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VOL. I.
THE RED CROSS.
They too havo hoard the drum-beat,
They follow the bugle’s call,
These who are swift with pity
On the field where brave men fall.
When tho battle-boom is silent,
And tho echoing thunder dies.
They haste to the plain red sodden
With tho blood of sacrifice.
Tho flag that floats above them
Is marked with a crimson sign,
Tledge of a groat compassion
And the rifted heart divine,
That onco for man’s redemption
Knew earth’s compietest loss,
Theso to the Held of valor
Bring love’s immortal cross.
And so they follow the bugle.
And heed the drum-beat’s cal),
But their errand is one of pity—
They succor the men who fall.
—Harpor’s Bazar. *
* THE YELLOW GOD. *
BV LEAVENWORTH MACNAB.
©
Tom Jenkins ran bis band through
the gold that lay heaped on the floor
of the shack. “Seems to me, Billy,”
he said, slowly, “that hopin’ to find
it is better ’n findin’ it.”
Dull gleams of light from a smoky
lantern fell athwart the face of the old
miner, rugged, homely, deep-furrowed
by time and hardships, and offering a
marked contrast, indeed, to the hand¬
some, patrician features of Billy
Bailey, his junior partner.
“Findin’, Billy, means quittin’.
It’s an end to the wants an’ privations
I’ve knowed for nigh twenty years.
But, somehow, I’ve come to like theso
still ole mountains, an’ the singin’ of
the pines, an’ the river. They’ve
growed like friends, an’ I’m never
lonesome among ’em. Listen! you
can hoar ’em now. Maybe it’s the las’
time they’ll ever sing fer me.”
“We’re goin’ back to civ’lization,”
continued Tom, unheeding the other’s
lack of sympathy with his reminiscent
modd, “an’ that means separation. I
know you like me, Billy. A feller
•couldn’t want a better pardner than
you’ve been fer the two year I’ve
knowed you. But with yer eddica-
tion, an’ yer young blood, an’ yer am¬
bitions, you ain’t my kind in civ’liza-
tion. We can’t be the same down
there. I couldn’t expect it. But I
think a powerful deal of you, Billy.
I-”
“Oh, come, Tom,” broke in his
companion, impatiently, “you’re in
the dumps tonight. Take a walk and
brace up. Should think you’d look
on the bright side of things now.
We’ve worked and starved in these
cursed wilds for gold, until at last
we’ve got it. Think of the city’s ten
thousand pleasures that this stake cau
buy for us. There’s no life in these
solitudes. It’s there in the crowded
streets, and it can be ours when we’ve
got such a god—the god of gold—to
see us through.”
Billy laughed gloatingly in anticipa¬
tion. Then once more he fixed his
e^ps with a glittering intensity on the
yellow heair, which meant for him all
that life can mean to a selfish, love-
lack nature.
“But it ain’t fer me,” persisted
Tom. “I’m past them things. If it
wa’n’t fer the hope of findin’ the old
woman down there in Frisco an’ mak-
in’ her comfortable, I’d stay. I don’t
care fer the gold after all. I’ve found
it, an’ my hungerin’ fer it’s satisfied.”
Billy made no answer. He had
long since become resigned to the di¬
versity of their tastes, and tonight he
was in no mood for argument. He
got out some materials, and began to
repair a rent in his coat. Tom rose
presently, and dumped the nuggets
into a gunny-sack. Then he arranged
his blankets for the night.
“Put it away safe, Billy,” he said,
jocularly; “we’re already on the edge
of civ’lization, an’ must learn to be
pertickler. ”
“I’ll look after it, never fear,” said
the other, shortly; “good-night.”
Billy finished his task, but his mind
was still busy with thoughts of the
future. He rose and stepped out into
the night. At his feet the turbulent
river rushed blackly along, its foam-
crests gleaming like dull silver in the
clear starlight. Behind him towerod
in silent majesty the rugged, wooded
mountains. The air was heavy with
the breath of the pines. But Billy
saw none of the beauty of the night.
