Crawfordsville Weekly Journal, Crawfordsville, Montgomery County, 11 May 1894 — Page 6

THE OLD MILL MYSTERY.

By "Arthur W-Marchmont. B. A.

Author of "Miser Hoadley'a Secret," "Mart cline Power," "lJy ATliose Hand," "Isa," &c. &c.

LCopyright, 1892, by the Author.]

"lie does not say anything against you, dear all lie means is that there arc matters which will need explanation." She was anxious to let him know what she knew, and yet shunned tiie task of speaking out plainly. "It may be necessary that you should—should say why you came away and—and what you were doing during, the whole of that evening, and how the handkerchief can have come to be inside the mill close by that window." "What do you mean by this, Mary?" he asked, "have you come here just to try and question me as to my doings on that night?" "1 have not come to ask any questions for my own sake," answered the girl. "Well, if you have come for mine you make a great mistake. I don't care a straw what people say. I have already told you that I don't wish to speak of the matter." "It is not what ordinary people think, dear but what the—" she stopped, and changed the form of what she was saying. "It is no time for beating about the bush. I have been half afraid to speak out. But I had better. I am afraid they do suspect you, Tom, and there are one or two reasons why. Some of these are known to those who are making inquiries— the police—others only to ourselves. In the first place there is the knowledge that you had words with Mr. •Coode that day, and that he told you to leave Walkden Bridge." "That's why I left," said her companion, eagerly. "Yes, I know, my dear, but they know you did not leave until nearly midnight or at least they think it, and they think that 3-ou were about the mill and got into the place through the window in Watercourse-lane then that you dropped a handkereliie close by—and if they think that, they ask why you "went there? Then, for some reason, I know not what, the papers which Mr. Coode had. and which he regarded as the proof of what he charged you with having done, were taken away from the ofiice when he was killed." "What!" explained the man, in a tone of profound astonishment and alarm. "And was nothing else takeu?" "JS'o, not that I have heard." "I can't explain that—1 don't know •what it can mean. There must b? some mistake." He spoke hurriedly and in manifest agitation and his cheeks had paled. "Is there anything else?" he asked, in a low troubled tone.

The girl, seeing his distress, had not the courage to say anything about the finding of the weapon—knowing that she had destroyed all the danger of that. ".No, I don't think there's anything more," she answered. "But you see now why we thought there should be an explanation

The man sat a long time without saying a word in reply. His elbow was resting on the arm of the seat and his hand, with the fingers clenched tightly, was held against his face, as he pressed his knuckles hard against his teeth. When he spoke it was in a tone of evident trouble and fear. "I am not safe for an hour. Mary. I spoke irritably just now I am sorry. Forgive me, my lass I shan't have another chance. It only means 1 shall hasten my going by a day or so. You don't think me capable of doing such a thing as this, do you?" he said, turning to her. "Nay, Tom, I would never believe it, unless you yourself told me you had done it. I trust you. lad, and love you too well to think like that of you." "You are better to me than I've deserved, lass," he answered. "But I'll try and make up for it all in time to come." "But you'll comeback to the Bridge and face it out, won't you?" she said. "There's no good comes in running away, lad." "Nay, I'll not go back till things are plainer. I can't understand what it means and maybe after a bit the truth'll come out. But I can't see how the thing's to be put right now." "If you go away, there will be many who will look at that as an admission that you can't explain tilings,"'urged

Mary, in a low voice "What shall I care what they think when I'm away? I shall go." here will you go, Tom?" she asked, her heart tilling at the thought of the long separation. "I don't know. I shall get off to Liverpool to-day: and whatever vessel's going, I shall sail at the best possible moment." "May I go to Liverpool with you?" she asked. "Better not, lass, better not. You shall know where I am settling as soon as I know myself. You can wait that while—can't you, my dear?" "Ties, Tom," she said, simply, slipping her hand into his. "You may trust that I'll be as true as the light. But it'll be a sad time for me, I reckon arid she laid her head on his shoulder and clung to him. "I shall be woeful without my lad," she said, smiling up to him through her tears. "Don't cry, Mary. We shall be happier away out of it all in anew home, with anew start. I shall send for you soon. Will you keep yourself ready to come to me?" "Aye, Tom. I shall be waiting always and eagerly for that signal and it'll be a glad day that when it comes. 1 love you with all my heart and soul," and then, although they sat together in the broad light of day, she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him, and drew him to her and made him kiss her in return. "That's our good-by. lad," she said. "We'd.Lesti"o now,lest I breakdown."

