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APRIL It, 1903 VUE SUNNY SOUTH FIFTH PAGE Bits of Romance Under Frowning; ^ ^ Mountain Peaks Easter in the Texas Panhandle By CLIFFORD SMYTH. Writ.cn .or fimy ••'•a—Mx?*’ OR all their alluring beauty, there is hardship enough in our southern mountains —fierce struggles with na ture, fiercer encounters with man. It is not al ways springtime in that picturesque region. The matchless verdure that crowns those gleaming summits today and softens them, with a touch un known to artist’s brush, to the hazy depths of overarching blue, is a garment worn only for a season. Beneath the blossom ing vines and the trees bending under the weight of their new foliage, are hidden the deep gashes and scars of. giant tempt- rsts. The creeks that slip through shining meadows and leap down green-clad ravines have been swollen torrents, de stroying everything before them, or glit tering prisons of snow and ice that ren dered the forests impassable. With man, too, as with nature, in this sunny region, ihere has been no lack of the wintry background of crime and violence of tilt fascinating picture of primitive simplicity presented to the traveler. At tbe juncture of Tennessee, Kentucky and Virginia is a spot markedly charac terized by this romantic mingling of light and shadow peculiar to the moun tains. It is a place famous over all others for deeds of violence in a region whose reputation in that respect is per haps the most unsavory of any in east ern Kentucky. Just a year ago there stood here a long, low, shabby-looking building, made partly of rough-hewn logs, partly of boards, but strong and solid throughout, and inclosed in a high stockade of heavy timbers. Today part of the stockade still stands, but within it there are only piles of charred lum ber. a battered safe mingled with heaps of broken bottles and casks, and the stonework of what was evidently a strong, substantial building. The whole is desolate and repulsive enough, as be fits the ruins of the old Turner Quarter House. Nearly every one knows a part, at least, of the history of the place. The Quarter House was something in the nature of a “blind tiger,’’ on a large scale, put up for the benefit of the miners on the Ten nessee border. It was situated 1 miles from the town of Middlesboro, in the heart of the forest, and from its isolated position remote from any possibility of in terference by the town authorities, it be ta me the scene of the wildest excesses. More than one man who passed over its grimy threshold disappeared altogether from the haunts of the living, and by those who are familiar with the neigh borhood and claim to have kept count of such grewsome matters, a tally of sixty murders is credited to this gloomy hos telry. Surrounded by such a wilderness of uninhabited mountains and with such wild spirits for its patrons, almost any lawlessnes could have been perpetrated with impunity, and there is thus' no reason to believe that the estimate of victims is excessive. For years the great trees of the forest looked down on the most unrestrained orgies, of the rough mountaineer 1 type, within the inclosure of the rude stock ade. The jilace became a byword far and near, but instead of decreasing its pop ularity, this uncanny reputation added to the number of those who sought their recretion here, until it finally came about that the purveyors of similar amusement in Middlesboro found that their trade was being seriously injured by this moun- By Alice McGoWan, Author of "The Last Word” Ruins of the Quarter House with the old cabin on the hill sanguinary family “wars’’ that the an nals of Kentucky can show. This siege of the old Quarter House, the rallying point of one branch of the Turners, was the last flaring up from this smouldering fire of hostility and may mark the end of the reigr^ of Turner hatred in this legion. The light was certainly deadly enough to be set down as the last act in the series of Bell county tragedies, al though if dare-devil valor could have availed anything this night struggle might have been the first of many tierce encounters, for with the defenders of the Quarter House triumphant there would have been a victory without peace. But they fought against odds, and when morning came there was nothing but a heap of ashes and debris to mark the site of the old building—a heap of ashes and the bullet-p.creed bodies of six mountaineers who had fallen in the at tempt to hold their ill-favored fort against its enemies. Today, however, the ruins of this no torious mountain tavern have only a divided