Semi-weekly Express, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 15 June 1897 — Page 2

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ODD FEATURES OF WM

M&NY COMEDIES AFTER THE FLIGHT Pf THE CREEKS FROM V0L0-

HORSE TRADIBG II WAE.TJHES

The Panic Stricken Greeks Were Succored by an Expedition of Mewspaper Correspondents.

The.thjjr|y £a5"S'

war in

the

east had

certain furious features which have scarcely feceri touched upon. The Greek abandonment of Volo and its inhabitants to the •iftertfy of "the Turks, and the subsequent' '.^in fervent ion of English and A.moricarrt war correspondents on behalf 6f the oddest bits of comedy which the tvar supplied. The people were simply helpless in their fright after the Greek army had fled and before the Turks had marched, in. They would have joined in the retreat, abandoning homes and all they possessed, but there was no means Df getting away. Every ship in the harbor had sailed off loaded down with refugees, and escape by. land had by that time been cut off. They were caught tike rats in a trap, and for a few hours Wery mother's son and daughter of them fcxpected to be slaughtered by the terrible Turks before another sun rose. It Jvas in this situation that a delegation 6f correspondents, including one or two Consular officers, ventured out on a mission of intercession to the Turkish comhiander on behalf of the trembling inhabitation. Of course, Edhem Pasha promised good treatment to all who behaved themselves, and the little band of emissaries returned with the glad news to the town. G. W. Steevens went with them, and this is his description of what happened: "We went in steadily, the flags of the jrrea£ powers in an aureole round the Rag of the Sultan's aide-de-camp, and three correspondents, two* Albanian canvasses, and a stray cavalry trooper, who had come to see the fun, riding behind like the general and staff and army. It *vas the most ridiculous and yet the most sublime thing in the world for absurd as we were, we carried with us the life Dr death of a town. And as we drew Hear to it this became very clear. The Butskirts of Volo are obscure and as you ride in there are gas works on the righthand side but beyond this I am bound to own I noticed Volo very little. I was looking at the people. For as

WE GOT INTO THE TOWN we passed through lanes of them—shaggy, dirty, dumpy people, banked upon the roadsides with obsequiousness in their mien and terror in their faces. There Was no doubt about it the people of Volo were most horribly afraid, I don't know what tales they had been told, but I am pretty sure they would have left if they could only they were at the end of their tether in a corner of their country, and. they had to wait there for their fate. So we went on toward the centre of the town—always the game grotesque mixture, with five-sev-enths of the invading army made up of correspondents and their servants As we got toward the central streets the populace seemed reassured we had not massacred anybody so far, and they began to think they had a chance. They still took off their hats most obediently. Many had bought fezzes for the occasion, and saw one unfortunate so uninstructed In the use of that symbol of victory as to take it off, which the Turk never does, Indoors or out. Women appeared presently on the balcony with smirks of welcome. The substantial Inhabitants began to meet us—that is to say, the inhabitants not quite substantial enough to command a passage to Athens. They also smirked uneasily. As we passed each group of kow-tow it fell in behind us till we were the head of a procession half ^a mile long. It looked like a great festival. But, except the invading seven, I don't think anybody quite enjoyed it except the" boys. They tropped in and Belittled OJI, with a will—brush-haired smug-faced little ragamuffins with no school open to-day. Through war and panic, bloodshed and ruin, the boy, thank God. still remains the boy. The pity Was that they could only grow up Into Greeks after all. And so, the centre of a scraping, quaking city, we arrived at the town hall. We jumped down carelessly off our horses, and flung the reins into crowds that competed for the honor of holding them. Then up into the council chamber, or whatever they call it. Who cared what conquered Greeks call it? There'was a crowd of Jabbering Greeks, inside we pushed them nut of the way. Who cared what connuered Greeks had to say 'Is the mayor here?' Not he. 'Where is the representative of the mayor?' Now they comprehend that there had to be a representative of the mayor. 'You.' 'No, you.' At last they produced a bald-headed, graybearded," quaking little man, and he trembled up to the table 'Listen to this: The town of Volo is now under fhe

HT'MANE AND POWERFUL, protection of his imperial majesty, the Sultan Abdul Hamid II.' And so on. 'Does the town submit?' The town submits. "Then sig-n your name there.' Then the bald heads began to wag again. 'You Bign.' 'No. you.' At last they produced a man to sign. I don't know who he was, and I'm sure nobody cared. "Now on to the balcony. Here is a gray-bearded elder no doubt he is a loading citizen. 'Do you understand French? Very well then translate this nloud to the people: "The town of Volo Is now r-" and so on. I looked down arrogantly at the people as he translated. •Louder,' said I, as if I were the governor of the town, and obediently he raised his voice. The people looked up timorously there were only a thousand of them, and there were four fezzes on the ha loony. But as they listened their cowed faces lightened. They were spared they lived again. And then a Greek on the balcony called for three cheers for the Sultan. How they rang! All the Greeks who called him a monster at dawn this morning emptied their lungs with a relish. Faugh! All the same. I suppose conquered townsmen have their feelings, and it is a relief to hear that you are to be neither robbed nor killed. But you can't expect the conquerors to think much of that. To us it appeared just ficspicable sycophancy. "And then a shuffling rattle down the itre£t and in came the Turks. They had not waited to hear whether the town capitulated why should they? The Greek sdmiral had tried to bluff it out. but already his smoke was trailing behind him. And in came the Turks. One battalion #nly—but what a battalion! Dusty, ragred. probably hungry, they strode in with shuffling strides, but very long ones, looking neither to left nor to right, dealing no pillage nor ravishment, doing what their officers told them. They had marched through Thessaly at the word of romanmd: at the word of command they would march through the fires of hell as long as there was a man who could step. tVcre they elated, triumphant, arrogant, ntoxicated. us-? -Dear,—no! They )ust.shambled- as always, c. They had ronquered. but what of that? How ihould "thty do else than conquer?"