"God bless you, my lass, while we're apart," he said. They walked back together into the great city, back to the station, scarcely speaking, for the hearts of both were full and they looked out the girl's train. It was to start soon, and Tom said he would wait and see her away. "Have you any money, Tom?" she asked. "Enough for my passage," he answered. "I can work when I get there, wherever I may go." "I brought with me what I had in the house. Take it," and she gave him a small shabby purse. "It's as much yours as mine," she said, with a trustful, loving smile. "I'll send it back to you, lass, every penny: and before long," he said. "And more with it, to pay your passage and bring you to me."

She smiled and pressed his hand which she was holding firmly in hers. "And now, good-by. Don't come to the train with me. I shall be better alone," she said. "Good-by, my lass."

The words seemed to sink in the throat of each of them, and they stood looking steadily into each other's eyes, with their hands tightly held. "I must go," said Mary, feeling the tears were coming again while her lips quivered as she spoke.

At that moment a hand was laid on the man's shoulder. "Tom lloylance, want you! I have to arrest you for t'he murder of Mr. Coode in Walkden Bridge on Friday night." "You might have said it so that the lass couldn't have heard," he said, pointing to Mary's blanched face and bloodless lips.

As he spoke she swayed slightly,and would have fallen to the ground had not a bystander caught her by the arm and helped her to one of the seats.

CHAPTER XXI.

MARY SUSPECTS GOHRINGE.

"What does it all mean, Mary, lass?" The question, asked in a thin, querulous, trembling voice, greeted Mary the moment she entered Tom's cottage, iind old lloylance peered at her from his invalid's bed witli such a look of pain and fear on his thin, pinched, pale face that the girl was moved almost to tears.

The news that Tom lloylance had been arrested for the murder of Mr. Coode'was known quickly in the mill, and when the hands left work it was the one subject of universal gossip. Rumors had reached the old invalid, and he had waited with fretful and waxing impatience for the coming of either Savannah or Alary, that he might learn what the truth really was. "What does what mean, father?" was Mary's answer. "This I hear about Tom, lass, of course. What else? What does it mean? What has happened? Where is he?" "There's been some strange blunderings somewhere," said Mary, "and by some sort of stupid mistake the police have got mixed up in it." "Come here."

There was a tone of harsh imperiousness in the thin, quavering voice, like an echo of perished strength of will.

He seized the girl by the dress with both hands and, turning her face to the light, he looked at her earnestly and sharply. "Is't anything really wrong with 'im? Tell truth, lass." "No, father, nothing," answered Mary, understanding him, and speaking in strong, clear tones, while she returned his look steadily and fixedly. "Our lad couldn't do what these fool.s say. I know it. I've seen him to-day." "What have the fools taken iiim for, then?" "Because they've been blundering, that's all." "Shut the door, lass. See that there's no one about," said the old man mysteriously, loosing his hold and pushing the girl toward the door. "I've something to say to you."

