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DESTINY.
Like a shadow that flies from the sun god, we
slip out of life and are gone.
The place where we were is vacant, for
who will remember till noon.
The drop of dew like a diamond which
pleased at the glimmer of dawn?
And when the singer has left us, who cares
to rememeber the tune?
In the leaves’ deep drift in the forest what
bird is seeking the one
Beneath whose shelter she builded her tedi¬
ous love cradling nest?
It has lived, it was used, has perished; now
lieth, its use being done;
Forgotten of sunshine and songster in rhe
dust Whence it came. It is best.
But we, we shrink from the leaf’s fate, and
we murmur: “Soon they forget;
These friends whom we loved, who loved us
and shared in our pleasures and mirth.
Our names are lost in the silence death bring
eth, and no regret
Endureth for us, low lying in the green
gemmed bosom of earth.”
Oh, mortal, accept the omen; we live, we are
used, and we fall
As the leaf -before us has fallen. We pass
from our place and are not.
The living have grief sufficient, content thee
to fold in thy pall
Remembrance and sorrowful grieving, and
be of the living forgot.
—Clare St. George, in Inter-Ocean.
ONE TOUCH OF NATURE.
BY L. T>. LEECH.
It was m the early seventies, and I and
my two partners were running a cattle
ranch located on the Big Medicine tiiver
111 southwestern .Kansas.
The recently finished Pacific railroads
to the north of us had driven the buffalo
pretty well out of the southern country,
and the millions of acres of rich grasses
which had pastured countless thousands
of these animals for untold ages past,now
lay open to the herds of the cattlemen,
We were among the first ranchers who
entered the new field, but at the time of
which I write nearly one hundred cow
camps had been established within a
radius of fifty miles of ours.
0 ‘ tite most recent arrivals in the
neighborhood •
was a New Englander
named Bailey, a quiet, rather delicate
looking fellow of about thirty-five, who,
ayear before my story opens, had come
on the range, bought a couple of hun
dred head of cattle, and located a ranch
on the North Fork, about twenty miles
west of our camp.
Bailey was a shy, reserved sort of
man, and although hospitable enough
when visited, evinced but little of that
whole-souled fraternal sociability which
generally characterizes the lordly riders
of the range. This made him very un
w *th the exception of an
old Mexican herdsman, who served him
in the capacity of cowboy, he had few
friends and no intimates.
We are all entirely too ready to believe
the worst of any one whom we dislike,
rule C0W ^°^ S aro uo exception to the
bo when, one autumn afternoon, big
.lim bmith, the boss herder of the circle
bar ranch, came thundering up to the
dug-out, with his pony all afoam, and,
calling me outside, told me that Bailey
was which . running there off a bunch of steers in
to other were a lot of strays belong
mg ranchers, and that the boys
had gotten wind of it, and were organ
him izing for a pursuing cattle thieving, party to I catch did and hang
the accused man's not doubt
Ten minules later guilt.
revolver, I had belted on my
saddled my pony, and was
galloping rendezvous, like the wind for the appointed
all too ready to take my part
ra the anticipated ‘ hanging-bee.”
We were a wild, rough-looking set who
met that evening at the 2-X ranch, and
started out ou poor Bailey's trail. To
tell the truth, we were most of us as wild
■and rough as we looked.
There were fifteen in the company
altogether, -
for the most part owners, or
part cowboys owners, AVe of ranches, and the Vest
and each were all well mounted,
volver, was armed with knife and re
while from every
hung the ever-present lariat, the all-im
portant item, next to his pony, of a cow
boy’s equipment. *
Tom Anderson,as'rapping Missourian,
who ran the 2-X brand, and who was the
fell acknowledged master-spirit of the range,
occasion, naturally into the lead upon this
as he did upon all others where
intrepid daring,and unyielding firmness
'were required. /
Tom was what the cowboys call a
“holy terror.” He did not know what
fear was; but, (hough relentlessly he had fierce heart
and cruel when enraged, a
that was as tender as a child's in some of
its moods. He was a lion in both looks
and nature, and we all admired him, and
generally submitted, without question, to
his Our leadership. rode sixty miles that
night, party over light
and just as it began to grow
next morning we came up with Bailey.
