Saturday Evening Mail, Volume 28, Number 25, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 18 December 1897 — Page 17

tltP 11*

IX the Rocky rnount'ins, in Colorado, 9,000 feet above sea level, I struck a vein of good mineral and surveyed a claim. I built me a log cabin, and there, miles away from any human habitation, I lived alone. Far below mo, like a thread, was Otto Mears' toll road from Sil*

•erton to Ouray, a road that cost $40, OOU a mile. In clcar weather I could see the stntreH whirl a lot)# tl\lf, or, liken imw 01 nies, a mule trAirt pa«£ orful"SUj£ie tile, and sometimes. like small ants, a heavy loaded burro train. Them reminds me of a fcreen feller I see, reading about a burro as was knocked off a road by a landslide. "Serves "em right," said ho, "for taking that heavy furnltoor way up there." He wasn't much on upclling and didn't know a burro was the Colorado nnino for a donkey. The burro is the salvation of the mount'in miner, for the little creatures can walk on tho picket edge of nothing and never miss afoot and carry a load that weighs moro than they do P'fir below the toll rond tho Uncnpaghre. brown and dark in the shaddcrsnnd silver in tho snnllght, meanders through the valley. How far down? Waal, one place on that road is a cut torn from a solid mount'in wall and a look down of 900 feet. It is a ticklish place, but we gets used to them things after a time.

For six months in winter 1 was snowpd in In my lonely cabin. I could hear the roar of the icy gales through the crashing timber and once In awhile another sound that you never forget—a fearful roar like a monstrous wave breaking over jagged rocks and carrying with It a grand, big ship. Thero's a jar of tho alrth, a snap of treos, a crunching and rumbling and a thunder of rolling rocks, with a queer sense of moving, not wh(« you may bo. but far oil. That's a snowslido. It begins on a mount In peak, creeping slow, a white mass, gathering more at every inch, getting tighter for a clinch, then faster, taking everything in Its path, cutting a clean swath. Uko a scythe, then whirling, roaring, swallowing up a cabin, with shrieking men, or a b'ar. hid and sleeping for tho winter Then you understand what 1 mean by moving, for the air Is full of it. and it lasts till, with a muffled thunderclap, tho wholo mass drops down into tho valley tulles away

Thon tho summer storms, when the lightning don't seem no further off than a

SATS BUDUKN, "I'U. DO IT. BY OOSH1" •tone's throw and glares and blinds and goes streaking ribbons of flro over tho pines, while you're dazed and deafened by the thunder! Don't that thunder boom, a-playlng catch across tho crags, tho last ono sending It back and all of it kinder condensed and held In canyons and each new* roar and each past one mingling together until thore's a very fury of sound, like nothing else on earth.

Ag'ln, one day you seo a mount'in peak, a gray cloud kinder hovering, low it'ssoft and full of crinkles and rolls like cotton batting all Hung in a heap Bymoby there's a chill In tho air, and tho gray cloud—now tho sun don't shine on it—•gets black AS Ink. It gets closer and lower and all of a sudden turns* into a sheet of daxxllug silver Now under it is a big river coming with a rush and roar, faster than an nva* lanche and churning up rocks, earth, tm*. animals and men in its awful boiling current That's a cloudburst It swells the water in every stream in the valley, and tho river beyond, when? the streams empty, goes mad and rushes on over home and farm, carrying havoc and misery all along lis course

Tho silence up mount'in is awful I've gone out and yoiled jest for the company of an echo Then worse than the quiet la the sound of something walking after night. Sometimes there's a slinking four footed creature Ukc a monstrous yellow oat, with the sliest gait of any animal devil That's a mountain lion. Often there's a heavier tread, and a clumsy ensaturo goes sniffling by—a gristly He can't bo tamed nor the little black imp of his family connection Then again there's the pound, but when you took there ain't nothing to make It That's tho worn of all That's ghosts.