To satisfy him Mary went out, looked into the parlor, and locking the front door went back to him somewhat puzzled. lie took hold again of her dress and drew her close to him. "I've been fearing this," he said, in a voice in which eagerness and terror were struggling, "lie was mad against Coode and that night"—here his voice went to a whisper—"he was awful wild in his manner. Do j'ou think he may have quarreled with yon and have given him a crack in his rage? Do you feel sure yourself, lass, that nothing happened between them?" "Yes, I am sure, father—quite sure," answered Mary, in a tone so confident that it comforted and reassured the old man. "You're a good lass, Mary—a good lass," he said. "I've been wronging the lad—and such a lad as he has always been, too. Poor lad! Poor Tom! I suppose they have taken him up, haven't they?" "Yes,"'answered Alary, glad that she had not had the task of breaking the news. "They charge him, but they've got to make good their words, and that's a very different thing. Then, you haven't told anyone about his coming here late on Friday night?" "No, lass, not a soul. I was too skeered to say a word about it. For he was awful wild and strange-like," he said. "By the way, did 3'ou see whether he brought anything in with him when he came?" asked Mary, the thought of her discovery in the parlor returning to her. "I don't know that he had. I rather think he hadn't, but I can't rightly say. Have you seen Savannah? The lass hasn been in for a week or more and I miss her sorely." "She's been away went Friday, and only came back yesterday. I saw her last night." "I wish she'd come in for a bit. Tell her, if you see her, it's lonesome lying here by oneself, now, without the lad's home coming to look forward to," said the old man, with a sigh. "I'll come back myself as soon as I can," said Mary, touched by the words. "But 1 must £0 hwne fpLawhile."

Close by her cottage she met Gibeon Prawle!. Since-the time of the explosion he had remained in the village, but had avoided Mary. Now, contrary to his custom, he crossed the street and came up to her. "This'll trouble you, Mary, I've heard the news," he said, without any other greeting. "I'mcsorry." "What news do you mean, Gibeon?" she asked, as if in ignorance of his meaning. "About Tom," replied the other. "I should like to help you if you'll let me." "I want no help of yours. I have not yet forgotten what I heard that night," replied Mary, looking meaningly at him. "You mean you'll have no dealings with me, because I had a hand in tl at plant?" "I don't trust you, Gibeon and I want no help from them I can't trust." "Well, you can do as you like, with your beastly pride," he answered, somewhat angrily. "And if you hadn't saved my life you might go to the deuce. But I'm not so bad as you seein inclined to think, and I might be able to do you a good turn over this job." "1 don't want your help, I tell you," repeated the girl. "I don't want anybody's help. And you couldn't help me if I did." "You don't know that, Mary," said the man. "I know that I wouldn't have your help, even if I did want it and with that she walked on.

At the cottage, she found a note from Reuben Oorriry^e. "This is terrible news. I had better see j'ou at once. Either come to me at the mill or let me know of your return that I may come to you."

Mary went up at once to the mill, and not finding the manager there left word that she had been seeking him. She had been at home some little time, and had made a meal—the first she had had that day—before Gorringe came. lie took the hand she held, and kept it a long time, as if in friendly sympathy, while he looked pityingly into her face. "You are suffering cruelly," he said. "This is terrible news." "It is disgraceful that such blunders should be made," answered Mary, her face lighting momentarily with indignation.^:

.5

"If it is a blunder, yes. Were you followed from here?" The girl winced at the cruel suggestion that it was owing to her that Tom had been arrested. "Can that have been the cause of his being taken?" she asked. "I should think not. There must have been some other clew. He must have been recognized," he said but there was not enough conviction in his words to soothe the girl. "Oh. Tom, Tom! What have I done?'' she wailed, and bent her face on her arms on the table. Suddenly she raised her head and looked searchingly at her companion. "Why did you not warn me when 3*ou were here last night?" "1 did not think there was more than the merest shadow of suspicion in the minds of the police." was the ready answer. "Do you think I could have such a thought and not tell you! If 3-011 do I had better go. If there is no trust between us we can do nothing to save Tom from the trouble." "Forgive me," cried Marj', anxious not to offend one whose help and friendship meant so much to her lover. "I do trust 3'ou," and she put out her hand as if to detain him. "It is more valuable now to ask you what was the result of the interview. What was Toms decision? Had he meant to come back and face all, or to wait until the truth could be made clear?"

