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TUe G-randest Removal Sale
THAT HAS EVER TAKER' PLACE IK KORTHEAST GEORGIA.
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DEVOTED TO JACKSON COUNTY AND THE DEMOCRATIC PARTY.
THE SHEIK’S DAUGHTER
BY GENERAL BUTULIN.
The word Algeria conjures up in
my mind’s eye a vision of untamable
lions and tigerp, ruthlessly pursued
and slain by modern Nimrods,
“mighty hunters before the Lord”—
in fact, to any one of an imaginative
temperament, the name seems to sug
gest a series of adventures before
which the most thrilling of “boys’
stories” fade into insignificance.
Asa matter of fact, however, the
premiums paid by the French Gov
ernment for the capture of these ani
mals, and the truth that many of the
natives are provided with the most im
proved fire arms, have combined to
make the animals extremely rare, so
that hunting exploits of this nature
are not only exciting, but have be
come a little “out of the common
run.”
I have always been passionately
fond of hunting, and having been
forced by an attack of inflammatory
rheumatism to winter at Blidah, I
longed, as soon as my health would
be re-established, to enjoy the excite
ment of hunting large game. Thanks
to my position as a general in the
Imperial Russian Army, as well as my
prominent social prestige in Europe,
and perhaps also to the fact that I
was well endowed with this world’s
goods, I found it easy to obtain the
protection and assistance of the
French colonial office, and in Feb
ruary,, 1890, I started on my expedi
tion to Schaihi, in order to hunt in
the mountains of El-Gattar, where I
had heard that several tigers had
lately been seen.
At Schaihi I received from the
Arabian foreign office an escort and
two epahis, together with a letter of
introduction to Sheik Sidi Mustapha,
who had the reputation of being one
of the best hunters between the
Serff and Ain-Chehra, two of the
larger rivers that water the province.
Although we (my military escort
consisting of a corporal and three
troopers) started early in the morn
ing, it was not until the following
afternoon that we at last reached the
narrow upward path that leads to the
ridge of rocky mountain, sparsely
sown with juniper trees, where we
hoped to make our first stop.
I was riding on ahead with the cor
poral, and in spite of the intense heat,
from which my puggaree could not
protect my neck, I was too ardent a
sporstman not to enjoy the recitals of
the officer, respecting some of the
lions killed in these mountains.
Just as he was telling me of Sidi
Mustapha’s last exploit in vanquishing
a lioness, he suddenly reined in his
brown Berber steed, to await the ad
vance of some natives, who had ap
peared from behind the rocks. In
frent rode two young Arabs, carrying
their loDg muskets athwart their sad
dles.
They were followed by a tall, dis
tinguished looking man, whose sharply
cut features were marked by an un
usual degree of intelligence. A full
black beard and piercing dark eyes
completed a figure of remarkably im
posing demeanor. His lofty bearing
was heightened by his picturesque
costume, which consisted of a scarlet
under-dress, richly embroidered with
gold, a white burnouse, and headcloth
shaped like a turban.
“That is Sbiek Sidi Mustapha,” ex
plained the corporal, turning to me.
“He seems to have come to bid your
excellency weloome to Beni Gallah.”
I immediately put spurs to my
horse, and rode toward the chief to
thank him for his attention in coming
to meet me. I greeted him by shak
ing hands with Western warmth, and
handed him the eulogistic letter to
the Bureau Arabe.
“You could not have come at a
more apropos time,” he observed, cor
dially. “A tiger is just now in this
neighborhood ; he stole another of my
sheep last night.”
“Do you know where the beast is
hiding ?” I asked, eagerly.
“He has his lair in an impenetrable
thicket, not far from our camp'ng
place. His hours are irregular, but
from his tracks, he must be an old
fellow,” said the sheik, with immova
1 ble gravity. “His movements are
uncertain. Oao day he will come
forth to drink in the evening, and the
next day come down from some other
direction to devour the Bheep in open
daylight.”
Whilst the sheik spoke French with
difficulty, his deportment to me was
most friendly. He evidently saw in
me the Russian general, not one of
the oppressors of his people, but sim
ply a soldier of the White Czar, who
had come to help him rid the moun
tains of this scourge. We rode up a
small rocky path, on the right side of
which was a steep precipice. Some
distance further on, a mountain tor
rent gushed across the road. The
chief pulled rein at this point, with
this remark:
“Many a good shot I’ve wasted
here. Bu-Raskul, see if there are
any fresh tracks.”
