Newspaper Page Text
FOURTH PAGE
THE SUNNY SOUTH
AUGUST 30, 1902
Angel of Piety Flat
By IZOLA L. FORRESTER.
the best one on the Flat.”
pressions.
“But she*<
he added.
“Jack always wanted the best,” she
said, merrily. “What a boy he is, isn’t
be, Mr—”
"Chadwick,” said Put, sedately. "Put
ney Chadwick, anywhere on earth but
here. I’m Just Put on the Flat.”
"I don’t remember the name, and Jack
told me of lots of the boys in his let
ters.”
Put nodded and studied the pattern
on ;he Indian blanket.
"Did you find the pail of water all
right?” he asked, mildly.
"It was delicious. So cool and fresh.
WOULD have been differ
ent if she hadn't looked
like one, biit when the
stage drove up to head
quarters tent, that spring
morning, and Len Mason
helped her out, little Put
called her Angel, just on
the strength of general
appearances, and the name
clung.
It was a first impression.
One of the specialties of
Piets* Flat was first im-
Sometimes they were vivid.
There was once a man who rode in from
somewhere. He wore an alpaca coat,
carried a kodak, and looked at Piets* Flat
through eyeglasses. One day he kicked a
dr.g. It was little Put’s dog. The third
day after Angel came, Put took her |
across the wash and showed here where
we dropped the kodak man. down into
the river bed. It was one of the Flat’s
first Impressions.
"Did he die?” asked Angel, and the re
gret and marvelous tenderness of her
gray eyes made little Put hunger after
the slaughter of the kodak man, that he
might tell the tale of gory vengeance and
see her weep.
"No,” he said, regretfully. "We drop
ped him easy. I did it myself, the same
way he did the dog, you know. He just
had to take another way back home.
That was all. It was a good dog."
Flung out into the heart of the wil
derness was an extra ridge of wilder wil
derness, with the giant cacti upsprlnging
on *ho edge of the desert like a thorny
barrier between it and the outer world.
A few men had ventured beyond the bar
rier and pitched their tents on the ridge
and called It Piety Flat. Incidentally,
a cross the wash they struck copper In the
foothills and they lived and worked and
hoped with the promise of the future lur
ing them on.
There was sand and tents and more
sand and lizards, and a little more sand,
and then nothing until you struck the
rl\*er and could look up at the ragged
purple line of the foothills stretched out
against the western sky.
Nothing much happened. Sometimes
there came a sunset, so glorious that it
made little Put get out his mandolin and
go mad until star time came and we put
him to bed gently. There was the stage
from Florence three times a week. Some
times there was a sudden flush of excite
ment over on the other side of the wash,
where the copper diggings stabbed the
hillside. Little Put or some one else had
hit a new* run and was celebrating. The
celebrations usually lasted ten minutes,
then we woke up again and went back
to grubbing. The stage and sunsets were
perpetual. The celebrations were acci
dental. So was the Angel.
Put said she was beautiful that day
when she faced us all. It had been over
a year since any of us had viewed angels,
and we agreed with Put. Her hair wasn’t
any special color, just fluffy and undecid
ed, and the deep soft brown gold tha£,
the frost brings to the cottonwoods on
the hills In October. There was a long
wavering knot of pale blue ribbon, tied
sailor fashion, at the collar of her white
shirt waist. We wondered why all the
other angels in our hearts had never
thought to wear blue ribbons. It was an- 7
other Impression, Out we were glad little
Put had called her Angel.
"Isn’t Jack Raymond here?” she asked,
and someway she looked at little Put.
We felt for him. It was the toughest
proposition he had ever faced. At that
moment he bore all Piety Flat on his I
shoulders and answered for it.
"He was here," said little Put, encour
agingly.
The Angel’s lips did not tighten or com-
press, they did a little act all their own j see. and even when he told
that would have wrung the heart of a •
haste. She did not see the point, but was
jubilant over securing Sun Dog’s picture,
and he let the matter drop, for little Put
was wise in these ways In spite of his
twenty-four years and bear^ess jaws; but
two days later he made a mistake. He
warned the Angel not to ride beyond the
wash without an escort
"Why?"
Little Put scorned to argue. Besides he
didn’t want to worry her, he said.
The Angel stood in the doorway of
Jack’s cabin and watched him, as he
walked leisurely back to the diggings. It
was 9 in the morning. There had been
a helter-skelter shower for five minutes.
“The body of little Put lay at the feet of the Angel."
dead Apache. A little pursing up of the
special center nerves, a little wistful
drooping of the side curves and the deed
was done. Piety Flat beheld and bowed
In adoration. So did little Put.