interest for the traveler. It is the touch of human winter to the scene, but right above the gloomy spot is the fleet ing suggestion of spring that lends such charm and color to these homely wilder ness chronicles. It is nothing but an old mountaineer cabin, dingy and comfortless, hunched up, like some rabbit run to earth and relying on the clustering trees and leaves about it for protection. When l came along to photograph the Quarter House ruins, the door of the crazy little shack above me was swung to on its leather hinges. But doubtless there were am ple crannies between the gaping logs for the occupants of the cabin to see what was going on below—and a moun taineer's curiosity seldom lurks behind bolted doors. When they came out there were three of them—an old man whose long white bair gave him the pose of a patriarch, his wife with her stubby pipe in her mouth and her head swathed in a royal bandanna, for all the world like a witch, and then a girl, their granddaughter, as 1 found out afterwards, looking at me - back ter Tennessy, he reekined.’’ As the first and only settler there he had seen all there was to see of the Quarter House from the beginning to the end of its fateful career, and although he admitted there had been some “devilmint," he would never consent to relinquishing his old cabin and going elsewhere. “Them thar fellers as kem ter th’ Quota “I'm blowea If it didn't look to me like he reached that arm out seven feet' Where Old Shell’s treasure Is supposed to be buried lain rival, and a military expedition, un- ler the guise of a sheriff's posse, was ?ent to clean up the Infested place. 'I here, were twenty men in the attacking party, limed. of course, with Krag-Jorgensons. md under the shelter of night and the surrounding rocks and trees, they crept •p to the gateway of the Turner strong- mid and demanded its surrender in the lame of the law. For answer there was i volley of oaths followed by a scattcr- ng fire of pistol shots, and then the storm began. , Although it was ostensibly the fight ot luthorlty against lawlessness, it was ■eallv the saloon element of the city in contact with the lover of Saloon El«- moonshine in the moun- ment nor , was „ Moon* lacking: a spice of leuciai ihiners in animosity in the com J ja t ; Bloody fun the Turners of Bell Clash county for the last two iecades have been arrayed in factions me against the other in one of the most SMILES lood Cheer and Good Food Go To gether. Improper feeding is the source of most uman ails. Sick people don’t laugn ueh. It is the healthy and strong wno ■e the sunny side of everything. Pure, ientlfic food will correct mo%t ailments nd bring laughter and good cheer in ace of sickness and gloom. The wife of a physician of Dayton. <J., tys: “Before J had finished the first ickage of Ofape-Nuts, which I got at le urgent request of a friend of mine iveral months ago, I was astonished t nd I was less nervous over small mat- ■rs and worried less over large ones, ughed more readily and was at an mes more calm and contented than i id ever been in my life. I found also lat the hollow- places in my neck and ioulders were filling out and that as- tnished me as 1 had always been ver> lin, as women with starved nerves are ot to be. - “After a time I discontinued the use or rape-Nuts for two months and fourai le old symptoms return at once. I w en ick to the use of the food again and iel well and strong. I can increase m> eight at wiH from five to ten pounds a lonth by using more or less of the toou. efore I was married I was five years trained nurse and I have never in an ly experience seen anything to act as uickly and favorably as this scientific ajd.” Name given by Postum Co., Bat- e Creak, Mich. with wide blue eyes in unabashed aston ishment. It was a homespun group, such as one finds every day in the mountains, but hardly to be expected til suc-h close proximity to so notorious a haunt of vice. “Be you a-lookin’ fer th’ ole Quota House?" called tbe old man to me. “Waal, hit ain’t hyah no more. Hit’s done busted, as one mought say. Gone up whar hit kaint come back. But ef you wants ter set a bit, come up hyah. We-uns ain’t got no likker, but 1 reckin th’ ole woman’ll hev some sour milk, an’ mayhap a drap o’ ciddy.” This on the site of the ancient Quarter House! There was a “big wheel” in the interior of the old veteran's little shack, and the usual assortment of tawdry chromos, serving the double purpose of ornamenting the walls and patching up the holes. Indeed, it is difficult in the mountains to decide where art begins and utility ends, or whether the