The mountains awakened memories of
hardships and hopelessness; the river
was only a highway to civilization. He
lit his pipe, and began to pace up and
down the shelving shore.
There was none of tW%tuffof which
heroes are made in Billy Bailey’s com¬
position. Had the fates seen fit to
THE TRIBUNE
“Don’t Give Up tla© Ship.”
BUCHANAN, GA., FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 23. 1898.
continue their kindly beginning, he
would probably have developed into
one of the horde of whited sepulchres
that so largely make up what the
world is pleased to term the respect¬
able of humanity—those who observe
the conventions to the letter, indulge
every desire with a studied care that
wins the approval of men, and dying
are respectfully buried and speedily
forgotten. On the contrary, fate had
preferred giving Billy a chance to
prove his mettle. His college career
cut short by tho melting away of his
father’s fortune, he awoke one morn¬
ing to And himself face to face with
the world, his wits his only capital.
He remembered tonight his struggles
to maintain his social position; the
slights heaped upon him by erstwhile
boon companions; the gradual sinking
away of hope, until, with starvation
staring him in the face,he had shipped
in a vessel bound “’round the Horn.”
On his lips were angry phrases for the
friends who had failed him; in his
heart a resolve some day to retaliate.
He recalled his hardships on the
Western frontier, his final falling in
with old Tom Jenkins, and the hope¬
less search for gold until a week ago,
when the gravel of a dried-up moun¬
tain stream unexpectedly yielded them
their little fortune and ended for him
the wretched existence in these soli¬
tudes. His future course was plain.
Mercilessly he would engage in the
war for wealth. His heart must know
but one love—the love of gold.
And the stake! it was not so much
after all. If he only had Tom’s share,
too! The thought startled him, and
he looked furtively about as though
already under surveillance. Well,
why not? The old man cared nothing
for gold—he had said as much. Why
not begin the task of wealth-gather¬
ing tonight, and double his fortune by
a single coup? The skiff was all ready
for the morrow’s journey down the
river. He could easily reach North
Fork by daylight, and miles of dis¬
tance would lie between him and Tom
before the latter could make the trip
across the almost impassable mountain
trail. He weakened for a moment as
he thought of Tom’s almost motherly
solicitude—of how throughout their
wanderings the big-hearted miner had
borne the brunt of the struggle. Even
when the treasure was discovered the
old man’s first words were: “I’m glad
for your sake, Eilly.” Then lie'asked
himself if he, too, was growiug senti¬
mental, and tonight, of all nights, on
the very eve of battle.
He walked back to the hoitse. Tom
was fast asleep. The flickering light
of the lantern fell aslant the corner
where he lay, his powerful form half
swathed in the tattered blankets, his
brawny arms thrown above his head.
The face, from which sleep seemed to
have smoothed away the deep furrows,
mirrored the rugged honesty of his
heart. But the touching picture meant
nothing to Billy, who watched the
sleeper for an instant, and then pro¬
ceeded to put his cowardly scheme
into effect. It was but the work of a
few minutes to gather together the
things necessary for the short journey
down the river, and to secure the
treasure for safe transportation. There
was a look of cunning triumph on his
face as he completed his preparations.
He was thinking of the surprise await¬
ing Tom, who had been “fool enough
to believe in human friendship. ”
He made a cautious step toward the
door of the shack, when a slight noise,
real or fancied, caused him to glance
back over his shoulder. The next in¬
stant the bag of gold crashed to the
floor, while Billy sank on his knees as
though felled by a blow. Tom was
sitting bolt upright in bed,his revolver
leveled at Billy’s heart.
The two gazed at each other in
utter silence. Billy’s eyes, fixed with
the penetration born of despair,
scanned the old man’s face, and
read there reproach and pity, rather
thau a thirst for swift revenge. This
somewhat reassured him, and he rose
to his feet.
“Well,” he said, bluntly, “what do
you intend to do?”
, ZP °’ „ ., „ ^ 01 p>'' vlt .... h a long breath,
,, T * ““ to ? k ia vou afte !' al1 To
- ’ -
ink that I give you my friendship ,
an’ you wa’n’t worth it. What be I
going to do? What do men usu’lly do
when a pardner turns thief?”