"But he will be back?”
Put rallied, and there was the red light
of battle in his eye. We knew he would
carry his colors to the death.
"Any day at all. Just struck out a lit
tle farther west to see how the land lay."
"How long has he been gone?”
Put swallowed back the lump in his
throat and smiled reflectively.
"About a week or so.”
The Angel sat her alligator satchel on
the ground and pondered.
"It’s awfully queer,” she said at last.
"He knew I was coming. I wrote him
two weeks ago. and he sent back word
just when to come, so I came of course.”
Put laboriously marked a star out in
the sand with the toe of his boot, then
he asked gently:
"Mrs. Raymond?”
The girl flushed warmly.
"Why, no, of course not I’m Jack’s
sister. Do Hie, don’t you know? Dorothy
Raymond.”
The sand star was obliterated swiftly.
"I suppose,” she added a trifle ner
vously. "I shall have to stay, now I’m
here. And he may be back any day. I
think I had better go to his—his, has he
a t^nt or anything special where I could
stay?”
"Oh, yes. indeed.” Put’s eyes were clear
and bright. Here at least he was on safe
ground. The shadow had shifted for the
moment. He pointed over the flat to
where there was a rise of ground east
ward and a lone cottonwood spread strag
gling houghs above the rough hoards of
a new shack.
"That’s his place.’ ’he said, in a tone
of triumphant pride, which only Piety
Flat could understand. "You’ll find all
his things there, and it's yours just the
lame, you know.”
"Just as he left It?”
"Yes’m. just exactly.” Put said ear
nestly. "We didn’t disturb a thing. I
gues> things are kind of mixed up and
muddled, maybe for you.”
"Oh. T shall soon straighten that out. I
shall love to do that for him. He won’t
know how badly he needed me until he
sees how it all looks when he comes
back. Tomorrow, did you say?"
"Any day. Miss Raymond, any day at
all.” said Put solemnly, and we watched
her in silence as she walked slowly to
ward the new shack under the cotton
wood.
There was a counsel of state held that
night, and little Put .made a speech.
Speeches were one of his strong points.
Piety Flat held that he had many. He
stood on a wooden box up at Eddie Bar
ton’s tent. W e chose that one because
It was farthest from the shack. It was
a great speech. Eddie told him if he j
would write it down for him to learn by j
heart he’d give him Samantha. Put led
Samantha up to the door of the new
shack the next morning and gave her to
the Angel.
"She isn’t real handsome, but you’ll
need her, and she belonged to Jack.”
"She’s a dear.” said the Angel loving
ly. as she stood tall and slim and sweet
as the morning In the doorway and sur
veyed Samantha. "Are all burros like
her?"
"No. she’s a little more so than the
rest." laughed Put. stroking Samantha’s
hide. It was a faded gray color, like the
old soiled Indian blanket he had thrown
around her. and many trips over the hills
through the thorny mesquite growth had
deprived her tail of its natural bushv
glory.! and left worn spots here and
ere on her gray hide like a moth-eaten
tehes on the Indian blanket.
and there was everything here to eat.
I found a box of canned g'oods he had
hidden away under the cornmeal tin. and
the coffee and the crackers.”
"There’s maple sirup in the jug up over
the cornmeal,” Put interrupted, eagerly.
"And the bacon’s hanging right back of
it on a nail.”
“Is it? He’s an extravagant boy, isn’t
he? But then, there is the mine. I sup
pose you are all budding copper kings,
aren’t you?”
"Oh, yes,” said Put. heartily.
"Then I must be a copper queen. I’ve
been watching you -work over there, ^nd
wondering which was out mine. Jack’s
and mine. T mean. You know,” she went
on. confidently, "when Jack wrote first
for the money, I didn't want to send it
to him. It was all that we had left, you
of the big
strike he had made. It seemed a dreadful
risk to take. I’m not sorry now, though.
Do you know which is our claim, and is
it very rich?”
Little Put looked away from her, and
the lids of his brown eyes narrowly.
There was 'a mosquito settling daintily
on Samantha’s ear. He struck it a blow
that would have felled Samantha, and
his heart was full. He did not know It
was quite as bad as this.
"I guess it must be that last one this
side the break in the ridge,” he said,
steadily.
"Has it a name?”
He nodded.
"Paradise mine. Jack called it.”
