Rensselaer Semi-Weekly Republican, Volume 40, Number 65, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 17 April 1908 — Sanders and the Dream Lady [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

Sanders and the Dream Lady

By ROY NORTON

(Copyright.)

- McCarthy, superintendent of the Golconda, big, bluff, and burly, was unhappy. He stood at the station waiting for the belated train that was to bring with it the special car containing the wife and daughter of the president McCarthy disliked the waste of time and the role of entertainer for women. - “Most of the women I have known have been a nuisance,” he said audibly, In his growing annoyance. ‘‘Me, too, Mack,” piped up a email voice beside him. The superintendent looked at his companion, Sanders, the stage-driver. The latter, nearly four feet in height and 13 years old, returned the gaze unbllnklngly from a pair of wlse-look-ing Irish-Amerlcan eyes which belied bis age, meanwhile wrinkling his freckles into a mass that served as a harmonious fresco below his red hair. The train groaned and creaked along the rails, and came to a whining, perspiring halt Sanders dovp frantically through the crowd and .planted himself before the platform. Down the steps surged prow pectors, miners, commercial travelers, and women, bumping each others’ legs with bales, bundles, and bags, and all in a hurry. But it waa not Sanders’ day. There was none who knew him —and those who were attracted by his shrill voice crying; "Stage-line to Horne,” paid small heed to his appfeal, and trafficked with Jiis rival. . “Here, you, Sanders," balled McCarthy’s voice from the diminishing crowd, ‘‘here are some passengers for you.” The wlae-looklfig iittie, oid face brightened life hopefully, and he came forward Ufidftashed, blit colored with self-consclousneSS before the outburst of merriment of thd Seat beautiful lady he had ever seen. He recalled Instantly a story his father used to tell him before he went to rest back up there in the hills, and from then on she became to him the “Dream Lady.” McCarthy led the way to the stage, assisted the president’s wife and daughter to a seat, and then deposited his own huge bulk beside the driver’s cushion. Sanders crawled up to his place, using the spokes of the wheel as a ladder, clutched the reins in his small hands, tripped the brake with much effort, and started his horses with a yelp.

McCarthy had always thrown all the patronage to Sanders’ line that he could. McCarthy never laughed at him, and McCarthy was a big man. A real superintendent who worked many men and who was a king up there where all those men worked. McCarthy was a trump. The stage-driver’s mind went rambling away to the stories he had read In the ten-cent books he had secured from the miners, where the heroine was always a beautiful young lady who always fell In love with the hero, who, if not a stage-driver, was a brave young detective. They always married, and, as far as he could recollect, lived happily ever aftes. It really seemed like a very short drive that day, and when the stage rolled up to the front of the superintendent’s office, which told been prepared as a temporary fiome for the visitors, Sanders was quite surprised at the speed they had made. The days changed for Sanders. There was no longer a weariness In the drag uphill from the American to the Golconda. This was because of the Dream Lady. There was something odd about it all, he pondered. McCarthy took more pains than he used to, because he shaved every day, and had a new hat that he wore when not going through’ the mine. The Dream Lady, too, showed signs of the summer’s progression. She looked at the superintendent differently, and there was something -In th’e look that led Sanders to know that she' saw In this white-hatted, silent man a master of men and things. Ah! be could love her for that. The Dream Lady didn’t seem to be as happy as she had been, and there was trouble between her and her mother. The boy wondered at that, and spent his Idle time In vain speculations. ’n-ue, he had heard but little, but It was a certainty that the Dream Lady and her mother were not on good terms. So he hated the mother. Worst of all, McCarthy somehow seemed to feel the change, and Sanders’ heart ached for httn with a dull, sympathetic hurt which required constant repression. Of course he couldn’t talk to the man—that would never be understood; besides, there wasn't the same camaraderie that there had been, because the man waa quieter, If possible, than he used to be. and he spent more time working underground, as if avoiding something. The boy I felt aggrieved. The Dream Lady was very fine, but there was no one too good to be friends with McCarthy, and She must have said something to hare changed him so. The tamaracks changed color and the grass on the open spaces grew gray with age. Another summer was dead. < So, with the flight of warmth, the stage-driver came to the mine one morning and found the Dream Lady and her mother waiting for the down stage. MeCarthy waa trying to look unooa

