The Pacific Monthly/Volume 14/Columbia River Scenery

Columbia River Scenery

THERE are many regions in this Western wonderland that defy the word painter and even the brush of the skilled artist. In this respect no section stands out more conspicuously than that part of the Columbia River between the mouth of the Willamette and the city of The Dalles.

The ruins of little castles of feudal barons perched upon the rocky points of the Rhine have no counterpart along the Columbia, nor is pastoral scenery to be observed. Nature, wild and untamed by the hand of man, still rules supreme over the passage of a great river through a great mountain range, present- ing landscapes of imposing grandeur and beauty Great forces have moved and have produced great results. There is the broad expanse and reach of water, the rugged, towering mountains, thousands of feet high and reaching far into the clouds. Well known forms of vertical escarpements and conical pinnacles peculiar to basaltic formation crown the successive heights to the very mountain tops. Slender ribbon-like falls hang lightly from the brow of a sheer precipice or dash in foam down some rocky gulch, and the morning mists that linger on the wooded peaks veil in mystery the beauty beyond. One's desire to possess and perpetuate some scene of beauty becomes irresistible, when, out comes the camera — snap — and the thing is done! Of this long passage between The Dalles and Vancouver, a well-known artist has said that the scenes of interest and beauty would furnish a lifetime of sketching. The eight views presented herewith are the second in the new series of Columbia River views taken by Mrs. Sarah H. Ladd, the first having appeared in the January, 1905, number.

The Pallisades of the Columbia

From a Photo by Sarah H. Ladd

Mt. Hood

Part of the Famous Gorge

From a Photo by Sarah H. Ladd

A Rugged Bank on the Upper Columbia

From a Photo by Sarah H. Ladd

From a Photo by Miss Maud Ainsworth

St. Peter s Dome

On the Columbia River Near the Cascades

"short stories"

This department is devoted to short, crisp, interesting stories. The aim is to publish ^\y. each month more short stories than any other illustrated ten cent magazine. Manuscripts W^ are solicited .

LOCO

By R. C. Pitzer

HE wore a red vest. You can shut your eyes, now that you know this, and Richard Lacey will materialize before you. You are sure to see him if you know that his moustache was small and of a clerkly blonde. He was the foreman of the dress goods counters in a well-known department store, and, after the third season there, he was given a two months' vacation. The West was a sealed book to him; so he determined to go out into the Rocky Mountains and have something to talk about the rest of his life.

He followed the beaten track until he reached a summer resort in Western Colorado, where he met Bill Cummings. Bill was a professional guide and bear killer, and was looking for something to be guided.

One afternoon he found Lacey at the postoffice, and told him all about Eoutt County. The result was that he then and there hired Cummings to take him into the pleasant lands. They bought an outfit and went away from the sulphur springs, the Aveak lungs, the fishing rods, and the blue dresses and white trousers of the resort.

Three weeks in the hills made a wonderful difference in Dick Lacey's appearance. His blue shirt and corduroy suit lost their newness, his face turned red, and a fringe of dirty whiskers sprang out around it. He was of an excitable temperament, and the wild spirit of the mountains entered into and possessed him. He became a hunter, without the skill to hunt; a hillsman, without the strength to climb.

Then, one day, he saw a deer and shot at it. He was surprised when it doubled up and lay down under a pine tree, but exultation mastered even that emotion, and he cheered lustily. Cummings ran up the hill to learn what had happened.

"Hurrah!" Lacey cried again. "I've. killed it! I've killed it!"

"Killed what?" Bill puffed.

"A deer ; see, there it is over yonder."

Bill sat down suddenly. "Say," he ejaculated, "you are a tenderfoot, an' no mistake ! D' you know what that means ?"

"A tenderfoot? Oh, yes, you've called me that — "

"No; I'm talking about that deer there. It means a good big fine, an' a good stiff sentence."

"Eh?"

"It's agin' the law to shoot deer this time o' the year, as I've told you fifty times afore — an' we passed a game warden this mornin', too. Good Lord ! I'm in for it!"

Lacey's face lost its exultant expression. "That's so/' he mused; "I forgot about that. But it isn't likely that the warden'll ever know, is it?"

"He seen you was an Easterner, all right, an' I ain't got too good a reputation myself. Bet your boots he'll be a snoopin' around here by night. Well, there's only one thing to be done, an' I'm goin' down to camp after a shovel. You sit right there, an' don't let nobody come nigh here. If anyone does, p'int your gun at him. Might as well be a black ram while you're about it."

Bill went do^vn the hill, and Lacey sat and thought. The more he reflected, the more nervous he grew, until every noise in the woods above startled him. Once he imagined that he heard a horse nicker, and he promptly hid in a group of jagged boulders. The silence of the hills unmanned him. He was but a city clerk, after all, accustomed to the quiet monotony of his life, and an unreasoning sense of fear stole over him as the slow minutes went past. At last Bill returned, and together they went to where the deer lay.

"A doe," said Bill, as he scowled down at the carcass. "She's got a young un' in the bushes, a waitin' for its mammy to come home. That makes it a bigger fine. Here, grab a root on this shovel, an' we'll bury the brute."

Bill spat on his hands, swung a pick over his head, and went to work. It is not child's play to sink a pit among the boulders and rocks on a mountain side, but they finally succeeded in excavating a four-foot hole. "A grave," Lacey thought. How like murderers they were, sweating at their guilty task in the hot afternoon sun !

They had been so engrossed with the work that a man came unnoticed from the pines and stood not far distant from them. Their first knowledge of his presence was brought about by a hoarse chuckle, and the tools rattled from their hands as they wheeled upon the intruder. Bill swore, but Lacey turned white under his sun-rash, and became possessed of a wild, breathless terror.

"Mighty hot work," said the stranger, as he flung a rifle barrel across his left arm with a significant gesture, "couldn't a-taken more trouble if you'd shot a man."

Bill looked at the rifle, and then his eyes wandered over to where Lacey's gun stood against a rock. The warden grinned wickedly.

"This'll be mighty hard on you, Bill," he said. "It's the third offense, an' you'll get a heavy term for it, too."

"It were an accident," Bill growled. "This cub here shot it, thinkin it' were a bar. Ain't that so, kid?"

Lacey's teeth chattered, and he stared straight before him, seeing nothing but judges and juries, fines which he could not pay, and dismal prison cells. His eyes grew round and bloodshot, and his face turned to a mottled blue.

The warden looked at him and doubled up with mirth. This increased Lacey's terror, if anything could do that, and with a gasp he "turned loco," and sprang off among the pines. The warden's merriment left him, and he bounded after the fugitive, swinging his rifle into place as he ran. He fired, and the bullet sang over Lacey's head ; the second shot knocked his hat away. Then he turned, foaming like a terrified animal.

"Stand still, thar," the warden shouted. Lacey obeyed, but his pupils had contracted, and there was a new light in them — the red passion that one sees blaz- ing from the eyes of a cornered rat.