At that instant as he asked the question the suspicion of. Gorringe which had prompted her question a minute before flashed into the girl's mind and warned her to be cautious in all that she told him, and not to say an3-tl.1i.ng which might be used against Tom. "I had better tell you all that I know," she answered, evading the question and wishing to gain time to think how she had best frame what she wan-ted. to say. "He_went away because of what yon and Mr. Coode had said to him in the afternoon, threatening him with prosecution in the money matter and he was not willing to come back until he knew that that was over." "But you told him what I had said, didn't 3Tou, and that at the earliest moment possible I went to his cottage to assure him that all that affair was over and done for?" "Yes, I told him what you had said but he felt angry and bitter that such a threat should ever have been used." "I see. He wanted something more than a mere promise of that kind to bring him back, I suppose. But now that affairs have taken this disastrous turn it is most important to learn what he told 3'ou as to his movements on Friday night. What did he tell j*ou of those?" "I—1 did not press him I scarcely asked him," said Mary, hesitating and stumbling over the words "but he to!d me enough to convince me that he was never near the mill that night."

Reuben Gorringe listened to the confused statement in silence, and then bent his eyes on the girl's face and knitted his brows, as he answered: "You are doing what you, no doubt, think right, Mary, in trying to screen Tom and if you don't want to speak, I don't want to try and persuade you to do so against your will. But don't try to hoodwink me. Either you don't or 3'ou won't understand how serious matters are. Tom has got not only to convince 3rou, but to prove to a court that his tale is the truth. My own view is this: We had better instruct some good sharp lawyer who is skilled in these cases, and leave him to say what is the best line to be taken. But of course Tom will have to deal with him candidly, and I thought if you had told me what he says I might ha ve b«£gli u.ble_to thinly out a su^fes-

tion or two. For I make no secret to you, my child, that I look on the case as desperately crave and serious." "Why?" asked the girl. "Why serious or desperate? What is known to anj'one? What is suspected except by you?" "You don't mean that unkindly, I hope though you are strange to me to-night," he said, "now can I be an3'thing else than suspicious? Think for a moment. There was the quarrel with Mr. Coode, the breaking into the mill, the finding of the neckerchief, the taking of the papers, the discover of that steel bar wrapped in one of the missing papers, the flight, and now the unwillingness to give any intelligible account of his movements." "I didn't sa3' there was any unwillingness," said Mary, frightened by the staggering accumulation of facts. "No, j-ou did notsajr so, lass, I know. But can I suppose 3'ou would not have been ready enough with the explanation if he had given 3'ou one? What I have said has frightened you and yon are pale at the mere mention of these facts. But I have not wished to terrify 3-ou only to try and let 3-ou see how other people will look at them when they are known."

The girl hung her head and bit her lip in'agitation for a minute, yet thinking deeply and intently. Then she lifted her face and looked at her companion. "When they are known. Will they ever be known?" she asked, in a voice that was unsteadj' and low. "Why need the3' be known?" "What do 3'ou mean?" asked the man by way of reply. "Most of these things are known onl.y to 3-ou," she said. "Why, then, is it necessary to speak of them?"

Reuben Gorringe rose from his chair and walked once or twice with hasty steps up and down the little room. Then he stopped b.y the side of the girl. "You would have me continue to keep all this as a secret?" he asked, and bent over her as he spoke. "You have said 3'ou are our friend— Tom's friend and mine." She looked up in his face, and spoke in a pleading, supplicating tone. "Can 3'ou not do this out of your friendship? I know he has never done what is said against him. I know it I feel it in ni3' heart. I would not ask this if I did not know that Tom's heart in this is as innocent as my own. He could not do such a thing. There can be no harm therefore in not increasing the difficult3' of proving his innocence. You are not bound to speak out what 3-ou think. Ah, Mr. Gorringe, do help us. For God's sake, help us."