“You wouldn’t shoot me, Tom?”
less “Why not? Men’s been killed fer
’an this an’ the world wuz well
red of’em.’!
Then it did mean death.
As Billy realized this his face turned
ashen pale, while a palsying terror
struck through him, rending his
bravado mask and revealing him as
the pitiable dastard he was. He
cowered before the old man, pleading
hysterically.
“Oh, spare me, spare me, Tom. You
said you cared nothing for gold, while
I—I was mad with love of it. It is
my god—my heaven —my everything.
But take it, take it all—only give me
my life —Tom—I—I—can’t—die. ”
"Git up,” commanded the other,
coldly, “don’t make me despise yon
worse’n I do. What would you do if
you wuz iu my place? Shoot, wouldn’t
you? You’d kill me now if you had
the chance.”
“But think, Tom, what life means
to me; I’m young and-”
“Think what friendship meant to
me, Billy. I’m old.”
In the momentary silence that
followed, the pines and tho river
could be heard singing their old, old
song, unheeding of the strife of mor¬
tals for a scrap of the treasure they
guarded. Tom heard the song, and
his bitterness seemed to go out with
the weird melody. The hand that held
the weapon dropped listlessly to his
side.
“I’ll spar’ yer life,”he said hoarsely;
“you kin go.”
Billy stood a moment as though he
had not heard.
“Yer free. Go!” said Tom.
The boy glauced from the old man
to the bag of gold, and then turned
slowly toward the doorway.
“You better take yer pile now,”
said Tom, quietly, “Us I reckon you
won’t be cornin’ back.”
"Do you mean it?” gasped Billy.
"Certainly; only half’s yourn, ain’t it?
There’s one thief in this camp,
an’—it ain’t me.”
Tom jiroceeded to open the bag, and
roughly divided the contents.
"You can take the boat, that goes
with your half. As fer me,” he added,
in a voice that wavered in spite of
himself, “I’ll do what I’d ’a’ done if
you’d ’a’ with robbed tire me. I’ll stay awhile the
longer mountains an’
river. They’re uncertain sometimes,
an’ sometimes dangerous, but most-
wise they’re better’n men.”
Billy vaguely appreciated tho nature
of the man with whom he was deal¬
ing, yet he felt that such nobleness
required some acknowledgment. He
sprang forward, and tried to grasp
the old man’s hand.
“No, no—not that!” cried Tom,
fiercely. “Don’t touch me. The
gold is yourn. Take it and go. But
go quickly, Billy—fer I’m only
human,”—San Francisco Argonaut,
Picturesque Havana.
Havana is dilapidated and pictur¬
esque, and the traveler will find as
much of the bizarre and unique in a
stroll up the Prado and about the les¬
ser streets as he has perhaps ever en¬
countered in a like distance anywhere.
To me the most interesting hour in
the day in one of those antique towns
is in the very early morning, when
the place is just getting awake and
the hucksters are coming in.
These country people arrive in all
sorts of ways for the daily market.
One group comes afoot,with tremen¬
dously heavy loads of fruits and vege¬
tables carelessly balanced on their
heads or swung on their backs. Here
is a swarthy fellow leading a horse
bearing capacious reeded panniers of
fruits and stalks of sugarcane.
Lumbering wains come straining
into town, drawn by heavy-necked
yokes with restraining nose-hitches.
A four-team of these cattle and their
great cart will alone block the aver¬
age side street, so the country ox¬
carts rarely get very far into town.
When two of them meet there is an
ably conducted debate on road rights
and considerable native profanity. An
ambulating haystack adds a pictur¬
esque touch to the scene and a breath
from the fields. As the diminutive
horse under the load swings down the
way the grass often brushes the
houses on either side and crowds the
footmen to the extremity of the eight¬
een-inch sidewalks.—Woman’s Home
Companion.
What He Could Not Be.