That night in the big tent he told us
all which was Angel’s claim, and that
he was going to work it for her until
Jack came back. Then the spirit fell
upon us all. Len Mason lugged his best
side of bacon and a new blanket over
to the sl*iok. and swore Jack had loaned
him bacon when he was starving. Big
Tom Wvndham slipped over one evening
when we couldn’t see him. and left his
pet frying pan on the doorstep, together
with a brand-new oil lamp from Flor
ence that he had flaunted at us for
weeks as a.n evidence of superior civiliza
tion. Little Put was all in at the end of
a week. Eddie Barton gave him a shake-
down in the corner of his tent, and he
never murmured.
"It’s got to be.” he said defiantlv.
when big Tom stood him on his head
and told him not to make too gigantic
a fool of himself. "When she told me
he’d got all her money to buy a mine
with out in this devil’s desert. I didn’t
give a hang rap what happened. She’s
here, and Piety Flat’s got to look out
for her.”
"Until Jack comes back?” asked Tom.
and Put wilted.
"Not until we have to. Tom.” he said,
pleadingly. "Let it go until we just
have to, don't you understand. She be
lieves in him something terrible, and she’s
his sister. Wait until it comes of it
self.”
After the first week she grew worried,
and it was up to little Put to keep her
busy. We made him special deputy and
he worked over time. He taught her how
to ride Samantha, and when that palled
he trotted her down to the river and
southward to the Indian camp and let
her smile on Broken Arrow and his fam
ily of seventeen. She was disappointed.
“They’re picturesque, in a way. and the
blankets are lovely, but they don’t look
as if they had any go to them. Do they
ever wake up?”
"No." said little Put grimly. "But they
have nightmare.”
Then there was her kodak and she shot
everything in the place with it and de
veloped the films herself. But the In
dians kicked every time she pointed it at
them and Put drew the line there.
"It’s only prejudice.” he told her, "but
I they have nightmare over those little
! prejudices. Don’t.”
1 "Only one more.” the Angel begged.
| "If I don’t get a shot at that funny little
! tad over there I shall break the kodak.”
I Put looked, and there in front of one
: of the tepees was a picture, ready posed.
: Broken Arrow's youngest. Sun Dog. stood
in the sunshine staring at them. He was
! knee high to Samantha. A shock-haired,
i ugly dirty, haif-clad statuette in copper.
! and the Angel’s heart went out to the
i heathen. She had caught him on the
film before he moved, but the instant the
; button clicked he let out a yell of terror
• and made for the tepee.
! There was an uneasy movement among
; the Indians around, and Put hurried the
■ two burros on out of the village without
| asking permission.
I "First sign of nightmare.” he said, in
I response to the Angel’s query as to their
scurrying across the flat as if it were
frightened to death over, the possibility
of having to water such a waste, and
leaving a fresh, vague sweetness in its
wake the.t called one from the sand and
alkali to the cool greenness of the hills.
As soon as the figure of little Put had
j disappeared over the yellow ridge, the
Angel went over to Samantha’s side and
deliberately, serenely, with malice afore
thought, set out for -a ride beyond the
wash.
When Put came up at noon for dinner
he missed Samantha from the lone eotton-
wood shade and investigated as special
deputy.
Ten minutes later he rode out_ over
the flat, following the trail of a burro
that led westward. Fourteen miles away
the smoke of the tepees rose straight in
the still noon air. Between lay the
river and hill range, an'd then sand again
ar.d alkali and cactus, and little Put’s
face was puckering and * grim as he
thought of the word he had received from
the Indians concerning a white girl that
dealt in magic and shot death and woe
from a terrible black box, a small black
box that clucked like a snake and wink
ed its eye and let loose a devil among
the tepees.
Just over the hill range he overtook
her, and found that his education in an
gels was as yet incomplete. She was
not grateful. She saw no necessity in
his riding to the rescue. She laughed,
and \t was not a friendly laugh. It was
a laugh of angelic derision, but still Lit
tle Put rode on beside her, and there
fore was he honored by Piety Flat as
one above his kind. The Angel couldn't
rattle him worth a cent.
"It’s perfectly absurd, all this fuss
about a kodak,” she said. "And, even
if it were all true, that they want my
scalp—and, by the way, I don’t blame
them for it—it’s a very nice scalp—do
you know* what I would do?”
Put glanced back over his shoulder.
The hills lay in a low half mcon behind
them. Before was the desert of sun
baked alkali, seamed in great cracks, and
the edges curling upward like scorched
paper In the blinding haze of flashing
sunlight ahead, a few black specks like
ink blocks appeared and vanished, and
reappeared larger than before.
"What do you suppose I’d do?” she
repeated.
