The Syracuse Journal, Volume 4, Number 51, Syracuse, Kosciusko County, 18 April 1912 — Page 3

[/% STORY [\J I No Man’s I Land By Louis Joseph Vance Illustrations by Ray Walters (Copyright. 1910, by Louis Joseph Vance.) SYNOPSIS. Garrett Coast, a young man of New York City, meets Douglas Blackstock, who Invites him to a card party. He accepts, 'although he dislikes Blackstock, the reason being that both are in love with Katharine Thaxter. Coast fails to convince her [that Blackstock is unworthy of her [friendship. At the party Coast meets two named Dundas and Van Tuyl. There is > quarrel, and Blackstock shoots Van Tuyl dead? Coast struggles to wrest the weapon from him, thus' the police discover them. Coast Is arrested for murder. He is convicted, but as he begins his sentence, Dundas names Blackstock as the murderer and kills himself. Coaut becomes free, but Blackstock has married Katherine Thaxter and fled. Coast purchases a yacht and while sailing sees a tnan thrown from a distant boat. He rescues the fellow who is named Appleyard. They arrive at a lonely Island, known as No Man’s Land. Coast starts out to explore the place and comes upon some deserted buildings. He discovers a , man dead. Upon going further and approach- \ Gig a house he sees Katherine Thaxter, 1 Who explains that her husband, under the name of Black, has bought the island, He is blind, a wireless operator and has a station there. Coast Informs her that her husband murdered Van Tuyl. CHAPTER X. Coast had not taken two-score paces ■long the path to the shore before the ■ay was again darkened by a sudden and heavy thickening of the mists. That brightening glow, which a little time back he had hailed with hope as promise of early clearing, was in an Instant wiped away. So deep became the gloom (to his fancy, as if the fog had been sprayed to saturation with h myriad Inflnltestlmal atoms of ink) that though it was now high morning he found it hard to see the ground beneath his feet. Then came the deluge. The heavens opened and drenched the earth with a flush of rain literally torrential. In a twinkling soaked to the skin, Coast gasped for breath and bent his head to a downpour which whipped him with a million cruel stinging lashes. Perforce at pause for fear of losing his way, almost beaten thoughtless, lacking any shelter to fly to, he derived forlorn comfort of a sort from the very violence of the squall, which supplied Its own assurance that It could not endure long. And briefly this proved itself: heralded by gradu; al lightening, the heavier clouds passed off; the Initial fury exhausted itself. For some distance the path led him a wandering way; but this he did not resent, any more than he really resented his soaking, which seemed but an inconsiderable annoyance to a mind preoccupied. His being was altogether obsessed and the process of his thoughts clouded by Intense solicitude and pity for Katherine—-coupled with doubts as to the wisdom of his course. Was he justified In leaving her, though she begged and commanded him? He felt his understanding harried by the pro and con of the question like a ball in volley between two rackets. How could he leave her so? What else could he do? She rejected, discredited, dismissed him definitely, without appeal. She needed him—or somebody to whom she might turn tor comfort and protection. Blackstock was not to be trusted: yet she loved him. If, as she protested, she were happy In some strange fashion passing Coast’s comprehension, had he any right to step between her and her bappmess, whatever the circumstances? If, as was the case, Blackstock had murdered a man in a moment of uncontrollable rage, had Coast any right to leave the woman at the mercy of a temper which might at any moment resume the complexton of homicidal mania? Yet would not his presence there, upon the Island, work her more harm than good, were he to be discovered? . . . He was. In the summing up, conscious of no choice of action: he could but go his ways. She desired It, and though his duty (he saw clearly) was to denounce Blackstock to the nearest authority, secure his arrest and Imprisonment . . . he could not Thus In wretched communion with his heart he came almost unawares a second time to the deserted fishing tillage, was abruptly conscious of shapes of buildings looming through the »alsts and driving rain on either hand. And with this recognition recurred the memory of the blind dog and the murdered man. It was scant consolation that he no longer heard the howling of the dog. Perhaps It had abandoned Its dead, perhaps he need no longer fear to meet the blank misery of those unBanny, sightless eyes, perhaps. . . . Even as he -wanned that hope, withcut warning something more cold and moist than his own flesh touched his band. He jerked away with an uncontrollable shudder and a smothered exclamation of horror, only to realize that the animal had stole* up behind Was end threat its ousle into hie