The newspaper correspondents on the jrhdle hafl" a liimf 'lime of If on either lide. There have been a great

VARIETY OF ACCOUNTS

»f their difficulties and burdens, but the (uestion of transportation seems to have bothered them most. One man, as I noted in an earlier letter, scored over his lolleagues several times by reason of his possession of a bicycle. The others all had experiences such as those described by a Manchester Guardian man in this sxtract: "I must explain that the -acquisition and loss of horses are the comedy and tragedy of the correspondent's life. Nearly all the horses in the country have, of course, been requisitioned for the army hut even the avidity of the army will icareely account for the air of profound mystery with which a horsedealer will take you to inspect the horse he offers Xor sale—in a darkened stable. He is. be tells you, afraid to let the existence

of the horse be suspected lest it should be seized by a. cavalry officer. You explain that the horse would be useless for anything but the commissariat or munition service," and, cheerfully abandoning his position, he replies that in any case you had better take it, as it is the only horse in the place st'Jll for sale. The bargain is finally concluded with a. small ceremony in a cafe, at which you observe that the seller receives a constant flow of congratulations from his friends. And when you have thus avowed yourself a buyer of horses you will be surprised to learn that eligible animals have started into existence in almost every stable i» town. Later on one or more of your horses will inevitably be seized by soldiers when you yourself do not happen to be present. The restoration of a horse is readily promised when it is proved to be the property of a foreigner, but it is difficult, if not impossible, to trace a missing horse in a retreating army."

Last of all very appropriately comes a vivid description of the burial of the Greek dead. It is written by a Chronicle correspondent in Epirus, and it makes a flitting epilogue to the story of the war: "And in the afternoon we buried the dead, those of them who were brought down, for some were left, and many were buried by the sappers on the field. The cemetery is about half a mile from the town at the foot of the hills on the right of the main road running south to Agrinion and Missolonghl—the road of which Polybius is said to give a good account. A section of sappers was at work on the graves early in the afternoon under the encouragement of the°chief priest, who took a service in th& chapel as each body came up and inr teen intervals hurried on the digging,'.flnwkiijg --cigarettes the while. The trenchee rwere only 2 feet 6 inches deep—noi^f^Jy .so deep as the rubbish pit in a British camp, but the sappers work $ylki,ly ajid slow. For burial

THE PRIVATE SOLDIERS

were carried out covered by their blankets upon stretchers still wet and horrible with their blood. They were laid in the trench dressed in their uniforms without the coat, their shirts ragged and filthy with the campaign, their bare feet sticking out through their shoes, or sometimes showing a remnant of socks which perhaps were nearly whole when they left home. Their hands and feet were tied with cords or handkerchiefs, as is customary. No one had taken the trouble to close their eyes. They were set in a row, and the earth quickly shovelled over them. I do not know how many there were—two dozen, perhaps, all unmourned here, to be mourned somewhere else, in Elis, or Ithaca, or Sparta, when the news at last gets round. Some perhaps, remembered 'sweet Argos' as they died. The ten officers were carried out in ramshackle little coffins of black, the lids, adorned with great white crosses, being borne in front of them like flags. Bay leaves and odd bits of flowers were laid on the bodies, and their.' wounds were concealed by tufts of cotton wool. They were nearly all shot in the head. I knew four or five of thetn well enough by sight from meeting them in the streets or at the front. They were dressed in their blood-stained uniforms, almost as ragged and dirty now as their men's. In the chapel the two priests chanted psalms and prayers over them with the peculiar nasal whine and twirl which in the Greek church are thought to please God best. It is different from the Anglican intonation, but, after all, the object is the same. One of the officers had two brothers following him the others were unmourned, except that Yianopoulos, the popular major—or colonel, as we should say—of a battalion of the Sixth regiment, had some privates weeping over him as I could well wish some soldier or comrade to weep over me. He was killed, as I telegraphed,