"Run, yell or faint,” said Little Put,
and h» whistled under his breath softly.
The Angel smiled, and put back a
whisp of the nut-brown hair that flut
tered lazily across her eyes.
“It isn’t a joke. One doesn’t really do
those things, don’t you know, not when
it’s a funny, little old man like Broken
Arrow*, and those other greasy, half
dead-looking Indians. Why, I’d just take
the camera to pieces, and explain it to
them, logically and practically, and—”
"Turn back to the river.” Little Put
laid his hand on Samantha’s bridle and
jerked her head around. “Where’s that
kodak?" He took it from the supporting
strap around her shoulders, and dropped
it in their tracks. "To keep them busy
for a while,” he explained. "There are
about twenty red gentlemen chasing us
and they all have prejudices. They at
tend to that logically, practically and
otherwise, and God grant it gives us
time to make the river.”
They rode steadily *or half a mile.
The Angel was very quiet. She did not
ever whiten, and he loved ner for that.
It show*ed grit. So did the way she
guided Samantha’s protesting hoofs, when
something whizzled past her ear and dug
a neat round hole in the ground ahead
of them.
Put looked tack.
"They went around the kodak, and
shot at it,” he said, w*ith a grin. "I
wish it had been a bomb. Can you ride
a little faster?”
Samantha answered the question by
stumbling forward on her knees. Put
ught the girl around the waist, and
lifted her back safely.
‘‘They’ve clipped one of her legs,” he
said. "Get on my horse, quick. You
can make the river ail right, and I'll
explain to the red gentlemen.”
They stood side ov side between the
fallen burro and Put’s bay. The Angel
laid b^r hand tenderly on Samantha’s
heaving side.
"You look old. dear,” she said softly.
Then, looking at the group of Indians
riding he.lf a mile behind. "I w*onder
what they’ll do to us. I wish Jack were
here.”
Little Put drew in a long breach and
shut his eyes, as if the sun glare blind
ed him.
“I’ll try to take his place.” he said.
"Will you go?”
"No. I hardly think it worth while.
If they could shoot Samantha, they could
hit me. and I like company. It is better
together, don’t you think so?”
She raised her lashes and looked at
Put. There was no time for explanations
or preparatory* overtures. Little Put took
off his gray slouch hat and kissed her
like a man. and all the world was sun
shine and glory, and the alkali desert a
holy of holies for the shrine of his love.
So it happened that when Broken Arrow
and his men drew* near Put went to meet
them, and he w*as smiling sweetly and be
nignly, and wondering in a rampant
boyish fashion whether It would bring a
quicker finish if he put a bullet between
the old chief’s close set, beady eyes.
But there are points of honor even in
Arizona, and he had been a welcome
guest at Broken Arrow’s tepee, so he
listened in silence to the story of w*hat
the white w*itch had done, and rode back
to the Angel with a five-minute truce.
"They want you.” he said. “The last
one you took, little Sun Dog. you know*,
has been gone since last night.”
"The baby?” she cried, the woman’s
fear and child-love leaping to her eyes.
"Yes. They say you have eaten him,
dear, or given him to the devil in the
black box.” He spoke very gently. "I
can do one of two things. I can turn
around and shoot. It w*ould probably
settle about three of the brutes. The
rest would settle us with variations and
minor chords in about two minutes.”
"What else?”
"We can ride to their camp, and I will
leave you and go for help.”
She thought for a rrfciment.
"Will you please give me one of your
revolvers ?”
It was pure grit. Little Put could have
shouted aloud to the whole world the
courage of his lady fair, as he drew a
small, hammerless Smith & Wesson from
his holster and gave it to her.
"I can get help by dawn,” he said.
"They wouldn’t dare—”
"But if they should,” she smiled up at
him. "Don’t worry. Only when Jack
comes back you mu9t tell him."
Her voice broke a little, and Put safv
there were tears In the eyes that looked
westward, where he had told her Jack
had gone. He looked at his watch. There
were two minutes of the truce limit left.
"Dollie!”
Something in his tone made' her start
slightly. He had never called her by
her name before, and no one but Jack
ever safl Dollie.
"Don’t be angry. You’re brave, you
know. You’re awful brave!” Put dashed
ahead recklessly. He wished they had
told her that first day. He wish^ti she
would not look at him so frightened.
"He—he won’t come back.”
"Jack!”
"He died a week before you came.”
She was white now. The color that
had defied the Indians fled at his words
and her )#mds closed on each other tight
ly. When she spoke her voice was trem
bling.