palm. He bent over and petted th* dripping head, soothing the dog with muttered words for a moment or two. It snuggled close to him, whining, shivering. “Poor boy’” he said gently. “So now, so, old fellow. . , "Then, surprised: “Hello!” he exclaimed. “Achat’s this?" « Beneath his hand the dog had stiffened suddenly, and now stood tense and bristling, a deep and angry growl rumbling in Its throat Simultaneously, from some indeterminate point, he heard the sound of a man’s voice, the words indistinguishable, accompanied by a grating noise like that made by metal encountering stone. “Hello, hello!” he said softly, knitting his brows, as he stared down the roadway, in the direction that he must go, the direction from which the sounds seemed to come. » He could see nothing save vague shadows, formless, dim. . . . A monotonous iteration of muffled sounds forced itself upon Coast’s attention; a thud, a scraping noise, a soft plop; repeated endlessly. He strained his eyes against the veiling mists, seeming to discern a knot of shadows down the road. The sounds continued, to be Interrupted, presently by high-pitched accents, apparently lift, d in expostulation; but the Intonation was foreign and the words unintelli ible. Then a voice said roughly: /‘Shut up and get on, will you? D’you want to keep me standing here all day?” A grunt responded and the noises recommenced. Coast gulped; his temples throbbed

Then Came the*Deluge.

and there was a feelllg of constriction in his Ihroat. The voice had been Blackstock’s. Coast now understood what was towards: they were digging a grave for the dead man. Quite mechanically he turned aside and moved toward the rt w of houses on his right; they stood upon the edge of a shelving bank, he found, guessing the beach lay at the foot of this declivity. He descended ten feet or so, and, the dog at heel, skulked along in the' rear of the buildings, until he came to one which he Judged to be about opposite the group of shadows. Then climbing again he entered the structure by Its rear doorway—which owned no door. Opening on the roadway were two windows, with broken and empty sashes, and a doorway with vacant hinges. Coast approached one of the windows. The dog, blundering helplessly about for a time, at length found the door and stopped astride the sill, sniffing the air, ears pricked forward, body vibrant with the behemence of its growls. From a position near the window, Coast could see with passable distinctness the prone body and round it a gathering of four figures. Blackstock stood some feet from the body, his feet well apart, his heavy shoulders inclined slightly forward, his hands clasped behind him. Ie was clothed in shining, shapeless black oilskins: the drooping brim of a sou’wester hid all his face save a Ted patch of cheek. Near the dead man, two Chinamen tolled with spades, waist-deep in a trench. Their bodies, clothed in thin, saturated blue jackets, bent and recovered with nearly automatic precision as they delved and cast up the loam. Behind them a little mound of fresh-turned earth grew rapidly. To one side a third Chinaman stood in attitude of Imperturbable attention, apparently overseeing the job. He was a large man, largely builded: taller than Blackstock by at least three Inches, with disproportionately long arms, large hands and feet. In that drearily illusive light he seemed a giant His face, to Occidental eyes, was a yellow mask, brutally modeled but quite devoid of expression. Presently he uttered a single word In Chinese, and the labor came to an end. He turned to Blackstock. *