former has any place there at all. For, some how, there is scarcely a cabin of this character that does not produce an ap preciable amount of aesthetic enjoyment, let it be premeditated or not. It seemed to tne that the old couple and their granddaughter must be new comers in the deserted region where I found them. It was inconceivable that they had lived here in the old Quarter House days. “How long hev we-uns ben hyah?” said the patriarch, repeating my question. “Why, I kain't ezzaekiy tell. Hit were powerful long ago, afore th’ town were built yander. Me an’ th' ole woman was jest hitched tergether an’ corned over the mountings fum Tennessy when we fust sot down hyah. En that day an’ time they warn’t nothin’ but trees an’ yarbs this-a-way. No house, nor towns, nor men a qtiar lin* an makin their meanness. Hit were jest peaceable, an' we-uns was th’ fust settlers hyah. Quota House? No, sir, thet air Quota House warn’t hyah en them days, bekaze they warn’t no one ter sell th likker to. Hit were jest quiet, an’ kep me busy a killin’ varmints an’ b ar an’ sech like. But I ain’t got no gredge agin the Quota House." The girl at the big wheel winding off her yarn seemed the picture of rustic simplicity. She “were horned hyah," the old man told me. but “her daddy were shot In a quar’l, an’ her mammy runned Grandmother Ours and Nixie House,” he said, “never done no mean ness ter wc-uns. On’y once, they was a sort o' furiner thar. Love leastwise he cuddent ’a Tragedy ben fum th’ mountings. Told in 'at was some trouble- Moantain some. This hyah furiner Homespun had sot his eyes on th' gyarl yander an’ tuk a powerful notion ter her. But we-uns didn't pay no 'tention ter his foolin's un tell one night. Thet night th’ Quota House had ben full o' carousin' an’ ear- ryin’s on, an' atter hit were mos’ near ter th’ raawnin’ we-uns heerd a spell o' rackettin’ mo’ than common, an then we heerd tli voice o' thet furiner cornin' up th’ path fum th’ Quota House callin' th’ name o’ th' gyarl, 'Jimmy! Emmy!' as hard as he could beller. Then -they was some shootin', an' we-uns heerd no mo’ o’ th' hollerin’. Atter th’ sun were up an’ me an' th' ole ’oman went out ter do some ehorein’ armin', like we mos’ genully do, we stepped down that thar path, an’ thar half way ter th' Quota House were th' furiner, plum full o' lead, an' dead as nails. Waal, o' course no one knowed who done hit, but all them fel lers wanted ter hev my Emmy treated fair an’ like a lady—an’ that’s th’ way they 'ud do. drunk or sober—all 'cept th’ furiner. Why, they thought a sight o' we-uns, specully Emmy. Yer see, they ’ud be times when some o’ ’em ’ud he stove in fum a fight an’ cuddent ezackly kyar fer theirselves, an' then we-uns ’ud take ’em in hyah an’ kyar fer 'em ontell they cud go ter their homes. O’ course th’ furiner were shot dead, an’ we-uns cuddent kyar fer him.” But from the look on Emmy’s face as she bent over her big wheel, it was etidenr she would not have hesitated to extend her good offices to the “furiner,” even if he had failed to “treat her fair,” as had the. other habitues of the place in gratitude for her kindness. That was one of the instances where human tempests, with still a ray of sun shine, had wrought their havoc in the mountains. Another time, back in West Virginia on the eastern slope of the Al- leghanies, where the peaks are higher and even more rugged than they are on th Cumberland range, I stumbled on a cose of the devastating power of nature under the guise of a spring freshet that was as peculiar as it was pathetic. It was 2 miles out of Hopeville, a mighty city boasting of one store and one dwelling house, that the catastrophe took place early in May. Following along Yew creek, one of the headwaters of the Po tomac, the mountains rise almost sheer from the center of the narrow valley in solid walls 2,000 feet ih altitude. An apology for a road digs its way around one side of these giant precipices, but few of the natives have attempted to build in the valley, not caring to spend their days, probably, in the strenuous oc cupation of keeping a foothold on a to boggan slide. There was one ill-fated house, however, in which originally lived old grandmother Ours, her son. daugh ter in law and tlieir 2-months-old baby. Today only the grandmother is left, the baby and a small negro girl. The trag edy that separated the little family oc curred a few months before I reached the place. Crouched before the fire, rocking her baby, the_ old lady told me about it. “Hit had ben a rainin’ stiddy fer two months,” she said, “ever sence this young one were