CHEERIG HIS MEN

on in the advance. When the prayers were finished and the incense burned there was a long wait till Gen. Manos, commanding this district, arrived with his staff. A company of red-shirted Italians was also present. When at last, after a great deal of declamation and argument, the graves had been cut big enough to let the .coffins down, and all was fairly ready, there was a brief silence while Gen. Manos said a few quite inaudible words, spoken with true soldierly feeling. He was followed by others who were far more eloquent, but made me feel glad I belong to a" nation which hitherto, thank heaven, has not been good at words and never gesticulates. During the whole scene it was impossible not to remember that other burial at the beginning of a war, involving principals certainly not more important than this, when Pericles .praised those who had shown themselves brave not in word but in deed and it struck me that the lasting importance' of that old, well-worn distinction is hardly sufficiently realised among ourselves who are so naturally silent on the things of emotion or virtue. There was no firing, the troops being on duty, and before the speeches were well finished I came away, stopping only to speak to two women, who with their fingers were raking the mould into order over a new grave, while a prudent little girl stole the rough white stones from around another grave and arranged them at the head of this. I asked if it was a husband and father killed in the war. No, it was the grandfather, a very old man, but yet he had been killed by the war, for the army had taken away his favorite mule to carry ammunition, and the blow had broken the old man's heart, so that he seemed to wither away, and now was buried. I suppose he ought to be counted among the Greek losses in the war."

FUNERAL CARS ON STREET RAILWAY

Scheme Proposed in St. Loo is by Which the Cost of Rurials Will be Reduced. During the coming summer several of the street railway companies of St. Louis will try the innovation of operating funeral cars over their lines. In the bill introduced in the council a few days ago applying for a franchise to extend the Southern Electric road from its present terminus at Broadway and Howard street to the fair grounds, a clause is included authorizing the company to run funeral cars, as well as United States mail and express ^ara.1 As~ yet the company has formed no definite plan for the operation of these vara, and has set no time for the inaugurtiUpfl of this new departure. One or more, -,&*£§»> especially constructed for funeral serv fce, will be ordered built, and the public tvill be fiven an opportunity to see to what advantage a funeral can be conducted on a street railway, as compared with the primitive system of employing carriages and a hearse. The cars will be of the very finest make, and will be furnished as completely as the latest Improved parlor cars, with silk draperies, cushioned chairs and carpeted floors. The most favored funeral cars in cities where street railway funerals have ceased to be experiments is one arranged with two compartments, so that the casket can be carried into the forward room, while the mourners and friends are amply provided for in the rear compartment. The reduced cost is an argument in-favor of street railway funerals. It is-^possible to conduct a funeral on vthevcars for $10, which would cost not leas than S50-if carriages and a hearse, were employed. -The average charge for each carriage fs So. while Jiearse eqsts from $6 to $10.. A funeral car can be. secured for &pd will provide accommodation for the casket, pall bearers, clergyman and forty mourners. and will displace a hearse and ten carriages.

What Called Him.

"I don't think you ought to be so bitter against the president of the Busstupp bank," said the pastor. "Remember, brother, that he lost all of his own money as well as some of yours."

That is jist what riles me." said the brother with the lon^ upper lip and the mouth that lookt^l as if it had been made with an axe. "To think of losin' my money to a blame fool!"

Prince Ttanjitsinhji, the Hindoo prince, who headed the English batting list at cricket last year, has jy'rltten a book on the gam®.

ROM, T1EJMI BUTTER

A CHASTE CHAPTER FROM MONTANA SPORTING LIFE BY COL HUTCH.

HELENA AND BDTTE CITY RIVALS

Its Culmination in a Darky's Triumphant Bucking Against the Goats of Butto —The Butter's "Waterloo.

The maw who had been in'South America had just

finished*

QUEEREST THING

I have ever seen. He had a leather harness which extended from his chest to his hips. It #a!s heavily padded over the stomach arid secured to his body by straps 'around the waist and across the shoulders. He never wore anything but that harness and a pair of slippers in the ring, and he fought the goats on his hands and knees, with his head clean shaven. When we first put a goat against him we were a bit nervous, and some of the boys wanted him to leave' his heavy crop 6f hair on. He declined to give the goat any such advantage* however, saying it would be like hitting the gbfit with a cushron, and tha.t his .blows wouldn't count. Well, the time.eame to play owr hand against the Butte boys. We sent word up there that if they had a SQH-t they thought could knock out a man, we had a man we'd bring up and try against their goat. When they heard our man would fight a goat 'in a ten-foot ring'^orf his hands and knees and forfeit the figlft if he used anything but his head, tftey offered to bet $1,000 ore a goat they'd prov duce. So we took our nigger up, and 1Sbe fight came off. The goat was a goo$sized fellow and as we called our man, out just such goats for us for two weejeg and we had no fear of the result, we bet the Butte boys to a standstill, and then our man crawled Into the ring and began making faces at the goat. Tfie goat looked surprised, but made a n»ssh at 'Monk.' The negro dodged, and ju»t as the goat turned around butted him..hi the nose. It nearly knocked .the-goat off his feet, ^nd you never saw such a surprised animal in your life. It ran into a corner and then wih a snort of rage, lowered its head and made another rush at the negro. 'Monk' dodged once mdre, and as the goat went by cracked one of its ribs with his head. Then he leaped after it. and smashed it three times over the side of the head, each smash sendipg the goat against the side of the ring with a terrific thump. When the goat got loose it jumped out of the ring, and the Butte boys just looked at one another and never said a word. WTe collected bets and got our man- back to Helena as quickly as we could. Well, the story of the goat fighter and his wonderful ability went sailing around Montana, and every man who owned a fighting goat wanted to put him up against the negro. We accepted all challenges that had any money behind them, arid we never lost a bet. Time and again when 'Monk* could not get out of the way quick enough I have seen him take a butt squarely" on top of the head and go sailing across the ring as if on rollers. He explained to us that he had to stand it* because his head was thick only on top. He was apt to be smashed to bits, he said, if he caught a butt on the side of the head. Weil we took the man all around the state, andhe was a mint. Time and again when we found big