"Hold out your paws," the warden continued, as he jingled a pair of hand- cuffs. Lacey did so, and the gesture was followed by a flash of fire and a sharp report. The warden jumped back, clutched at his shirt, and fell; and then Lacey toppled over on him in a dead faint.

When he came to, his head and shirt were wet, and Bill stood by with an empty pail.

"Well," Bill remarked, "are you locoed yet?"

Lacey sat up and held his head. "What's the matter?" he asked. "I seem to remember — Oh, my God !" He sprang to his feet and glared about him, his eyes searching for something they could not find.

LOCO. . 43

"Where — where is it?" he gasped.

"I buried it with the deer."

"He's dead? Actually dead? I've murdered him?"

"That's a ugly word, kid, but there ain't no controvertin' that he's dead, sure pop. Are you straightened out yet?"

Lacey broke into a passionate wail and covered his face. "My God !" he sobbed. "I'm a murderer — they'll hang me !"

"Now, don't you go nutty again," Bill cautioned. "You brace up an' be somethin' like a man. I'm goin' to pack up an' wander over into Utah, an' if you take my advice, you'll ride to the railroad like as if nothin' had happened. Then you'll get out o' this country as quick as God'll let you."

"Yes," Lacey returned, "I'll go home. How can I reach a station?"

"Come on an' saddle up," Bill responded. "See that bald mountain over there? Well, there's a road runnin' on t'other side o' that, an' when you hit it — which'll be about dark — you turn north an' keep on goin'. Here's some blankets; I'll fasten 'em to the saddle. You got to camp whenever you see water an' grass, but to-morrow noon'll find you in Fryingpan. There's a train goes through there to the plains every evenin' — an' every mornin', too, but you can't catch that one. Good-bye, kid. Brace up, now, an' don't let on. Nobody'll tumble, an' you was locoed, so it ain't exactly your fault. It just happened."

Lacey nodded and rode away, but his heart was heavy, and a black sliadow drifted along behind him. He reached the road without incident and turned nortn as directed, but he did not stop when a fit camping place was reached. Instead, ne rode steadily through the night, and the morning found him, fagged and ugly, at Fryingpan.

He put his horse in a livery and inquired when the train would arrive. It was not due until 10 o'clock; so he went to the hotel for breakfast. He sat down opposite a bearded fellow, who nodded affably.

"How," he said. "Stranger here? Looks like you'd been a ridin' all night." He laid down his knife as he spoke.

"Yes," Lacey responded, "I — I wanted to catch the train."

"U — m ; what might your name be ?"

Lacey hesitated. "It's Jones," he said, "Richard Jones."

"Easterner?"

"Yes ; I've been with a — a camping party south of here."

"I see. Got a sudden call to the city, eh?"

"That's it. A friend of mine — hurt on the street — must see him at once."

"U — m; queer hour y' got word out in them hills. Who told you?"

Lacey's invention failed him, and he stuttered an unintelligible reply. Then the other grinned.

"I reckon you don't want no train this mornin'," he said. "I'm Davidson — marshal here — an' I know just what's happened. You shot a deer an' the warden dropped down on you ; an' you're makin' tracks for tall timber. Might as well give up that idea, because I'm goin' to hold you till to-morrer."

Lacey felt his brain whirling insanely again, but he mastered himself. "Keep cool, keep cool," he repeated over and over as he stared across the table. "I'm lost if I loose my head." Then aloud : "I've told you my story ; you're at liberty to think what you please, for I'll say no more."

Davidson laughed. "All riglit, old buck," he answered. "You come along an' sit in the office. We'll wait an' see what happens."

Lacey bought a cigar and went. "You're pretty cool," the marshal remarked. "Likely you think the warden won't get here, and I'll let you go to-morrer, eh? Well, you just listen to my yap." He waved his forefinger under the other's nose. "If that warden don't come in by mornin', me an' you'll saddle up an' ride out after him."

Lacey bit his cigar in two, and his hand trembled as he threw the pieces away, but he showed no other signs of the wild emotion that possessed him. The day seemed an Artie one, and sometimes he fancied that Davidson was a new Joshua, but night fell at last and Lacey was locked up.

In the morning the marshal saddled the horses, and the two men rode out together into the silent, dream-haunted hills.

***

Months later the department store tried to learn what had become of its man, Richard Lacey; but it never found out. There is a rough outlaw with the Hole-in-the-Wall gang, who is said by his partners to be one of the worst men in the hills. His name is Dick Jones, though he is commonly called "Loco," and he is wanted for the murder of Davidson, and for many later and more notorious crimes. He could tell you all about Richard Lacey.

EDEN POSTPONED

By Christabel R. Sobey

IN a tropical garden, dense and sweet, Sam West lay at full length in a hammock lazily smoking a cigarette. His sensuous nature was drinking in the soft Brazilian music floating from the house, as part of the perfect moonlight night. His thoughts, if he had any, were of the comfortable present, rather than of the strenuous past or the uncertain future, and he felt a vague, indefinable resentment when the music stopped suddenly.

A girl in white appeared among the long palm-leaf shadows lying on the gravel paths.

"Why stop?" inquired Sam plaintively.

"Because I want to talk to you," she said with perfect frankness.

Sam sat up and threw away his cigarette.

"Miss Elizabeth, you alarm me. After all these days when you have so palpably ignored my devotion, something serious must have happened to make you come to me. Something serious, indeed!"

He led the way to a bench, deep in the shadow of some thick bushy plants, and sat thinking during Elizabeth's hesitating silence.

When he and Jack Hardesty, together with a certain professor from one of the lesser American colleges, all intent on coral specimens, had first arrived in Pernambuco, they found the whole country in an uproarious ferment over America's war with Spain and the apparently approaching trouble with Bolivia. Fearing trouble, they had gladly accepted the invitation of the English consul and his daughter to make his house their refuge.

During a long delay, occasioned by their inability to beg, buy or steal a boat in which to make their extended trip in and about the coral reefs, their little hostess had become very fond of the lively college graduates.

On their sudden forced return into town after fracases with the natives at every village where they stopped for provisions, the Englishman had lodged them in an outhouse in his high-walled garden, where, he thought, they would be safe. His daughter was at the same time enjoying every minute of their stay, nothing having hanpened to break the playful serenity of their intercourse, the harmless nonsense of the college men serving to hide their anxiety.

"Sam, have you and Jack quarreled?" she asked at last.

"Why, er — no. That is, we had a small difference of opinion about — er. But you couldn't call it a quarrel, you know."

Elizabeth leaned back and picked a white, heavily scented flower, and sniffed at it absently. Sam, watching her with his poetic soul in his eyes, forgot his worries again. How she fitted into the night, this transplanted English rose!

"Where's the Professor?" asked she, turning her gaze slowly upon him.

him. "Down in the bathhouse, sorting bugs," he sang flippantly, beating the wooden seat with his palms in accompaniment to the air. But his eyes, which denied the flippancy, .were hidden from her.

"And Jack ?"

"Couldn't say. Have cut liim ofT the list of my acquaintances for the rest of the day."'