My mine is a tunnel 100 feet Into a mount In side, and often toward night! when I'm working I hears tap. tap, tap a«ft and low, but clear as preaching. 1 gits oat then, for them's the minespeerits, and don winter git 'em ag'ln me It's funny, ain* It? But you just live up mount'in atone and see how you feel after awhile, I

Twtoe a week a burro train came 901 mile* from Ouray for my ore, coming a trail 1 made op to my mine not thnsfc foot wide and just cut out of tho rock and ground. Them and the man with "eta] was mighty cheerful to see after days of sifence Lei ten* No never had ssoul to write to to* bat newspapers a week or month old. It didn't matter They was oomfort, and ma, setting np In thai oahin,f forgot by all human aoamras ooald •-if v.,

through them papers feel the beating heart of the great world. Laat September I got the blues so bad that I quit work one day and went down to the toll road, timing my trip Iso as «o see the stage pass and to git from some passenger something to read. A feller give me a book called "Dombey and Son" one day Gosh, them old seafaring fellers was the ganiest crowd I ever sea Cuttle's my choice. I know the book by heart, and Florence and Walter, and that shop and Soil Gills is jest as nateral as if I hed knowed cm. Why, I set and read that over so much, seemed like I could jest see 'em come into life and be real folks in the firelight. Like to know Dickens, tho feller that wrote 'cm. Dead, is he? Waal, waal, ho'll never know what a comfort he was to me. When I git the charnce, I'm going to lay a wre 'h of posies where he is planted and tell him them books he's writ has been more'n a gospel to us miners in the rnount'ins. and I'll say I come clear from one of the newest states in the new world to give him :ny humble thanks.

Whore was I? Oh, on the toll road. I set. there and smoked my pipe, looking down the gulch on the Uncapaghre sparkling like a silver cord fur below and listening to the wind whispering through the pines, and then I heard a sound. The road is so sun dried and hard it echoea This was a sorter pattering, and wan't no shod creature either It can't be a mount'in lion, 1 says to myself. He wouldn tdare be here I felt for ray gun—revolver, you know—and then I see this was a dorg, a Gordon setter and a thoroughbred, white and black, with the huraanest eyes I ever seo in a animal. 1 called him and after a survey he come and seemed friendly enough He was footsore and lean and looked liko ho'd come along way. I picked a cactus thorn out of his paw and wan be grateful)1 I kept a watch 'round a turn of the ground for his owner, and pretty soon I sue four burros, heavy loaded, and walking behind them a youngish feller He was tall add brood shouldered, dressed like the mostof us In rough clothes, woolen shirt, sombrero and long boots. He was bronzed some, had curly hair, pleasant blue eyes and a straggling mustache trying hard to cover a mouth pretty as a woman's. "Good day," he says, halting the pack animals "Thanks for helping the dog It was caroler* 'A me not to look when he limped "Howdy," I says, looking him over "Stranger in these parts?'' "England," ho answers, setting down on a rock and mopping his forehead. ••Miner)'" "Goinu: to be. By the way, am I anywhere near the claim of a man named Day?' "You be," I says cautions, "near Bige Day's tunnel. It's up that trail "You must know him?" "Sum at Do you?" "No, the claim I have purchased of General Raymond of Denver Is a half mile farther up tho mountain than his "Poker Sam, 1 gasps, and mebbe 1 swore some, for the young feller looked sorter s'prised "That his old gag, sends 'em here, mentions my name and gits me Into his schemes Stranger, last month there was seven men 1 never set eyes on aforo traveling up that trail on tho lookout for Ulge Day claim They come different ways and times, and swore in dlff'rent langwldges, but all was directed by General Raymond—where he got the general he don't know hisself—and had all bought claims of him 1 answered em civil at llrst, but my dander got up and 1 took the last one—a slim fellow from New York—and says- 'Seo that speck up there, that p'int a half mile up mount'in —waal. that's it. If you don't keer for yer llfo and has good legs, you might reach it alivo. If you've breath left then, you kin diskivera tunnoi six foot into the mount'in and rock, all the rock you want but there never was, nor never will be. any streaks of pay dirt thero and no way of gitting it down if thero was Some of her secrets this old mount'in won't give up, and wheire a human gita overbold in climbing up and trying to find out. why she jest shets down on him at the start. Poker Sam played you for a sucker"— looked him over—-"and I guess you wa easy to play." "Possibly," he says carelessly He drawed out a cigar and give me one. He set back then smoking coolly, his hat aider him and the little rings of hair curling round his forehead. I chewed my cigar awhile to git the taste "Busted?" I asks "In the vernacular of tho country, just that," he laughs "Rich folks mebbe?' "Haven't a soul to care whether I live or die He looked kinder far away then

I srr

t-

MY TOPE.

and I would bet ag'ln heavy odds that there was a gal concerned In 11 I took a big shine to the ftelter. and after awhile I of ftesed him a job np to nt^min©. to work on shares, him to throw in the grub stake he had with him. He was willing enough, so from that day Kd—that* name enough, for a story—and IUS was pants folks twed to call me "Groundhog" Bige. and tii«y nicknamed him "English" fid, bat 1 usually called him "ponL" Get albng* Ton bet. was a ignorant, old creature and he was college larned. but thatwasn no dHTtrnce. He was friendly to me as *o a ohum of hts own class, mebbe more to. for when I got rtoamatfex, be wm off to