XUT

MONEY BEHIND

some mining camp goat, we knew it was the Butte boys trying to get square, but we took all comers, and our man laid out the goats one after another. But the end came, and it came in just the same way we all feared it would. About fifty miles from Butte was a mining camp called Poney. They used to publish.,a paper up there called the Poney ISxpreSs, and they just thought there wasn't anvthlng in the state good enough for them.

Ave

jjj

TERRE HAUTE EXPfTESS, TUESDAY MORNING, JUNE 15, 189T.

a story -about *an

orang-outang, beside which JCiplipg's "Bini" was of BO account. Three other men had told animal stories frqm India, and the test of the crowd was struggling not to look skeptical, when /Colonel Hutch, who was known to have spent his early and late years in the Northwest, wriggled around on his chair, took1 a. long breath, and remarked: "Now, when I was in Montana—"'

A deep silence followed, and thert each man settled down in his seat to listen, for only once in a great while would Colonel Hutch tell a Montana story, and never when he was asked. "When was in Montana," repeated the Colonel, "the silver mines were1 all going, and every man in the state had metal to smelt. The boys spfent their money as fast as the mints made it for them, which was too slow for some of the crowd, and there was no want, no poverty, and nothing but plenty to eat, plenty to drink, plenty to wear and money to gamble with. Naturally we were a sporty throng, and it was only according to human, nature that yre were always trying to burn up the neighborhood with something new. I was one of the Helena crowd and in our bosoms we cherished a most cordial conteinpt for the boys of Butte City. We regarded them as our natural rivals, Butte bein^ the largest city near us, and the boys there being just as well off and just as heavy spenders as we were. If the Butte crowd got a-hold of a slugger, the first thing they'd do with him would be to rinse him in on. us and carry pff our money. If we could fool thera with a 'ringer*

WE GENERALLY DID

it, and so things went merrily on until in one month the Butte boys did us1 up on a priae fighter, a rifle shot and a wrestler. They cleaned us out, and it hurt, our pride. Up in Butte the whole town was drinking up our money, and their newspaper was making fun of us in every issue. We didn't like it and we were racking our brains for some way to get even, when one day a colored man came into town and announced that he wanted a backer. We seized him and,ran him off to a saloon to find out what he could do. We naturally supposed he was a fighter and he was, but not the kind we thought. He almost floored us when he said that he was the champion goat butter of the world, that he would fight any goat we'd produce in a ten-foot ring and guarantee to knock him out. All he wanted was a backer, he said, and he'd make his own and everybody else's fortune by going around the country knocking out goats. He assured us that nobody in the west had ever heard of him and that he was a dead safe bet. When we came to look, the man over we found him an ordinary looking negro, weighing about 170 pounds. He had a rather large head and massive shoulders, but otherwise there was nothing remarkable about him, and we would not have noticed his peculiarities had we not had a particular interest in him. By way of illustrating his ability, he smashed the door of the barroom wlh his head a couple of times, and offered to break it if the proprietor would give him permission. The. proprietor referred him to the floor, whereupon he promptly banged his head against it, making all the glasses behind the bar tinkle. We kept that fellow in Helena for two weeks, and during that time he laid out a dozen, goats fov us. His performance was the

tmng in ine staie goua enougu wr uicm. casualties to which women are not exWe had just come hack from a trip.^when posed. It may be that tight lacing is a tnck nrnf u*ArH frnm Prmr that- thPV had & n/. nn/l mov h« Tinf life preserver, and it may be not a fact, after all. Possibly the English registrargeneral may be mistaken. The situation is replete with possibilities.

we: got JK.org from Pony that they h£i' a gcat up there that tjiey wanted to_mXt up against our man. *We W'anted 'Momc' to lay off a week and enjoy some of the money he'd earned, but he wouldn't hflffer of it. Montana was ^getting on to him, he said, and pretty soon he wouldn'ttfce able to get a bet. He wanted to work the state when it was hot. he said,,(so

took him up to Poney and the crayd bet -us on thenr goat until we hadn't^ a cent left to wager. The goat was certainly a beautfe-. They' had captured' Rim wild in the mountains and had been saving him fori 'Monk.' He was a great fellow, the bfcgeet goat I ewer saw. with crinky hornaand the wickedest eye that ever glared ftt an enemy. It took four men to holdfhim while 'Monk' got in the ring, and \Jnen they let go, instead of rushing it j|st crouched and sized up the negro. 'Jlcfik' made faces at the beast