He and his old herder were engaged in
cooking breakfast over their camp-fire and
when we appeared upon the scene,
we did not wait for them to finish their
meal before explaining their business.
Fierce and haggard from our hard
night-ride, we were an ugly-looking
crew, and it was little wonder that poor
Bailey looked scared as he rose and
timorously morning, greeted us with a advanced “ Good¬
gentlemen! ” as we
and drew up around the fire.
No one answered his salutation; it was
received with grim, ominous silence.
“Just take care of him. boys, while I
ride out to the cattle and see that there
is no mistake about the strays. We
want to be certain he’s guilty before go¬
ing any further,” said our leader; and,
as he spoke, he and several others of the
party started toward a bunch of cattle
that were grazing upon the prairie not
far while the rest of us
over Bailey, who had now grown pale as
death, and was trembling in every limb.
In a moment Tom and the others re¬
turned, and, as they approached, Tom
said: “It’s true boys. There’s a dozen
strays in the lot, and no mistake,” and
turning, without he more added, ado, to the
cowering culprit, with a harsh
abruptness that was simply terrible:
“You, Bailey, are a cattle-thief, and we
have come after you to hang you. You
knew the law of the range when you
broke it, so you must abide by it. You
shall have an hour, and an hour only, to
prepare for death.”
A9 his doom was thus spoken, Bailey,
poor wretch, was completely overcome
with terror and dismay,
“O boys, boys, don’t hang me! You
mustn’t hang me!” he cried piteously,
falling I suppliantly on his knees. “I
swear am innocent! I call on my Maker
to witness lhat I intended to pay you for
your cattle. Oh, have mercy, and don’t
hang down, me!” and and like he broke completely
wept a child,
But it was no use. There was no re¬
lenting in the harsh, stern faces of his
termination; captors, no softening and of their grim de
not a syllable of dis
sent was uttered when our leader spoke
again, and said sternly:
“Mercy from us you will not receive,
You had best pray for it from your
Maker. In an hour’s time you will be
in his presence.”
As Tom spoke, the poor wretch gave
faces °ne despairing of the look at the unrelenting
about him, and, men grouped on their ponies
of pity, fell, with meeting hopeless with not a sign
a groan, face
downward upon the grass,
“I reckon we had better leave him by
himself fur awhile, boys. If he has any
prayin’ to do, I allow he kiu do it better
without a aujienee; so let’s draw off
agiece till his time’s up.”
This most opportune and delicate
suggestion it came from old Jake Lape,
an( l was acted upon with alacrity. We
immediately hundred moved off for a distance of
a yards or so, and left the
doomed man alone to make his final
preparations fully intended for death. Although we
that it to hang him, we ail felt
wn« uo more than right to show
him all the politeness and courtesy ad
missibie under the circumstances,
dejectedly Shortly after we rode off, Bailey rose
to his feet, thrust his hand
ln to his bosom, and drawing forth what
looked, from a distance, like a letter,
dropped upon his knees and pressed it
again and again to his lips with im
passioned placed fervor. Afterward he rc
it in his bosom, and, bowing his
bead, spent the remainder of his last
hour seemingly in silent prayer,
When the time had finally expired, and
i we drew near the kneeling culprit to
finish our dread work, he arose to meet
- us "'id 1 an air so calm and gentle, so
| j utterly for we had changed, expected that to it meet-with astounded tears us,
atl d supplications aud struggles,
Me offered not the slightest resistance
! wbe:» we bound his hands securely Im¬
bind him, and, lifting him upon his
horse, drove with him down to the creek
bottom, where aseraggy cottonwood had
already been selected to serve as a gal
loxvs.
Bailey was driven under the tree; the
noose of a lariat was quickly placed
about his neck, and the other end thrown
across an overhanging limb, and made
fast to the tfunk. Old I.ape had his
“quint” raised in readiness to bring it
down across the flank of the doomed
man’s pony at the word of command; all
was ready for the final act. when Bailey
raised his head and Anderson spoke. his side, he
Calling Tom to
said: “Tom will you do a favor for a
dying “What man?” is it?” the gruff reply.
was
“I want you to promise to see that my
family gets what little property I leave.