She rose at this, and, standing by him, took his hand and carried it to her lips, and looked imploringly into his ej-es. "Do \-ou know all that 3'ou are asking me to do?" he asked, rather hoarsely. "I am arcing you to help one who is innocent from the dangers of injustice and wrong," she said. "What if he bo guilt3T?" he asked. "Then think what 1 am doing. I am helping to set at liberty a man who could do such a deed as this—and to put you into his power." 11 is voice sank to a whisper as he said this, and his e3res avoided her troubled gaze for a moment. "Tnat is asking mo to do what frightens me." he said. "If I know that he were innocent—if I knew it, I say: if all were explained to me —it would be different. But the fear that you, whom of all women on this earth I would give my life to keep from danger, might possibly have to encounter fcuch a risk, stays me. If he is not innocent. and my silence sets him at liberty, I am the instrument of putting you into the power of a man who could do a deed of this awful character." "I am not afraid," said Mary, with a smile which was eloquent of her confidence in her lover's innocence. "So 3'ou need not be." "You do not look at these facts as I do. No, Mar3*, it cannot be. Until I know that you would not be endangered cannot keep silencc. Listen m3r belief is this: He went to the mill wishing to convince Mr. Coode of his innocence of the other charge. They discussed it, quarreled, and probably in sudden fierce and violent wrath he struck the blow which proved fatal. I will not, even to save Tom Ro3"lance, subject you to the risks which similar^- sudden violence might mean." "Would 3rou rather that an innocent man suffered?" "No, onty I would rather that the whole case were fully inquired into and the truth discovered." "You are hard, veiy hard to move," she cried. "If 1 am hard, it is for 3'ou," he said, bending over her. "You know why I have taken this interest in Tom. It is not for him, or for his sake. He is no more to me than the click of a shuttle. It has been for you, and for 3'ou alone, m3T lass. You know how I love 3'ou 3-ou know I am a man who never changes, and that that love I will never alter. It is my life. When I saw him neglecting 3'ou, I said never a word though I hated him for the misery I knew he was causing to 3'ou, and I would have hounded him from the place. But I held my hand for your sake, lass. I had schooled myself till I could wish and plan and scheme for 3'our happiness, even with another man. I meant well by Tom and then that ugly business of the sick fund money cropped up. I smoothed it over —for 3Tour sake, lass, not his. Then the mill accounts were wrong, and I tried to make things right with Mr. Coode. It was never my fault that things went as they did. The moment there was a chance I meant Tom to come back and still it was all for your sake, Mary. I would have done fifty times, aye, five hundred times as much, if it meant your happiness. For I loved you, my lass, ah, as a lass has rarely been loved. rn this, world."

He stopped as though his emotion had overcome him. "This will be for my happiness," said the girl, awed by the strength of passion which had inspired the man's words. "Nay,na3y if Tom has done what I fear he has, it might mean, not happiness for roil but ganger. There

is but one thing that woulct'let mo do what you ask." "What is that?" cried the girl, a quick, eager light flashing from her eyes and illumining her face, as she rose and stood by his side. "If you consent to have his guilt or innocence left unsettled by keeping these facts concealed, you must be ready to accept the consequences of leaving the issue in doubt." "What do you mean by consequences?" asked Mary. "You must act as if he could not prove his innocence. The man's voice was hoarse and huiiuw with nervousness as he said this. "Well? What does that mean'? "That in the first place 3-011 two must keep apart." Then came along silence. The girl broke it. "Vou mean that the price of your silence is to be our separation?"

She spoke in a hard, clear, cutting monotone. "I mean that if he cannot prove his innocence, I dare not trust 3-011 to his keeping," answered Reuben Gorringe. "Is there anything more?" "I love .vou, Mary," he burst out. "I love 3Tou with all 1113' heart and strength and soul. I will give up my life to make you happ3-. If 3^ou are parted from him, I can offer .you a shelter in my heart. You shall never know a shadow of care or miser3'. I will give up my life to you, my love. Trust me, my darling, and I swear that 3'ou shall never repent it."

He shook with the force and rush of his passion, and as he bent over the girl the sweep of her hair as it touched his face made him tremble with excitement. "Would 3'ou marry a girl who cannot love .you, and who might grow to hate 3-ou for the manner in which you had won her consent?"