horned, an’ th’ crick was riz powerful high. But o’ course they wa'nt no danger to us fum th’ crick, sence th’ water kaint reach to us even ef they was another flood. Th’ ole house is as safe as Noah’s ark. fer as that goes. So my son an darter wa’nt ■thinldn' o’ nothin’ bad 'at could happen ter us. an’ the’ fust spell o' good weather they went out an’ took their baby with ’em. They was mighty lovin' to each other in them days, jest as much as ■ when they was fust married, an’ they sea'cely was ever apart. “But this time, after walkin’ a spell along th' road, enjoyin’ th' feelin’ o' th' spring air atter bein’ shet up so long ’count o' th' rain, they separated. Jim took up th’ hill ter feed some cattle 'at he had thar. an’ Nellie, with her baby, jest went aroun’ th’ p_Iace sarchin’ fer eggs whar th’ hens had ben durin’ all that storm. I were sittin’ hyah with This sketch is adapted from Miss McGowan’s new novel, soon to be pub lished. OI'R teachin’ this little school here on the Broken Arrer reminds me of the time we had over at Bron co, in eighty-nine. They built a school house that year at Bronco and got a teacher out from Missouri. There was twen ty-nine kids within rea sonable distance of the school—supposing a good pony for them that was farthest out—and after Miss Traynor come, there was six cow boys that was young enough (or said they was) to come under the school laws, rode in off the range and started to school. Miss Mattie never investigated about Nixie, a feelin’ mighty good ter hev th’ storm quit at last, when all o’ a suddent I heered a roarin’ as ef ever’- thing outside was broke loose ter oncet. Hit sounded jest as ef th’ biggest cannon yo’ ever see were a firin' fum one side o’ th’ mounting ter ’tother, an’ then they kem a runnin’ o' water, jest a pour in’ down th’ mounting like a river, an’ I could feel th’ house shake. Then all ler once th’ racket stopped an' Nixie an’ me went out ter see what had happened. We sc®.'rely knowed whar we was ter fust. Th’ rocks, an’ trees, an' rubbitch o' all kinds was that thick piled up agin the house they wa'nt nothin’ na’tchrel. Then I looked up an’ seed whar th’ hull mounting had ben a falling right ■behind th’ house, an’ pulled ever'thing down with hit ter th' crick. But I didn’t see nothin' o’ Jim an’ Nellie an’ th’ baby, an' I jest stud thar an’ hollered an’ screamed ter them. Atter a bit I heerd a cry fum th' baby, dreadful hard ter hear hit were, cornin’ up fum th’ crick. An’ 1 wont down! thar, an' right on th’ aidge o’ th' crick, with great rocks a piled up ever'whar aroun’ hit, I foun’ th’ roof o' th’ chicking house, at used ter plan’ up hyaih near th' road, an’ th’ baby was a cryin’ fum under hit. Hit was mighty discouragin’ work fer Nixie an’ me. but atter a while we histed up a bit o' th’ roof an' thar we see th’ baby, jest as peert an' well as hit is now, hugged up safe in hits mother's arms. But Nellie were dead, jest dead a holdln’ an' pertectin’ her baby thar. An’ atterwards the men fum Hopeville foun' th’ body o’ Jim caught between two rocks whar th' falling mounting had gone past him a feedin’ his cattle. So now they ain’t none left o’ th’ fam'ly but th’ baby an’ me an’ Nixie, an’ hit won’t be long afore we leave Hopeville bekase I kaint scacely bear ter live hyah no mo'.” Such a strange catastrophe as this that overtook and destroyed the Ours family is, of course, rare. As a matter of fact. It Is the only un- Such Impeachable instance of a Diiaiter mountain slide that I Is found in that region. Extremely There are tales of some- Rart what similar accidents, however, in various places that must be regarded as more or less in tbe line of mountain legends. The most persistent of this type is the yarn of “buried treasure” that is repeated to such an extent by these people, one is forced to the conclusion that Captain Kidd did not confine his operations ex clusively to the coast after all. But I never encountered any of these Mun- chausens of the Wilderness who were willing to go so far in their tales as to assert they had actually unearthed the wealth they knew to be lying almost un der their feet. Tbe nearest approach to such a straining of veracity was in the case of Bill Shell, who lives in a remote part of Leslie county, Kentucky. He is a white-haired veteran who counts his descendants by the score, and is the whole thing in the particular locality that he inhabits. When I asked him about his buried treasure, he took me up a creek that runs by his house until we came to a tangle ot underbrush and bowlders covered with ice (for it was winter), and there