according to his" custom, but the goat nevef moved. He just kept those wicked eyes on the negro and waited. 'Monk' had a:way.of looking out of the ring at us. wnen he was winning, and winking. When his faces failed to rouse the goat he: laughed outright and thfen half turned his head around toward where I and som^sothers sat and "tricked. It was the last jfJiing *M.onk' ever did. The goat charged like a streak of lightning, and before the negro could get his head around smashed him alongside the ear. The blow killed 'Monk* didn't live a second afterward. "Well, -we burled him in Poney and gave his share of the money he %d won to a colored church in Helena. We never found out who he was or where he came from, but I'll wager theri* never was such a head as his on ear tit before and never will be again. The jgutte boys put Poney on the black list $r not letting them in on the game, but there wasn't a man in Helena who dldnvt believe he'd have knocked out the goat if it hadn't been for that fatal inclination to wink at us."

AN ISLAND IN THE JACKPOT.

It is Now Fart of Minneapolis and 1b Worth Blany Fortunes. At one of the most interesting games of poker ever played in Minneapolis, Minn., Nicollet Island was put in the jackpot by a man who thought he understood the game, but found there were others who understood it better. Fifty-five years ago Pierre Bottineau took up a claim on the spot where St. Paul now stands. A year later he traded it for a horse and cow, which he drove away into the wilderness, never dreaming that the land" he had almost given away would in a few- years be the site of a great city. For a small sum he purchased a large portion of what is now the business part of Minneapolis and put up a log cabin on a little mound in the centre of Nicollet Island. Half a dozen of the old settlers, Bottineau among them, had a little poker club. One .evening the stakes kept growing larger and larger, until every jackpot contained a small fortune. Mr. Bottineau had been losing heavily, but at last was dealt a hand upon which he hoped to regain his losses and win something beside. He was given four queens, and, drawing one card, secured an ace, leaving four kings as the only hand by which his could be beaten. He thought he saw one of the players discard a king, and he considered his hand invincible, and played it accordingly. Soon all but Bottineau and the man opposite him dropped their cards and retired to watch the game. The table was heaped with money and the personal belongings of the two men. The flickering light of the candle shone dimly on the flushed faces as they watched each other warily out of the corners of their eyes. All of Bottineau's possessions lay on the table, and it was his bet. He looked at his hand carefully, and then said that all he had left was Nicollet Island, which he would bet against $200. The bet was called, and Bottineau laid down his four queens with a smile of triumph. Amid a dead silence his opponent laid on the table, face up, four kings and a tray. It was so still you could have heard them breathe. Then Bottineau called for writing materials and made oat a'deed to the island. From that day he never touched a card or countenanced gambling in any form. After drifting around the country he went to Red Lake Falls and took up a claim and remained there until the time of his death. He was employed as a guide and scout, and was one of the principal members of the Sibley expedition. He knew every foot of the northwest country, having traversed it ever since he was 10 years old, when he guided Lord Selkirk's colonists from old Fort~Garry." When he ried the last of the old-time Canadian voyagers and guides, who were such an important factor in the upbuilding of the northwest, passed away.

NO Ust FOR HAY.

San Francisco Horse Which Prefers Meat and Fish to Any Other Diet. tThe most extraordinary appetite known in a horse belongs to Billy, a handsome bay owned by A. Decourtieux & Son, the butchers of the Pacific fruit market, San Francisco, Cal. Horses are frequently known to show a liking for sugar, and instances are related where they would drink beer, but who ever saw a horse that was fond of meat and fish? Billy's duties are to draw the firm's delivery and his stand is on Merchant street in front of the shop. Here he is often on exhibition, eating with an apparent relish steak, liver, tripe and in short almost any variety of meat handed to him. Sometimes, after having had his fill of oats 'and hay he refuses t,o munch meat, but

[thls

seldom occurs. Billy's appetite de--veloped several months ago. No one knew of it lintll one day he was seen to reach into a1 butcher's cart that was tied just1 ahead of him and calmly begirt eating a stealt. After that he was fed often ,jwith the firm's wares, and many a bet

irhas

\eiy fierce, but Mopj^-.

been won and lost on his appetite. The horse formerly varied his carnal meals by purloining fish, but he was cui-ed

a manner that was ludicrous to the

rspec

tators, but very painful for the

nan. had "°ii* equine phenomenon. He reached into a kfish wagon one day when his olfactories detected the odor of his favorite smelt, but an active and' belligerent crab took offense at the intrusion and promptly fastened to his lower lip. Billy shook his head frantically and whinnied in pain, but the crustacean held on until he was crushed by being banged against the side of the wagon. Since then the horse has kept clear of fish. Billy is the fa.vorite of the market, and a strange teamster who had the temerity to lay a whip across his back one morning to make room, was nearly mobbed by indignant butchers and fishmongers. He is also the pet of his owner's family, and his sleek hide and general evidence of good care show that he does not lack for attention.

WHY IS IT SO?