The Arab proceeded to carry out
the order with the rapidity of light
ning. For a moment his sharp eyes,
that resembled those of a bird of prey,
roamed round; then he brought the
exciting information:
“The tiger has been here since we
passed!”
Sidi Mustapha who seldom lost his
self-possession, sprang from his horse.
Of course, I was immediately at his
side. In the sand and along the
side of the stream were the unmis
takably fresh traces of a tiger’s re
cent passage; inside some of the
tracks there were still drops of water.
This latter was conclusive of proof
that the animal had been there only a
few minutes ago, as the sun would
have dried up these drops very
quickly.
“Probably the beast is still in the
neighborhood,” ventured the corporal.
“Will you wait for him ? Since he
was driven from his lair by a forest
fire, he probably has not slacked his
thirst, and will return,” remarked the
shiek. “But whether he will return
at this spot or not, is written in the
stars.”
I should have preferred standing my
ground and having the bushes beaten
for the tiger, as I did not wish my
hunting prowess doubted; but as
there was nothing to be gained by re
maining in a broiling sun for an in
definite period, I gladly accepted the
shiek’s invitation to accompany him
to his home; or rather, I accepted his
hospitaiity as far as meals were con
cerned, but suggested pitching my
tents, to -r commodate myself and es
cort, op= orite Sidi Mustapha’s quar
ters. When we reached the latter, I
found it to be a terrace formed build
ing, which somewhat resembled one of
Constantine’s Arabian country-houses.
I followed my host into a large
apartment, the whitewashed walls of
which were hung with the skins of
tigers, lions, badgers and wild cats,
and here he immediately unfolded his
plan of attack, generously abdicating
to me the honor of leading the chase.
While we were conversing, messen
gers entered with the information
that the tiger had not the previous
night visited his customary drinking
haunt. Under these circumstances,
Sidi Mustapha advised that we should
wait till sunset and then repair to the
spot where we had seen the animal’s
tracks, and hide ourselves behind
some rocks. He offered to accompany
me and stand by me, in case the tiger
should prove too formidable a beast
for me. I told him, however, that
my servant, who would be with me,
was an experienced hunter, and had
saved my life by several successful
shots when I was in the clutches of
beasts of prey.
“Si d-Ab-Allah ! how I would love to
accompany you, and put a bullet into
the sneaking thief!” exclaimed the
shiek. “But I will go with you any
how to-morrow.”
The sun was still high in the heav
ens when I started with my servant,
under the guidance of Bu-Raskul.
Like all Arabs of the lower elass he
carried a long Arabian musket and a
perfect arsenal of weapons in his belt.
He had no intention of taking part in
the attack, but (this was said with a
cheerful communicativeness born from
the hope of backsheesh—fee) that he
would only conduct “His Excellency’
to the Bpot, and would then go to
meet the sheik’s daughter, who was
expected back that day from Thigis
tis.
“I thought the women of your race
were not allowed to leave their house,”
I remarked, my thoughts absorbed by
the idea of sport rather than of femi
nine charms.
“Why not?” he replied, quickly.
“Veiled and in the company of trusty
servants our women travel just aB
yours do. She has given her French
companion leave of absence for a short
time to go and see her family, and is
just returning after conducting her to
the nearest French station.”
I was astonished at this explanation
and involuntarily asked:
“So the shiek has conformed to
the usages and civilization of the
West ?”
“He loves his daughter above every
thing earthly—but what good can
come of accepting the Frankish cus
toms? Instead of working in the
house, as women ought to do, Fatme
studies music and reads Frankish
books. She is a fine girl, and Allah
alone knows how much good she has
done among our people; but she is
wilder than a man, and wanders over
the hills chasing jackals, and that we
think is unbecoming to a woman.”
This last remark was made with an
air of imperturbable gravity.
“How old is she ?” I inquired, im
pulsively.