Ouray—and oold, too—to git linnermertt and played the nurse complete. He was lots of company, and so was the dorg—Doc was the pup's name. Pard took just as much Int'rest in Cuttle and Gills as me, sod got more books—one about the gam est old feller, Pickwick, and the eating and drinking in that volume would make your mouth water. We read him while we eat pork and biscuit and drunk coffee 'thout no milk nor sugar. We was doing well in the mine, but when you think of the ways Tittles has to be brought on the backs of them burros, youaint setting up for entrys —as Ed used to say. He was a cheerful feller, but given to fits of gloom—never said a word about his folks though. 'Bout Chris'mus time, and we wan't so snowed in by then but that you could git along on snowshoes, we was reading Pickwick over again. He read aloud in difl rent voices, making it jest as real as live folks a-talking, when I says sudden, "I'll do It, by gosh!" "What?", He kinder jumped, and the pup riz up and licked my hand. "Why," says I, "I'll Tioof It to Ouray and lay in a chicken—a turkey if I can git it—pertaters and a squash and cranberries and the truck to make a plum pudding. I'll celebrate. I can't hear of them Dick-

I STUMBLED UP THE MOUNT'INSIDE A-HOL-LERING. ens fellers oatlng no more and try to fill myself up on salt horse and slops I'll git ono good feed if it takes a leg orjsosts a life." 1L: "It will bo the latter," ho says,'sober enough. "You couldn't make a walking market of yourself over three feet of snow on tho edge of a precipice "I'm light and easy on snowshoes. "But. he interrupts, "what's the mat ter with my going?" "You ain't." I answers, bringing to mind his attempts to walk on snowshoes and his wabbllngs, "you ain't no bird on 'em, pard."

He laughed then like a boy. "It's a deal," I says, "and tomorrer, the 34th, I'll set off early and git bock by night and we'll set up and eat till morning I'll git brandy for the pudding sass, but pard," 1 finishes anxious, "how is them puddings made?' "Why flour, raisins, lard or butter— something that's rich"— "Butter," I puts in, "Is 80 cents a pound at Ouray, and I guess that's rich enough.' "Butter, currants, molasses to make It brown, and spice mixed and cooked "I cal'late I'll get It mixed to thestore,1 I says, "and my traveling will beat It up.' "Then you sow it up in a bag which you boil and make a sauce of brandy that you pour over and set afire, and it burns blue flame. This is the way we used to have it at home." His face grew sad, and 1 knew he was going into them glooms ag'in "Waste of good liquor," I says under my breath, but ho didn't noto me.

I set out early the next morning, leaving him and the |»up at home It wasn't bad going and tho air was fresh and full of sunshine. They was s'prlsed to seo me at Ouray, and laughed a deal at the truck I bought and paid for with gold dust. I found the pudding stuff so heavy that I really had it mixed in a pall. I went over to a saloon ror awhile, and it was 'bout 8 in tho afternoon when I come back for my things I had asked the storekeeper, who was also postmaster, if there were any letters for pard. but there wan't. I tied the eight pound turkey round my neck with the pudding pail, the vegetables and a squash—that seemed to weigh a ton before I was four miles on my way. I filled my pockets with papers and books and a bottle of brandy and tobacco. As I fixed my snowshoes, tho storekeeper came out. "Queer thing, Bige," he says '"Bout an hour for* you got back from tho saloon an Englishman named Ingalls was here asking if I knowed your pard, Ed. 1 told him where he was and off he goes Impatient and stuck up enough, wouldn't listen to no caution. Thought mebbe our mount'in trail was a bolerward where he could find boss keersand them two wheeled cabs with a jay up behind. ,Off he jumps like a flash I says, 'Try It, young feller, you'll 1)0 back In an hour or two I clean forgot all about you was going that way.' "I'll meet him," I says and starts The crowd give three cheers for me and wished me a" Merry Chris'mus!' "Keep some of that pudding for me till spring It will be hard enough," yells the storekeeper "for you wouldn't take no soda in it

