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LOVE'S flitting.
When Lave is comiap, coming.
Meet him with songs and joy,
Bid him alight and enter.
Flatter and feast the boy;
Crown him with gems and roses.
Charm him with winning wiies,
Bind hi pi with lovely garlands,
And kisses, and smiles.
When Love is going, going,
Leaving you all alone.
Craving, the fickle tyrant,
Rome newer slave and throne,
Hinder him not, but quickly.
Even though your heart may bleed,
Saddle a horse for his journey.
And bid him God-speed I
—Elizabeth Akers, in the Century.
“HEN HAWK’S” ROMANCE.
BY K. L. KETCHCM.
' EN HAWK was
f In lii He had great been spirits. fair¬
m btf ly bubbling over
jyr m with good humor
mm > for two weeks,
m 3 and every day
If ■ $ :r a. cheerfulness, more added Only and ten to days then his
ior “the States.”
We, of the “L bar,” who had known
him for two years, almost, were at a loss
to account for this sudden rise in Hen’s
mental temperature, and probably
showed it. Indeed, there were several
of the boys who hinted that an explana¬
tion lrom him would be gratefully re¬
ceived by his curiosity-beset co-laborers;
but Hen would merely grin a broad,
broad grin, and say nothing. But just
ten days before Thanksgiving he let the
secret out.
“Boys,” said he, in a muffled voice,
caused by the presence of a knife-load
of potatoes in his mouth, “I’m goin’
back t’ th’ States 1”
Open-eyed astonishment all around the
breakfast table.
“That’s what, boys. I’m goln’ right
after Thauksgivin’, tew.”
“The dooce, ye sayt Must’ve lost a
rich r'lation ’r b’en doin’ a little rustlin’
on th’ side. Now I think of 't, they
was some talk ’bout thar bein’ some in
aide ’sistance t’ th’ Baldy Stites gang
w’en they honored this hyar vicinity wi’
th r ’tendons last year.” volunteered
“lied” Posey.
Hen, having joined liberally ih the
smiles that followed this remark, went
on:
“I cast th’ insinerations back intuth
th’ teeth o’ th’ red-nosed gent wi’ th’
fragrant name. No, sir. ’Taint neither
one n’r t’other. Mebbe ’fore I go I’ll
tell ye—an’ mebbe I won’t.”
And Mr. Hawkins again smiled, know¬
ing that the boys would suffer im¬
measurably until they knew whence came
the “ stake” on which he was going
home.
Next day, oil immediately after breakfast,
Hen rode in the direction of Browns¬
ville, the nearest town on the west, about
thirty miles away, and we saw nothing
of him until Friday, when he returned,
whistling cheerfully. The boys were
very keen to know what his errand had
been, for they were sure he had not gone
merely to get a few things from the
grocer’s and harnesmaker’e, but Hen did
not enlighten them.
That night, however, in the boss’s
room, he told the story to a select au¬
dience, consisting of the boss and the
scribe.
“I b’en kinder holdin’ off, ye see,
’cause a feller no ways cert’n ’bout savin’
’is milk t’ll he gits the pail out f’m un¬
der the caow; but now, bein’s I’ve got
it O. K., I may’s well tell ye, on’y I
don’t want the boys to knaow.
“Ye see, ’twas this away; ’Bout five
year ago, back in Maine, I c’Deluded t’
come out hyar an’ grow up wi’ the ken¬
try a hull lot. ’Twan’t ’cause I wanted
t’ dew it, but ye see, I sort o’ hed tub.”
“Ah, yes,” observed the boss, dryly,
“I believe the late Mr. Stites began his
brilliant career in somewhat the same
wav. Was your difficulty about a horse,
too?”