“Hardly seventeen, your excel
lency, but she seems much older in
intelligence and disposition. Here we
are at last! ’
We concealed ourselves behind a
number of rocks, and I can truthfully
say that I felt no fear at meeting one
of the fiercest beasts of prey—nothing
but a feeling of excitement at the idea
of the approaching conflict.
We could not have found a more
convenient hiding place. A few
paces from us was the mountain
stream, where the footsteps of the
tiger were still visible. On the right
was the road to Thigistis, while on
the left the thick bushes probably hid
the animal’s lair. Bu-Raskul, with
many wishes for my good luck, which
were probably accentuated by the
liberal backsheesh I had presented to
him, left us, and took the road to
Schaihi.
“I fancy the tiger will appear from
the thicket,” I whispered to my at
tendant, as we loaded our rifles and
placed them in readiness on the first
rock.
The sun slowly sank, and I almost
began to fear that Mr. Tiger had no
intention of showing himself. But
even my absorption in that question
could not distract my attention from
the glories of an Arabian sunset, with
its reddish, fawn colored tints, half
shaded by the clouds that already ap
peared to rise from the valley below.
All the hues of the rainbow seemed to
have blended in that lovely gloaming.
At the same time, my reminiscences of
home were awakened by the bizarre
shape of some of the rocks near by,
which reminded me of the Caucasus,
where, as a young officer, I had so
frequently kept lonely vigil.
After sunset the mountains became
fully alive. The horrible noises, made
by wild animals, and nerve-rending
cries of hyenas, combined to make
night hideous ; but I could only re
member that this was the favorite time
for the tiger to start on his nightly
pillage. Every movement, every sound,
was therefore of the utmost signifi
cance, and with feverish impatience
we waited the approach of our enemy
—our nerves and senses being
strained to the highest possible ten
sion.
Suddenly I seemed to notice a
shadow approaching from the left, and
although I had never seen a tiger in a
state of freedom, I at once surmised
whence it came, for the stealthy, cat
like tread was unmistakable. The ani
mal stood still, and looked about with
glaring, luminous eyes; then scenting
no danger, advanced to the stream
within thirty paces of my ambush.
His head was hidden by a protecting
rock, but I could see the movements
of his tail, as he appeared to listen
eagerly to sounds coming from the
Thigistis road. Had he moved but a
couple of feet forwards, his fate would
have been certain, for my gun was
aimed straight at the place where I
calculated his head must be. But
the animal did not move. My aims
were tired holding the gun in one po
sition, and the tiger and the rock
seemed to be merging more and more
into one gray, indistinguishable mass.
Just as I was about to drop my rifle,
the animal, by a number of bounds,
sprang to the edge of the water. I
immediately aimed, but the beast
dropped his head rapidly toward 3 the
water, and began to drink eagerly. I
tried my utmost to aim at one of his
eyes, but in vain. Either it was too
dark—yet my eye-sight is very good—
or the animal’s head was too low in
the water to allow a shot to take effect.
Anger and impatience were begin
ning to master me, especially as I now
heard sounds in the distance, which I
feared would frighten the animal
away. Suddenly the tiger’s head rose
from the water, and I fired. Unfor
tunately the bullet went too high. At
that instant I heard the sounds of
bells from the Schaibi road. I knew
that (although the fear lest my prey
should escape me had made my aim
uncertain) the shot had taken effect.
But where and how ? The smoke of
the powder hid everything from my
sight. Then a breath of air cleared
the atmosphere sufficiently to allow
my seeing the tiger lying on the
ground, evidently scenting the high
way, whence the noise was now very
audible.
Again a shot re echoed through the
mountains, and throwing aside my
rifle I grasped that of my servant.
But a wild scamper in the bushes
warned me that neither of my bullets
had mortally wounded my adversary,
and that he had taken flight. Be
fore I could see through the smoke I
heard a sound that filled me with hor
ror —a shriek of deadly terror, followed
by the stamping and snorting of a
horse, two shots, and a sound of crunch
ing, as though the tiger were already
engaged in a ghastly meal.
For a moment the blood seemed to
freeze in mv veins ; then, following a
sudden impulse, I sprang from my
hiding-place and rushed to the spot
whence the sound proceeded. As I
did so, another shot re-echoed through
the still summer night, succeeded by
a triumphant cry, that seemed to my
excited fancy like the screech of an
enraged eagle.
