Evening Republican, Volume 18, Number 93, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 18 April 1914 — Page 2

9YNOPBIB. The story opens with Jesse Smith relating the story of his birth, early life in Labrador and of the death of his father. Jesse becomes a sailor. His mother marries the master of the ship and both are abet In the wreck of the vessel. Jesse becomes a cowboy In Texas. He marries Folly. a ringer of questionable morals, who later is reported to have committed suicide. Jesse bocomee a rancher and moves to British Columbia. Kate Trevor takes up the narrative. Unhappily married. she contemplates suicide, but changes her mind after meeting Jesse. Jesse rescues Kate from her drink-maddened husband who attempts to kill her. Trevor loses his life tn the Rapids. Kate rejects otters of grand opera managers to return to the stage and marries Jesse. Their knarried life starts out happily. Kate suctcumbs to the pleadings of a composer to return to the stage and runs away with him. She rescues Widow O'Flynn from her burning house. Is badly burned herself and returns home, where Jesse receives her with open arms. Jesse calls ton neighbors and plans to capture cattle thieves. Kate is rescued from the hands of the bandits. Jesse Is captured by the robbers, but by a clever ruse makes prisoners of the robbers. They are turned over to a United States marshal, who has u-rived with extradition papers. Jesse !akes charge of the outlaw chief’s son, Billy O'Flynn, having promised the chief to keep him out of his father's profession. He takes Billy to Vancouver and the lad Is shanghaied. A son Is born to Kate and Jesse and is named David. Jesse receives a letter from his first wife, Polly, to which she tells him she deceived him nto thinking she had killed herself. For the honor of Kate and their son, father and mother sparate. Kate and David go to England to live. Four yean later Billy D’Flynn arrives and tells Kate how Jesse has been ruined and ostracised through the vindictiveness of Polly. PART 111. CHAPTER I.—Continued. How could I leave my baby? How teould I possibly break with Covent Garden—where my understudy, a fearisome female, ravened for the part? The cottage would never let before our river season. "Madame Scotson has been called Abroad on urgent private business." “Of course," the lad was saying, rwhen Polly got to be postmistress, she handled Jesse's letters, held the isnvelopee in the steam of a kettle unW 1 they'd open, and gummed them when she was through—if she sent them on. She found out who he dealt fwith and got them warned not to {trust him. There’s no letters now.” "She wouldn’t dare!” “No? You remember he sent you khat book you wrote together at the ranch?” "You know that!” “I read it at Spite House. She had Sheap of fun in the bar-room with ease’s letter. Her cat eyes flamed like mad." “There was no letter." “She made a paper house of it, and set it alight to show how Jesse burned her home in Abilene. She was •drunk, too, that night. But that’s nothing'. Glad you didn’t hear them yarns she put about the country. Jesse wasn’t never what I’d call popular, but he ain’t even spoken to now by any white man. His riders quit, bis Chinamen cleared out Then she (bought Brown’s ferry, had the cable {took away, the scow sent adrift, and Surly Brown packed off. She’d heard Ithat Jesse lived by his rifle, so she’s jcut him from his hunting grounds. There's nothing left to hunt east of (the Fraser.” “He’s starving?" “Shouldn’t wonder." “Billy!” ’ ' “Yes’m.” “How soon can I get a ship?” “None before Saturday.” “Go on. Tell me the worst.” “The signs may read coarse weathl«r or typhoon. I dunno which yet. She’s been locatin’ settlers along them fold clearings in the black pine and, {judging by samples I’d seen, she swept the jails." « “Why more than one?” I asked, '“why all that expense when one would ido?” “Who’d blackmail Polly afterward? [She’s no fool. She says straight out ’in public she’d shoot the man who {killed him. But them thugs is planted fin hungry land, they see his pastures ithe best in the district, and you know •as well as I do he’s a danger to all robbers. Why, even when sportsmen and tourists comes along his old gun {gets excited. He hates the sight of 'strangers, anyway. "Now, all these years she’s goading {him to loose out and break the law. That’s why she’s got the constable {protecting her at Spite House. Once Che can get him breaking the law she as all them thugs—so many dollars a bead —as witnesses. It ain’t murder «he wants. She says that when she Went to his ranch that time Jesse sent {her a message by old Mathson, ‘I wop't let her off with death.’ “She won’t let him off with death. Twice she has put him to shame in g* c. She’ll never rest until she him hanged. There’s only one puzzles me. I see it’s his si- , the waiting, which makes Polly {wake up and screech at night. But 1 dunno myself—has Jesse lost his Inerver "How do you know all this?" "She told mother everything." “And your mother told you. Why?” “Because—say, mum, you remember (the thing your husband called Bull Parham. . / “Brooker Taney Brooks, the thing that