Hen’s laugh over, he proceeded, some¬
what blushingly:
“No, ’twan’t that, hardly. But they
wau’t no chance thar for a poor cuss,an’
so I pulled out. Ye see, me’n Molly
Hopkins hed bout made up aour min’s t’
git spliced, an’ ev’rythin’ was goin’ on
smooth’s smooth,w’en instepsol’ George
Hopkins an’ takes a ban’ hisself. Ol’
Hop was a high-toned ol’ duck, an’ put
on heaps o’ airs, cause he was th’ best
fixed man in taown an’ hed be’n S’lect
man an’ member of th’ Legislates w’ile
I Was on’y a carpenter an’hadn't ary red.
Th’ ol’ egiot might’ve saw haow things
was goin’ on—L reckon he did—but he
never let on t’ll one night he come home
f’m taown an’ heered me’n Molly talkin’
in th’ settin’-rooin.
“Then he jes’ waded in brash. Gosh!
how he did go fer me? Went on Hgive
me th’ dickens fer my 'dacity in per
ioomin’ t’ th’ ban’ o’ his, George Hop
kins', darter. ‘Th’ ideel I want ye t’
understan’, young man,’ says be, ‘th’t I
hev better plans fer her th’n lettin’ ’er
marry a penniless carpenter!’ ’N he
went on an’ tore aroun’ fer awhile thet
style; but I stood my groun’, t’ll fin’lly
he sa_vs: ‘Young man, when you c’n
•how a bank ’count o’ ten thaousan’ dol
lars, she’s your'n, an' not b'fore.’ Then
he gnus a hull lot, thinkin’ haow I’d
hev t’ hustle a consid’ble spell ’fore I got
At.
“Wa-al. me’n Molly talked it over a
lot, ’n finally concluded th’t I’d hev t’
go summm else, ef I ever got fore¬
handed; so, one day, we says good-bye, pulled
daown in the medder lot, an’ I
out fer Californy. ’round
I fc Sence then I’ve be’n knockin’
all over the th’ kentry, tryin’ one thing
’n ’notber. Purty hard luck, most o’ th’
time, tew—but jes* ’fore I come hyar, I
located a claim, me’n ’nother feller, over
in Colorado, an’ worked it some. It
didn’t pan out none, so we hed t’ try
somethin/ else, an’ hyar I come, leavin’
Peters t’ keep up work oath’ claim, him
havin’ a job clus by. Wa-al, th’ other
day, Peters he sold aout tew a Boston
comp’ny fer twenty-five thaousan’—an’
my half’s what I went t’ Braownsville fer.
That’s all.”
Hen filled his pipe, said “Good night,”
and went out, whistling softly.
“By Jovel” said the boss, “to hear
him tell It, in that easy way of his, with
the cowboy lingo and the occasional
Yankee twang, you’d think it a very
common-place affair. .1 don’t know
what you think of it, but I think it de¬
cidedly romantic, and I’m glad it’s turn¬
ing out so well. Hen’s aa honest chap,
and deserves all the luck in the world.
The girl must be a plucky one, looked too.
Hum! hum!” And the bos3 at
the ceiling and blew smoke rings in a
pensive way he sometimes had.
There wasn’t a man on the ranch who
didn’t hate to see Hen go, and who
wasn’t honestly glad at his good fortune.
Even the misanthropic Posey evinced
not a little regret as he said good-by to
him,-when, the morning after Thanks¬
giving, Hen sat on his bronco all ready
to start for Jersey, the railroad town to
the east of us.
It was a beautiful morning, almost
like spring, and Hen couldn’t have
wished for a better day to start on. The
last good-by said, he straightened up,
sniffed the cool breeze, looked to see that
everything waas all right, and with an
“Adios, boys,” was off, waving his hand
in acknowledgment of the rousing cheer
we gave him as he reached the top of the
hill across the creek.
Jersey was only twenty odd mile3
away, and Hen expected to arrive there
at noon, in time to get his dinner, dis
pose of his bronco and make the 2
o'clock train East. There was plenty of
time, so he let his horse take its own
gait, and gave himself up to his
thoughts.