"^^^ly?'•'

"I told }ou we had dift'ered — on a very important question, by the way. How did you know anything was wrong?"

"By your excessive politeness at dinner, and your avoidance of each other afterwards."

"Where do you suppose he is?" lazily inquired Sam. "He isn't in the bath- house — unless he's sulking under one of the beds."

"Em worried, Sam, really," rebuked the girl. "You don't suppose he's wan- dering around the town after what father said to you both, do you?"

"Eet's talk about something more interesting," was Sain's answer. "Ijct's talk about ourselves, for instance. Sooner or later I must give in to Jack and leave this Garden of Eden. Will you miss me?"

But Elizabeth was impatient of his tender words. "Sam, he"s not in the house and he's not out here, and I don't believe he's in the bathhouse. AAHiere is he? Father says that ever since that gunboat was sighted this afternoon, the people liave been Avild to arrest you Americans. They are terribly in sympathy with the Sjianiards in this war, and the talk about Bolivia has driven them crazy. Oh, I know he is out somewhere in that reckless way of his! Em dreadfully worried. If you had only gone away on that last steamer !"

During Elizabeth's words Sam had stiffened up, his hands had plunged deep into his pockets, and the real obstinacy of the man at last looked through the college veneer.

"We couldn't go away because our work is not finished. There is no real danger to us as long as we behave ourselves. Yes, I know what the others say, and T know your father thinks we're foolhardy to stay. That was why we quarreled. Jack and I. He keeps talking about our having to go, and I told him flatly that I wouldn't. I said he and the Professor could go, but Jack said — well, I said — But what does that matter? I won't go, that's all."

Elizabeth was distressed. She watched him as he sat kicking at the gravel under his feet, trying to think of some argument strong enough to move him.

"^Aliy must I go?" he went on recklessly. "See here. Hidden away in that bathhouse, safe inside this garden, I can be quite safe until this trouble blows over. If Jack and the Professor go they will think I'm in the party — these patriotic peo- ple of this crazy town, I mean. Anyway, the mythical maps and charts made for our government would assuredly go with them, wouldn't they? Well, what differ- ence would it make if they did find out I was here?"

"Oh, I'm quite sure you're all wrong," cried Elizabeth. "I don't know what to say to you, but I know your logic is all crazy. Why do you want to stay in the garden doing nothing, when you could be doing good work somewhere else? Y"ou have kept making your work the excuse for staying and now you say — "

"Don't you understand, little girl? Can't you see that it is you I can't leave? Don't you know that you are the Eve of this wonderful Garden of Eden? Y"ou don't want me to go, do you dear? We have been so happy here. You must have known I loved you. I didn't mean to say anything about it until I was sure you cared for me though. You have been so distant lately, that — that I knew you understood what I — " He drew a long breath. "Elizabeth, could you ever care for me?"

The girl raised a dismayed, troubled face to his.

"Sweetheart, you don't mean — " he began, but she interrupted him by spring- ing to her feet and giving a little cry. "Hark! Listen! What was that?" Loud and clear over the waters of the bay came the notes of a bugle.

"That's taps, dear," he whispered. "That gunboat of Uncle Sam's that came in to-day. Do you know what it says?"

"No, no ! Not that. Listen again."

They heard distinctly the sound as of some one fumbling at the gate latch, and then a low knocking.

"It may be Mr. Hardesty — Jack," she cried, springing up. "Let me open the gate. It might be a trap, a trick to get hold of you," she added, as they hastily crossed the garden.

"Bother!" said West, and with a bound had reached the gate and shot back the bolt.

Elizabeth heard a smothered cry, and the gate was slammed in her face. She sat down upon a garden bench, her senses dizzy with the suddenness of the event. They had him. That was clear. But who was it? And which way had they gone? Catching her black lace mantilla from her shoulders, she covered her golden head and fair face, opened the gate softly and peered out.

There was a knot of men on the street corner going toward the bay. She ran across the garden to a low gate, almost hidden in shrubbery, and opened it a little. There she crouched until the men passed by. She distinctly saw Sam's fair head and tall figure among them. Softly following them at some distance, she saw them enter a large house fifty rods down the street.

"Olivera's house! Olivera, my father's friend!"

Safe inside the garden, she ran to the old Professor, who was placidly sort- ing specimens.

"Is Mr. Hardesty in yet?" she called, trying to fight down the fear that he, too, had been kidnaped. Serene in his unconsciousness of anything outside his work, the scientist did not notice her perturbation, merely shaking his head and smiling as he pasted a label On a tiny box.

Eunning to the house, she searched all the rooms and the dusky, silent patis into which they all opened. She saw no one but a black man asleep on a bench.

"Oli ! Oli !" she cried, shaking the bench violently. The black man rose sleepily.

"Where is my father?"

He shook his head.

"Hello, little Miss Elizabeth !" called a merry voice, and Elizabeth, running to meet the white figure approaching through the dimness, stumbled and almost fell.

"What is it ?" he whispered as he helped to steady her. "Has anything fright- ened you? Where's everybody?"

"It's Sam," she wailed. "He — they — and I thought they had you, too. I couldn't do a thing. Oh, what shall we do?"

"Where is Sam?"

"They have taken him away. You see, I let him open the gate, and they — Oh, Jack, do something, do something and hurry !" She caught his arm appealingly. "But what are you doing like this? These clothes — your skin so dark — oh, am I crazy?" She leaned dizzily against a pillar, her hand to her head.

"It's all right," he cheerily explained. "I've been playing Haroun Al Easchid. Look like a really, truly half-breed, don't I? Been all over town. Passed your father, and he didn't know me. Isn't it great? And say, Elizabeth, that gun- boat will send an escort for us and take us on board in the morning." He took off his straw hat and tossed it.

"Yes, yes, but Sam?"

"Oh, I'll find him in short order," cried the confident young fellow. "These clothes will take me anywhere. Which way did the ruflSans go? You said some- body took him away, didn't you?"

"Yes, I watched them go, too. I followed them and saw them go into Olivera's house. I didn't know what to do — I was all alone — I — " She shuddered.

"You must help me, then, for I've a plan. Come, quickly, and show me the house."

When they re-entered the garden he sent her to the servants' quarters for women's clothing, which he proceeded to put on over the garments he was wearing.

"Can Sam get into these, all right?" he gasped,

"Yes, yes. They are Big Sal's. He's taller, but not so — oh, there! This string ties so." With her hands trembling with excitement, she adjusted the brilliant scarf over his head. "Go, and hurry !"

"Now, child, don't you worry. We'll both turn up safe in a few minutes. Get a heavy shawl and sit right here by this little gate until you hear three knocks. Don't open to anything else."

He was gone, and Elizabeth, crouching by the gate, watched him enter Olivera's house, and then closed it noiselessly. She heard her father come in, but was afraid to leave her post to go to him. He called, but receiving no answer, he must have thought she had gone to bed, for he put out all the lights. Sitting there in the shadows she prayed for Sam's safe return. There would be no question of his leaving her now — that had all been settled for him. But before he went she would tell him —

Three knocks, and Elizabeth opened the gate. In crawled two figures, one a woman's, and Elizabeth smothered a scream of laughter.