"All ready,” he said brusquely, 1* dear English. Blackstock Inclined his head, as if doubtful. “How deep?" he asked. “Four feet." Blackstock appeared to reflect brief ly. “Six would be better," he said. “However . . . kick him in and get him covered as quick as you can.” “All right," returned the Chinaman stolidly. He Issued Instructions to his countrymen in a swift jumble of sharp syl lables. The pitiless brutality of the proceeding, together with the sickening thump of the body falling into the trench, affected Coast momentarily with a sort of vertigo, with something closely resembling nausea, and wrung from him an involuntary cry of horror. “Good God!" he said aloud—how loud ly he soon realised. Barely had the words been spoken when Blackstock, as if galvanized, whirled in Coast’s direction. “Who’s that?” he demanded sharply, his features darkly distorted with apprehension. “Who spoke?” His fingers tore nervously at the fastening of his oilskin coat; he jerked it open and plunged one hand Jnto a side pocket, as If seeking a weapon. In surprise the tall Chinaman turned toward him. “Who spoke?” he iterated, as If he had failed to catch that cry which had unmistakably reached ears that seemed attuned to almost preternatural acuteness. “I heard nothing. ...” Quickly his gaze quested past Blackstock, raking their surroundings, and for an Instant Coast could have sworn rested on his face, indefinite blur

though it must have seemed viewed through the window at that remove. He fancied that the man’s small black eyes narrowed, and he held his breath, fearing he was discovered and wondering whether or not to make • break for it byway of the back door. Then, to his unspeakable relief, the Chinaman’s glance traveled on and again paused. “It must have been the dog,” he said, his precise English oddly asserting with his foreign intonation. For the first time Coast became aware that the animal had left the doorway. A slight shift of position enabled him to discover it standing at pause halfway between the building and the group round the grave. “The dog? No!" Blackstock ejaculated nervously. “Dogs don’t speak—” "It must hare been the dog,” the Chinaman repeated. ’lt is there —” “Where?” Blackstock moved uneasily, seeming to sense a menace in the very proximity of the animal. “Keep it away from me, d’you hear? Don’t let it come near me. Kick it off —kill the damn* brute if it comes this way!” His tones flatted strangely, as if he were in truth mortally afraid of the animal. “It hates me,’’ he said In a mumble —“hates me!” “Let me have your pistol,” the Chinaman put in. “I think it means to attack us. Give me the pistol and I will drive It off.” As if to confirm the wisdom of this suggestion as well as Blackstock’s fears, the dog at that instant interjected a sonorous and savage growl—which changed to a sharp yelp as a bit of rock, flung with surprising accuracy by one of the grave-diggers, landed on its sides. Confused and in pain—for the blow must have been a shrewd one —the blind animal swerved, scuttled off, disappeared. At the same time Coast was aware that some object passed from Blackstock’s hand to the Chinaman’s. A second later a little tongue of reddish flame licked out from the mouth of a revolver held by the latter, and Coast heard its vicious bark coincident with a smart thud as the bullet lodged in a berm immediately behind him. might have been poor markmanshi or fair; the Chinaman might have aim d at the dog. <TO BK CONTINUKIM

TheWaus the By S.N.LEEK ~~~

7 ’ -Si JK HILE on a camping trip at the headwaters of Atlantic and Thoroughfare Creeks, northeast of the Jackson’s Hole country in Wyoming, during the summer of 1911, I had some great opportunitles of studying the habits of beaver. I have always been an interested student of this clever little animal's ways, but while in the hills I had never before had the leisure to stay among them that 1 enjoyed on this . •' outing. At that time the following gentlemen were x <;-" ’ - with me: F. L. Cuthbert and son of Lima, Ohio; J. <- ~ M. Hill of Fond du Lac, Wis., and Fred Lovejoy. We were on a fishing and general pleasure trip ever