A Man in the Open

Illustrations bg Ellsworth Young

Polly kept like * pet lap-dog. The thing which turned state’s evidence to hang my poor old dad. Brooke’s come to Spite House as Polly’s manager. Yes, now you know why mother’s got no more use for Polly—told me I’d best come to you and give you warning. That thing is at Spite House, and mother’s gone.” "I see it an now. But one last question. How did you get to England?” “Do you remember, mum, that my poor dad just thought the world of Jesse?” "I remember, a legacy for you—some ponies.” “WeH, Jesse found out somehow that I was at Spite House. He sent me the value of them ponies, with only a receipt for me to sign. I reckon, mum, that ruined and well-nigh starving, he rode a hundred and sixty miles through the black pines, because he’s honest That’s why I spent the money cornin’ to you. I wants to help." CHAPTER 11. The Impatient Chapter. Kate's Narrative. This chapter is so difficult to start. It deals with a time when life had become Impossible unless one could jump from here to Wednesday next, and thence to Monday fortnight Of coflrse the book is only meant for Jesse, for David, for me, and for those to come who may revere us as their ancestors. Thank goodness, I am not a novelist! I sent David with his nurse to stay with Father Jared, so mother called me a cold-blooded wretch. I abandoned my part at the opera to a weird ravening female who can’t sing, so my manager called me an atheist. My maids had to pack and run to escape storage with the furniture at the "Pecking and Tootham Emporiums;” my little home passed to a gentleman with mourning nails, diamonds, and a lisp; by bits and scraps of stock were sold and the proceeds banked with the Hudson’s Bay company. The keenest pleasure which ever money gave me came when Billy and I helped in the drafting of a cable order from the Hudson’s Bay Company in London to that bland magnifico who manages their branch palace at Vancouver. One always feels that if one happened to want a hat, a bag of nuts, and a monkey, (his Vancouver potentate would make a parcel of them without, the slightest fear of their getting mixed. As to surprising the company, one might as well tickle the Alps. So here is the telegram:— “Provide three sleighs, each with two horses; engage two reliable bush teamsters; six months* guaranteed bonus for secrecy and fidelity. “Referring to previous requirements of Jesse Smith, load No. 1 sleigh to capacity with provisions, luxuries, ammunition, books, consigned to him via bush trail from 59 Mile House, Cariboo Road. Referring to Captain Taylor’s past requirements and present

In an Arm Chair Beside the Stove, the Old Man Lay.

sickness, load No. 2 sleigh with stores Invalid comforts, consigned 100 Mile House. Each driver to present load, rig and team, with personal services, and tb forward consignee’s receipt. “Hire third sleigh with team one month, furnish furs on approval, equipment, comforts suitable to bush travel and residence of a lady. Place in charge of young competent civil engineer, bringing instruments and assistant to report to Madame Scotson, arriving Ashcroft Pacific Limited 20 inst. “Absolute secrecy required, Charge Scotson." So far the impulse had moved me to be quick before I repented, and the journey gave time for that Leaving the sweet majesty and serene order of the English landscape, I made the usual passage by S. 8. Charon across the Styx to New York, where I caught a stuffy train for the transit of an untidy continent And so, in the starry middle of a night I warn met at Ashcroft. The civil engineer sent by the Hud

by Roger Pocock

THE EVENING REPUBLICAN, RENSSELAER, IND.

son’s Bay Company was Mr. Sacrifice T. Eure. He stood uncovered, and while his ears froze, spelled his name to me, explaining that there were two syllables in "Eure” with accent on the first. He seemed to convey an offer of protection, to claim my friendship, to take charge of my affairs, and with perfect modesty to let me know that he was competent. He presented his assistant, led me to the sleigh, showed Billy where to stow the luggage, tucked me into some warm furs, congratulated me on escaping the local hotels, then bidding my man and his own to jump in, too.k the reins and asked which way we were going. I served as pilot along a trail of poignant memories. We slept that night at Hat Creek station, where Tearful George proved a most kindly host. He told me of a loaded sleigh which had passed last week on the way to Jesse’s ranch. The teamster was Iron Dale. So far I had wondered whether my name was changing letter by letter from Madame Scotson into Mrs. Grumble, but now the scefit of the pines brought ease of mind, and in the great calm of the wilderness one is ashamed to fret. Our next march brought us rather late for the midday dinner to FiftyNine Mlle House, which marks the summit of the long climb from Ashcroft to the edge of the black pines. We drove on, freezing, and right glad I was to be welcomed with all the ruddy warmth and kindly cheer of Eighty Mlle House. There we had tea, and secured fresh horses for the last stage of our journey. I learned also that the driver Intrusted by the Hudson’s Bay Company with provisions for Hundred Mile House had gone off with the team, leaving his sleigh still loaded in Captain Taylor’s yard. .