"Oh, w*hy, why. didn’t you tell me? It
wasn’t kind all these weeks— What did
he die of?”
Put closed his eyes a moment and
prayed for the gift of Beelzebub, as he
remembered the death of Jack Raymond.
The flght at headquarters tent, the quick
shot that settled it all, and Jack’s face
upturned on the floor among the scat
tered cards and broken glasses. It had
been very white, as white as the Angel’s
now, and the two were much alike. As
he looked at her the strength to lie came
to him and he knew all Piety Flat would
stand by him.
"It was fever. He had a chum, and
nursed him first, then took it himself
and died. The chum went away after
wards.” / u
He stopped. That last was true! Af
ter he had fired the shot, Rogers had
made tracks for the Mexican border.
There was no danger of pursuit, though.
No one blamed him.
The Angel drew a long, deep breath.
There was an uneasy movement among
the Indians, and Broken Arrow held up
his hand, palm upward. Put raised his
in answer and turned his horse’s head
toward them.
"But the house, and the mine and
everything”—faltered the Angel.
"They were Jack’;? and mine,” said lit
tle Put. "They are yours now.” He
caught a glimpse of her face and put his
arm around her. "Don’t, dear; don’t feel
like that. He died—like a hero.”
The ride to the tepees was hot and tire
some. Put rode on one of the Indian po
nies, beside Broken Arrow. The Angel
was on the bay the other side. Her face
was sad. Not for fear of the future, but
for grief over Samantha, left to die with
in sight of the river. Some way the other
news seemed like the half-forgotten
memory of a dream. Put argued and
threatened. The chief’s face never
changed its expression.
Just before you reach the Indian camp
there is the zig-zag bed of a dried up
creek to cross. The ground is yellow and
oozy like quicksand, and strange, shy
snakes and lizards slip swiftly out of
sight as the horses slide and scramble up
the soft, slippery sides.
Put stopped midway on the slope, and
swung off his pony to examine a mark
In the clay. It was a slight, little impres
sion. Five small toes and a heel, as if a
young ape had stepped there. Put stood
upright and called to Broken Arrow, and
showed him the marks.
"It points east to the desert,” he said.
"The child has wandered. It is no witch
craft. If you lose a young coyote, and it
runs away, is it blafck devils?”
The chief spread out his hands.
"Where is he?”
Put pointed to the east, where the great
desert spread out under the hot sunshine.
"If I follow and bring him back, will
you believe?”
Broken Arrow nodded slowly.
"If he still lives.”
Put hesitated. He pushed his hat back
restlessly on his head, put his hands :n
his pockets, and stared at the chief, and
his face was troubled.
"I want until sunrise,” he said. "I’ll
come back then, unless I’m lying around
dead out yonder somewhere. And say,
we’ve been friends, you know. That day
a year ago, when four of your boys stole
our horses, and we caught them. Remem
ber? Big Tom was going to swing them
up on the dead cottonwood, and let you
know we objected, and I fixed things up
for you, and one was your own boy. Re
member?”
The old man looked at the warm, eager,
boyish face, and nodded grimly.
"Then I ought to have some kind of a
pull with you, don’t you know. You owe
me for that yet. and I’m going to call you
now. Just be good and fair to her until
sunrise. Don’t let them devil her yonder
in the camp all night. Wait until sun
rise.”
Broken Arrow put out his hand.
"Until sunrise," he said, and added:
"Your squaw?”
Put flushed crimson.
"Not yet, old man. Some day, please
God.” and undgr his breath as he sprang
to the saddle. "If I live to see the sun
rise.”
They would not let him speak with her.
He raised his hat and waved it and she
laid her hand on her breast, where the
revolver lay, and they understood. Then
he rode away slowly toward the east, fol
lowing the track of Sun Dog. and Broken
Arrow took her to his own tepee and set
a guard on it until sunrise.
And all night the Angel sat there, sleep
less and waiting, with only the crackle of
the watch fire to break the stillness or
the sudden sharp wail of a mother
mourning for her lost baby boy, in the
next tepee.
The moonlight slipped through the rift
where the flap of the skins closed the en
trance. She watched It with a kind of
fascination, and when it faded and turn
ed gray and she could trace the outlines
of the tent poles over her head, she drew
out the revolver and laid her head back
on the blanket of the couch and tried to
think of something beside the kiss of
Little Put.
Broken Arrow played fair and true.
Not until the sun had risen a man’s
height above the jagged horizon line of the
desert did he order the watch fires
trampled out and the tepee opened. And
at the threshold he paused, for there was
no terrified, white-faced, witch woman to
greet him, but a girl who slept in peace
as a child and smiled, and he thought of
Put’s last words and turned back to the
east again for a last look.