Idaho and Wyoming, camping whereever the feed and fishing were good, and resting when, how and where we felt like it. In the country above mentioned we found many beaver; in fact, whereever there was sufficient water, beaver had taken possession of it. All small streams were dammed up by them, and in one place we saw a beaver industriously fixing up the dam, while five ducks were near him looking on. In another place we saw a beaver, prpbably the old daddy, swimming in a pond, who, on seeing us, slapped the water with its broad, flat tail, making a sound much like a rtfle shot. The other beaver, curious to be doing something, were out on the bank cutting willows, but on hearing the danger signal, which probably said, “Hey, you kids, out of there!” came tumbling into the water till six were swimming before us. Beaver live in families, the two old beavers, two yearlings and two kits. The young, two in number, are born about April and stay at home until about two years of age, when they set up housekeeping on their own account. They move to some other locality. If a small stream, they proceed to build a dam to get greater depth of water. If the banks are rocks or not suitable for holes, they build a house. The water must be of sufficient depth so it will not freeze solid in winter, as the entrance' to the house or hole in bank is under water. The floor of their living room is about three inches above water, and is carpeted with white sticks slit up a little coarser than eicelsior. There is always an opening above the living room for fresh air. This is partly closed or concealed by sticks laid across it. As the pond freezes over in the winter, the beaver must provide themselves with sustenance to last them through the long winter. This Is called their cache and is always situated near where they live and consists of willows, quaking aspen or cottonwood anchored under water. They cut these late in the fall and slace them in this cache, so when the pond freezes over they can get to them. Cutting off a small piece, they take it to their living room and peel it, eating the bark only. This is their winter’s food. The sticks after be-

HUMOR FROM HAPPYLAND

Not Many. Poets now will Have to delve. Seeking rhymes for 1912. Art and Its Rivalries. “I don’t believe that story about Nero fiddling while Rome burned.” “WhyF “Any true musician would have known better than to try to hold an audience while the fire department was turning out” One. “He is one of the most conceited men I have ever met” “I don’t doubt it There is a certain conceited man that it will never be possible for you to meet” Liquidated. Tatterdon Torn—Wot would you do It you had a million dollars? ° ‘Thirsty Theodore —De foist t’lng I’d do would be to Invest all but $999,999.95 in a glass o’ beer.—Puck. Frown on Originality. In the eyes of certain persons original sin is the sin of originality.—Exchange. In and Out “So Brown has it in for me, has ha What would you advise me to do?” z “Have it but with him.” The Same Is True Today. Diogenes upon his quest An honest man could never find; Although still hoping for the best. Great was the scarc'ty of that kind. Saying Nothing. “There is a rumor afloat that Old Goldrox is dead,” said the editor. “Yes,” replied the reporter; “I was just down to the house.” “Is it so?” “Well, his wife said that her husband would neither confirm nor deny the rumor.” Meaning Mrs.-Lot. X know this joke is rather old And you’ll think me a dubber. Before she turned to salt, we’re told. She first had twrned to rubber.

CUTTINGS MADE BEFORE AND AFTER THE SNOW

ing peeled are taken away where they lie on the bottom of the pond. In putting up the cache they all work. If small willows are used the old ones cut and place them in little piles (armfuls), the young beaver carrying them to the water and then running with them to the cache. And if cottonwood or trees, they first cut them down by cutting all around them, if of large size, letting them fall where they may. They then cut off all limbs and cut the trunks up into suitable lengths to handle, and drag all to the water and then float them to their cache. From my observation the limit in size that a beaver can cut is about ,24 inches. They can cut out a chip about four inches long, cutting it off at bottom and top and splitting it out very much as a man does with an ax. In this way they can cut a scarf about 12 inches in height and back into the trunk of the tree about 12 inches, all the way around. Then if the leans considerably, it will of course break some, or when the .wind comes up it will blow down, but I have seen trees with so much center left that they remained standing, though cut into to the beavers’ limit.

It Dges. It takes a’ghy Whose purse Is fat To occupy A city flat. Consistent Enough. “But,” protested the stage mana,ger, “don’t you think it looks odd for you to wear your diamonds in the character of the deserted wife?” “Oh, no,” replied the actress, “you must have observed that I had selected for that purpose the very smallest and plainest diamonds I own.” —Catholic Standard and Times. Where the Power Lies. "My dear, sir,” said the visiting Englishman, “you people in this country don’t know what a real republic is. Your president has vastly more power than we permit our king to exercise.” “Oh, we all realize that, but you seem to forget the power your queen is permitted to exercise.” > Entertaining a Customer. “I notice you always patronize the same barber. Is he a good workman?” “Not especially so.” “He seems to talk a great deal, be- . sides.” but I don’t mind that You see, my barber is a well read man, and/every day he tells me a story -ffom Boccaccio.” A Dreary Fate. How »ad is life For one who sees His carping wife He cannot please. He Knew Him When. “Why do you hate him so? Has he ever done anything or said anything to injure you?” / . “No, but, confound him. I can remember when he had nowhere near as much as I had—when, as a matter of fact, I didn't always care to recognize him.” The Optimist Cheer up; if no one saw you act You're lucky, just the same; Teh people who do well, in fact. So oft get only blame. ■ I —