The malign bush seemed cowed by sheer* immensity of glittering starlight as we drove on. Only once I ventured to speak, asking Mr. Eure to look out for Ninety-Mlle House. Horses accustomed to bait there would try to stop. I did not want to stop. He nodded assent, and, crouched down beside him, I waited until a brave red warmth shone out across the snow from all the lighted windows of Spite House. Mr. Eure lashed his horses, and in a moment more we had passed into the night again. Presently we crossed the little shaky bridge over Hundred Mile Creek, then swung to the left into Captain Taylor’s yard. While Tom, the assistant, stabled the team, Mr. Eure and Billy got snow shovels from the barn, and hewed out a way to the deep drifted door at the near end of the building. Presently the Chinese servant let us in, and I made my way through the barroom and dining-hall to that far door on the right. How changed was the grand old Hundred since days, only five years ago, ol pompous assizes, banquets, dances, when these rooms overflowed with light, warmth, and comfort, now dark, in Arctic cold, in haunted silence! I crept into the captain’s room, where, in an arm-chair beside the stove, the old man lay. I knelt beside him, taking his dreadfully swollen hand. "Dear wife,” he muttered, whose wife must have been dead full forty years, "this hulk is going to be laid up soon, in Rotten Row. Can’t all of us founder in action.”

I ran away. But there was much to be done, fires, lights, supper, beds, and the unloading of the sleigh full of hospital comforts, which would set my patient a great deal more at ease. When I left my patient, very late that night, supposing all lucky people to be in bed, I found Mr. Eure making himself some tea. Gladly I joined him beside the kitchen stove, ever so pleased with its warmth and the tea. for I was weary, past all hope of any sleep. Besides, the poor man was just dying with curiosity as to our journey and his engagement as my engineer. So, for that one and only time I told the story of Jesse’s fate, and mine. And then I tried to explain the scheme which needed his services as an engineer. Let’s see,” he checked my rambling statement. “Try if I’ve got all that correct. This Cariboo wagon road runs from Ashcroft to Quesnelle, due north, except at one point where the government wouldn’t pay for a bridge across the Hundred Mile gorge. “So at the ninety-five mile post the road swings eastward five miles, passing Spite House to the head of the gorge, where it crosses Hundred Mile Creek, right here. “From here the road turns west again on the north side of the gorge, and after one mile on the level, drops cown the Hundred Mile Hill, which is three miles high, and a terror to navigation. “At the bottom the road turns north again for Quesnelle, at a cabin called the One Hundred and Four where old Pete Mathson lives, a hairy little person, like a Skye terrier with a faithful heart. "And said Mathson has blazed a cutoff, crossing the foot of the gorge, then climbing by an easy grade to the ninety-five-mil® post. The said cul-

off is five miles long. Made into a wagon road, it would give a better gradient for traffic, save four miles, employ local labor at a season when money is scant, and be an all-round blessing to mankind. At the foot of the gorge we’d locate the new Hundred Mile House. “Incidentally, Spite House would be side-tracked, left in the hungry woods four miles from nowhere.” “Tell me,” I urged, "what' you think.” "My dear madam, when I’ve made a survey you shall have dates and figures for a temporary snow road, a permanent way, and a house.” “It can be done?" "Why, certainly.” \ “You approve?” "Yes. I see dollars in this, for me.” “You think I’m foolish?” “It will be an excellent road.” "But the result?” “Please don’t blame the engineer.” "Oh, tell me what you think, as a man.” “Well, let’s pretend I’m Polly.” I laughed. “Being Polly, and from my Polly point of view, frankly, I’m pleased. Here are hundreds of new customers, with Madame Scotson’s money to impend at Spite House.” “My men will sign an agreement. The man who visits Spite House forfeits a bonus for good service, loses all outstanding pay, and leaves my camp that day.” “Is that so? Of course the coaches change horses at Spite House.” "When I’ve bought out the stage company, they’ll change horses at the New Hundred.” “And only stop at Spite House for the mails?” "I shall appeal to the postmastergeneral.": “On the ground that you’re running a rival house? Captain Taylor, you say, did that.” “My house shall charge nothing. It shall be free, and the visitors my guests.” “Then, in my little Polly way, I’m afraid I’ll have to move Spite House down to the new road.” “On to my land?” “Your cruelty reduces me to tears. I am a martyr. I appeal to the chivalrous public to boycott that new road." “When I’ve brought money into the country? Oh, you don't know this hungry neighborhood!" “Mercy! My client’s done for. I’m Madame Scotson’s managing engineer. May I ask a plain question?" “Certainly.” “Is there water-power in this gulch?” “There’s a lovely waterfall.” "I’ll, look around tomorrow.” And then came Mr. Erue’s confession. The assistant, not himself, was a surveyor. “I’m only a paper-maker. I’m looking for cheap timber, good snow for haulage, water-power to mill the lumber into paper-pulp, and a road to market. I’ve been traveling some months now in search of that combination, and if your lovely waterfall will give me five thousand horse-pow-er, I shall have to build your cut-off road for myself, also the house. Then there’ll be war against these black pines, your enemies. As to Spite House, it seems hardly the kind of thing for you to deal with. Perhaps you'll leave that to me.”