Going homel Hornet How sweet
the word sounded 1 Five years—only
five, but they seemed twice aa many. He
wondered how he had ever managed to
live through them. The first two had
not been so bard. He had been full of
hope and vigor and had told himself it
was only a little while—only a little
while. Then when the reward for all
his toil seemed to be no less distant than
at first, it was hard. Sometimes he had
thought lie would give it up and go
home to confess himself beaten; then the
picture of the little brown eyed girl who
had cried so bard that day in the meadow
lot—the little girl who, through her
tears, had told him to be brave and pa¬
tient and all would be well—would come
before him and he would set his teeth
hard and “pitch” in again. Maybe it
had soured him a bit. He wondered if
sometimes he had not been rather unso¬
ciable, and rather poor company for his
companions, and concluded he had.
His thoughts turned again to Molly.
How pretty and sad she had looked with
the tears on her pink cheeks that day
(for somehow he couldn’t for the life of
him think of her except as she looked
when he saw her last). He remembered
how conscious he had been that she was
watching him as he went down the road,
and how he dared not look back for fear
his courage would give out. And just to
think! Only a few days more, and—
“Hullo! Wa-al, I’ll be teetotally dog
goned 1"
The wind had shifted around into the
north; dull gray clouds hid the blue aud
gold that had made the early day so fair;
two or three flakes of snow were visible
now and then. It was one of Ihese
striking Hen on the cheek that caused
him to rein up his horse so suddenly and
make the above inelegant remark.
Not a living creature was in sight on
all the broad plain. Hen they and had his horse
were as much alone as if been
on the open sea. Human habitation, be¬
tween the “L bar” and Jersey, there
were none, Hen dismounted and laid
his ear to the ground, and listened in¬
tently for a few seconds. Yes—’there it
was—that dull, whispering, indistinct
roar, which the plainsman knows and
fears—the voice of the coming blizzard.
The horse heard it, or felt it, and turned
his head toward his master, whinnying
softly.
“Yes, ol’ boy, it’s cornin’ all right
’nough.” said Hen, as he rose from the
ground, “an’ me n you’s got t' hustle a
hull lot, Mister Pokey, Let ’er slide, ol’
chap! I reckon we c’a make it.”
Only twelve miles or so, and yet Hen
knew that the blizzard might overtake
him before he had traveled four. He
urged his horse faster, knowing the faith
ful animal could easily stand the work,
It was growing rapidly colder, and the
few flakes of snow were being followed
by countless thousands. The wind was
increasing in velocity, and Hen, bend
ing low ower his horse’s neck, could
bear the vicious “swish—swish!” of the
snow as it was hurled through the grass
end along the ground. Very soon it was
impossible to see more than a hundred
yards or so ahead, but Hen knew the
general direction, and for safety’s sake
was heading for the stage road leading
into Jersey from the soutuwest.
On and on they went, Poker, alire to
the situation, pounding alone; at his too
traveling speed, steady as a dock. On
and on came the storm, covering horae
and rider with snow a3 fine a3 fl our,
until they looked like ghosts, Ken,
leaning back to get his overcoat, lost tna
direction, but he had full faith in Poker,
and knew that the little animal would d5
better without any piloting. hands and
How cold it was! Hen’s
toes were like lumps of ice—worse, they
had hardly any feeling left in them. His
ear and cheek on the side exposed to the
storm, were getting nipped. W ell, be
would soon strike the stage road, and
then, if he had not miscalculated, there
would be only five or six miles
‘•Great Scott 1”
For Pokey had given a sudden high
leap and stood still, panting. Almost
under his feet lay a snow-covered ob
ject, with a strange look about it. Hen
leaned down from the saddle and turned
it over. It was a dead man, holding
tight, in the stiff right hand, a whip such
as stage-driver3 use. deader'n Tom Jeffer
“Srams-driver,
son. Drunk, likely, an’ fell off; poor
cuss!” But there was no time to stop
and investigate. In another second
Pokey was turned to the left and pound
ing along up the stage road.