I never ran so fast in my life as I
did to the spot, where a romantic
but fantastic picture met my view.
An Arabian woman stood swinging
the long musket of her country in her
right hand. Her white burnouse
hung in tatters, and the veil had
slipped from her face, which was one
of extraordinary beauty. With her
left hand she pointed to the body of
the tiger, that lay in the agonies of
death, athwart the body of a horse,
which was still kicking vigorously,
whilst Bu-Baskul knelt at the foot of
his young mistress, his musket ready
to fire, in case the animal should
make a final effort to attack them.
Two Arabian riders were just emerg
ing from a gulch.
Much as I was impressed by the
extreme loveliness of the young girl—
whom lat once surmised to be the
daughter of the Bheik—l could not
help thinking of the unpleasant re
semblance which she bore, at that
moment, to the avenging Judith.
Bu Raskul stepped forward, and ex
plained that the tiger had thrown it
self on the horse of Sidi Mustapha's
daughter. The shots of both Arabs
missed fire ; then Fatme, tearing her
clothing loose from the beast’s
clutches, seized Bu-Baskul’s weapon
and discharged it in the tiger’s ear.
I turned to the brave girl, who had
stepped to the level ground, and, in
troducing myself, inquired if she were
not wounded.
“I do not know,” she replied,
haughtily. “In any case, Sida Mus
tapha’s daughter knows how to bear
pain.”
“But you are bleeding!” I cried,
pointing to the blood that fell from
her white throat.
She involuntarily raised her hand to
her neck, and apparently discovered,
for the first time, that her yashmak
had been torn away.
“Leave me, if you value your life!”
she cried, commandingiy. “No man
has ever seen the daughter of Sidi
Mustapha unveiled, and you are aware
that I know how to defend myself,
even if my companions are cowards !”
I could almost have forgiven the
scorn and anger of her voice for the
sake of gazing longer into those mag
nificent, flashing eyes, butßu-Raskul,
who had carefully kept his face turned
from his young mistress, quietly im
plored me to retire for a few moments.
This I did, until Bu-Baskul ap
proached me with the announcement
that Fatme’s wound was a very slight
one, and that she was now ready to
greet her father’s guest.
I found the Arabian girl standing
by the side of the tiger. Instead of
replying to my greeting, she pointed
to the animal, whose ear had been
pierced by her bullet.
“Yon shot better than I,” was my
gallant remark.
“Yes, 1 am proud to have killed the
destroyer of our flocks.”
I could not help smiling as I reflect
ed that this Diana had the failing of a
great many other sportsmen and wo
men, that of arrogating to themselves
the credit of giving the coup de grace
to an animal already half dead. I saw
that my first bullet had struck in the
shoulder, my second in the hip.
Somewhat nettled, I observed:
“It is unfortunate that you should
have passed at that precise moment;
a few minutes later, and you would
have found the animal dead.”
“Or torn to pieces to-morrow by
jackals. All praise to Allah, who per
mitted me to arrive in time to secure
this lovely skin for my apartment.”
According to Russian custom this
skin belonged, by airthe laws of the
chase, to me—l who had fired the
first mortal shot. My politeness was
perhaps overcome by my passionate
love of the sport, as I remarked dryly:
“Tour noble father will decide that
question.”
Inwardly, I resolved to move heaven
and earth to get the animal’s skin.
Fatme simply answered in a con
temptuous tone, “Goodnight, gen
eral.”
I had stooped for a moment over
the dead body of the tiger, but at
these words I looked around and saw
Fatme, who had mounted one of the
Arab’s horses, galloping away at full
speed.
A few minutes later the sheik ar
rived with some of his people; be
was delighted at the escape of his
daughter, whom he had met en route.
Bu-Raskul was entrusted with the
task of bringing the dead beast, and
we returned to the camp.
I slept little that night, and dreamt
continuously of being pursued by
wild animals, or threatened with mur
der by Arabs. And as I arose early
next day I saw Fatme, accompanied
by a female servant, slip out of her
apartment, and passing through the
court-yard, enter a thickly planted
garden, by way of a small door in the
wall that surrounded the sheik’s res
idence.
