Evening Republican, Volume 17, Number 98, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 24 April 1913 — Page 2

Molly McDonald A IALE OF THE FRONTIER

BYNOPSIB.

Major McDonald, commanding: an army boat soar Fort Dodge, seeks a man to Intercept hl» daughter. Molly,- who la headed tor the post. An Indian outbreak la threatened. •'Brick" Hamlin, a sergeant who had Jußt arrived with mesaages to McDonald, volunteers tor the ■nimdon and a tarts alone. Molly arrives •t Fort Ripley two days ahead of schedule. She decides to push on to Fort Dodge by stage in company with “Sutler Blir Moylan. Donnies, a gambler. Is •ho « passenger. Hamlin meets the stage With stories of depredations committed by the Indians. It Is decided to return to Ripley. The driver deserts the stage when Indiana appear. The Indians are twtee repulsed In attack on the stage by Hamlin. Moylan and Gonsales. The latter Is killed. Moylan la killed In next attack. Indiana retire, and Hamlin and Molly wait tor the next move. They plan to attempt escape in the darkness by way of & gully. Molly Is wounded.

CHAPTER Vlll.—Continued. * He could feel her breathing, and Realized the danger of her return to Consciousness. If she should be frightened and cry out, their fate would be Mealed. Yet he must accept the chance, now that he knew the way to be clear. IHe held her tightly in both armß, his revolver thrust hack Into its holster. Bending as low as he could with his burden, feeling carefully through the darkness before advancing a foot, he ■soved steadily forward. Where the Cully deepened their heads were at the edge of the bank, but much of the bray was exposed, except for the dark •hadows of the slope. Fortunately (here were clouds to the west, already Obscuring that half of the sky, but to the east nothing was visible against (he faint luminousness of the sky-line. Once, far over there to the left, a gun Was fired, the flame splitting the night ■sunder, and against the distant redaction a black figure rose up between, only to be instantly snuffed out ■gain. Hamlin put down his uplifted Coot, and waited, in tense, motionless ■Hence, but nothing happened, except (he echo of a far-away voice. A dozen feet farther, some fourfooted animal suddenly leaped to the •dge of the bank, sniffed, and disap•peared noiselessly. So taut were hiß nerves strung that the Sergeant sank jgrtp his revolver, before he realized file cause of alarm—some prowling rlrie wolf. Then, with teeth grimlocked, bending lower and lower, be crept across the rutted trail, and past the dead body of the Indian. Not j wrntil then did he dare to breathe naturally or to stand upright; but now, (he gully, bending to the right, led ■way from danger, every step gained adding to their safety. He was confluent now, foil of his old audacity, yet ■wake to every trick of plainscraft. (The girl’s head rested against his ■boulder, and he bent his cheek to there, feeling its warmth. The touch of bis unshaven beard pricked her info semi-consciousness, and she spoke iso loud that it gave him a thrill of ap- , prehension. He dared not run in the (darkness for fear of stumbling, yet anoved with greater swiftness, until (he depression ended at the river. Here, under the protection of the bank, Hamlin put down his burden ■nd / stood erect, stretching his ■trained muscles and staring back info the dark. What now? Which way should they (urn? He had accomplished all he had planned for himself back there in the coach, but now he became aware of other problems awaiting solution. In less than an hoar it would be daylight; he almost imagined it was lighter already over yonder In the east. With the first dawn those watchful Indians, creeping cautiously closer, would discover thw'stage deserted, and would be on their trail. And they had left a trail easily followed. Perhaps foe hard, dry ground might confuse fooee savage trackers, but they would ■oour the open country between bluff ■nd river, and find the dead warrior in tba golly. That would tell the story. To go west, along the edge of the river, wading in the water, would be pastes* precaution; such a trick would Ibe suspected at once, and there was too possibility of rescue from that direction. They might as well walk •pen-eyed into a trap. There was but one hope, one opportunity—to cross foe stream before dawn came and bide among those shifting sand-dunes of the opposite shore. Hamlin thoroughly understood the risk involved, foe treacherous nature of the Arkansas, the possibility that both might be rucked down by engulfing quicksand, arst even such a lonely death was preferable to Indian torture. Tbs girl at his feet stirred sad 1 moaned. In another moment he had Idled bis hat with water from the riv-

AT THE AGE OF HEAL WORTH

Veuth es eighty Years of Ago Hopqa to Demonstrate Hla Value Before the World. ' Here la a young fellow who la the goal thing. Andrew D. White, founder of Cornell university, (Or several years j&pwpreeentatlv# of the nation at St JPetersburg and Berlin, and delegate do the first Hague peace congress, recently reached the age of discretion •ad celebrated hie eightieth birthday.