There are More Centenarians Among Women Than Among Men. A report from the office of the registrargeneral of England shows that there are more female than male centenarians. Out of a million people 225 women reach the age of 100- years, while only eighty-two men round out the century. Now, the great conundrum which is proposed is: Why is this so? According to the popular superstition, it takes much longer for a woman to reach even the age of 50 than it takes for a man to reach that age. If this is true, it makes the showing all the more remarkable. It has even been asserted that association with women makes a man live longer, as shown by the fact that the average life of the married man is longer than the average life of a single man. The fact, however, is denied by the endman at the minstrels, who says that the life of the married man is not really longer, but only seems so. So far there is no satisfactory explanation of the original proposition why more, women live to be a hundred. Some say it is because women are less addicted to tobacco and strbng drink, others say that it is •because it is more healthy to spend money than it is to earn it, and so on. It may be many of the men who would live to be hundred are killed at an early age in

Hnw He Went.

The following unique obituary verse appeared in a Chicago paper recently: "The window was open.

The curtain was drawn, An'angel flew by And Jimmy was gone.

Those Chicago poets say so much in ist a few lines! ju

Arriving at a Conclusion,

'The doctors^are in consultation in the next room." Have they come to any decision yet. "No: but they just asked for a copy of Bradstreet'E."'

BID MEN ANDJEMDERFECT

SOME FAMOUS TERRORS THAT ONCE FREQUENTED MINING CAMPS.

PSITCHARD'S END BY HIMSELF

Bad Men 'Who Must Tell About Their Badness—A Lesson for Vermonter —Thurston Lillibrldge's Humor.

A party of westerners, including several Rocky Mountain congressmen, were talking about bad men at the Arlington cafe. In Washington, the other night. "The worst man I ever saw," said an Idaho sheep raiser, "was Duke Pritchard of Poeatello. Duke was all devil. He's dead now, and if he hasn't joined the rest of his tribe then I don't own an acre of sagebrush. His finish came back in 'S3. He accomplished it himself, too, not intentionally, but out of pure, rank fieqdishness, in spite of the fact that slews of men out there thirsted for his blood without possessing the nerve to shed it. On the night that Duke Wound himself up for the trip over the big divide he was drunk in a saloon in Poeatello—old Dad Beasley's shack, afterward carried into the clouds by a cyclone—when one of ray herders walked in. He was one of the most peaceable men I had, and it made me sore the way Duke did him*up. 'Coffey,' said Pritchard to my man as soon as he caught sight of him, 'look at me look at me hard, I want to know if I ain't eighteen pounds ^eavier'n nine tons of hell fire, and I waWt to know damned quick!' twne:. "Coffey was too fear-stttfek! to say a word. This devil Pritchard:Jesped at him and disembowelled hipi w^ifeh* Ik- bowie knife. There was no one else i& tbe shack but old Dad himself at the tii$e, and Dad wasn't saying a word. W-hil^ the dying man was still in his death throes on the floor Pritchard banged him on the head with a quart bottle of whisky and finished him. Then he grabbed another quart bottle of whisky from the bar and bit the neck off of it with his teeth. Hfc backed out of the saloon chewing the glass, the blood from his mouth streaming down his black beard. Beasley, who didn't belong to any particular Sunday school himself, told me afterward that Pritchard, as he reeled backward out of th£ shack, with a jjun in each hand, for surprises, was

THE WORST-LOOKING

sight he ever looked at. That same night we went after him—about forty of us. We did not meet up with him for two days, and then we found him lying dead on the east bank of the Snake river. The glass he had swallowed had cut his insides all to ribbons. My men were so hostile over his outwitting them by dying like a white man that they wouldn't give him burial they just chucked his body into the river and poured a volley Into it as it floated down the swift current. Pritchard killed a dozen men in Idaho and Wyoming before he rounded himself up this way, and he killed 'em all with a knife, only using his guns to cover his retreat." "I've often heard, and read yarns to the general effect that all bad men are cool, silent chaps, and that there is no such thing as a genuine bad man who blusters, the blusterers being all cowards," said a Butte mining man. "These yarns make me smile. The regular he-devil of a bad man is pretty nearly extinct now. but I've met several hundred of 'em in niy day, and every man o* them was hot only wickedly bad in fact, but also on his own confession. The worst men of the lot were the fellows who publicly gloated over their deviltry, the braggarts who not only announced with whoops that they ate wolves, but who were always ready to stand for anything they said, drunk or sober. It was a part of a professional bad man's badness to let all hands know that he was bad to yelp it out between the cracking of his guns, to roar it out in the middle of the road whenever the fancy struck him. Moreover, these selfannounced bad men were never called with the frequency that some of these yarns would have you believe. I've always discovered on investigation that the 'quiet, cool' bad men