"I've been crawling in the gutter," explained cheerful Sam. "We thought it was safer that way. You see. Jack thought the length of this skirt was dan- gerous. He said I put my legs too far through it."

"Doesn't he look like a giantess?" asked Jack, chuckling. "And wasn't he scared ?"

"How did you find him?" asked the girl breathlessly. "Didn't anybody — "

"Door was open. I walked in. Men and lights in first room. I tiptoed by. Second room dark, impatient footsteps inside. Pushed back bolt, dressed my lady, and here we are."

Sam had removed the muddy garments and was gazing at his dirty hands.

"You wouldn't wait out here until I washed, would you, Elizabeth?" he asked eagerly.

Jack looked at her, grasped the situation, and came to the rescue.

"Yes, she will," he answered. "I have something to tell her while you're gone. Don't hurry."

Elizabeth followed him to the bench in the shadows, where he took her hands in his.

"Little girl," said he, "I wish you joy. Sam is a noble fellow, and you will be very happy together."

"But we — but I — oh, you're quite mistaken !" exclaimed the girl, confusedly.

"Perhaps a little premature, but not mistaken," he answered quietly. "Now, Sam will be here in a moment, and you must listen to me first. "WTien I told him that we were to move hence to-morrow, the captain of the gunboat being willing, he flatly refused. He said — well, it wasn't polite. But he intimated that we were a crowd of fraid-cats, your father included. There is real danger, for all our actions, though quite innocent, have been against us. We did explore reefs. We did make maps of them. Do you think we could persuade these hot-headed patriots that our motives were purely scientific? We're safe on the gunboat. She's come in for water, and Avill take us to safer reefs down the coast."

"Well, will Sam go, now?" The real misery in her voice appealed to the man.

"Yes," he said. "He knows now what to expect if he stayed here."

"Oh, I wouldn't have him stay now for anything in the world. He can come back later, can't he? It's hard — " with a sob. "There, he's calling me. I shall see you to-morrow before you go, Jack. Good-n ight."

He sat where she left him, and presently an uncomfortable little laugh came forth.

"I didn't tell her the truth, after all." he thought. "But it's just as well. She would have told him, probably, and all my work to get him away from tlii& dangerous paradise would have been lost. Anyway, they would never have for- given me. Olivera won't tell, and I can fix her father all right. It would have been a joke if Sam had recognized me among the kidnappers, though."

A QUESTION OF IDENTITY

By Florence Martin Eastland

THE warning whistle of a departing steamer accelerated the steps of the hurrying crowd. Before the dock Avas reached I was pushed on the heels of two men who were talking animatedly. "Yes, I am going to Victoria on the Eobert Boyd," I heard one say. "You see he has been in Alaska for ten years, and is now coming out with a fortune. He hasn't a relative on earth. He will probably lose all his money in speculation — "

"As so many of them do," interrupted the older man.

"Unless I can sell him a big annuity. He reaches Victoria to-day, and I will do business with hijn or my name is not Ludlow. When we were chums at college he usually relied on my judgment."

"Success to you," returned the other. "By the way, did you know your premium was due?"

"Sure; I settled with the cashier before I left. If anything should happen to me. Wells, my wife and baby are protected. And if what I expect happens, if I sell this annuity, the mortgage on my home will be paid and a snug sum placed to my credit in the bank."

Just then the crowd parted and the two turned to the left where the steamer lay, while I joined my friend. We rowed out in the bay to his vessel, which was waiting ready to sail. As we passed the steamer 1 saw the younger of the two men standing near the rail of the lower deck. He waved his hand to his friend and shouted, "Good-bye, Wells." We boarded our bark, and the wind being favor- able, we soon set sail.

The afternoon of the second day we were nearing the mouth of the Strait when we sighted a large piece of wreckage drifting toward us with the incoming tide. On closer inspection it proved to be a portion of the upper deck of a steamer. Lying across it with one hand grasping the broken railing was the figure of a man almost nude. A boat was lowered and the unconscious man taken aboard.

The usual methods failed to resuscitate him. We were about to give him up as dead when he suddenly opened his eyes and looked at us vaguely. A warm drink still further revived him. At length he hesitatingly inquired :

"What vessel is this?" • "The Sophie May," answered the Captain.

"For what port is she bound?"

"Nome; with a cargo of lumber."

Presently he passed his liand across his eyes and pushed from his foreliead his wet hair, which was curiously streaked with white. He shuddered as he weakly said, "It was an awful sight when the stoaincr went down."

"What steamer?" I asked.

"I — do not know," he said at length.

The Captain and \ stared at each other in surprise, and I interrogated further.

The tiian appeared to answer with difficulty or else to deliberate on the nature of his communications; but which I could not determine.

"WTiat is your name? From where do you come?"

"John — Bixbee." A long pause. "From Dawson."

He was too much exhausted for further conversation, and we assisted him to a bunk near mine. Being the idlest person on board, for several days I acted in the capacity of nurse to the man. As his strength returned he grew less taciturn, and I found him an intelligent, agreeable gentleman.

He displayed a peculiar reticence concerning himself. Never once did he refer to the wreck. In some inexplicable manner we inferred that Bixbee must have been aboard a Dawson steamer, although we saw no further signs of her. I was greatly surprised when Bixbee approached me toward the end of the voyage.

"Scott," he began rather diffidently, "have you any definite business plans when you reach JSTome?"

"Xone in particular. I am going to prospect. I have some money and a good outfit, and I thought I could 'grub-stake' some man to go out with me."

"Will you take me?" he asked eagerly. "Of course I lost all — in the wreck. I made considerable money mining near Dawson, but I never did the actual work; Still T am strong and willing and would like you to give me a trial."

"Done," I answered, and we sealed the agreement with a hearty hand-clasp.

For two years John Bixbee and I labored early and late. Slowly our little pile grew. By the time we Avorked out our last claim w^e felt an insistent longing for civilization, and concluded we had enough money to start us in business. We had grown to depend on each other, Bixbee and I, and our intercourse was unruffled. We had no thought of separation.

"Dick," observed Bixbee on the southbound steamer, "we have discussed various business enterprises without making a choice. Why not try life insurance?"

"T don't know a thing about it."

"I feel as if I were familiar with the subject, although I must possess my knowledge intuitively. I have a friend in the business in Seattle, Harrison Lud- low. We might interview him."

On reaching Seattle we hunted up the insurance company for which Bixbee's friend worked as a special agent. We found the manager, who gazed at Bixbee in wide-eyed amazement as he answered the inquiry for Ludlow.

"Harrison Ludlow? You gave me an awful start. Bless me, man, I took you for his ghost."

"T beg your pardon. Not — "

"Dead these two years. Went down on the Eobert Boyd."

Bixbee was visibly overcome.

"A dreadful calamity," continued the manager. "I saw Ludlow board the steamer on that fateful trip."'