And there was great stillness among
the group of gaunt, half-nude figures
standing in the red glow* of the sunrise,
for something moved like a wounded ani
mal on the face of the desert, and w*hen
it had reached the edge where the giant
cacti threw up great thorny spikes it fed
forward. and Broken Arrow bade them go
and bring back what w*as left of little
Put. ]
It w*as the shriek of the woman who had
mourned that awakened the Angel, and
she prayed in her heart, and kissed the
revolver and rose to face the sunrise. But
W’hen the tepee opened there were no cries
of vengeance to greet her, no leaping fires
of torture, only a half-clad Indian woman
crooning and weeping over a starved-
eyed, frightened hoy child on her knees,
and before her the body of little Put lay
at the feet of the Angel.
The rest is on record at Piety Flat in
the hearts of the boys who rode out at
midnight to find the lost ones, or wipe
every Indian within 20 miles off the face
of the earth. They searched the river
bottom, and the w*ashes and the hills,
and found only the body of a dead bur
ro and a smashed kodak, but w*hen the
sun rose they entered Broken Arrow’s
village, revolvers in hand, a troop of
sinewy, sunburned, resolute American
■boys, looking for their own.
That night a memorial jubilee was
held up at the headquarter’s tent. They
lifted Put upon a table, and he broke
the news, while the Angel smiled sadly
at the eager, joyous faces of Jack’s
chums.
"I found the dirty little beggar out un
der a cactus shade, sprawled out like
a ll2zard, fast asleep,” said Put. "It
was the getting back that broke me up.
I had to leave the horse back there
somewhere when he fell, and rolled on
my foot, and It was hard dragging along
with dawn chasing you up, and a squall
ing starved Indian cub hanging to your
back. And that’s all, boys, except that
we fixed it up all right with Samantha
as witness. She’s going to be Mrs. Put
ney Chadwick, and I’ll try to take Jack's
place.”
That was the cue. Put had passed
the word around when we first reached
camp, and every one was ready for the
memorial service. Put led. He told how
Jack Raymond had come out with Sim
Rogers among the first bunch to hit
the Flat; how his hope and jolly good
fellowship had kept the rest alive and
how we all loved him.
Then big Tom started to tell how Sim
had caught the fever, the horrible insid-
uous fever that steals like poisonous
quicksilver through the veins of a man,
and leaves him as the fever in India
leaves its thousands.
"We were cowards.” said Tom husk
ily. "We left the boy alone over under
the cottonwood, and Ja^k took him
home and nursed him all through th*
night.”
"He battled with the fever,” put in
Len Mason with gloomy emphasis.
"And beat it,” concluded Tom. "And
then before we knew it he was down
himself, and he died like a hero in little
Put’s arms.”
"Put!” The Angel rose, and stretched
out her hands to him. "Put, and you
never told me that.”
We stood back to let them by. Put
limped, and she made him lean on her
arm. It was awfully pretty, we thought.
At the dOGr they looked back. The An
gel’s face was wet with tears, and Put’s
was a study in happy misery.
"I shall ride .to Florence tomorrow,
boys,” he said. "And I’ll bring one
back with me. You’re all invited to the
wedding.”
Piety Flat cheered. Gathered en masse
its citizens howled over the joy of little
Put, and danced for the honor of his fair
lady until they were out of hearing.
Then tnere was a strange, dead silence.
Big Tom broke it. He gently moved
the box on which the Angel had sat
over to the doorway, where he could
see the stars. We watcTTed him medita
tively take out his bag of Seal of North
Carolina, plug cut, and fill his pipe bowl
with its golden brown treasure. Then he
spoke:
"And he was the dog-gonedest, mean
est, white-livered, lying cheat of a kid
coyote that ever came over the desort,
and got a bullet in the right place.” he
said softly, as he passed the bag on to
the rest. "Only I’m glad we urged Sim
to move on across the border, for her
(Copyright, 1902.)
RILEY STORY
will appear in
THE SUNNY SOUTH
OF SEPTEMBER 27th.
JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY has coinitr5lbut=
ed 114 short stories to The Slummy South. Om
Sept. 20th “The Hound of the BaskervilEes,”
by Br. Boyle, the most popular serial ever
published by a Southern weekly, will reach
a thrilling conclusion. In the next current
issue will begin the publication off Mr.
Riley’s short stories. .....