A dark object loomed up suddenly as
they shot past, and a sudden chill sent
the sluggish blood coursing through
Hen’s veins. He halted and turned
Pokey’s unwilling head on the back
course.
Sure enough, it was the stage;
there were no horses attached. Hen
felt around and reached the door-handle.
A cry—a child’s cry—came from within.
Hen tied Pokey firmly to a wheel, found
the door again, and entered.
“Thank God!”
It was a woman’s voice, and Hen al*
most fainted to think that its owner
should “6h, be in such a terrible predicament.
sir, have you come to take us
away? The driver fell off, I think, and
the horses broke loose, somehow, and
we’re almost frozen.”
Hen could see her now. It was a
young, good-looking woman, and she
held, tight clasped to her breast,a child
about three years old. Neither wa3 clad
for such awful weather.
Hen’s heart stood still for a moment.
If that woman and child remained here
it was almost certain death. It might
be days before help could reach him, and
even if aid could come to them to-mor¬
row, they would have frozen, mean¬
while. On the other hand—
“Can you ride, missis?”
’“Yes, indeed.”
. “Wal, come, then, quick 1”
In another minute— V •• 1 V' ‘ I
, “Ride straddle—so. Naow, hold t,h’
kid 'a let th’ hoss take ’is own road,
Min’, naow.V’
“But what are you going to—”
Hen was fastening the driver's robe;
about her.
“I’m all right. Naow, hang on an
keep holt o’ th’ kid. Go on Pokey!
Good-by, missus!”
He was alone on the prairie in a de¬
serted stage coach,with the storm howl¬
ing about him, and his thoughts were of
other things for a long time before he
remembered that all his money wa3 in
his saddle-bags.
“Wa-al, chances is purty nigh agin
my ever needin’ it,” he muttered, in his
quaint way, “’Taint like I hed a stove
an’ a hull lot o’ grub. She’ll save it fur
me, likely, auyhaowv’ %'
* * * * *
It was two days later that the stage,,
coming down from Jersey with, several
Samaritans aboard, found him. It was
two weeks and more before he came to
himself in the hotel where he had had
every possible attention. He was, as he
himself remarked, “Glad to be alive, an’
fin’ I hedn’t lo3’ no han’s n’r feet.”
But the woman and child had gone—
they had left Jersey the very , day that
Hen’s halt dead form was brought in
by the relief party—and with them went
Hen’s money; for the saddlebags had
been taken to the woman’s room by the
hostler, and no one else had had posses¬
sion of them, besides which, much to
the landlhrd’s surprise, she had paid her
bill with a $100 greeuback when she
left. Hen’s money had been mostly in
bills of that denomination.
Hen “kept a stiff upper lip” and said
little, when he got back to the ranch,
which he did in a shoxt time much to
our surprise.
“ ’Twas all on ’caount o’ them blaraa
saddlebag,” said he. “Ef I’d let new
faD<?led notions alone, an’ carried th’
stuff an’ other things in my clo’es, I’d
ben all right.”—San Francisco Examiner.
How He Haudled Rattlesnakes.
Dr. Wing, the Chinese corn doctor, is
purchasing all the live rattlesnakes he
can obtain, which he uses to make med¬
icines. An Indian brought him one last
Saturday in a tightly secured can. The
doctor had a forked stick and as soon as
his snakeship was released he was held
in such a manner with the stick that he
could not bite; then Wing took him in
his left hand holding him firmly about
an inch back of the head and then pro¬
ceeded to sew the snake’s mouth up. He
then placed it in a bottle containing
alcohol and expressed himself thusly:
“Heap good; alle same two tree day
Kleele cure!”—Alturas (Cal.) Herald.
There is no question of the value oi
advertising, but still it doesn’t justify a
young man carrying an umbrella in such
a way as is most likely to catch the ey«
of the puolic.—Philadelphia Time*.
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