Pard hadn't mentioned soda and 1 wouldn pot In. though it was argued It oughter be done "S'long f" 1 calls and goes on For three or four miles 1 could see tracks quite plain in the snow and I kept a lookout for Ingalls, but my progress was awful slow I was so beat out that 1 swore at the vittles. pard and Chris'mus straight along. The turkey growed heavier and heavier, and once I lost it and had to go back a half mile. I wan't a likely pictur' as I floundered along and was ugly enough to fight my best friend. Curious enough I put ail my mad on that feller ahead "The idee," I'd say, "of him daring to climb this mount'in alone In snowtime 'Boot ten miles on my way. just as 1 was stmlubt'ning np my back after making another bitch on the turkey. I felt something sharp strike my face I knowed I was In for it, for snow at Chris'mus time in these rnount'ins means darkness, drifts and death But that didn stomp me. Every inch erf thfcs road was plain asj a map in ray noted, and btahtad by oold. stunned by the snow and darkness. forgot Ingalls entirely and must have passed close by him, I bad enough to do to light for my own life On 1 goes and game enough to hang to the track wan going to be beat outer that dinner for all the snow in Colorado Kvery now and then when I got kindet sleepy and a sly idee kep coming bow slid it would be to lie down and take a napthat means never git up, bat freeze todeath —the old tnrkey would sling around and iMdi me a smart dap In tbefiue. Iklndes

if si

TEBRE HAUTE SATURDAY EVENING MAIL, DECEMBER 18, 1897.

growed to think the old bird wanted to be roasted and git up to the cabin to give his remains for the celebration.

I got along all right till I got to where I ought to turn off to the trail, and there I dassent leave the road. I wasn't sure where it lay. I listened and I heard the muffled sound of a gun, and this I fbllered, wondering where pard got his sense. I stumbled up the mount'in side a-holler-Ing, and soon I got a answer and the happiest sight of my life—I see a big yaller glare. It was pard a-burning kerosene. "Glad it's cheap," I says Ironical, for it ain't. He laughs and takes all the truck and flounders on ahead a distance, where by the howling I knowed Doc was tied, and then the house was all lit up. "Made three stations down the path," he explains "house first, dog next, myself with the gun and bonfire last." "You'll do," I says. He flew around' looking at the stuff I'd brought, found some cloth and made a bag into which he put the pudding mixture, tied it and slung the same Into a kittle of boiling water, which ho hung over the fire. "The water'11 git in it," I says. "Them stitches is too loose." "Itcooks out," he answers, beginning to flut up the squash. "Now sit down, Bige, and get straightened out," he goes on, bringing me a glass of brandy. "I asked for a letter for you, but there wan't none, I says, beginning to draw off my boots "You wero very kind, but there Is no ono to write." "Land of the living I" I yells, jumping up, "them tracks ahead—that feller." It come to me all of a sudden. Where was he? "What did you. say?" asks pard, keerless like. "Ingalls,'* I gasps. 'Ingalls," ho repeats, gitting white, "for pity's sake who—what do you know of him?"

I told him. He listened quite a minlt, then goes to where his coat was hanging on a nail. ^.sxrsv "Where aro you going?" I says. "To look for him." "Why? What's he to you?" "My worst enemy." r-s "Pard, you're a fool. If mo, an old mount'ineer, hed a hard fight' for like a half hour ago, what will it be for you, and the storm Is worse. The feller's dead now anyhow. Mebbe he went back—sure he did, and you don't budge a step." "You are sure he did not go back," he says quietly, lighting the lantern. "Let go, Day, I mean to start" "You're so smart on snowshoes, you'll git about a mile and then tumble over a precipice." "I think not," he says soberly. "If do, it don't matter." i%*V "Waall, I'm not going." "I wouldn't lot you," says he.3 'I "Oh, you wouldn't," I growls, "you wouldn't, hev. You young whlpper Bnapper, you cub, you. Let me go. I'll jest let you know you don't stir afoot out till I git fixed. Here you are starting off with a lantern and a dorg—no brandy, no rope, nothing." "The dorg will scent him." •"The dorg will be snowed in 40 rods from the house, and a dead dorg in 40 minits if we don't kerry him."

He hung his head. "I don't want you to risk your life," he stammers. "Kd," I says, "you are all the thing I have in this world to keer for. If I'd a son, I oouldn't love him more'n you Coma

We left the dorg in the cabin, with food where he might git at it if we didn'tcome back, and 1 was pretty suro he'd break the winder and git out if we were long away. Pard fixed a candle in tho winder and put logs on the fire, and then we set out. I had the lantern tied on my back, and had made a rope fast to pard.