WERE FELLOWS

that shot or stabbed most of their victims in the back. The worst catamount of a bad man I ever met was Clad Collins of Yankton, and he was a roarer and a whooper from away hack. In the Black Hills, where bad men were thicker than blueberries, back in the late seventies, Collins was a holy terror for nearly three years, in spite of the fact that he was more than half drunk all the time. Newcomers to the Hills who didn't know him and his record, and who only heard him talk, were apt to put him down as a mere braggart, but I noticed that not many of them worked up the nerve to express themselves promiscuously that way. The few that did got killed right off. There was one big rawboned fellow from Vermont who struck the Hills hi '75. He heard Clad Collins 'shooting off his mouth,' as he called it, in a saloon. This fool Vermont man turned and walked toward the door of the saloon with the remark that he was weary of listening to cheap chin music. 'Johnny,' says Collins (he had sharp ears), wheeling around all of a sudden, 'come back here and get kicked—come right back, Johnny, and get kicked good and hard. Come a-runnin', Johnny.' "When the Vermonter turned he looked into the barrel of one of Collins' fortyeights. He got white- too, I can tell you. He walked over to where Collins stood holding up one end of the bar. 'Turn around. Jack,' says Collins. The Vermonter obeyed, like a sensible man, which he wasn't at first. "Collins gave him a cruel, hard kick at the base of the spine with his heavy right boot. Then he addressed him, giving him a horrible kick at each pause. 'Johnny,' says he, 'how is this for chin music, hey? [kick]. All wind and gas, ain't it, hey? [kick]. Hell, ain't it. Bill? [kick]. I ain't bad, am I Bill? [kick]. I ain't just the damnedest twolegged thing you ever looked at, am I, Mike? [kick]. You're going to give us

SOME. POINTERS

out here on free speech, ain't you, Johnny? [kick]. I ain't gojpg io shoot you up any now, Jack [kick),

fb^t

r'.Kqs^Tht^'.ivX

you're going

right on to the next carhp in twenty minutes. ain't you, Bill? 1 kickj. "By this time CollfiW' had kicked his man to the door. H& sihoved his gun back into his belt. 'Stand still a minute/ he said to the Vermonter. "Then Collins walked back about ten feet, so as to get some momentum. He made a leap for the Green Mountain boy, who stood in the doorway like an imasre with his back to the saloon, and landed on him with both feet right in the middle of the back. The Vermonter must have gone spinning about twenty feet. 'I certainly am hellish bad. for a fact,' Collins muttered, walking back to the bar. The Vermonter, who at first hadn't thought so, packed up his kit and quit the camp right away. "Collins was the only man who ever made Ed. Quigley, a bad man who had shot his even dozen in Leadville before he went to the Hills, call for time. The two men had a disagreement in the middle of the street, and Quigley's gun stuck in his belt. While he was tugging at it Collins put it to him in the right shoulder —he didn't want to kill him. apparently, for he was a dead shot—and Quigley went down. 'Can't you see my gun's stuck, Clad?' said Quigley. 'Well, you got enough, Ed?' asked Collins. 'Yep,' said Quigley. "Collins gave the man he had downed a drink of whisky out of his flask, and then put him on his shoulder and lugged him into a shack, where his wound was dressed. The two men were great friends until they both got killed. Joe Vanderlip. a Dakota deputy sheriff, planted Collins in a fair stand-up gun fight, but Quigley was shot in the hack at Cheyenne by a short-card player." "The yarns that always entertain me."

•w^4fe- sJi,s^'il'#'- 4M&

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-, j»^-"V^ 2jS?

said a Colorado congressman, "are those which tell of the way the bad m« used to get themselves done up oceusicrudly by flat-chested, cne-iunged tenderfcet from the east. A few years ago I read a story in a St. Louis paper about the way a pretty, blue-eyed tenderfoot lad had made Thurston Lillibridge dance, and it liked to have tickled me to death. As a matter of fact the man never lived that got th* drop on Lillibridge. He committed suicide by jumping from

A SECOND STORY

window in Denver while in a spasm of el re id a a as bad man as ever struck Leadvilla when Leadviljte was bad, whi ]}. is saying enough. He was yorst braggart, the most tremendous biowhard. that' ^v$r loved the sound bt his own vbice, atnfyet he was bad and dangerous 'way dowry to the ground and .underneath-it.- Whe»v he was drunk he. would naf^ate ttia his-(V,. tory of his life in nine languages and then wh'stle it, as they say, solely for the pur* pose of enticing sime riew arrtvkl to call him, and he always looked disappointed 'J and grieved when there was no onSw around to make such a bad break. Htfe31loved tenderfeet for the fun he had wltte*^* them, and this is the reason the fairy^j tale about his having been corralled by^ one of them was such good reading fo#me. Two young fellows from Camden^, N. J., struck Leadville in the fall of '"8., Each of them carried two big silver**

*'1

mounted pistols In his new belt, and theif^ knives were new and shiny. They pretty strapping young men. as a mattd: of fact, but they talked too much—and new man in Leadville had to peep pretti*^ low in those days until the layout ha^jj time to size him up and properly labe(„« him, so to speak. These two young men who seemed to have plenty of money l(S£ addition to their fine outfits, didn't pear to understand Leadville ethics, how ever, and they toured around among th/ gin mills, talking a heap. They werf"$r* both fairly well loaded up by tho tinW*^ they got around to Nat Brinkerllofff it 'Red Light* saloon, and this made then more garrulous than ever. Lillibridge vquiet' for once, stood at the bar whedu' they walked in. He looked at their toggery and shiny weapons with a whefc lot of astonishment on his face, but without saying a word. One of the younj men, the more boisterous, finally notice^ Lillibridge. 'You're pretty husky-looking, pard,' said he, with a dismal attempt at th®^ swashbuckler manner. "What's your poison?' "Thurston didn't bat an eye oiv say a^ word for a full minute. Then he seemed ft* to come out of his trance, shook himsoll^^ together, and strolled up to the two young t. men. "'Can you kids run at a lope?' he in'* quired, with mock deference. 'Run?' said the one who had befori addressed him. 'Certainly