"I remember," I interrupted. "He was telling you he was going to Victoria to meet a friend from Alaska to whom he expected to sell an annuity."

"Probably mvself," said Bixliee.

"And now that you have called my attention to it, Mr. Wells," I went on, "I notice the resemblance between Bixbee and Lutllow. I always fancied I had seen Bixbee before."

"How strange," remarked Bixbee. "Xo one else ever spoke of our being alike, and we were college chums."

"There is a difference," ol)served Wells, studying Bixbee critically. "You are much older; yet that might be due to your white hair. Y'our features are much the same. But your manner is entirely different."

We talked business for awhile, and ended by each writing his name on an

agent's contract. A desk was assigned to each of us. By a strange chance the

one formerly used by Ludlow was given to Bixbee. He was seated at it Mhen

several of the old agents entered the room. As one man they stopped and stared.

We were at the hotel but a few davs when Bixbee informed me he had found

an excellent private boarding place. We made the change immediately, finding it quite to our liking.

One evening we were sitting on the wide veranda enjoying the magnificent view of the bay. I was so absorbed that I did not miss Bixbee until I heard his voice in earnest conversation on the lawn adjoining. Looking in that direction I saw him walking about with a pretty child's hand in his own and listening to her prattle with evident enjoyment.

"Where are you, Edith?" called a sweet-looking woman as she came around the house with an armful of roses.

Before Bixbee could lift his hat the woman dropped her flowers and, with a sharp cry of "Harrison !" fell to the ground. Bixbee was plainly worried over the affair.

"Dick, I do not like this resemblance business," he confided to me. "Isn't it strange no oue ever noticed it at college? I feel that I owe an apology to that poor little woman."

In the weeks that followed he consumed much of his time in apologizing to Mrs. Ludlow or to consoling her. His visits grew longer and more frequent, till I was quite prepared for his announcement, "Mary — I mean Mrs. Ludlow — has promised to become my wife."

So impatient was Bixbee for the wedding that it took place very soon. I acted as best man, and later became a member of the Bixbee household as boarder and confidential friend.

There was no doubt that Bixbee was very happy or that he adored both wife and child. Yet occasionally a shadow rested on his face for which I could not ac- count till a few months after his marriage.

Mrs. Bixbee was sewing near me on the porch while her husband, closely fol- lowed by Edith, was gardening a little about the yard. She sighed as she said:

"How much John reminds me of Harrison. Sometimes I am really startled by the similarity, and a few times I have been so indiscreet as to mention it to John. I fear he feels I married him because of the resemblance only. And occasionally I wonder if such were not the case. I can not tell, I am sure."

Feeling rather indisposed one forenoon in the sixth month since Bixbee's marriage, I preceded him to lunch at the house. I lay on the couch in the back parlor when I heard his latch key.

"That you, John?" I lazily asked without rising as he came into the room. He stopped quickly with a surprised "I beg your pardon."

"I was feeling rather knocked out, so I did not wait for you,^' I answered.

"I beg your pardon," he repeated. "I don't quite understand. Are you a friend of Mary's?"

His wife came down the stairs melodiously humming an old love song. An expression of relief crossed his face and he wiped the big drops from his forehead.

"Thank God, Mary, you are here. I fear I am going to be ill. I am surely laboring under a terrible delusion. As I came home just now everything seemed changed since morning — new buildings, improvements on the streets, and not a familiar face. I thought I must have lost my mind."

The postman's whistle sounded unheeded by either. I went to the door and received a letter for Mrs. Bixbee, which I gave her. Bixbee, standing close by her, read the superscription.

"Mrs. John Bixbee," he exclaimed. "The postman has made a mistake. Here, let me have the letter and I will return it as he leaves the next house."

He snatched it hastily, but she laid a detaining hand on his arm. "It is mine, John."

"John," he repeated. "Are you, too, losing your mind that you should for- get my name is Harrison?"

I was dumb with astonishment; but the wife gently drew Bixbee to the couch, and placing her arm lovingly in his, softly said:

"Dearest, tell us what you mean. Are you not John Bixbee?" " Am I? Great heavens! why do you ask such a question ? You know he is the college chum who is coming from Alaska. I am going over to Victoria on the Robert Boyd to — Great God ! The Eobert Boyd went down. Tell me/' he cried, wringing his hands, "tell me if that is so, or is it another phase of my insanity ?"

His wife had fainted, so I replied.

"The steamer sank three years ago."

"Three years !" he gasped. "Where have I been all this time ?"

"With me; and you were called John Bixbee."

A STRATEGY IN PHYSIC

By CLarles Ellis Newell Author or A Xip irom Jupiter, An Artistic Vengcnce, Etc.

WHILE the majority of the pioneers to the southern part of Oregon were stampeding around in search of pay dirt, a few who had brought their families, possibly being more inclined to settle down and likely attracted by the richly pine-wooded district, con- ceived the idea of starting a sawmill, the product of which they saw — with true Yankee sagacity — would soon be profitable and more permanent than the elusive pay streak.

There proved to be no error of judgment, for the rapidly increasing demand for lumber soon swelled, what began as a mere logging camp, into a thrifty village of some forty families with numerous offspring, which — "race suicide" then being unheard of — multiplied to such an extent as to demand a temple of learning.

This edifice was erected about a quarter of a mile from the cluster of houses surrounding the mill, in a grove of trees. Here were held all social and public functions, from the Friday afternoon declamations to the grave matters of munici- pality and the welfare of the public weal.

For a time all seemed to run on Arcadian lines in this embryo metropolis, until a long continued spell of cold, wet weather developed a disease that threatened ex- termination of the infantile population of Wilcut, which was diagnosed by the anxious mothers — there being no doctor nearer than a hundred miles — as croup.

Application of such remedies as the limited knowledge of Wilcut suggested proving ineffectual, and the stock of castor oil in Lank Peters' general store ex- hausted without avail, a consultation was held in the school house to devise ways and means for the extermination of the fell scourge.

If all the remedies proposed at this council had been recorded, they would probably have proved the foundation for a new school of "materia medica." How- ever, Mr. Peters, with an inspiration born of stress of circumstances, suddenly remembered that syrup of ipecac was the one thing needed for such an emergency; the mere mention of which brought such a flood of remembrance to the others that the remedy was adopted immediately, and Mr. Peters commissioned to procure a supply as soon as possible by special courier, regardless of expense.

But here Mr. Peters' knowledge of medicine came to an abrupt halt, for by no amoimt of exercise of his mental energies could he satisfactorily determine what amount of the drug to send for or what constituted a dose. But the exigencies of the situation requiring immediate action, and diplomatically comprehending that a critical crisis demands heroic treatment, he therefore resolved to be on the safe side, and sent for ten gallons of the saving compound, which duly arrived in various sized packages, which the faithful messenger explained by saying that 'Tie had to scour the hull damned town of Portland over to get it."