The night was jest like a curtain of black velvet and absolutely still. The air was thick and wet and stupefying. So wgoes on. Tho snow being damp had packed some, and that kep' us in the trail, but It was hard work, and I was already woro out. At last we tumbles into the road and stops a minlt. "He never got as fur as this," I says, "and I'd better go on alone. You stay here and I'll shoot when I find him." Foi answer pard ketches my lantern. "If it's death to one of us, it shall conio to me," he says. "You stay here. I'll go.'

He'd cut the rope that bound us and was off into the dark. I knowed one of us must have sense, and if we lost that little trail up mount'in we was done fur. So I waited. I yelled to him to try and keep inside from the edge of the road, but I doubt If he heard, the air was so deadened. The time I waited seemed years. I made fast the rope to a tree near the trail, and

8KB A FAXKT, GHOST* LIGHT A-COMISG AWFCTL

BIJVW.

kept one end of it, and made trips down as fur as I oould where he went, but I dassent let go. Bymehy I was so sleepy and numbed I thought I dreamt It when I see faint, ghostly light a-coming awful slow and something big behind the light "I've got him," says Ed, panting: *1 fell across him in the snow about four miles down, think he Is dead.''

He had him on his back, and luckily the stranger was a small, slight chap, but as it was it was awful. We took him between us. There was no time to try to bring him to life, for the storm was thicker every minute. Bnt we tackled the brandy ourselves and then started, I never see stchstmigth as that pard of mine had. He held most of the feller, and didn't seem to touch airOt at all—In fact, the last of the way he dragged me. We was pretty near bent out when we heard Doe's howl. That pot new llfo in us, and soon the light from the little cabin showed faint bnt stMdy. The candle we found nearly flickering out, bnt the fire on the hearth was burning bright The pup went crascy over (be stranger. "Knew him in England," says Ed. working away at the chap's boot*. We got

hlni undressed and rubbed him with snow and poured brandy into his clinched teeth. After an hour or so of this we could see him breathe, and this encouraged us for new efforts. Tired? We were nearly dead, and if the stranger had any skin left on him he was in luck. Bymeby he opens his eyes. "What did you wake me up for?" he says crossly, and drifts off into a sleep. "That's him," says Ed bitterly* "He's a natural kicker." "Who Is he?" I asks after we had made ourselves comfortable—pard was fixing the fire. "The pudding ain't spoiled," he mutters, "though the water nearly boiled out of the kittle. We'll have the dinner, after alL He? Oh, he's Larry Ingalls. He and I wero orphans distantly related to Sir John Webster of—well, somewhere. Sir John brought us up. Larry was a rich orphan. I was a poor one, and Sir John had a daughter"— "Ical'latcd there was a young woman In the case," I says.

Lady Maud. She was a sister to us both when wo wero youngsters, but when we were grown I fell in lovo with her, and so did Larry, who" always did as I did. We had a bitter quarrel, he and I, and I told him Lady Maud loved me, and he, the cur, went and explained everything to her father. I was ordered out of the houso, and came here. That's all. I don't know what Ingalls wants of mo. I suppose he came to tell me he had married Lady Maud." 'Bout noon the next day I got up and fixed the turkey to roast and tho vegetables and set the pudding back over the fire. Somehow, though it had a shape and was hard, I didn't feel much confidence in it. Ed was lying in a corner jest wore out While I was a-fussing round I.see the new feller looking at me. "Whore am I?" ho asks. I told him, and said who savod his life at the risk of his own, and hinted that I didn't think tho life of a mean feller was worth savin.:, and such had better go back Where they come from. "But you don't know all," ho says wistful, his eyes full of tears. "Ed and I did quarrel, but I did not tell Sir John." "Oh, you didn't" I sneers. "Likely 6tory." "Lady Maud did. She told her father that she loved Ed and she wanted to marry him. She is that kind of a girl. She never had a secret from him. Of course he was angry, and turned Ed out I was mean enough to be glad at first for I know her father would givo Maud to me, but she grew so thin and unhappy and took such a uisllke to me that I was sorry enough for the whole affair. I tried thon to find Ed I give you my word I did. Then an uncle came from Australia, that Ed used to brag about when he was a child and say he would bring back a trunkful oi gold. Well, he really did come back with

-I

"THE PLUM PUDDING OF OLD ENGLAND," SINGS INGALLS. lots of money, and he and Sir John are great friends now. He is a sick man or he would have come to .America with me. I came for Lady Maud's sake. Sho said if I would find Ed she would give me the old sisterly affection. I told hor I would be a knight of tho round table and find the holy grail—a cup, you know." "Oh," I says, "sorter prize winner, eh?" "Though that is a comical comparison for Ed, who looks like a rough. I have been watching him, but women generally like big, stupid bears." "Thank you," says Ed, gitting up, "I didn't save your miserable life to be abused. Lucky for you, you wero a little fellow or you wouldn't be heri." "Game, though," I puts in. "The grit of him starting alone up there rnount'ins.''