By RANDALL PARRISH

Jltuber of "Keith ofmt border" My Lady of Doubt: My Lady of#* (South? cJt.dt.. . lUiotrouontf Joy y.LßdrocA CORHUONT SIS by A-C-N*CXURG a OCX.

er, had lifted her head upon one arm, and using the handkerchief from about his throat, was washing away the blood that matted her hair. Now that his fingers felt the wound, he realized the force of the blow stunning her, although its outward manifestation was slight Her figure trembled In his arms and her eyes opened, gazing up wonderingly at the black outlines of his shadow. Then she made an effort as though to draw away. “Lie still a while yet, Miss McDonald,” he said soothingly, “until you regain your strength.” He heard the quick gasp of her breath, and felt the sudden relaxing of her muscles.

“You!” she exclaimed in undisguised relief at recognition of the voice; "is it really you? Where are we? What has happened?” He told her rapidly, hiß face bent close, realizing that she was Clinging to him again as she had once before back in the stage. As he ended, she lifted one hand to her wound. “And I am not really hurt —net-seri-ously?” her voice bewildered. “I—l never realized I had been struck. And —and you carried me all that way—” “I—l can hardly comprehend—yet. Please explain again; ;they are back there watching for us still, believing we are In the coach; they will follow our tr&il as soon as it becomes daylight Why—why, the sky is brighter over in the east already, isn’t it? What was it you said we must do?” “Get across the river; once hidden In those sand-dunes over there we’ll be safe enough.” “Across the river,” she repeated the words dully, sitting up to stare out toward the water. Then her head sank into her hands, “Can we—can we ever do that?” Hamlin bent forward on his knees, striving with keen eyes, sharpened by his night’s experience, to learn more of what lay before them. The movement, slight as it was, served to frighten her, and ahe grasped him by the Bleeve. “Do not leave me; do not go away,” she implored swiftly. “Whatever yon say is best, I will do.”

Across the River. He dropped his hand upon hers, clasping the clinging fingers tightly. “Yes, we can make it,” he answered confidently. “Wait until I make sure what is out there.” He had slight recollection of the stream at-this point, although he had crossed it often enough at the known fords, both above and below. Yet these crossings had always been accomplished with a horse under him, and a knowledge of where the trail ran. But he knew the stream, its pe-

Her Figure Trembled In His Arms and Her Eyes Opened.

cullarlties and dangers. It was .not the volume of water, hor its depth he feared, for wide as it appeared stretching from bank to bank, he realized its shallow sluggishness. The peril lay in quicksand, or the plunging into some unseen hole, where the sudden swirl of water might pull them under. Alone he would have risked it recklessly, but with her added weight In his arnut he realised how a single false step would be fatal. The farther shore was invisible; he could perceive nothing but the slight gleam of water lapping the sand at his feet, as it flowed slowly, noiselessly past, and beyond, the dim outline of a narrow

So now he expects to be able to do some real work. He has taken np the stndy of criminology and hoped, he says, within the next few years to make some contributions worth while on the subject that la the sort of spirit of youth to make a man envious. But why not? At eighty a person Is Just beginning to accumulate a bit of wisdom and to get rid of the half-baked ideaa of hla boyhood. Ha la reaching a point where he sees through the shame of success that really Is failure and failure that

CHAPTER IX.