Shortly afterwards Sidi Mustapha
came to inform me that he had ordered
the skin to be brought to me. But
the wild beauty of his daughter had
so impressed me that, in spite of
being somewhat nettled by her man
ner, I was undecided whether to ac
cept the trophy or gallantly to hand
Txbms: SI.OO a Txae.
it to the fair Fatme.
I accompanied the sheik on an ex
pedition into the mountains. Wearied
by the heat and exercise, I returned
at noontime, and threw myself on my
bed. At that moment the corporal
entered to tell me that the sheik’s
daughter had been in my t6nt for a
few moments, during my absence, to
have a farewell look at the tiger’s skin
that had meanwhile been brought by
the sheik’s servant.
I laughed at this exhibition of wo
man’s curiosity (whatever their color
or nationality, their distinguishing
characteristic) and ordered the cor
poral not to let me be disturbed. I
composed myself to rest But with
one bound I sprang to my feet It
seemed as though something had been
moving under my body. Throwing
aside the coverlet I saw a small, black
snake, hardly a foot long, emerge with
quivering tongue. It was an Algerian
species of snake, whose bite means al
most instantaneous death. I rushed
from the tent, calling to my Russian
attendant but the corporal was there
before him, and with one slash of his
sabre cleft the snake in two.
I stood outside of the tent as though
petrified, for through the half open
door of the shiek’s garden I saw the
mocking, fiendishly beautiful face of
Fatme, who seemed to be awaiting
the outcome of her horrible revenge.
An hour later, after a few farewell
words to the sheik, I was on my way
back to Schaihi, taking the tiger skin
with me. I would not leave it to the
fiend who could not forgive me for
killing it, and for seeing her unveiled.
—Home and Country.
A Long Farewell.
It is said to be an old story, this
of a man named Doherty, who was
drilling with his squad of recruits in
London. Doherty was nearly six
feet two in height, and at that time
the sergeant-major was a man whose
height was only five feet four. On
this day he approached the squad,
looking sharply about him for some
fault j find.
All the men squared up except
Doherty, and the sergeant-major at
once accosted him.
“Head up there, man!” called he.
Doherty raised his head slightly.
“Up higher, sir!”
The head was raised again. Then
the sergeant-major managed, by
standing on his toes, to reach Do
herty’s chin, and he poked it higher,
with the remark:
“That’s better. Don’t let me see
your head down again!”
By this time everybody was inter
ested at seeing Doherty starting away
above the sergeant-major’s head, when
a voice from above said, in a rich
brogue:
“Am Ito be always like this, ser
geant-major TANARUS”
“Yes, sir!”
“Then I’ll say good-by to ye, ser
geant major, for 111 never see yez
again I”—Youth’s Companion.
The Old and the New.
The times change and we change
with them. Many past oustoms and
usages exist now only in memory.
The nauseous compounds formerly
prescribed and sold for medical use
have had their day. Medical science
has achieved a great triumph along
that line in presenting a remedy so
pleasant to take and so happy in its
work of healing the sick as Dr. King’s
Royal Germetuer. It is a pleasure to
take this great preparation. It em
bodies the fruits of the latest and best
medical research, and marks with
much emphasis the fact that 4 ‘the new
has charms which the old has not.”
$1; 6 for $5.
She Used the Wrong Powder,
A young lady living on North Meri
dian street had an experience the
other evening, says the Indianapolis
Sentinel. She was upstairs, and had
just turned out her light when she
heard a caller ask for her. She made
a dive for her powder-puff in the dark,
and dusted her face with powder.
She went to the parlor and found a
distinguished stranger, on whom she
was anxious to make an impression.
He appeared rather nonplussed at her
looks, but being a man of the world,
which means a man wise enough not
to tell a woman her faults, he said
nothing. She sat and chatted grace
fully, and had a delightful evening.
As soon as he had gone she rushed to
the mirror, as every girl does when
her beau leaves. She gave one scream
and went off into hysterics, for in her
haste and the dark she had* dipped
her powder-puff into a box of pulver
ized charcoal, and she had the make
up of an amateur colored minstrel.
The contrast to her dainty organdie
gown and blonde hair was very funny,
but Bhe will never smile again.
What do you take medicine for T
Because you are sick and want to get
well, of course. Then
Hood’s Sarsaparilla cures.
NO. 31.