T HESE are typical American tales, touched with the
geutle humor and scintillating imagination of this
foremost man in American letters. People have up
to this time been held willing captives by the music and
delicately portrayed human nature ot Mr. Riley’s verse.
These same qualities make of his short stories veritable
oases in the desert of dull, present-day literature. . Here
are their titles—every one of gcoJ, healthy American
origin.
Jamesey. Eccentric /Wf* Clarke*
An Adjustable Lunatic. ^ Boy of Zeeny.
Tad Mrs. Miller.
Champion Checker Player
Remarkable Man. of Ameriky.
A Rest Egg. 4 Wild Irishman.
A Tale of a Spider. A Guilded Roll.
Where is Mary Alice Smith? At Zekesbury.
Abundant Tales With vSpice
of Life
Chicago Letter to New York Telegram:
With a market basket in one hand, a
gallon bucket of kerosene in the other,
and bearing prominently displayed a
badge of authority from the health de
partment, each of the six milk inspectors
assigned to inspect vegetables and fruit
in the Ghetto district of Chicago wander
ed up and down the streets of the west
side Tuesday.
Whenever an inspector came to a fruit
stand or a peddler’s wagon from which
sales of vegetables were being made, he
eyed the merchandise keenly. If it was
rotten or moldy, or in any way unfit for
use as food, there was no hesitation
about the inspector's course.
After securing a sample to show his
superiors and to show in defense for his
action, he raised his bucket of oil and
saturated the stock with it.
"Orders of the health department," an
swered the inspector calmly in response
to all inquiries. "That stuff is not fit to
eat.” ,
The power o*f the city could not be com
batted; dealers knew that well, and not
one of the inspectors met more than ver
bal resistance. Cabbages, tomatoes, cel
ery, egg plant, melons, temons and plums
were drenched with the kerosene.
"There is no doubt that typhoid fever
and other diseases are communicated
through dust,” said Dr. W. K. Jaques,
of the health department, who is directing
the crusade. "Not a peach or a pear or
a plum or any other fruit ought to be
eaten without being washed first in un
contaminated water.”
No Radical Climatic Change.
New York Evening Post; "There is
nothing so untrustworthy as unaided hu
man recollection.” once remarked the
late John G. Nieolay, wbo helped to
write fhe Lincoln memoirs. He referred
particularly to historic controversies, and
intended to discredit those observations
which had not been put in black and
white at the moment of the occurrence
of the event, but instead had been al
lowed to grow. A forcible illustration
of his truth is found in the popular esti
mates of the weather. It was only last
year that we had a summer so hot as to
break the records of the weather bureau,
and yet this summer the countrymen
ger of an official observation being
quoted. In Europe accurate records have
been kept of the dates of the opening of
navigation of streams at certain points
for several centuries, and it is shown
that, covering a long period of years,
there has been no appreciable change.
The first twenty years of record, com
pared with the totals of the last twenty
years, give the same result.
Observations made by geologists con
vince them, and 1 Professor Moore, of the
weather bureau, that in our lake regions
no changes of climate have taken place
for several thousand years. Ossian Guth
rie, the noted civil engineer, says that
"the same variety of trees now growing
in the lake regions were growing soon
after the glacial epoch.”
The records of the weather bureau
show that the maximum of heat record
ed in the United States was in Colorado.
| at Mammoth Tank, a station In the
I desert, where in 1887 the thermometer re
corded, in the shade. 128 degrees Fahren
heit. Again, in 1884, 124- degrees was
reached in the same place.
Professor Moore advises people not to
stand in doorways or at open windows
during severe electric storms. The neigh
borhoods of trees and fireplaces are to be
avoided. On the other hand, he says it
will do little or no good to wrap up In- 4r"
/eather bed. Alarm, in case of lightning,
is quite superfluous. Remember that one
who lives to see the lightning flash need
not concern himself about the possibility
of harm from that flash. Also recollect
that heaven has more thunders to alarm
than thunderbolts to punish. It serves
also to calm the spirits tc think that
even though struck by lightning, the con
sequences are not always fatal; ex*en If
stunned, and apparently dead, the victim
may be resuscitated. Frofossor Moore
says not to cease efforts at artificial
respiration and stimulation for an hour.
Lightning stuns, but does not often kill.
Damages for Noise.
Philadelphia Ledger: It has been de
cided by the superior court that the Bos
ton Elevated Railway Company is re
sponsible to abutting proprty holders for
any damage they may suffer from the
nuisance of noise in the operation of the
road. It appears that the din made by
the running of the trains of the Boston
hereabout are saying that "the climate | Elevated Railway Company is much
is changing.’’ and specifically charging
that "the summers are not what they
used to be.”