While some Swiss militiamen were
resting from their drill one of the men
stepped from the ranks to light his
cigar from that of the officer. The
latter took the evidence of the “spirit
of freedom” in good part, but said: “Iu
the Prussian army you could not have
done this, John.” “Bight you are,”
was the prompt reply; “but iu the
Prussian army you could not be an
officer.”
Two Swiss foresters killed two
eagles recently. In and near their
nest they found remnants of chamois,
marmot, rabbit, cat, weasel, and even
a mouse.
SHE WOULDN’T BE ARRESTED.
How a St. Paul Woman Foiled a “Nasty,
, Mean Policeman.”
A very charming St. Paul woman
who makes her summer home at White
Bear, Minn., routed the police force
of that village after a brief encounter
a few days ago.
Mrs. B. rides a bicycle, of course,
and when it became necessary for her
to go to the grocery or the postollice
or wherever it was that she had to go
she, of course, mounted her wheel.
Now, at times the streets in the vil¬
lage of White Bear are not tho real
thing for wheeling, and the town au¬
thorities know the same. With a view
to having the streets pressed out flat
by bicyclists they have passed an or¬
dinance forbidding any one riding on
the sidewalks.
Mrs. B. either did not know this or
she did not care; she took to the walk
and rode down town. She left her
wheel outside and went into the store,
and when she came out she found
herself confronted by the dignitary
who is the wholo thing in police
circles—the man who is to the police
department what the lone mariner was
to the Nancy brig.
He said to the lady:
“You are under arrest.” She looked
at him and made a dash for her wheel
which he had captured. He retired
before the onslaught in disorder, and
she got the wheel.
“I am what?” she demanded.
“You are under arrest for riding on
the walk.”
“But I won’t be under arrest,” she
said.
“But you are,” he said.
“I am nothing of the kind, You
mind your own business.”
“But, mum, it is my business, and
you must go to the justice’s office with
me, or promise that you will be there
at 9 o’clock in the morning.”
“I won’t do anythiugof the kind.”
“But I tell you I arrest you.”
“And I tell you I won’t be arrested.
There you are. Now, what are you
going to do about it?”
“Oh, come on, now; come to the
justice’s office.”
“I won’t do it. I’ll pay a fine, if
that’s what you want. How much is
it?”
“I don’t take the fine. You must
go to the justice,’’said the unfortunate
I copper.
“Where's the justice, then?”
“He’s down on the bridge, fishin’,
I guess. Won’t you promise to be on
hand in the juorning?”
"No, I won't?”
“Then I’ll have to arrest yon.”
“And I tell you I won’t be arrested
and I’m going home.”
The copper scratched his head and
looked as though he was going to
make another sally on the bicycle.
Mrs. B. got aboard of the wheel. I
“You’re a nasty, mean thing, and
I’m going to tell my husband that you
said I was arrested,” she said, and
she rode off and the copper went down
on the bridge and helped the justice
fish, and the crowd that had gathered
gave him the laugh.
Heating Capabilities of Wood,
From time immemorial soft wood
has been regarded as comparatively
valueless for heating purposes. Hard
wood has brought high prices and has
been in much greater demand thau
soft, on account of this generally pre-
va’ling notion. Experiments with
woods of various sorts have demon¬
strated that the linden, which is one
of the softest of woods, gives the
greatest amount of heat. The value
of other woods in their order, ns as¬
certained, is as follows: “Fir with
0.99 heating power; next follow the
elm anti pine with 0.98; willow', chest¬
nut and larch with 0.97; maple and
spruce fir with 0.96; black poplar
with 0.95; alder and white birch with
0.94 only; then comes the hard oak
with 0.92; the locust and tho white
beech with 0.91, and the red beech
with 0.90. Hence hard wood heats
the least.” It is one of the remark¬
able facts of the day that so many
theories that have been held for many
years are fast giving way before the
critical analyses of science.
IVlmt Slie Will Insist Upon.
“Do vou think she will pin her
faith to him?”
“No; I think she’ll insist upon a
good hard ministerial knot.”—Phila¬
delphia Bulletin.
• Information Wanted.