sand ridge. Uvea this, however, was encouragement, proving the shallowness of the stream. He turned about, his face so close he could see her eyes. “We shall have to try it. Miss McDonald; you must permit me to carry you.” ' v v'j •- “Yes” “And whatever happens do not scream—just cling tight to me.” “Yes,” a little catching in her throat “Tell me first please, just what It is you fear.” “Quicksand principally; it is in all these western rivers, and the two of us together on one pair of feet will make It harder to pull out of the suck. If I tell you to get down, do so quickly." “Yes.” “Then there, may be holes opt there in the bottom. I don’t mind those so much, although these cavalry boots are no help in swimming.” “I can swim." "Hardly in your clothes; but I am glad to know It, nevertheless. You could keep afloat at least, and the holes are never very large. Are you ready now?" She save him her handß and stood up. The Sergeant drew in a long breath and transferred the haversack to her shoulder. “We’ll try and keep that from getting soaked, If we can,” he explained. “There is no hotel over in those sandhills. Now hold on tight." He swung her easily to his broad shoulder, clasping her slender figure closely with one arm. “That’s it! Now get a firm grip. I’ll carry you all right." To the girl, that passage was never more than a dim memory. Still partially dazed from the severe blow on her head, she closed her eyes as Ham-. 11 n stepped cautiously down into the stream and clung to him desperately, expecting each moment to be flung forward into the water. But the Sergeant’s mind was upon his work, and every detail of the struggle left It* Impress on his memory. He saw the dark sweep of the water, barely visible In the gleam of those few Btars unobscured by cloud, and felt the sluggish flow against his legs as he moved. The bottom was soft, yet his feet did not sink deeply, although it was rather difficult wading. However, the clay gave him more confidence than sand underfoot, and there was less depth of water even than he had anticipated. He was wet only to the thighs when he toiled up on to the low spit of sand, and put the girl down a moment to catch, a fresh breath and examine the broader stretch of water ahead. 1 They could see both shores now, that which they had Just left, a black, lumping, dim outline. Except for the lapping of the water at their feet, all was deathly still. Even the Indian fire had died out, and it was hard to conceive that savages were hidden behind that black veil, and that they two were actually fleeing for their lives. To the girl it was like some dreadful delirium of sleep, but the man felt the full struggle. There was a star well down in the south he chose to guide by, but beyond that he must trust to good fortune. Without a word he lifted her again to his shoulder, and pushed on. The water ran deeper, shelving off rapidly, until it rose well above his waist, and with sufficient current so. that he was compelled to lean against it to maintain balance, scarcely venturing forward a foot at a time. Once he stumbled ovet some obstruction, barely averting a fall; he felt the swift clutch of her fingers at his throat, the quick adjustment of her body, but her lips gave no utteranoe of alarm. His groping feet touched the edge of a hole, and he turned, facing the current, tracing his way carefully until he found a .passage on solid bottom. A bit of driftwood swirled down out of the night; a water-soaked limb, striking against him before it was even seen, bruised one arm, and then dodged past like a wild thing, leaving a glitter of foam behind. The sand-dunes grew darker, more distinct, the water began to grow shallow, the bottom changing from mud to sand. He slipped and staggered in the uncertain footing, his breath coming in quicker gasps, yet with no cessation of effort Once he felt the dreaded suck about his ankles, and broke into a reckless run, splashing straight forward, falling at the water’s edge, yet not before the girl was resting safely on the soft sand. Strong as Hamlin was, his muscles trained by strenuous out-door life, he lay there for a moment utterly helpless, more exhausted from the nervous strain indeed, than the physical exertion. He had realized fully the desperate nature of that passage, expecting every Btep to be engulfed, and the reaction, the knowledge that they had actually attained the shore safely, left him weak as a child, hardly able to comprehend the fact The girl was upon her feet first alarmed and solicitous, bending dowp to touch him with her hand. ”Bergeant you are not hurt?" she questioned. “Tell me you are not hurt?" “Oh, no,” dragging himself up the bank, yet panting as he endeavored to speak cheerfully. “Only that was a rather hard pull, the last of it, and I

really la success. With such a good foundation to build on, why shouldn’t he start in to do something, of real value? Blessed are the young in heart.— Kansas City Btar. •

The Gentleman.