The climate remains the same, as will
be proved bv the truthful records of
scientific appliances. There are periods
during which it varies; times when cold
or rain or heat prevails to a larger ex
tent than the normal. But when the
whole is summed up, covering a reason
ably long period of time, it is found that
the frost is just where it used to be, and
the cold or hot or the rainy periods are
no more or less frequent than when
grandfather was a boy.
Thomas Jefferson was a victim to the
popular delusion, and, writing in 1771,
said: "A change of climate is taking
place very sensibly. Both heats and
colds are becoming more moderate with
in the memory of even the middle-aged.
Snows are less frequent and less deep.
They do not often lie below the moun
tains more than one, two or three days,
and very rarely a week. The snows are
remembered to have been formerly fre
quent, deep, and of long continuance. The
elderly inform me that the earth used to
be covered about three months in every
year.”
But in those days there was no weather j
bureau, and the "elderly” were free to ;
give their recollections without the dan-
Safe From Summer Complaints
All mammas, and papas too for that matter, dread the heat of summer with
it’s danger for the little folks, especially the babies. It is simply heart-breaking
to read year after year about the great death rate among children caused by
-— the summer’s heat. Yet it is easy to protect the infants against all
summer complaints, because we know that all these fearful perils have
their beginning in stomach and bowel troubles, and we have a perfect
family medicine that will keep the delicate machinery in a child’s
body clean, regular and in healthy working order in the hottest
weather—CASCARETS Candy Cathartic. The plump, bouncing,
crowing baby shown here is a CASCARET baby. He feels that way-
winter and summer. Nursing mammas take a CASCARET at bed
time, and it makes their mother’s milk mildly purgative and keeps
the baby just right. Older children like to take the fragrant, sweet
little candy tablet, and are safe from colic, gripes, diarrhoea, summer
rash, prickly heat and all the mean troubles that summer brings with it.
Be*t for the Bowels. All druggists, xoc, 25c, 50c. Never sold In bulk.
The genuine tablet stamped C. C. C. Guaranteed to cure or your
money back. Sample and booklet free. Address
Sterling Remedy Co., Chicago or New York. ’ 555
greater than that created by the trains
of the Chicago or New York elevated sys
tems. The Boston company is seeking for
some device by which the grievous nuis
ance may be abated. If property owners
can recover compensation for injuries re
sulting from the noisy movement of the
trains the company will incur a vast
liability. The seriousness of the issue Is
apparent, and the company will endeavor
to secure a reversal of the decision. The
noise nuisance occasioned by the opera
tion of elevated trains is an intolerable
infliction, for which the law. as heretofore
interpreted, furnishes no relief. The pres
ence of the very high buildings which
have been erected in the cities in recent
years. it is suggested by The Boston
Herald, increases reverberations and in
tensifies street sounds. Theoretically, the
law provides a remedy for every wrong
suffered by the individual in his person
or property, but a noisy railroad seems
to he beyond the reach of legal remedy.
The depreciation in the market value of
a, property injured by the noises of such
a construction as the Boston elevated
street railway may be very great, yet 'he
rule, as laid down in cases which do not
seem to be dissimilar to the Boston case,
has been that such losses and Injuries do
not constitute sufficient ground for an ac
tion for damages. The Boston decision is a
departure from former decisive rulings on
the subject. Should the finding he sustain- f*
ed in the higher tribunal, noise will be- r
come a highly important element in the
cost of operating elevated street railways
in that city. In Pennsylvania it has been
repeatedly held that no damages can be
reco\ ered for the noise made by the
operation of a railroad. It was held by
Justice Faxson. in the case of Marchant
vs. Pennsylvania Railroad Company, that
the constitution makes no provision for
such injuries as noise, smoke, dust, dirt
and vibration incident to and resulting
from the operation and use of a railway.
In this instance the railroad was con
structed on its own property, but similar
lulings have been made respecting rail
roads constructed upon streets.
Washington Times: The baseball con-
Ijngent in congress is quite large. Repre
sentative William Alden Smith, who is a
crank on baseball, says that there are at
least 100 members who would rather see
a baseball game than eat dinner. Certain
it is that on the opening day of the sea
son in \\ ashington fifty representatives,
headed by Speaker Henderson and Chair
man Payne, were in the grand stand. Du
, si 5- Culberson, of Texas, ami
Dietrich, of Nebraska, are just as wild
over the game as Senator Kittridge, and
deal 8 un ^ erst00< ^ *° saying » great
U6TINCT PRUff