he showed me four logs set crosswise in the bed of ../he frozen stream. Beneath these logs, the old man declared, vras the treasure. “Hit were my jaw ’at digged this byah mine,” he said in explanation. “X were a boy then,' an’ they want no crick hyah. But I kin remember my paw a diggin’ hyah an’ takin’ out bush els o’ silver. Hit were a rich mine an' he were always a workin’ a-i hit, untell th’ crick kem erlong an’ mvered of hit up. Hit were a powerful storm as moved ( thet thar crick. But thar hit is now, an’ o’ course they ain't no manner o’ use a tryin’ ter dig fer th’ silver now. Will I ever try fer ter git hit? I reckin’. Hit are shorely thar, ffr these old logs is a markin’ th’ spot (jest whar my paw left ’em, an’ some pay when the crick is dry I ’tends ter dig hyah agin." But it is safe to lay that the “crick" will never be dry enough to rob the old man of his tale of the lost paternal treasure! their ages. She just took 'em in hand as methodical as she did the youngest kid in the room. She knew pretty well, I guess, that there was lots she could teach ’em. even If they was a year or sa over age, and she felt able and willin’ to do it. As a matter of fact, I believe I never did in my life see such an able young lady as Miss Mattie was. Noth ing troubled her less than running things. She was pretty—iirettiest girl I ever saw, and she had a round, soft lookin' chin, with a pink color to it, and a dimple In it. But that chin sort of come forward in its shape, and when she sot. it—well, she got whot she sot it for. For instance, she got a preacher for th'e school house at Bronco, and organized a church. No man would have believed that there was a preacher in all the whole Big Draw country, but Miss Mat- tie said there was, and proceeded to prove it. “All you gentlemen were something else than ranchmen and cowboys, before you came west," she says. “Mr. Trobar was a doctor: the superintendent of the Bar Six had a dry goods store, and Mr. Shang Hepburn tells me he ran a hank; l am sure there is one preacher or theological student among you who can give us a talk or read us a sermon once a week, and keep us civilized.” Well, I had hard work to keep a straight face. Shank Hepburn a runnin’ a bank! But has was that struck on the school teacher that he'd have told her he'd been president for his livin' before he took to cow punchin’ if he'd thought it would do him any good with her. Shang was about as poor a specimen as we had in the Draw. Him an' the barber was bad friends—beard plum to his pistol-belt, an' hair on his shoulders. Don’t wonder none at his taste, neither, for he had the longest, slimmest neck, an' the biggest Adam’s apple of any man I ever seen, an' you couldn’t blame him none for tryin' to cover ’em up. Shang was what we called him—short for Shanghai. 1' i was some over six feet, slim hut wiry. One of these mean fightin’, wrastlin'. shootin’ fellers that gets cowboys an ornery name. Thought it was fun to shoot up a town and scare folks half to death; and was the worst man in the Panhandle when he was a drinkfn'. But Miss Mattie got her preacher. Faro Dick we'd always called him, because Lengthy Adams, who brought him into our part of the world, said he picked him up fiat broke and dealing faro at Prairie City. Dick worked at cowpuno’nin' for Adams two years, but none of the hoys at the Broken Circle felt acquainted with him; he sort of kept himself to himself. He wasn’t to say actually drunk in that whole time—or so Adams said—and ne saved his money (a cowpuncher a sai'n’ money!) and bought the little old run down, three-up ranch that Keg Thomp son left his widow, time he got an argu ment with the Harp boys, over at Cincha. Miss Mattie found out that he’d studied preachin', and was nigh about to giauate in it when he was took with some soi t of trouble—Unitarianism, 1 think they named it—and had to leave school and come west. Then we all knowed what had ailed the boy with us. As Faro Dick he wasn't to say a success (I have always suspicioneu that Adams made up that taie on him, because he knowed the preacher story and didn’t want it to get out), hut as Mr. Gardner, and a preacher, he dona fine. He shore copld preach a sermon with horse sense in it, and we all turned out to hear him. There was scarce a cow boy In the Draw that woiuuu't ride sev enty miles to hear Gardner preach and see Miss Mattie settin' at the organ—for we bought an organ, and hauied it ovtr a hundred miles from Prairie Cil>, before If You Are Sick The cause of your trouble probably lies in your stomach, liver, kidney or bowels. It is no