A WEIL BUJLT In building a dam they first place coarse brush in the stream, allowing the water to run through till a good lot of brush is in place clear across the stream. They then begin working in finer brush, and lastly mud, till the structure is water-tight. And another peculiar fact abcut the work of these animals: If a beaver places the branch of a tree or willow in the water it sinks, if he so wishes, while if you should place it there, it floats.

This is a secret apparently known only to the beaver. I believe the beaver live more like humans in their domestic life than any other animal, and though there may be no marriage ceremony, their domestic life is just as sacred. And yet, with all their wisdom, they are easily trapped, for by taking advantage of their weakness or customs, by placing a handful of soft mud from the bottom of the pond upon the bank Wtd placing a few drops of a certain kind of scent upon it, every beaver that passes near will go to it, and if the trap is well placed, they are sure to get caught. For some years there has been a closed season on beaver in the state of Wyoming. They are multiplying very fast and reappearing in all their old haunts, and I am glad tq see it; but I deplore the fact that the law is not more strictly enforced. I hate to see a law to conserve th& game abused —a law that the honest man will recognize and obey, but so poorly enforced that the poacher and unlawful party get all the benefit.

Their Growth. Those hailstones bigger get with each Tale which to tell, From stones they grow' as big as eggi Then stretch to rubber tires. Squelched. “Say. can’t you read the sign?” asked the elevator boy. “I beg your pardon,” replied the man with the cigar, “were you speaking to me?” “It says: ‘No Smokin’ in the Car.’ ” “Does it? Where does it say that?" “There. Can’t you see?” “But it doesn’t say: ‘No Smokin’ in the Car’ there.” “G’wan, you highbrow.’” Mental Discretion. The Nice Boy—H-have you forgotten that cent you borrowed of me? The Hard Case —Yes! Haven’t you? The Nice Boy—Y-yes! Now that you r-remind me of it!—Puck. Not Flattering. “Does death end all?” asked the solemn boarder. “Not for a week or so in case of a turkey,” answered the cheerful boarder. Just in Time. “George says he loves that little curl over your right ear.” Tm glad to know that I was just about to hang it on the other side.’ A Fine Day. So fair Is ail the world without So brightly shines the sun. 'Twould seem all cares are put to rout And Trouble’s on the run. Bows and Beaux. Bella —Is . she musical? Beulah —Not a bit. Bella —But I beard somebody say she had had experience in handling a bow? Beulah —Oh, they meant she had been engaged to be married several times.” A Mean Trick. There was a man In our town And he was wondrous wise. He gave each tramp that came aroun* of his wifey’s pies.

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Two Smiles. Ezra Pound, the poet, was talking at the° Authors’ club, in New York, about Shelley’s cremation. “Cremation, although beautiful,” he said, “lends itself to ribald jest in a way that sepulture doesn’t. “Who can forbear a smile at the thought of that devoted young matron, who, her front steps being covered with sleet, sprinkled her first husband’s ashes over them in order that her second husband might descend in safety?” Smiling himself, Mr. Pound resumed: ‘‘And who could forbear another smile at the thought of the young widow s>n the blustery March morning who entered her drawing room to find that the wind had overturned the vase which contained her husband’s remains? “ ‘Pshaw,’ she said, ‘now isn’t it just like George to throw his ashes ail over my new Kirmanshah rug!’”

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