Carlyle said of Robert Bums that there Was no truer gentleman In Europe than the plowman poet It was because he loved everything—the mouse and the daisy, and all the things, great and small, that Ood had

am short of “breath. 1 shall be *l right in a moment” / .V There was a sand-dune just beyond, and he seated himself and leaned against it , “I am beginning to breathe, easier already,'” he explained. "Sit down here. Miss McDonald. We are sale enough .tjg3L..bt-tlriiLilarlhifM»a.?,.- —- “You are AH w«t,“soaking wet”., "That is nothing; the sand is warm yet from yesterday's sun, and my clothes will dry fast enough. It is beginning to grow light in the east” The faces of both turned in that direction where appeared the first twilight approach of dawn. Already were visible the dark lines of the opposite shore, across the gleam of water, and beyond appeared the dim outline of the higher bluffs. The slope between river and hill, however, remained in impenetrable darkness. The minds of both fugitives reverted to the same scene—the wrecked stags with its. dead passengers within, its savage watchers without. She lifted her head, and the soft light reflected on her face. "I—I thank God we are not, ove* there now,” she said falteringly. “Yes," he admitted. “They will be creeping in closer; they will not wait much longer. Hard as I have worked, I can’t realize yet that we are out of those toils.” “You did hot expect to succeed?” “No; frankly I did not; all I could do was hope—take the one chance left The slightest accident meant betrayal. I am ashamed of being so weak just now, bat It was the strain. You see,” he explained carefully, ‘Tve been scouting through hostile Indian country mostly day and night for near-

"Tell Me, Are You Hurtt"

ly a week, and then this thing pened. No matter how iron a man is his nerve goes hack on him after a while." “I know.” “It wasn’t myself,” he went on doggedly, *“but it was the knowledge of having to take care of you. That was what made me worry; that, and know-' lng a single misstep, the slightest noise, would bring those devils on us, where I couldn’t fight, where there was Just one thing I could do." There was silence, her hands pressed to her face, her eyes fixed on him. Then she questioned him soberly. “You mean, kill me?” "Sure,” he answered simply, without looking around; ‘T would have had to do it —just as though you were a sister of mine.” Her hands reached out and clasped his, and he glanced aside at her face, seeing it clearly. "I —I thought you would,” she Bald, her voice trembling. “I—l was going to ask you once before 1 was hurt, but —but I couldn't, and somehow 1 trusted you from the first, when yon got in.” She hesitated, and then asked: “How did you know I was Molly McDonald? You never asked.” The Sergeant's eyes smiled, turning away from her face to stare but across the river. • “Because I had seen your picture.” “My picture? But you told us yon were from Fort Union?” "Yob; that is my station, only I had been sent to the cantonment on the Cimarron with dispatches. Your father was in command there, and worried half to death about you. He could not leave the post, and the only officer remaining there with him was a disabled cavalry captain. Every man h« could trust was out on scouting service. He took a chance on me. Maybe he liked my looks, I don’t know; more probably, he judged I wouldn’t be a sergeant and entrusted with those dispatches I’d Just brought in. If I wasn’t considered trustworthy. Anyhow I had barely fallen asleep when the orderly called me, and that was what was wanted —that I ride north and head you off.” “But you were not obliged to go?" "No; I was not under your father's orders. I doubt If I would have consented if I hadn't been shown your picture. I couldn’t very veil refuse then.” (TO BE CONTINUED.)

Dally Thought We, by our suffering, learn to prize our bliss. —Dry den.

made. So with this simple passport he could mingle with any society, and enter courts and palaces from hla little oottage on the banka of tha Ayr. Ton know the meaning of the word "gentleman." It means a gentle man —a man who does things gently with love. And that la the whole art and mystery of It The gentleman cannot In the nature of things do an ungentle, an ungentlemanly thing Tha ungentle soul, the Inconsiderate, u» sympathetie nature cannot do aapthlag else.—Henry Dranunomt.