exaggeration to say that nine- tenths of the sickness of this world is caused by some derangement of these or gans. Where there is good digestion, ac tive liver, sound kidneys and prompt bow els, disease cannot exist. The secret of the wonderful success invariably aehiev- -ed by Vernal Saw Palmetto Berry Wine lies in the fact that it acts directly upon these organs. Unlike most manufacturers of proprie tary remedies the Vernal Remedy Co. do not ask you to purchase their medicine until you have tried it. They have so much confidence in their remedy that they will send absolutely free, by mail, postpaid, a sample bottle that you can test and try at home. No money is want ed; simply send them a postil. You don’t have to continually dose yourself with medicine if you use the Vernal Saw Palmetto Berry Wine. Only one dose a day does the work and in stead of havipg to increase the dose to get the desired'effect you reduce it. No remedy like it has ever been placed on the market, and if you suffer from indi gestion, flatulence, constipation or any form of kidney trouble you should not delay, but write at once for a sample of this truly remarkable remedy. Ad dress Vernal Remedy Oo., 165 Seneca Bldg.,.Buffalo, N. Y. A NEW TRAIN LOUIS PAU L A NEW ROUTE LIMITED THE WABASH LINE Has inaugurated through daily train service between St. Lonis and Minneapolis and St. Paul, in connection with the Iowa Central R'y and the Minneapolis 4 St. Lonis R. R. Trains run through solid withont change, consisting oi Pullman Buffet Palace Sleeping Cars, Free Reclining Chair and Combination Cars. LEAVE ST. LOUIS 2.10 P. M. DAILY. Arrire Mianeapolit, . • 8.15 ■. a. Arrive St. fanL • • • 1.51a.m. F. W. GREENE,, District Passenger Agent, LOUISVILLE, KY. the church had been opened for ausiness a month. So things ran, pleasant and comfortable, for some time; all but the way Miss Mat- tie treated Shang Hepburn. Women! Only the Lord what made ’em so (and then, I reckon, repented the job) know3 what it is that’s going to please a woman. Why a nice, pretty, sweet young creataie like Miss Mattie should ever so much as speak to the likes of Shang Hepburn— except to say “scat”—is more than any man can say. But she was a heady little pler Q . and it was plain to me she thought he was in teresting because he was bad. She was going to convert him—oh, yes—and make a honey-loo-loo of him. When, as a fact, convertin’ of him into cold meat was the only kind of convertin’ that would make a feller of Shang’s style really useful. So she muched him, and she rode with him, and she asked his advice about church matters and such—of which he knew just as much as a prairie dog knows of skatin' —and she’d have made him a deacon, ir he knowed how to deak, I reckon, or could have been larnt. Ever since Shang had been settin’ up to Miss Mattie, he'd been doin' all his tearin’ around over at Prairie City. It was pretty far to go, but Shang knew if Miss Mattie once seen him “drunk and disorderly” liis chance with her was a gone fawn skin. He'd not been able to get away for over a month, 'count of spring round-ups, and he was gettin' pretty restless. time—chucked ’em in the bunch, and they went a sailin’ up the trail like lead steers! All at once they all commenced runnin’ together—not a stampede, but a kind of dog trot—up-hill-and-down, up- hill-aird-down, carrying the tune well enough, but not by no means making the progress their speed called for, some how. Then a sort of norther dropped on the tune, all thunder and lightning, and blow and snort, an' came near gettin’ it—you could only hear little scattered bits of it sorter yellin’ 'round here and there. But she jest gathered it, and coaxed it (and— whacked it some. too), and was drivin' it along peaceably enough, when sudden ly—Slam! Siam! Slam!—there as one grand smash, and they all stampeded— broke right an’ left for the open, heads and tails up, eyes sot and horns a- clashin'! But she was with ’em! Law, law, she was there every time! And the way them ten little lingers o' her’n flew, and cut ’em and headed ’em; and finally milled 'em round and round an' round, an' herded 'em in—leaders, drags and all—an’ bedded ’em down to old “Home, Sweet Home,” was a caution—hit was a plumb caution! But all the time me an’ the boys was enjoyin' this (an' some others that I dis- remember jest now) Shang was gittin’ restless. When Gardner came out with a thing that he said was a stergopticon, Shang got up an' said no man should call j him a stereopticon an' live. Easter was something of a new one on I “Keep quiet there." says the preacher us in the