Ilo knew from the words that she had seen his purpose. But he cared nothing for that now. "I love 3'ou," he said. "Such love as mine must find its counterpart. But I care nothing for that. I love you. That is enough for me. Give me 3'oursell'. Let me have 3rou with me always. To be able to see your face, to listen to 3-our voice, to ti*3' and win 3'our love. That is enough. M3' God, I would be content to many 3tOU though 3'ou hated me like sin or shame."

Mar3' was silent. Not because she doubted herself, or doubted what her answer would be. But instinctively she began to feel that there was something she did not understand—something that was not on the surface. "I cannot answer now. Give me time to think, and leave me now," she said.

Reuben Gorringe took her hand and pressed it to his lips, and when she did not seek to withdraw it his heart beat quick with exultation.

(To Be Continued.)

SHORT SPECIALS.

A bomb was exploded at the entrance to Prince Odesealchi's palace in Rome and three persons were injured.

It is reported from Seattle, Wash., that Col. Fred D. Grant has bought the Post-Intelligencer of that place.

State Bank Commissioner Breiden thai has warned Kansas banks against agreeing to pay notes in anything but legal tender.

Fearing he would be hanged for using a canceled postage stamp, a Swede named Johnson drowned himself in Boston harbor.

Jesse P. Farley, three times mayor of Dubuque, la., and a pioneer railroad builder, is dead. He settled in Dubuque in 1833.

The committee appointed b3' Secretary Herbert to investigate the alleged armor plate frauds began its work in secret at Pittsburgh.

Favorable crop reports are received from all sections of the county except the Pacific coast and the southern portion of the cotton region.

Ninet3r-nine ballots for a congressional nominee were taken by the democratic convention of the Sixteenth Illinois district without result.

Discovery of irregularities at Boston has impelled Secretary Carlisle to order an accounting of stock in all the bonded warehouses of the country.

GEN. EZETA WOUNDED.

Salvador's I„oyal Commander Forced to lletire—Hundreds Killed in Hat.tle. LA. LIBERTAI, Salvador, via Galveston, Tex., May 9.—Vice President Antonio Ezeta has been wounded in the severe fighting between the government forces and the revolutionists. Big battles have been fought by the opposing forces around Santa Ana, and in one of these conflicts Gen. Ezeta was wounded in the head. His injuries were so severe that he was forced to retire from the field and the command of the government troops before Santa Ana devolved upon Gen. Boianos. The revolutionary forces gained advantages in some battles, it is said, and have forced the government troops to retreat from Santa Ana. The fighting has been attended with considerable loss of life to both sides.

Anthracite Men Want to Join. COLUMBUS, O., May 9.—The 100,66(1 anthracite miners of Pennsylvania have asked admission to the United Mine Workers' union. President McBride has received within the last day or two a large number of letters from different sections of the anthracite region asking that organizers be sent. He has concluded to comply with theii request for organizers. "The United Mine Workers' union will come out oi this strike with 300,000 members," is his prediction.

A Veteran Killed by the Carg* AMSTERDAM, N. Y., May 9.—Horatio Nelson Clark, 63 years old, who discovered the spring of water in Andersonville prison, was run over and killed bj a train here.

A Child of Fortune.

LIMA, O., May 9.—Miss Delia Frank, of this city, who tried to commit suicide last week because of her poverty, has fallen heir to $9,000.

HELD BY THE ENEMY

Gen. Randall and Several of His Lieutenants Are in JaiL

THEY ARE ARRESTED IN LA PORTE.

Impriioned on Entering the Indiana City by Order of the Mayor—Hall 1* Refused—

Kelly Heady to Set Sail.

LOCKED UP.

LA PORTIC, Ind., May 9.—Mayor Scott has stopped the march of the Chicago division of the commonweal and thrown its leaders into the county jail. Randall and his staff are behind the bars and two captains of Sullivan's army are also under arrest. The mayor has decided to keep all these eommonwealers in jail the full limit allowed b3r law without a hearing. They will not be permitted to give bail. In the meantime the city prosecutor is trying to find charges ou which ho can convict his prisoners.