CHAPTER 111. Rescue. Jesse's Letter. Mother in Heaven: Please thank God for me and say I’m grateful. Tell the neighbor angels how little mothers having sons on earth are badly missed and grudged

TAKING VOLTAGE OF CURRENT

Electricians Experimenting to Determine How Far the Spark Can Jump.

By measuring how far an electric current can jump through the air from one piece of metal to another electricians can determine the voltage of a current; and it is by setting a current to making broad jumps and then scoring the feat with a tape measure that the very high voltages used nowadays are ordinarily measured. But the judges of these athletic feats have recently determined that the electricity jumps much more surely from some sparks than from others, just as a man Is not likely to jump so well from a mud spot as from firm ground.- .... . Spark gaps, as these, jump measures are called because of the great electric spark that jumps, across the gap. have been made of needlepoints, says the Saturday Evening Post Now it

by hungering mortals. Prayers sent to Heaven are answered, but not letters. I reckon no one here could ever write •' letter happy enough, 00 light with joy that it could fly up there. In the days when I thought this Jesseperson was important,. I used to read the Old Testament, which is full human with pride and arrogance' of man. But since I learned that this whole world is only a dream from which we shall awake, the New Testament has been my pasturage. Maybe three moons ago, when my ammunition had run out, and my neighbor animals had learned all the little secrets of my traps and snares, and 1 wondered what God was going to do about it. Of course I couldn’t question about His business, but seeing that likely He intended me to leave my little worries behind, I made a good fire in the cabin, lay down in the bunk, arranged my body to be in decent order in case I left it, and took my Bible to pass away the time. 1 suppose I’d dropped off to sleep, when something rough began to happen, jolting me back into the world of fuss. ► A man in buckskin shirt and a bad temper, stamping the snow off his moccasins, shaking me by the arm. He was my old friend Iron Dale, a man of the world —which smashed him. He seemed to be worried, and that, of course, was natural to a man like Iron, lusty and eager, with an appetite for money—whereas poor Polly, had done her best to cure him of his dollars. Here was Iron jumping about the cabin, busy as a chipmunk, with just the same hurried, funny way of blaspheming. He had to make fire, cook soup, and haul things in from outdoors, while he told me news about a team, a sleigh, a load of stores for me, and his own services paid up Six months ahead if I’d let him work on the ranch. He was like a little boy which plays at keeping store, where you’ve got to pretend to trade, with nary a smile, lest he should see and the whole game turn unreal. So I sat up for soup, which made my loose skin fit me again as I filled. I’d answer to all he did, grave as a constable, playing the game of life just as I used to. (TO BE CONTINUED.)

KEEPING THE BOYS STRAIGHT

Father Recognized Force of Appeal to Manliness, and It Has Worked Well. Several gray-haired men were recently chatting over their cigars. < “This talk about mother and the boys is all very well,” said one. “But father comes in strong, too. My father devoted one minute a day to us boys that did more at that age to keep us straight than all the little mother’s admonitions. She was a unworldly little person and we adored her and reverenced her teachings. However, she never could think of us as anything but her little boys, and as we grew taller and more worldly we acquired the usual boyish sense of exalted Importance and might have been led to secretly patronize her strict goodness as a little old-fashioned, except for father. “Father saw the force of appealing to us as man to man, long before there was much man tn us, I guess. Every night at dinner, I can see him yet, after the blessing, with his carv Ing knife and fork poised over the roast, pause and look us straight in the eyes. ‘“Well, boys, how goes the world?* “And you better believe the thought of that moment steadied us often during the day. We bad to keep pretty straight to be able to return that clear look and answer: " *O. K., Dad.’ ”

What Angered Mother.

