoe-buttons. "You 
think I going slave aht your house all 
day? Taro-San, I naever cook for you 
aeny more Jap-an-ese style. When you 
say you like United States cooking, I do 
aeverything very fine." Here she shook 
her head with a comically wise air. 

Kiyowara stitched in silence. He found 
himself in the ridiculous predicament of 
attempting to put a thread through a solid 
piece of leather. 

Umeko-San shifted her position that she 
might look through the window. The 
seven o'clock local train was passing. She 
saw in the lighted car a Japanese girl 
dressed after the style of the fashionable 
American girl. The sight of a red hat 
flaring away from a large moon-like face 
smote the soul of Umeko-San cruelly. It 
brought home to her with telling force 
the poverty of her own equipment for per- 
sonal fascination. 

"How thaht girl mus' be happy dress 
like Ah-merican peoples ! How thaht is 
bahd to 'be diffren' from other peoples!" 
she muttered. Then she looked daggers 
at Kiyowara, whose introspective counte- 
nance wore a look of patient endurance. 

"Las' night I ask you," she said, crossly, 
"if you take me aht Mr. Buck-ing-ham's 
Jap-an-ese tea garden. You say you don' 
cahn know I say yo mus' taell me will 
you take me aht thaht Jap-an-ese tea gar- 



OVERLAND MONTHLY. 




UMEKO-SAN. 



den? Will you?" She seated herself on 

a packing case in front of Kiyowara, the 

embodiment of infantile, thwarted desire. 

He looked at her helplessly. "Aevery 



time you go with beeg Ah-merican crowd 
you hov no more lov' for home you not 
wanting learn be skillful an' exper'enced. 
By-and-bye we go aht thaht poor-house/' 

The shoe-maker frowned so ominously 
that TJmeko-San set the packing case a 
few feet back, then crawled upon it again. 

A smile began to play about her lips. 
"But to-night only Jap-an-ese invited aht 
thaht tea garden. No Ah-merican peo- 
ples come." She held her small, shapely 
hands up, moving them forward as though 
pushing back an objectionable crowd. 
Then she leaned towards him, smiling co- 
quettishly. "You take me aht thaht lovely 
place?" 

"You know what I taell all times." He 
spoke in a sad tone of voice. "Most all 
United States Jap-an-ese they are no 
more Jap-an-ese.' ' He half rose from his 
seat to brandish with fierce disapproval 
the shoe he was mending. 

Umeko-San's eyes were alive with ad- 
miration and defiance when she answered: 

"They have good sense. They all times 
adoapting Ah-merican costoms they all 
times wearing Ah-merican clo'es they all 
times cotching Ah-merican ideas !" 

If Kiyowara's prolonged groan signified 
the measure of his contempt for Ameri- 
can customs and dress and ideas, then it is 
not surprising that Umeko-San should 
have made such amazing haste to say with 
impressive emphasis: 

"Ah-merican peoples have the most 
beautifullest costoms, an' clo'es and ideas 
in the world ! Say ! Will you take me aht 
thaht tea-garden 'mong all those, our 
co'ntrymen from Jap-an ?" 

"You cahn go with Hana-San," he 
said, holding his head up stiffly. "I don' 
care I will work hard aht Mr. Adam 
shoes." 

TJmeko-San laughed gaily as she scram- 
bled to the floor. "You not so very bahd," 
she was pulling the door of the shop to af- 
ter her, "not so very bahd for a per- 
son that will naever lov' the co'ntry of his 
adoaption." 

The tea-garden in the handsome private 
grounds sloped down to the lake. It was 
lighted by hundreds of gaudily-colored 
electric lights. Here was scenic entrance- 
ment never to be forgotten by Umeko-San. 
How delightful to watch her transplanted 
countrymen ! They were pacing back and 



"UMEKO SAN." 