They are poor, and will need it badly,
Tom; so, please promise. I know you’ll
do it if vou say you will.”
■‘Well, Bailey, I’ll do it, if that’s all
you want. You may rest easy on that
score; I promise,” answered Tom, in a
softened tone. — V---"
“Thank you, Tom; and now, just one
thing more, eagerly, please,” “reach into continued bosom the
prisoner picture that’s there, ray and let
and get the
me have another look at my wife and
children before I die.
We all of us sat cottonwood grouped about during on this our
ponies under the
scene, and, as Tom Anderson taking complied pic¬
with Bailey’s request, and a
ture from the prisoner’s bosom held it
before him so that he could look at it,
the surrounding group of rough cow¬
boys became utterly absorbed in the
scene.
Not a whisper was uttered, and the
noise of the restive ponies, as they
champed their greensward, bits or stamped alone impa¬ broke
tiently upon the
the solemn stillness.
With a look of unspeakable tender¬
photograph ness, Bailey and glued held his them eyes there upon the for
fully a minute. his head dropped suddenly
Then upon
his breast, and, with a groan, he cried
out, in boys, despairing accents: it’s hard die and
“0 boys! to
leave them all alone; and to die in such
a way, too! It will kill poor Mary, if
she's not dead already; I know it will.”
He no longer looks at the picture, but
Tom Anderson himself was gazing at it
instead. Long and earnestly he looked
at it, but did not speak a word. Then
he handed it to old man Lape, and it
passed from hand to hand until every
mac in the party had taken a long look
at it.
A sweet, gentle womans face looked
smilingly forth from the midst of the
card, while over each of her shoulders
peeped a chubby face filled with childish
glee and innocence. On the border of
the card was written, in a clear, delicate
hand: “Come home soon, papa; we’re
so lonely without you.”
When the picture had gone the
rounds, atrd Tom Anderson returned it
reverently to Bailey’s bosom, the culprit
raised his head and said:
“It was for their sake, boys, I drove
the cattle off in such a hurry. I got
word yesterday that my wife was dying,
and I took the first steers I could find in
order to get the money to see her. It
was wrong, I suppose, but I would have
paid you for every head I took when I
came back.”
Like a flash Tom Anderson's knife
was out of its sheath. A quick stroke,
and the rope about the prisoner’s neck
was severed. Instantly Bailey’s pony
bore him aside, and in his place, facing
the crowd, on his mustang sat Tom,
with uplifted hand and his eyes fairly
blazing with fierce excitement, while we
were too much amazed to either speak or
move.
“That man speaks the truth!” he
shouted. “He never intended to steal
them cattle. But whether he did or not,
it’s all the same tome; the man that lays
finger on him must do it over my dead
body. If I had a wife like that lady in
the pictur’ critter an’ she was sick, I’d steal
every on the range to git to her;
an’ the man’s a dog that wouldn’t. If
any man here thinks different I’m ready
to fight it out with him right . here and
now.”
For a moment there was no response,
then old man Lape spoke up:
“Well, Tom,” said he, * “ye needn’t
talk to mighty fierce, as no one's goin’ to
fight ye, I guess. Not that we’re skeered
of ye, Tom. You mustn’t flatter your¬
self by thinkin’ that at all, but we all feel
about the same as you do in the matter.
Leastwise I do, and to show Bailey that
I believe he’s innocent, I hereby make
him a present of them three steers o’
mine that’s in his bunch.
“Bully for you, old man! them’s my
sentiments; and I’ll chip in the steers
that belong to me, too!” shouted Bill
Smith.
“Same here!” yelled Dutch Frank,
rubbing two big tears off his cheeks with
his grimy fist.
“I’m with you,boys!’’ shouted another.
“Me, too!”said another, and a minute
later every one of the “strays” that had
caused all the trouble belonged as much
to Bailey as if the iiank of each of them
bore his brand and no other.