Draw; but Miss Mattie and I pretty short. "You’re alarming these Simpson's wife and the kids and Gardner ■ ladies and children. had all worked hard to make it a good show. The school house was trimmed beautiful with flowers, and they had sing- in’ and all that in the mornin’. But in the evenin', when ail the hoys could be “111 keep quiet when I git a ready!" howled Shang. “Preacher or no preacher, you don’t call me a name like that! You've got it to take back!” “Well," says Gardner, sort of laughin’ in off the range, an’ there, they was to , (and lots of others was laughin’ too), give what Miss Mattie called “a regular I “I take it back then—you’re not a stere- programme”—and. great Beott! a pro gramme it proved to be before we got done with it, I tell you! Seems Shang and Gardner had mighty nigh come to a showdown about Miss Mattie, a-ridin’ home with her from the mornin’s exercises. Miss Mattie (as good women usually does) ruther sided in with the worthless scamp; and on the strength of it Shang went off and commenced opticon. Now will you sit down and be still?” I was sorry when I seen the preacher take water like that, for I thought the epitaph suited Shang to a dot; but he sat down an’ we got him quiet. Then Gardner said: “Now, while I am showing these pictures with the stei> • opticon—no, it's not you, my friend, it s this box I'm talking about'’—for Shtw a-drinkin’. He come over and wanted to ! was 011 his feet again. “Hush. /ill go with us boys of the X Q Z ranch to the blow-out at the church. We had no wish for Shang's society, nor to be rated with him; hut equally so, we didn't care to name it to him, so he went. The show was in full swing when we got to the school house. Miss Mattie was at the organ, and Gardner was pervadin’ around everywhere, doin' his best to make a good show of it. I noticed they hardly changed a word in all they done. They was mighty smilin’ and pleasant | !» everybody else, hut mighty cool and distant to each other. We went in quiet like and sat down. Shang, he was gettin’ uglier every minute, and without knowin’ that there was any row between him an’ the preacher, 1 somehow looked for froui.de. Well, T never saw more pleasure than I did in the first part of that performance —t shore never did. Some of the things rut me in mind n« home—maybe I'd saw most of ’em at home before. But I hadn’t noticed ’em then as I did now. Lnnny Williams’ piece was “Horatius at the Bridge." It's about a feller that was a fighter, an' got a couple of other fellers to help him. an’ went out to the far end of a bridge an' stood off a whole lot of chaps that were bent on doin’ up his town, while the hoys that belonged to his cam]) chopped the bridge in two. an’ lef Horatius at the Bridge on the wrong end. Then he jumped into the river and swam it. with a lot of harness on his back—which it’s likely he'd swiped from the crowd he was fightin'. One of Doc Peters' kids, that was get tin' to be quite a tidy little, yearlln'. spoke a piece, I remember, 'bout a feller that was dyin' a long ways from home, and wanted his pardner to carry word to his folks for him—seems to me it was in the reader when I was a boy at school. “Bingen on the Rhine,” they had it on the card Gardner give us: but by the way she said it and brought it out, it put me in mind of poor Bat Phillips, that was' killed out on the range by his pony falling on him. And when she said, “But a comrade knelt beside him as his life blood ebbed away." I could jest see Bat's face—me and him all alone on the bald prairie—and hear him say, “Hold my hand. Billy, and don't forget to write to my folks; I'll be over the divide In ten miputes.” And Mrs. Simpson had all her hair let down, and a white dross and a flower wreath; and she spoke “Curfew Must Not Ring Tonight." Ever hear it? Oh. yes, I s'pose si. I reckon the folks back east would laugh over our simple pleasure in such things: but I tell you the way she said it was fine! You know, it's about a girl and her young man. It seemed somebody was goin’ to do him up if they they let a thing they called a curfew (must 'a' been a big sort o' bell) ring. And as they had him shut up somewhere, his girl just whirled in and blocked their game by set- tin’ down on the eurfew so it couldn't ring, and never would or did ring. We all liked IT. Shorty said a girl like that had true Texas grit. But after all, X think the thing that took everybody most was whin Miss Mattie set down to the organ, lookin’ sweet as a peach and a blush rose In one. and played something she called “Home. Sweet Home, With Variations.” Heard it. I s’pect, and know how it goes? Well, it suited me and the boys down to the ground. She started fair with what appeared to be "Home, Sweet Home." sure enough, only the tune seemed sorter nervous and flighty, like a herd of trail cattle that's been without water all day, and snuffs a spring. Every now and then one would break and get down in the low notes and beller and paw; but she'd fetch It back as cool as y* please. Two or three cf ’em—sort of drags—got down there together and bogged up; but she just roped ’em out—one at a time, one at a the While 1 am exhibiting tins. 1 lights will all have to he turned nut. as it can only be shown in the dark. B.