MEANT VACATION FOR MOTHER

Her idea of Relaxation and Complete Change Was Entirely Within Her Own Mind. Mrs. Etnberson did all the cooking, washing, mending and other housework for her family of five. Among her other duties was the making and baking of five loaves of bread three times a week, for Mr. Emberson and" the growing children had hearty appetites. At last Mrs. Emberson decided she must have a vacation. r : “I feel,” she told her husband, “that If I had to stand up to that breadboard and make one more batch of bread I should drop dead. I’ve got to have a change.” Mr. Emberson was more than willing. He had often urged her to take a rest. It was decided that she should pack up that very day and go to visit her younger sister in Kansas. “Now, Laura,” said Mrs. Emberson, as soon as she had got into a loose house dress and dropped into an easy chair, “I’ve come to rest and visit. I don’t want you ever to ask me What I want to eat, or expect me to turn my hand to help with a thing. I’m sick and tired of housework, and I don’t want even to hear It mentioned.” “All right,” said Laura, laughing, “you can depend on me. I’ve always wanted you to rest and let somebody else take the work and worry for a little while.” At dinner the second day Mrs. Emberson said to her brother-indaw, “John, do you like baker’s bread?" “No,” confessed John, “we don’t any of us like it, but Laura has so much to do that I insist on buying the bread.” “You bring home some yeast this evening,” said Mrß. Emberson, “and I’ll make you some home-made bread.” Two weekß later, when Mrs. Emberson returned home, her' husband was delighted to see how fresh and rested she looked. Nevertheless, he tried to speak severely: “Now see here, Martha, I thought you went for a rest and change. Laura wrote that you had been baking bread for them ever since you got there. I’d like to know what change there was in that" “O,” and Mrs. Emberson laughed happily, “it was a change of breadboards!”—Youth’s Companion.

Forgotten Part of the Bible.

There is one merit which it is gem erally admitted that the Apocryphal books possess. For sacred books they are unusually interesting. I know that by some they have been condemned as sanguinary, fantastic, worldly, and too similar to profane literature, Itnrey be that it is these very qualities that have made them so attractive to dramatists, musicians and artists such as Raphael and Allston. Not improbably it was these very traits that led so many painters to employ their skill in portraying Susanna at the Bath, Judith slaying Holofernes, Jeremiah prophesying in the presence of Baruch; and that incited Handel to select the career of Judea’s greatest warrior, Judas Maccabeus, as the theme of one of his most glorious oratories. There are no parts of the Apocrypha more pointedly secular than are certain parts of the canonical Old Testament, such as the books of Esther, Canticles, and the older portions of Ecclesiastics. — Rev. James T. Bixby, in Harper’s Magazine.

Gribbling.

They have coined a new word In England, and that "word Is “gribbllng.” The word has taken its rise-from the writings o|. JErancis Gribble, an English author, spends most of his time in writing up the love affairs of distinguished persons, and especially of those love affairs that were more or less Bordid, or ended unhappily. Mr. Gribble is, Indeed, an expert at this sort of thing. He does It much better than anybody else; much better, by far, than Richard Le Galllenne even did it. For one thing, Mr. Cribble has a passion, or what appears to be a passion, for the truth in these matters, and if we must have love episodes written up, it la far better that they should be written up truthfully than that they should be written up falsely. But we cannot avoid feeling that gribbllng is a mistake when it becomes the main passion of a man’s life, as It Is in the case of Francis Gribble.

Remarkable Gift

"A sense of humor is a fine possession. With some men, however, it goes to extremes —to ghastly extremes.” The scene was the Economic club’s dinner in New York. The speaker, Mayor Hunt of Cincinnati, continued: “I used to know In Horace Annesley a man with this excessive sense of humor. Horace said to me one morning, with a ghoulish laugh: u Tve got the greatest joke to tell you!’ . “ ‘Well, what Is it?’ said L ’* 'You know,’ said Horace, 'that I was examined and passed for lire insurance last week? Well —ha, ha, ha! —l’ve been to consult a specialist this morning and he tells, me I’ve got an Incurable disease. He gives me just one year. Ha, ha, ha!”* ~*T’“

To Be Rigidly Exact.