The revulsion of feeling was simply
tremendous. The very men who
ten minutes before had been ruthlessly
intent upon hanging Bailey now crowded
around him, begging forgiveness, and
vying with one another as to which
could do the most for him.
Such of us a3 owned none of the
“strays” actually felt mean, and jealous
of those who did until Tom Anderson
■suggested a way in which we too, might
give vent to our generous impuis’es. —
critters “Boys,” said he, “there’s none spring o’my
in Bailey’s bunch, but next
I’m a-goin’ to brand twenty calves for
that little girl in the pictur’, and it’s my
intention to take care of them and their
increase for her until she’s growed up.”
“Now you’re shoutin’, Tom! I’ll do
the same, chimed in another.
“I’ll go twenty for the little boy!”
shouted another; and so it went until
each man of us had made a liberal con¬
Poor Bailey was entirely overcome,
and no wonder. To escape hanging so
narrowly, and five minutes later to have
those who had been bent upon executing
him eagerly competing with one another
as to which could show him the greatest
kindness was enough to upset any man.
He tried to express his feelings co¬
herently, but could not; and we left him
in the midst of his tears and protesta¬
tions of gratitude, and rode off to the
nearest ranch to procure food and rest
for ourselves and our ponies before start¬
ing on our homeward journey. A' . i f
■■=> -Si*
Bailey is at present one of the wealth
iest and most popular cattle men in the
Southwest.
His wife did not die, but recovered,
and now resides with him at his ranch
on the North Fork.
We cowboys kept our word; and the
spring after the lynching affair saw sev¬
eral hundred calves branded with the
initials of Bailey’s son and daughter and
turned loose on the range.
With his share of them and their
progeny the boy lias stocked a big
ranch of his own; while the share of
the little girl, who is, by the way, one
of the loveliest plains, prairie makes flowers her that of ever
graced the heiresses one Youth's the
richest in tae State. —
Companion.
Meals at a Cost of Fifteen Cia’ii.
city A for satisfying tneal can be had in this
probably Jess money than in
most cities in this or any other country.
There is plenty of variety in the daily
bill of lare presented bv the cheap res¬
taurant. For breakfast or supper the
hungry guest may take his choice of beef¬
steak, wither without fried onjjons; mut¬
ton or pork chops, ham and eggs, scrap¬
ple, sausages or fried liver. With each
of these more or less nourishing dishes
are served—fried potatoes, two relishes,
bread or hot cakes and butter and a large
cup of coffee or tea, and the price of all
this—is but fifteen cents. All meals
arc served at a uniform charge, and surely
the dinner of roast meat, three vegetables,
pudding, deep coffee, into bread and butter must
cut the slender in a gin of
profit realized on the morning and even¬
ing meals. of the But a vast number of the
patrons fifteen cheap restaurants regard
cents as an extravagant outlay for
a single meal, and they have to be
catered for accordingly. For five cents
a man can have a large bowl of vegetable
or bean soup, an oyster or beef pie, a big
plate of beef stew, a plate of scrapple,pot
pie, other pepper pot or his choice of several
more or less appetizing and nour¬
ishing dishes. The less said about the
serving and cooking of this cheap food
the better. Sticklers for show—white
clothes and highly polished knives,
forks and spoons—must look elsewhere
than to the cheap restaurants for these
deceptive quantifies adjuncts to an appetizing meal.
Vast of food are consumed
daily in the popular cheap dining rooms.
The proprietoi of one of these places
gave a reporter the following list of the
average quantities of food used in the
preparation of a week's meals: One thou¬
sand,four hundred pounds of bread, 1,290
pounds beef, steaks, joints, stewing
meats, etc.; coffee, 000 pounds of sugar, 100
pounds of 20 pounds of tea, 400 •
pounds of of muttonj and joints and chops, 150
daily. pounds About veal 125 quarts of milk
2,500 bushels of potatoes
are used annually, and a proportionate
quantity of cabbage, parsnips, turnips,
beets and other vegetables.
England Book-keeping from was by first introdued into
Italy Peele in 1509.