34; 



forth along the exceedingly narrow paths; 
crossing doll-like bridges, and climbing 
miniature steps cut in tiny mountains of 
rock. But what pleased her most was to 
note how aggressively Americanized they 
had become. Ah ! These were the new 
kind of people Japanese still but a 
hundred years in advance of the old-fash- 
ioned type. The very walk of these little 
men and women was a reproach to the old 
slow-going order of things. 

After she and her friend and her 
friend's two small children had strolled 
into every nook and cranny, large enough 
for a foothold, they took seats on a bench 
which circled a warped, crooked old cy- 
press tree. A half dozen paper lanterns 
dangled above their heads set in motion by 
a gentle breeze from the lake. 

Umeko-San made a picture which fitted 
into her surroundings as perfectly as the 
dwarf pine tree growing in the blue vase 
at the other side of the path. She was as 
dainty in her peach-colored costume with 
its salmon obi as some bit of art work 
on a painted fan. Her face was lit up 
with childish pleasure; and a soft blur of 
red paint on her cheeks and lips made her 
eyes blacker and brighter even than nature 
had made them. 

"There is my hosban's friend, Satsu- 
moto-San," Hana-San said, "that one so 
extra neat. How you do to-night?" 

A young Japanese as trig as a brand- 
new yacht stepped aside and lifted his hat 
in a brisk manner. He wore a short sack 
coat of light tweed; trousers wide at the 
hip*, and an infinitessimal tie. From his 
In-cast pocket the ends of three enormous 
cigars protruded. 

Hana-San motioned to a seat between 
her and TJmeko-San. The young man 
bustled into it with a self-centered and im- 
portant air. Then for a few seconds he 
gn/cd with open admiration through his 
glasses at Umeko-San. 

"Have you ladies been aht thaht tea- 
house ?" he inquired. "Permeet me escort 
you there." 

He rose .to lead the way. The party 
filed across a bamboo bridge which curved 
upward like a section of a wheel. The 
sharp sound of trickling water could be 
hoard through the confused patter and 
thud of feet on the gravel paths beyond. 

"How thaht tea-house is pretty !" Ume- 




"nOW THAHT GIRL MUS' BE HAPPY, 
DRESS LIKE AH-MERICAN PEOPLES." 

ko-San exclaimed with enthusiasm. En- 
tering the bamboo pavilion, the man and 
women seated themselves on bamboo 
benches. The children ran towards a 



346 



OVERLAID MONTHLY. 



large circular opening in the earth wall 
forming one side of the tea-house. This 
opening was the mouth of a metallic-lined 
shaft. Suddenly the air of "The Star- 
Spangled Banner" was heard, evidently 
coming from some distant music-box. The 
children laughed with delight. 

" 'Tis the star-spangled banner ; oh, long 

may it wave 
O'er the land of the free and the home of 

the brave!" 

b 

Satsumoto quoted solemnly. He waved 
his right arm aloft as he had often seen 
street orators do in the City Hall square. 

Hana-San laughed softly. The words 
lagged so far behind the music ! 

"I lov' the co'ntry of my adoption for 
maeny reasons," he said, addressing him- 
self to the attentive and eloquent eyes of 
Umeko-San, "for very maeny reasons, but 
chiefly because aevery-boady has so moch 
freedom. The gov-er'-ment an' the laws 
are moadern an' full of the spirit of jos- 
tice." 

The light, tinkling musical notes had 
died away; and with their cessation the 
children ran, one pursuing the other, out 
of the tea-house. Hana-San followed them 
with awkward haste. The sound of foot- 
steps was lost after the mother and child- 
ren had crossed the bamboo bridge. 

"Have you lived -aht United States 
loang time ?" ITineko-San asked bashfully. 

"For several years. I lov' the spirit of 
the peoples. They naever get in the rut 
like con-serv-a-tive peoples must, an' do. 
They deal fairly an' squarely with aevery 
wan man an' woman alike. The test of 
civi'zation aevery wan knows is the status 
of woman." 