Whether it was owing to the eflficacy of the treatment, or the influence of the balmy summer air, the end of June saw the end also of the last case of the mem- branous menace. It was resolved to celebrate this event with joy and thanks

giving: and in view of the nearness of the Fourt]i of July, it was deemed appropriate to make this the occasion for a befitting demonstration of gratitude, both for past and present deliverance.

With that enthusiasm so characteristic of the Western argonaut, elaborate preparations were made to make the "National Bird" dilate his vocal organs.

There was to be a salvo at sun-up, from the village anvil, followed by a parade in the forenoon, headed by "Ike Finn" with his fiddle, and the Tomkey brothers, each with a snare drum and fife, including the volunteer fire bucket brigade with liright red shirts, and a cart Avith a dry goods box throne tastefully draped, whereon should repose a diaphanous Goddess of Liberty. Lank Peters — arrayed as Uncle Sam — was to read the Declaration of Independence after the procession arrived at the school house, which had been decorated with evergreens and fiags.

The afternoon was to be given over to games and contests for both old and young. In the evening there was to be a grand (pine) torchlight procession end- ing at the school house, where the inspiring strains of "Old Dan Tucker," "Sugar in the Corn," etc., at the hands of the inimitable Ike Finn, should invite terpsichorean revelry until midnight, when the day's festivities were to close -be- fittingly with a grand banquet served on long improvised tables against the sides of the school house.

These preparations — the luscious pies, the frosted cakes, the bakings and boil- ings and the discussion of liquid refreshments — were viewed by old "Sand-in-His- Eyes"'" and his band of dirty Siwashes — who loafed al)out the town — with Indian stoicism, but with heaven only knows how much inward turbulence of spirit.

The Indians — near two hundred — lived at a rancheria about three miles from Wilcut, and had never been known to be hostile to the settlers, coming and going at will, and were looked upon much as a village dog; sometimes employed doing chores or other light work, the compensation for which being quickly exchanged for something stronger than water.

Whether, the outbreak was a thirsty yearning, inspired by these anticipatory demonstrations, or the cropping out of the warlike instincts of their forefathers,, will never be rightly interpreted. However, a few days preceding the Fourth, old "Sand-in-His-Eyes," the tribe's medicine man, and several other "high muck-a- mucks'" went into executive session, resulting in much bonfires, dancing, howling, and savage adornment of person, and inflammatory addresses by insidious spell- binders. ...

Pumors of the bellicose doings of the despised aboriginee disturbed the good citizens of Wilcut not any, who complacently carried out their program as ar- ranged, up to the scheduled "revelry by night." In the midst of resounding boot heels, laughter, and grand right and left, there burst in among them an excited messenger with the tidings that the Indians had broken out and were headed that way, bent on a general massacre.

Lank Peters rose to the occasion, also to a table, where, like an ancient Pienzi, he quelled the rising confusion.

"Ladies and Gents," said he. "These varmints think they're goin' to take us onawares, and this is the fust point they will attack ; they'll come right in here, an' I'll fix 'em. You men, scatter fer yer shootin' irons. You Avimmin, take to the brush with yer infants. I'll do the rest."'

Without further words, he dashed out the door, mounted a cayuse, and started on a furious gallop toward town. When he returned about ten minutes later all was quiet, not a soulwas to be seen, which told him that his instructions had been obeyed.

Carefully holding an ariuful of packages, he ran into the building, which was still bright from the many burning candles. Just as the woods were echoing with war whoops, lie reappeared with a grin on his face, and with a muttered, "I reckon that'll fix 'em," slid into the dense shadows of t he trees. However much the Indians marveled at their easy capture, and, whatever of disappointment or chagrin they felt in their failure of wholesale extermination, their feelings were in a measure compensated by the sight that met their gaze when they crowded into the deserted school house.

On each side was ranged rough tables, ladened with everything dear to the human palate, from pie and cake to roast turkey and chicken. But what was more to the taste of the thirsty warriors, was the ostentatious display of several gallon demijohns and numerous black bottles distributed over the banquet boards.

Thus whetted, the appetite of these primeval men chafed with impatience the signal of their chief, who, after gravely inspecting the contents of one of the bottles, finally gave the delayed sign for the orgie to begin.

The chief — perhaps l^ecause of his long interview with the black bottle — was the tirst to pause in his gastronomic exercises. In the act of raising a succulent morsel of turkey to his -mouth, his eyes suddenly took on a far-away look and his mouth twitched convulsively.

Perhaps in that moment of introspection something in his inner being said to him that he had not been a good Indian. At least something mighty stirred within him, as he gave a spasmodic leap into the air, and with a yell that would have put a steam calliope out of commission, broke for the door and disappeared into the night.

It was only a matter of a minute or so more until the whole band of con- science-stricken Siwashes blazed a wide trail from there to the rancheria; nor did they stop until they had removed a hundred miles further from temptation. And it was manv vears before an Indian could be persuaded to come within ten miles of Wilcut. "

But Lank Peters — M'ith a wisdom gathered from close observation — disagrees emphaticallv in the general belief that "the only way to make a good Indian is to- kill him."

"Just give him a good stiff dose of ipecac,"' says he.

TANAKA THE COWARD

A Story of tke Russo-Japanese Vvar By J. Gordon Smith

OV^EE the mountain track the ever-lurching kuruma had jolted me down to Cliuzengi; the untiring kurumaya had jogged mile after mile, his brown skin glistening with moisture and caking with dust. His mush- room hat had bobbed before me, and, winking in the pitiless glare, I had seen dimly a ghostly landscape beyond a screen of dancing hats. The open shojis of the lake-side teahouses, revealing the lake, cool and blue, beyond the matted verandaS;, had been so inviting — and I had not resisted the invitation.

The flutter of a gay kimono', the twang of a samisen, the sight of dainty "musmees" flitting like the Initterflies they so much resembled, and I capitulated. Vainly the kurumaya said, "Honorably pardon, the august hotel is but one ri more." What else I had thought when the jinriksha stopped before the open door, now I knew my destination was here at the "august teahouse of the Honorable Stork."

There, as the sun sank, I drank tea, kneeling the while on a balcony that looked out upon a lake beyond which a dull brown hill showed hazily; beyond that hill was the world. Plaintively attuning the old song to her tinkling samisen, Ilaru San, the fairy sprite of this lakeside Elysium, sang for me:

"Time never changed since the way of the gods, The flowing of water ; the path of love." .

I heard many songs as the day waned, and I listened, reclining on the cushion the maid brought me, while the geisha told me of her lover. Together we looked out across the waters watching the bamboo-ribbed sails that were filling in the evening wind — and one of those junks, whose sails glowed red and gold in the fad- ing sunlight, held the man who was loved by the dainty Haru San.

\Vhen the paper lanterns glowed mellow and the high-pitched voices of geisha mingled with twang of samisen and tinkling of koto; when the rice-paper panels of the hamlet homes silhouetted the feasting villagers who sat behind them, the fisherman would come. And Haru San would be glad. Together we tossed broken biscuits to the gold fish which swam in the pool below the balcony, a pool bounded by quaint grottos and crumbling stone lanterns, lilliputian hills and tiny shrines like miniatures of temples — a little world with minute landscape cramped into the smallest space. What a land, this of Japan, this dreamland where colors fade only to blend with those more beautiful, where art lives unalloyed by the cankers of modern vulgarism !