Action of City Authorities. Monday night the council held a meeting and empowered the mayor to emplo3' a special police force to act in conjunction with the sheriff to keep the armies out of the cit3'. Mrs. Randall was at the meeting and asked to be heard, but was not permitted to speak. Rev. Addison Parker told the city fathers to meet the army and make it disband. The mayor issued a proclamation Tuesday morning sa3r~ ing it was ad visible to keep the army out of the city because it came from Chicago, where a smallpox epidemic is raging. Together with Sheriff Frehse, Marshal James Purcell and 200 deputies, armed with clubs and six-shooters, the ma3Tor intercepted Randall's army at the intersection of the village and Yellow river roads and Randall was pulled out of his buggy b3r two deputies. Then the mayor ordered the arrest of Henry R. Loetler, Martin Lynch and J. C. Gibson. They were taken to the jail, and Edward II. Randall was arrested at the Lake Shore depot while sending telegrams to Chicago, but was soon released. Steven J. Welch and John Devine, of Sullivan's arm3', were taken into custody because they entered the city without permission.

The Charges.

The charge to be made is that the men are conspiring to spread the dread disease known as smallpox among the families who live, around La Porte. Another charge to be preferred against Gen. Randall is that he is bringing paupers into the count3*. For this offense the general may be lined SI 00. Another charge is that the men passed the quarantine limit of the cit3".

Hard as the mayor and all his lawyers have worked they could find no further charges which could possibly be preferred. Prosecuting Attorney Broeile has no sympatic with the action of the uuiyor. He all but refused to prosecute the four men. The mayor then agreed to engage associate counsel. The prosecuting attorney sa3's that not one of the charges can be substantiated. He thinks the whole proceedings savor of persecution.

I'lenty oT Defenders.

Randall's followers are camped in Henry Morrison's grove, 3 miles east of the cit3*. 11. W. Holmes is in command, and the men have decided on stayingin Camp La Porte until their leader and staff are released. Randall has telegraphed to Dr. Greer and C. S. Harrow for assistance. They are expected to arrive here this morning to assist in his defense. A number of local law3'ers have also signified their intention to aid the defense, and the trial promises to be an interesting legal battle.

Kc-lly Heady to Sail.

DES MOINES, la.. May 9.—Kelly's army is ready to start on its journey down the Des Moines river in tiatboats. Monday night the water in the river rose about 1 foot and it is still slowly rising from the effects of rain north and west. The water in the Coon river is also higher, and it would seem that nature, S3'inpathizing with the unfortunate army, has come to the rescue in the hour of its sore distress. The present stage of water is believed to be ample to float the barges without difficulty, and as it becomes greater in volume the current becomes swifter and is expected to carry the boats along at the rate of 50 miles a da3'. This will probably take them to the mouth of the river next Monday.

Another Train Seized.

PUEBLO, Col., May 9.—Coxeyitoshave seized an engine and cars and started east on the Missouri Pacific railroad. They ran the locomotive down to the Missouri Pacific yards, where were six coal cars that had been left there a short time before. The whole band boarded these cars, and, attaching the Rio Grande engine, started for the east at a livel3' gait.

Four miles out they met an engine which was coming in for the purpose of takiug out the regular passenger train, as all the rolling stock has been kept out of town since the Cripple Creekers arrived. The engineer reversed and is keeping ahead of the industrials. The latter stopped their train at Boone and took coal and water. The engines passed Nepesta going 50 miles an hour. The superintendent has an engine and car overturned in a cut at 01ney, so the runaways can get no further than that point and they may experience a collision. A train has started from Pueblo with deputy marshals and thirty officers to overtake the band. The seizure prevented the movement of United States mails.

Failures In Buenos Ayres.

LONDON, May 9.—A telegram from Buenos Ayres says: During the last ten days business failures have occurred involving liabilities of the aggregate of nearly $20,000,000. The commercial community expects further failures.

ltebel Prisoners to lie Executed. GUATEMALA, May 9.—Salvadoran exiles here assert that the government of Salvador has ordered the summary execution of 250 rebels captured in reoqnt •engagements.