- still there, I tell you!” for Shang was bound to go for him. We boys felt plumb ashamed. We all got 'round Shang and tried to stop him; but he was jest simply drinkin', an' he was onreasonahle, an’ we couldn't do a thing with him. “lie wants to get the lights out, so he can do me up in the dark!" roared Shang. "I won't stand it!" By this time all other counts had been dropped, an' everybody was a noticin’ us. Shang got up an' began to make a speech. “1 don’t want tq scare the la dies,” he sez, "hut in jest two minutes I'm going to wipe up the floor an’ pol ish off the seats with this here party, an' throw the scraps out o' the winder; an' if the ladies want to withdraw before the performance, now’s their time to go.” Some of ’em commenced a-hollerin' an’ pilin’ towards the door; an’ Miss Mat- tie, she cries out, “Oh, Mr. Gardner, don't touch him—lie's a dangerous man! Oh. Mr. Hepburn, please don't strike Mr t Gardner! Xle didn't mean to offend you, I know.” The preacher give her one look—he give her jest one look—then he jerked oft his cuffs, an' come a walkin’ down the aisle sayin’: “Keep your seats. We won't have much disturbance, I think. I’ll put this man out, and then we’ll go on with our pictures.’’ Well, 1 looked to see the preacher kill ed—nothin’ less—for he wuz a ruther slim built feller, an’ Shang lunged at him like a grizzly. But the way he met it was the prettiest part of the evening's ex ercises. He stepped a little to one side, light and quick-footed, like good cuttin' pony; and as Shang tore by, he reached out his arm—I’m bowed if it didn’t look to me like he reached that arm out 7 foot, an’ as quick as lightnin’—and lifted him one under the ear. But Shang wasn’t done. He arose, an’ he just went for to eht that preacher up; and f really never saw why he didn't. When Shang would come on, the preacher would sort of jump 'round a little, and pretty soon his fist'd shoot out and Shang would go under the bench. T 'lowed for some time he was q^in’ ’lectricity on Shang—same as these 'lec- tric girls you see In the shows. But Cockney Jack, who had climbed on a ■bench behind me. began to holler: “Watch, 'im box! My. but that's ’arnsome!” I looked first at the preacher’s box on the table; but Jack yelled: “Wax it to 'im friend! That's wot I calls boxin’ right.” An’ I knew he was talkin' of the preacher's way of fightin'. Jack t»Ils me now that thev teach it at the 'varsities in England, and that no doubt Gardner l'arned It at college And I’ll tell you what, if I knew of a college where they taught anything as useful as that—and as beautiful—I'd go them myself, old as I am, an' l’arn. All this time Shang was gettin' up an’ bein’ knocked down. He was what we call a "plzen fighter." oh. he was game enough; and he got up an’ went for the preacher more times than he wished he had next day. But ’twasn't no use 'twasn't no use—'twasn't no use at all" an' when we boys had finally to carry him out he was all so damaged up that it didn’t look as though he'd he much "count for the rest o’ the spring round ups. While we was a collectin' of him. I seed Miss Mattie come sidlin’ down the aisle an' hand Gardner his cuffs—she'd been holdin’ ’em all along—an’ heerd her whisper. "Can you ever forgive me?” I knowed he forgive her right then, for. as we-all turned the corner, totin' Shang down to the corral, they was a sfngln’ “Oh. Happy Day. Oh! Happy I>ay.” an’ Gardner a leadin’ up strong. Gardner, he's preachin’ over at Arapa hoe, and all the boys respect as well as love him—and he’s married. His wife is she that was Miss Mattie Traynor. an' she's jest as good a hand to boss an’ run things as ever. She takes jest as much say-so about what all the beys shall do on’ think as she did the day she helped get up that Easter blow-out at Bronco, an’ held the preacher’s cuffs while he lammed Shang Hepburn. Shang? He went with a feller name •’ Jack up Into The Strip, an' so on into Oklahoma, I’ve heard.