How we dreamed; the temple gongs had resounded hollowly over the water, but they were lost in the common sound of song, music, and laughter. There were no temples, there was no world beyond that blue-gray hill across the lake; there was naught else but the teahouse of the Stork — and Haru San.

Night came, moonbeams danced on the lake, fires showed faintly on distant shores, and glimmering lights shone dimly like far-away fireflies to warn the junk- men to steer clear. The dream was ending, for with the night came the villagers, young men whose fathers had been lords in the recent feudal days. Samurai whose two swords were laid away, farmers and storekeepers — all speaking of one thing, the war just begun.

There were various rumors to tell. One said the Eokoku from the dewy land were coming to Korea in millions; another that more warships had been sunk by torpedoes; still another that the entrance to Port Arthur — Eiojunkou — was now securely blocked. One told of the Tenshi Sama's dream of victory, others of omens the priests had noted, of how the doves had flown from the temple of Hachiman as they did when the war against China was begun.

The conversation of the habitues of the House of the Stork was all of the war; the conversation of all this quiet land was of war, and excitement had no part in that conversation.

From the balcony I watched them and the butterflies flitting among them with loaded trays, and, as I watched and listened, a sworded policeman, quaint with his white-braided uniform and brass buttons, came seeking several of tlie younger men. To those he sought he gave pink papers — the "doinrei" — which called them to the colors to give their lives for the Mikado.

Alone, looking over the still lake, watching its inky sheen and the shimmer of the lights, I sat smoking, reminiscently searching in memory's picture book for a face, when, in the dull glow of the paper lantern that swung some yards away, I saw Haru San and her lover.

In his hand he held a pink paper.

The railway station was thronged. Its cemented pavement clacked loud with the clatter of thousands of stilt-like geta, bands flared noisily, brassily. Crowds surged with lofty banners swinging from tall bamboos, banners that were many hued and oddly inscribed with parting greetings to the soldiers; bright red-streaked standards and the Hino-maru, with its blood-red ball on a snow-white field, fluttered in the noon-day glare.

"Banzai — banzai. Nippon Teikoku Banzai — Banzai — San-ju-shi Eentai Banzai."

Again and again the thousands took up the cry. Japan, imperial country, for ten thousand years — His Majesty — the thirty-fourth regiment for ten thousand years. The bands were noisier, and, how odd, they were playing "The Battle Hymn of the Republic." A whistle sounded, and hundreds of khaki-clad soldiers, with thirty and three pounds of impedimenta, which included everything from tent poles to spare boots, from a paper fan to a rice pannier, bowed stiffly among little groups of equally ceremonious relatives, and scrambled into a train whose porters were even then slamming the carriage doors.

A final toot, a re-echoing "banzai," and a forest of waving arms and fluttering flags, and only the rear-end buffers of a military train were seen at the platform's end. The thirty-fourth regiment had started for the front.

The House of the Stork was quiet when I returned — it is a dusty ride from the station. The samisens were laid away and the geisha, who had seen their dear ones go dry-eyed, wept behind the paper-screened partitions. Haru San was saddest of them all.

"Honorably pardon," she said, when I asked her why she wept. "It is for shame; Tanaka San is a coward."

From Toyo San I heard all. In this land of bravery and fatalism, of duty and death, of a patriotism that is the embodiment of self-sacrifice, who would have thought to find a temple so prostituted as this disgraced Nakao-mura on Nakao hill? In all this land there was, doubtless, but one other such abhorrent place — that shrine near Kyoto where the cowardly Heimen of Osaka prayed to the gods of peace to aid them evade the conscription.

Nakao-mura is a lonely temple, deserted and with high-grown weeds hiding its once pretty courtyard with the rows of well-made, but now crumbled, lanterns; its gratings, age-worn and covered with dust, were thick with papers and offerings — amongst which was the prayer-paper with the written plea of Tanaka San, the deserter, who called upon the gods to save him from the army which sought him. He had deserted from the regiment I had seen leaving, even as it was being en- trained. He had, in his ignorance, gone to the temple in the woods of Nakao hill, where the gods of his fathers would save him, and he would go back to Haru San.

Toyo San told me of how he came back, at dead of night, and of how, with lashing tongue, Haru San had told him she would have none of a coward.

The rest I did not hear until long afterward, when I sat at the edge of the "kowliang" on a Manchurian field watching the guns coming up for the battle of the morrow.

It was Tanaka, the coward, who told it to me. He had fled from the police who sought him, and hid in the confines of a city's yoshiwara with the courtesans, until, remorseful and sad, he put on the uniform they had given him and went to the barracks at Aoyama to rejoin the colors. He was a coward no more, he said, and he cursed the fishermen who had told him of the temple on Nakao hill as he waited the expected punishment.

All these things he told me — and more. He had snatched the captain's sword from its scabbard when the officer berated him for his desertion, and he would have committed "seppuka" and let his life's blood wash out his offense, but the officer sta3'ed his hand.

"No, not thus," the captain had said. "Your life is forfeit ; you should give it, but give it to the Emperor in battle, not worthlessly."

He would give it, and Haru San would see that he was no coward.

I had given him a tin of corned beef; he had given me rice, and we ate as

ho told me these things. Then I left him, for the camp of the correspondents was

afar, and it was night.

• * *

The battle had been waged for two full days, and it was eventide. Scattered over five hills, serried with trenches and covered ways, broken with gun pits and shelter galleries, were eighty thousand Russians, and a hundred thousand Japanese were hidden in a great plain, grown thick with giant millet. From the millet, as day dawned on August 29, a party of engineers crept into wire entanglements at the foot of a grassy hill and sought to cut the wires in the face of a rain of lead. Only a score returned; the others lay twisted and inanimate among the wires.

Battery after battery threw shrapnel and common shell, howitzers shrieked and their missiles whirled with a heart-rending- twang, mortars hurled common shell and Shimose exjDlosive to the parapetted trenches on the hill crests; the sky was thick with flashes and little smoke clouds which dissolved quickly after the shells broke in air to hurl their splinters onto the soldiers and their works. The whip-like smack sounded loudly at hand, and dully along the distant line; little geysers of earth were lifted, and the whole welkin was discordant with the tumult of war.

At times a broken line of brown, with sun flashes showing on the steel, ran from the tall grain and a- rattling inferno echoed as the rifles and machine guns on the parapets swept down a cloud of missiles that out swaths in that rushing line of men. There were cheers and shrieks and groans as the cruel barbs of the wire tore the flesh — hear.t-glirring cries as unfortunates tumbled into the pits to be impaled on the stakes therein.