Ed and him looked at each other then like two animals 'bout tc fight Then I seen 'em fcck hands and I knowed their eyes was dim. "I brought you her photograph. She sent it," says Ingalls, hunting around, "but—but I must have lost it" "Here 'tis, I says. "It dropped outer your coat last night and I set by the fire to dry.Tho heat and wet had mutsed it so you couldn't tell what the ploter was. "Too bad," sighs Ingalls. "I meant to give it to you. I brought it all the way." "I carry her face in my heart" laughs Ed. and then he fell to singing: •j ''Come into the garden, Mand, -,s For the black bat, night, baa flown.

Come into the garden, Maud, I am here at the gate alone.' While pard was setting the table Ingalls, who had all our bedding piled on him, crawled out and got on his clothes.

You live high for miners," he says "This is Chris'mus day," says Ed. and then they shook hand ag'in. "The dear old day, Larry, and we'll spend next Chris'mus at home, and Lady Maud, my wife, Larry—don't that make you hate me —will welcome you under the mistletoe Perhaps I'll let you kiss her then." "She Is my sister," answers the other not a bit of meanness left In fcim, "and the world is full of fair women. Is it not so, Mr. Day?" "They don't trouble me none," I says. '*But pard. look at this pudding." He crossed the room still a-slnging: "My heart would hear her and beat

Were it earth ID an earthly bed." "He never oould carry a tane," grins Larry.

Kd turned the water outer the kittle and ripped open the bag. A round, warty looking thing, like a small cannon ball and pretty near as hard, rolled out. It was a grayish color, specked with ralftlns and as vicious appearing a compound as 1 ever see. "The plum pudding of old England," sings Ingalls, and then we roared with laughter. Bnt the turkey, roasted In an oven aider the fire, was good and the vegetables gpiendid, and the young fellers was the best company I ever see, and yon kin bet the dorg didn't go hungry. He was Lady Maud's pup, andEd had brought him clear from England. That was the jjoIUest meal I ever eat, and It was as good as sunshine to see them two. friends now and forever.

Where am 1 going now? Oh, down to something hall, where pard lives with hts uncle and Lady Maud Of course Ed married her. Sir John and Ingalls, who, pan! wrote, has got a gal of his own, Is going to be there. I've eold the mine for a good som, and I'm carrying Ed his share.

15

Queer, though, Ingalls would have novel foundEd but for Piker Sam. So the old villain did a good turn once, not knowing it Yes, I'm pretty well fixed, rich enough to drink champagne out of a pail—which Is western—and I'm going to spend the Chris'mus holidays with pard. I've brought the dorg way across the ocean with me to show to Lady Maud. I forgot to tell you that when the young fellers went away the pup wouldn't quit mo, and is mine now. We'll probably have a good dinner Chris'mus day, but tho vittles won't taste no better, nor the crowd be no merrier, than it was last year in Colorado In the Rockics, 9,000 feet abovo tho sea. About tho plum pudding—waal, I have nothing to say. That subject's a tender one 'twist pard and me. KJ

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rf

„ou

are willing to work, we can «lve you employment with GOOD FAY, and you can work all or part time, and at home or traveling. The work is LI&HT AND EASY. WRITE AT ONCE for terms, etc., to The Hawks Nursery Company,

MILWAUKEE, WIS.

COAIv.

We mine our own coal. Flint-class for all Domestic Use. Furnace trade solicited. Prices very reasonable. 'Phone 303.

J. N. & GEO. BROADHURST,

Office, 122 Mouth Third.

GEO. HAUCK &CO.

Dealer in all kinds of

O A

Telephone33. 940 Main Street#

DR. R. W. VAN VALZAH,

^Dentist, ft.' Office, No. Sooth Fifth Street

L. H. BARTHOLOMEW

^Deiitlst. #71 Main St. Terre Haute, lad.

DAILEY% CRAIG

S03 OHIO 8TBUST, Give them a call if you havo «ay kind of Insurance to place. They will write you In as good comp»nlee as are represented In the city.

SM~—^