Regs tall—l hear you are doing some writing for one of the popular magssines. Percollum—That’s slightly exag gerated; I haven’t been able to get my stuff into any but the—er—unpopular ones yet /

HONOR FOR OLD JOKES'

- \„ REALLY, HAVE THEY NOT A( GOOD CLAIM TO FRIENDSHIP? Old Books, , Old Wines, Old Friends? Held Up to Reverence, Why Not the Memory of Laughter of ' * Past Years? Why should we hall with such an. appreciative and sympathetic gusto to poetic sentiment, “Old books, old win* and old friends,” and yet hesitate to admit to that loving companionship “and old jokes?" Why should not thb crown of Immortality be openly placed upon the honored hero of an ancient anecdote? Why do we insist upon having our factious stories served like our buckwheat cakes, hot and fresh? Why do we sneeringly stigmatize a "twice-told” jest as a “chestnut” and a “bromide?” Why do we shun the companionship of the unfortunate wretch who repeats his stories? Why is such a repetition regarded as a certain symptom of senile dementia? Why has the name of “Joseph Miller" become a byword? - A man may repeat a thousand times a gem from Milton or Shakespeare, and society applauds his brilliancy, a writer in the Boston Herald asserts. Let him repeat an ancient bit of wit, and youth shakes its pitying head, and whispers, “He has fallen into anecdotage.” As the poet says, “There’s something more than natural in this if philosophy could find it out.” For a good joke is as immortal as a good book. Nay, it is a rarer gem. For there are very few jests of the first order of the world. But whenever you find an anecdote redolent with the exquisite aroma of true comedy, you will almost always find, after chemical analysis, that it is an old friend in a new disguise. Old jokes, like rare old masters, are being constantly restored for the joy of an unfamiliar age. We are laughing today oyer jests that shook the sides of Shakespeare and rare Ben Johnson; nay, that wrinkled the face of jolly Aristophanes; and have come to us as precious heirlooms through Rabelais and Boccaccio. The very humorous journals that despise the “chestnut” and the “bromide” are serving us in the interstices stories, disguised in modern Blang, that are centuries old. A very acute observer has confidently asserted that there are only seven original funny stories in the world. The whole brood of modern witticisms spring from those few progenitors. Another common trick of the joke mechanics Is to take a story and foster it upon tome individual who “has secured a passing reputation for humor. ' The higher critics say that Solomon did not compose the book of Proverbs. He established a local reputation and every obscure fellow in the kingdom who wanted to float his scanty stock of wisdom put the king's label on it. And the modern/ funny man takes an ancient joke and saddles it upon Lincoln, Read, Depew or Mark Twain. . Our genial philosopher, Mr. Dooley, says: “The last man that makes a Joke owns it” Now, as the scripture says, “These things ought not to be." Why should these royal and Imperial jokes be disowned, stripped of their kingly robes, and sneaked in through the back door of modern life? What crown jewels could equal in preciousness one of these original seven £ems of mirth, that were born when the world was young? Why should we not honor the bid men who can recall the imperishable jests that filled the vanished with “unextlngulshable laughter?” Let us add to the joyous trinity of old books, wine and friends the sweet companionship of old stories.

Ready to Help.

A. J. Drexel Biddle, the chief of the great chain of Drexel Biddle Bible classes, was condemning in Philadelphia a charity society that spent more of its income in ferreting out fake than in relieving genuine distress. “There’s not much -help in such a charity as that,” s&ld Mr. Drexel Biddle. “It reminds me of the woman at whose door a tramp knocked on a bitter March day. “The tramp was miserably clad, and under the beating of the terrible March winds the poor fellow was blue and shivering with cold. "‘Lady,’ he gasped, ‘l’ve hardly got a rag to my back. Can you help me?* '“Why, certainly! There’s my rag bag behind the door,” he lady an . swered calmly. ‘Help yourself.’“

G. B. s. Defines Socialism.

George Bernard ShaW says: “Socialism means equal division of the national income among all the inhabitants of the country, of the maintenance of that equal division as aa invariable social postulate to the very root of the constitution. The problem socialism offers to politicians and economists is how to make this postulate workable.” Mr. Shaw believes that the prooesa of redistributing income already begun by legislation, together with the pooling tendencies of capital, wilt lead to an examination of the overwhelming 'objections to income Inequality.

That Was All.

Old Acquaintance—Why, good land, Loffin, Is that you? I haven’t seen you before in 14 years! What are yon doing In our little town? Promoter (on still hunt for factory 1 location)—Oh. just taking in the sites.