Umeko-San pitied herself almost to the 
point of tears as a mental vision of her 
daily life rose to float before her bewil- 
dered eyes. What had she to expect from 
the colorless level of days that lay 
stretched out before her? They were 
certain to be as empty of interest as a 
field of sand. 

Satsumoto pursued his subject with a 
grandiloquent air : 

"Take the in-fer'-ority of our Jap-an- 
ese eostoms. Whata sahd fate awaits the 
widow no sweet con-so-la-tion for her 
aevery thing is for the mon he may even 



di-vorce an' morry with another at h 
wheem an' fancy. Thaht is a most on- 
jos' state of affairs most onjost." E 
shook his head so severely that his glasses 
fell dangling against his polka-dotted tan 
waist-coat. He took them up delicately 
and set them close .to his brightly gleam- 
ing eyes. 

"But in this co'ntry," he resumed with 
dignity and a slightly embarrassed air, 
"woman's con-di-tion is the 'best in all 
the world. She has the same rights she 
cahn di-vorce him he cahn di-vorce her 
mon an' woman, if you please excuse 
my liddle joke, cahn change pardners!" 

He was delighted with the soft gurgle 
of her laughter; quite charmed at her 
quick appreciation of wit. She, for her 
part, had seized upon a truth in the jest 
which harmonized with the drift of her 
desires, and she laughed because of an 
impulse which brought color and warmth 
to her face. To her childish imagination 
there appeared a rift of golden hope in 
the sombre gray cloud of her life. 

Down through the shaft came the 
music, faint and metallic, of "Under the 
Bamboo Tree." To Umeko-San it com- 
municated a joyous gayety, which made 
her spring up to welcome Hana-San and 
the children with an excess of cordiality 
that Hana-San noted with a cold reserve. 
She received it with a laugh that was 
more than half sarcasm. Umeko-San, all 
unconscious, took the droll baby girl by 
both hands and swung her round and 
round until the child fell to the ground, 
laughing hysterically. 

Hana-San dragged her to her feet. 

"Why I should stay here? I going 
home now." 

Satsumoto rose with much -show of 
ceremonious politeness. He led the way 
back into the garden. The little group 
crept along, each picking his steps care- 
fully by the edge of a bank of wet plants, 
which wound about a pond. The pleas- 
ure seekers halted a moment by a bronze 
stork with a sapphire light in his long 
beak. Two of the party gazed with de- 
light at the fairyland about them. The 
air had grown chilly. Umeko-San felt 
the pin-pricks on her face, which she 
knew was the fog rolling in from the 
Pacific. She followed admiringly in the 
wake of Satsumoto, noting that he walked 



"UMEKO SAN." 



347 



r ith the air and carriage of an Ameri- 
an. 

She whispered to herself, "He is a per- 
ect gen-tle-man." 

And this thought occurred to her again 
hen several blocks beyond the tea-gar- 
en, he assisted the others onto the elec- 
ric car, standing for a moment on the 
;ep to pay their fares. There he raised 
is hat to them with a gesture of defer- 
ntial respect more than Oriental. In 
is parting look was a tenderness too par- 
ially directed to arouse any enthusiasm 
n the 'breast of Hana-San. 

A few weeks later, Kiyowara was clean- 
ng a lamp chimney. His thoughts were 
gloomy and disconcerting. Did not 
jUmeko-San waste all her days with her 
t'riend, Hana-San? Was she not always 
ill at ease in his presence now; and al- 
Iways inventing some absurd subterfuge 
|to escape it? She was in the habit of 
leaving the shop with a merry smile, and 
coming back to it with strangely dis- 
tracted eyes. It was embittering to reflect 
that every minute spent with him was ob- 
viously so much time thrown away. 

His fingers shook when he replaced the 
lamp chimney. And they were still trem- 
bling as he walked to the door and looked 
mi