“Bobby, go immediately and wash
your face. ”
“Who’s cornin’, ma? Or are yon
goin’ to taka me somewhere?”—Chi¬
cago Record.
NO. 42.
NOT IF HE KNEW IT.
Veople Wouldn’t Tramp Over I’eeklinni’a
Lami,
Some people are naturally lazy. In
fact, most people are. It is this in¬
born disposition to get through life
with the least possible effort that
makes one walk on the grass merely
to save three or four steps. Inciden¬
tally this natural laziness upon tho
part of the human race is responsible
for the fact that Ebenozer Peckham,
who lives on Cedar avenue, has been
unable to get a good brand of sod upon
the exposed corner of his neat little
lot.
Half a dozen extra steps are neces¬
sary to take one around Mr. Peck-
ham’s corner, but five out of every six
people who have in the past had occa¬
sion to turn that way have felt it their
duty to “cut across.”
At last Ebetiezer Peckliam made a
vow. It was to the effect that he
would get even with the human race
or know the reason why. In pursuance
of this determination lie got two stout
stakes, each about two feet long, and
he pointed each of them at one end.
Then he secured 20 feet of clothesline
and chuckled softly to himself.
revenge is sweet. In his mind’s eyo
Ebenezer I’eckham could see members
of all the various grades of society
turning flipflaps, and cartwheels and
standing on their heads, and rooting
up the turf. He thought of inviting
a few friends around to see the fun,
but that would involve delay, and he
couldn’t wait.
So he got a hatchet and pounded
his stakes into the ground so far that
a horse might have pulled at either of
them without dislodging it, and then
he tied his piece of clotheline across
the path that had been worn into his
little patch of lawn. The rope was
about six inches from the ground—
just high enough to trip a trespasser
going or coming.
“Now, dadgast you,” said Mr.
Beckham, as he finished the job,
“we’ll see how yon like that! I guess
maybe there’s more than one way of
doing most things, but I think this’ll
be good enough for me. ”
Then he retired to his porch and
pat down in a dark corner, from which
! he could see the fun without being
seen.
“£y George,” lie said to himself,
“It’s a shame not to let anybody else
enjoy this. I wish Dave Brimmer
could be here. He’d split himself
wide open laughing. Dave would just
take to this sort of thing. M
wonder—” i
But yyliile hfs Mr. Peckham was inclulg-
ing in mental talk there enme a
sudden clanging of bells and rattling
of wheels, and somebody around the
corner yelled, “Fire.”
Ebenezer Peckham leaped clear over
the railing of his porch and started
for the conflagration. The sight or
sound of a lire engine always aroused
the sleeping youth in Mr. Peckham.
Like an eagle in its flight, ho swept
around the lilac bush near the side¬
walk, and then there was a display of
pyrotechnics beginning with a soariug
rocket, continuing with a sort of pin-
wheel movement, embracing a brilliant
shower of stars, and ending with a
low, plaintive groan, as Mr. Peckham,
with a dislocated shoulder,a nose that
had been doing special duty as a plow¬
share, and trousers that had once
known their proper place, rolled over
on the grass.
They put him tenderly to bed, a
kindliearted neighbor pulled up the
stakes, and people come and go across
the Peckham lawn again at their plea¬
sure.—Cleveland Leader.
Saved Himself.
The foreman of a jury which lately
sat in a New England courtroom has
a ready wit which served him well in a
recent encounter with one of the bril¬
liant lights of the legal Avorld.
The judge is a man of abrupt speech
and manner, but with a quick sense of
humor.
The foreman of the jury was late one
day; only a few moments, to be sure,
but it was one of the judge’s most ir¬
ritable clays, as he afterward owned.
“I overslept,your honor,” said the
foreman, with due meekness, as he took
his seat.
“Fine him,” said the judge, testily.
“May it please your honor,” said
the foreman,quickly, “I did not dream
of that!”
“Bemit the fine,” said the judge,
hiding his mouth with his hand for a
moment; but his eyes betrayed him
for all that.—Youth’s Companion.
There were more than a hundred
collisions on Japanese railways last
year.