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WE CAN RUN/ *"7"

but we don't make a business of It Why?' 'Because.' said Lillibridge, hitching uf his trousers, 'us three are going to plaj horse.' 'Huh!' said the talkative youth. 'Horse, I said,' shouted Lillibridge 'We're going to play horse. I want find out if you kids can lope in harnesj as well as you can talk.' ,4 "As he spoke he suddenly threw a rop over the two young men's shoulders. hanging on to the two loose ends himself,.. a W right he reached for one of his guns, and planted a ball about an inch from eaclt of the young men's heels. 'Git ap!' he howled, and the two Camden boys were out of the door in a see* ond, Lillibridge right behind them with the reins in his left hand, and still kick- 7 ing up the dust at their heels with th«'\', gun in his right. 'Go a-humpln'.! Shake up! Just hHJ, tho high places!' Lillibridge shouted afteii",, them between the cracks of his gun. unti!^ 1 they fairly dragged him along, swift runner as he himself was, so fast was tin pace the gun persuaded there to take up Up and down Main street he drove "em the town taking it in with howls of ,ioy 'Whoa, there!' bawled Lillibridge,whei he had brought his team back to thei:^ starting place. Lillibridge unwound the* rope for them, and then, fanned himsH' with his hat and waited for the return ol his wind. 'You fellows are not so bad on th( go,' he said finally, 'but you can't go lik you can talk. And you want to learn how and when and where to unship your gum from your belts before you undertake pack 'em around with you. Why don'l you shoot me up.some?" "The young fellows looked sheepish,' but said nothing. Lillibridge took thel under his protection from that night, on/ in time they became sufficiently wicke«l' This same Thurston Lillibridge was iln only man who ever had the drop on

Ba

Masterson for a minute. He crept up be hind Masterson one day. and with a quM movement grabbed both of Masterson guns out of his belt. Masterspn wheclei around and found himself covered bj Lillibridge with his own guns. He stooi stock still, waiting to receive two balls in his head. Lillibridge lowered the guns and handed them back to Mastertiou, butts foremost. 'That's one I've got on you, Bat,k Sale Lillibridge, 'and it's up to you to never t( come a-gunning for me, marshal or marshal, no matter what I do.' 'I won't.' said Masterson, briefly, anfi he never did.".

WASHING VS. WORKING.

A Tramp Piously Endeavors to Determine Which is the Worst. The drummer who sees his tradei in thi northern neck of Virginia by going dowt the Potomac on a steamboat and doinf ,• the rest of it via a buckboard, was talking the other night on the steamer bounc for the field of his labors. "Four weeks ago," he said, "on one o:, those warm days, I was driving in toward Kinsale, and when about three mile: from town I ran upon a combinatioi which was as surprising as it was unac countable. About fifty yards ahead me I saw a tramp sitting in the shade. 01 the bank of a brook that babbled softlthrough a fence, and slipped quiet!: across the road. He was gazing at some thing, as if spell-boUnd, which, upoi coming nearer, I saw was his travelin! companion washing his dirty face in th stream and spluttering like a porpoise It was evident the spluttering had uwak ened the tramp 011 the bank, and the sigi that met his gaze had fascinated him a a basilisk might charm. The red was sandy that I was within speaking an hearing distance of them and they ha not heard me. 'Hully gee, Muggins,' ejaculated th« one on the bank, when he haG recoverec sufficiently from his astonishment t« speaSt, 'but what on de eart' ejff yous' doin' dere?' 'It's like dis,' spluttered the other, ai he rose, dripping like Venus from thi sea, and blew the water out of his mouth 'I hears somebody a-sayin' in de noospa pers dat dere wasn't nuttin' worse 'i work, an' I'm jis seein' if it's do truf.' "By this time I was discovered and tin two of them dropped all abstract matters and questions and came down pre* clpitately to the concrete proposition thai I contribute a nickel or so to their emaciated exchequer."

1

•U

Not at All Hasty.

"The trains on some of the sdVithe,^ railroads are very slow, aren't they?" inquired the commercial traveler's fdcml "Well," replied the truthful drummer who had just returned from a trii through Dixie, "I heard down in Georgif of a man who was put on a train an started for the penitentiary to.serve'1 three years' sentence when het arrive* at the prison his term had expired, ant he was discharged."

Clara—I don't think Grace cares ver much for Iier husband. Jessie—Why?

Clara—Well- he was detained at his of fice until S o'clock one evening last wee} and it n»v»r occurred to her that & might be killed, or something. •I*:-