A group of newspaper men were visiting the Washington park zoo the other day to see the new hippp. . The hippo, who has been christened “Rip the Hipp,” was stretching lazily in the sun, when a little girl and her mother approached. “Look at the d n lazy thing,” cried the girl, excitedly raising her hand and pointing at the resting animal. "Didn’t I tell you' never to point at things,” cried the mother angrily, at the same time striking down the little girl’s arm.

has been found that if metal spheres are used, and the electricity made to jump from one to the other, the result is more accurate; and sphere spark gaps are replacing the needlepoint jumps. Even with spheres to jump from the athletic electricity is not entirely satisfied unless each sphere is as big in dameter as the jump the current expected to make. With such spheres the spark of a current of 500,000 voltage will break down when the spheres are a little more than 15 inches apart

Milk and Music.

It is a little known fact that the most delightful music at the present day is produced by playing on milk. The supply of ivory nowadays does not to a great extent meet the demand, Strange as It may sound, skim milk forms a substitute. It is used for making the keyboards of pianos, and in appearance this hardened substance is hardily disilar«tehable from ivory.

toimr HOWLAND Lost Charms SAh, you had a winsome face, Geraldine; All your ways were full of grace, Geralmne; The blue that tints the skies Was reflected In your eyes, And you charmed me with your sighs, Geraldine. Just to sit and gaze at you, Geraldine, Was the sweetest joy I knew, Geraldine; When you spoke my senses fled, When you smiled I lost my head; Geraldine. Yesterday you want to ride, Geraldine, With your chauffeur by your side, Geraldine; Through the foolish wish to race You have lost your winsome face. It is up the road some place, Geraldine. When I hear you sigh today, Geraldine, I but turn my head away, Geraldine. There’s a bandage where you wore Such a chaining smile before— You have pearly teeth no more, Geraldine.

CANDID OPINION.

The scientists have discovered that laziness is a disease, but they will never find out how lazy people can ba Induced to take anything for it In these days the woman who can go into the kitchen and get up a meal herself is no heroine to her servant. If one has enough enthusiasm he can do almost anything. The trouble is to work up the s enthusiasm. The woman who has little feet that look well bare is always hoping some friend of hers will give a Costume bfill. Fashionable women still permit their little daughters to play with dolls. This doubtless is because there are no dummy doggies on the market

LUCKY RIP.

“Pa, why did Rip Van Winkle

there were burglars in the house.”

The Ones We Cannot Please.

The robin that sings in the morning glow A song is full of glee May be fretting some sad soul here below With the song that Is sweet to me; The roisterer who, care free, last night Went reveling late and long, May rail at the robin that gives delight To me with his matin song. But little, I think, does the robin care For the hate of the one who lies With a heavy heart on his bed up there And rubs at his bloodshot eyes. And why should you, as you strive away, Re chilled by the sneering few? We can’t please all with the things we say Or the things that we sing or do.

The Other Way of Looking at It

“I suppose,” said th® benevolent visitor to the bright-looking patient "that there are many people in this asylum who really ought not to be here.” (’Well, there may be a few, but think of the crowds outside who ought to be here with you and me.”

Ambition.

The room at the top will never Cause the man who loafs to fret, As long as there’s more at the bottom And It’s easier to get.

Some Boys Are So Dull.

“I propose,” said the ambitious young man, "to girdle the earth.” “Oh!” she innocently exclaimed, “why do you begin on such a big thing?” But he just sat there and twirled his hat, the foolish felliw*.

His Faux Pas.

“Do you believe there is any truth in signs?” he asked. • “Oh, yes, , firmly," she answered, pointing to the one that said “Delicious ice cream soda, ten cents a glass.”

Caught

“Oh, colonel,” exctaltned the beau* tlful grass widow, “I never dreamed when you brought me out here that you cared for me. But really I would love you even if you had no right to be called anything but 'Mr.* **

Letting Them Down Easy.

.“I wonder why she decided to get married in Europe?* ' “She had such a large circle of friends over here that she didn't wish to tnvlte."

sleep so long?” “Well, one reason, I suppose, was that his wife wasn’t there to wake him up every few minutes and tell him she was sure