earned, but his eyes were very deep and lonely. The Dream Lady had’ r veil over her face, and no longer laughed as gaily as when she came to for the summer. Only her mother talked—talked volubly and sharply and unceasingly as Sanders took them abroad. The superintendent stood awkwardly by the wheel. “Bome day we shall meet again,” Sanders heard him say The Dream Lady turned away without' a word and looked toward the moun-tain-tops as though bidding them farewell. The horses felt the coolness of the morning, and were mettlesome. Their hoofs rang spitefully on the frosthardened roads, and they tugged at the bits until Sanders’ tough little anus ached with the persistent pull. They surged against the lines or jumped, as If frightened, away from familiar objects. “What the devil alls you?” yelled Sanders, a#“ the off-horse suddenly broke Into a run. Sanders’ foot struck out madly for a greater purchase on the hrajee, a defective bolt snapped somewhere, and be nearly tell from his ■eat The team wildly plunged forward. ■ Down the deadly hill, lurching,

swaying from side to side, or violently jumping over boulders, they went, but Sanders sat firm, with his browned hands twisted desperately into the lines. Up from below, with bells tl&kling on the leaders, and driven by one who carelessly whistled, came an orewagon. The whistle stopped abruptly, and the driver was startled Into action, but too late. Sanders had seen the danger, and made instant choice. It was that his own viciously running horses must be swung up Into the bluff to avoid being hurled Into the river below. He reached far out and caught a tenacious twist in the line nearest the bank, gritted his teeth and with a sudden jerk threw his entire weight back In one mad fling. There was a sharp crash, which reverberated back into the hills, the splintering of wood and a confusion of struggling horses. Sanders felt himself hurlefi high into /the air, heard the whistle of, the wind shrilling In his ears, accompanied by the groans and screams of the maimed animals. He had a vision of wildly striking, kicking hoofs, Into which he plunged as though shot from a catapult, and then It grew dark, very dark. Sanders thought something smelled bad—Just as the hospital did that time when father was taken there. He tried to raise his arm, but there was some big wooden thing on it and It hurt. He rested a while, trying to remember what had happened. Then he decided to open his eyes, but one was blind, because there was a cloth wrapped around his head. Finally. kttked out with the other one with much effort, and discovered, to his amazement, that he was In the superintendent’s office; only It didn’t look natural —there were so many bottles around on tables. , Sanders tried to sit up, but a cool hand restrained him. “Not yet, dear boy,” said the Dream Lady, and then his mind became active and he wanted to know where the stage was. “You are through with the stage, my little driver,” said the Dream Lady. "As soon as I can take you, yoli are going home with us, away back into the east, where there are no stages, but only schools and other little boys to play with. Where you will not have to work, but Just become a man. You are going with me.” “Not on your life,” said Sanders, refepslng into his old-time emphasis. "I’ve got to stick with Mack. I ain't goln’ to leave. I’m goln’—” and then before Sanders’ voice could become a mere wall he heard another and a deeper voice as It came to the bedside. It was on the side where the obnoxious bandage was, and somehow he couldn’t turn his head to see; but with the other eye he saw a man’s hand reach out across him and grasp the hand of the Dream Lady, saw a smile bf tenderness break over her face and saw her blush as the big voice went on: “Sanders, you are going east, but It won’t be long until I am there to see you, and maybe some lime we will all come back out here togeUM r.” Sanders smiled, but desiring the full approbation of tbh big man, murmured: “I done my. best. Mack, but they runned away. You know 1 did, don’t you?" - And the big voice had a note of laughter In It as It rumbled. “Tee, you did, little partner.”

Sander’s Heart Ached for Him with a Dull, Sympathetic Hurt.