For two days these things had been recurring; seven times a whole line assault had been repelled, and the defenders were still in the strongholds- on the hills. The balloon of the enemy still ascended and descended, giving' ranges to unseen batteries that fired indirectly from the back of the hills; Ihe long lines of ponies carried ammunition cases from the south, blockades of thousands of lumbering Chinese carts with the stores of an army waited at the edge of the plain; orderlies galloped about; busy wiremen strung lines of shiny copper on little bamboo poles; bearers hurried up to relieve overworked men. How busy they were, these bearers; how busy were the surgeons with knife and scalpel in the usurped Chinese houses from whose tiled gateways red-cross flags drooped down.

Two days ago I had tied a Chinese pony to an altar in the courtyard of a lama temple, and had eaten fish and rice in a long-suffering battery, diving to the shelter pits as the gunners did; had trudged, foot-sore, with relief ammunition car- riers, jolted over routes that were even worse than China's roads on lurching caisson' carts; marched, singing as I went, with intrepid infantrymen, and wound tight my lint on the sore-torn arm of a Comrade — and, when we sat in a hastily-sapped trench at eventide, awaiting orders, discussing the calls that Kuroki had sent for assistance that could not be given, Tanaka San came and offered me cigarettes.

As he left he shook hands; he intended to give his life for the Tenshi Sama that night.

• * *

It was a sight never to be forgotten. From the shelter of d Chinese burial mound near the base of the hill the flashing tongues of fire were seen plainly. The blue-black of the summer night was lit by the occasional flash and flame of breaking shrapnel. Machine guns rattled and rifles rolled, their line of flashes showing like the serrated sides of a massive comb of fire, and. beyond, a column of light was lifted into the dull blue as the far-away searchlights of Liaoyang were turned skyward.

Dull shadowy shapes moved at the hilltop, and, from the hiding places of the millet field came crowd after crowd, crouched and irregular, of rapidly-moving soldiery. They were like an army of gnomes coming from a mysterious blackness. Across the open space to the entanglements the shadowy gnomes ran. and from the hills came flash after flash. The noise became deafening, l^ut soon the ear be- came accustomed to the roll. The noises which pierced the sore-tried drums were the shrieks, blood-curdling cries of the soldiers caught in the tangled wires and the barbarous pits. The clustered entanglements were thick with struggling men; no longer gnomes, but humans whose loud-voiced cries of pain stirred the heart.

Now see ! There were accumulating groups on the grassy incline beyond the wires. More joined them. How they passerl the thick-strewn wires and the rows of closelv-sunken pits is more than I can tell. They were surging up the hill.

Oh, the horror of it all! With wildly swaying arms, men staggered and fell, clutching madly at the arass roots in ihe a2'<niv of death: rifles and swor ds were thrown aside and men rolled down the slope, tripping those who came behind. From the trenches above poured a rain of lead, the seemingly unbroken line of flashes showing the fierceness of the fusillade. And ever the din of human voices seemed to rise above the roll of musketry.

"Banzai ! Banzai ! San-ju-shi Eentai ! Banzai." It was the thirty-fourth regiment, waving its regimental banner, that was surging irresistably into the trenches, regardless of the gaps the enemy's rifles made.

Where did they come from, these- on-rushing farms which went onward and upward and would not be stayed? To the stolid Siberians on the crest they must have seemed like demons who would not die. But they died.

Even as I looked the thirty-fourth regiment was being led by a soldier who had sprung out from among his comrades. It was Tanaka, the fisherman. The officers -were all dead on the grassy incline. Waving the flag he had snatched from where it fell to the ground with its slain bearer, its broken pole thrown aside, Tanaka scrambled on into the enemy's trenches, and a shrieking, cheering^ howling horde of demons surged in behind him.

The Siberians fought, giving thrust for thrust, blow for blow, bite for bite, and scratch for scratch, dying, even as did the assailants, with their teeth sunk in the throats of their foe, until those that remained scurried to the trench above, whence death had been raining on friend and foe as the maddened horde struggled in the broken trench.

On over the groaning forms, bayoneting the prostrate, the thirty-fourth regi- ment surged in the wake of the fisherman, to renew death's carnival in that narrow sullv on the hill crest.

What they did that night showed horribly in the morn. Then the sun rose on trenches glutted to the parapets and glacis and approaches that were carpeted with mangled dead. It was a terrible place.

But the hill was carried, as were the others. The regiment had lost two-thirds of its numbers, but it was proud — especially of Tanaka San. How he survived sur- prises me. As the scavengers of the army, the burial parties and the bearer com- panies came to the hill followed by the flocks of carrion crows and the pariah dogs, and the field guns were moved to the plain beyond to batter the way into the city of Liaoyang, I met the remnant of the regiment marching out of the hill. I will not forget that scene.

The pathway was through a lane of dead, but the regiment was singing a gay marching song. Before it a betto led a riderless horse and carried a broken sword ; he was the major's servant. Behind the led horse was a litter of branches, raised high on the shoulders of four soldiers, and on it sat Tanaka San, nursing a new bandaged arm and wearing a blood-soaked bandage about his head.

He sang, as did those who carried him. The bearers of another litter also sang, although they carried the dead body of the major, the mud-stained corpse hidden under the ragged regimental flag. ' Tired, hungered, but glad, the regiment trudged wearily, yet with a certain jauntiness, behind the litter of the regiment's hero and its dead commander, the wounded, with their unsoiled lint new-bound, staggering in the wake of the column.

I joined them, for I wanted to tell Tanaka San how pleased Haru San would be when she heard of how Green Hill was taken.

In the field dressing station I found the fisherman, and together we drafted a letter to a geisha at the Honorable Teahouse of the August Stork.

Two months later the kurumaya set me down at the open shoji of the Tea house of the Stork. Haru San and her sister geisha knelt low on the mats to welcome me, as Toyo San untied my boots and the neisans — the elder sisters — ^iDrought me slippers. How beautiful the lake seemed now; how gay the passing junks. What a place this to sit and smoke and dream.

Toyo had brought me tea, and I told her, as she sank down on to the cushion, that the song was pretty; that Haru San sang well.

"The heart that is happy is full of song," said Toyo quickly; "she is to be the wife of Tanaka, who comes, wounded, to escape the fighting."

"Bah," she said, "Tanaka is a coward."

But I knew different — so did Haru San.

WHEN WAR EAGLE THROBBED

By C. H. Henry

WW ^^J^ "^Y^ OU'RE my style of a man, Prescott, for a bookkeeper, but as a son-in-law — well, twenty years from now you'll probably still be humped on a stool for a hundred a month. Not saying but your job's a notch above the pick handle and you've prospects of climb- ing; but, man, the honeymoon trip would break you and then you'd be down on earth again with a lead pencil and no figures to work on. You say she loves you, and I suppose she does, in a way she'll naturally get over."

When Superintendent Banners, of the War Eagle Mining Compan}"^, concluded, Prescott's face showed the red and his lips moved as if to resent such an off-hand refusal.

Banners held up his finger. "The man who marries MoUie has got to look down the ladder, not up it."

Prescott winced and nodded. He understood.

It was noon hour and hastily changing coats he left the office just as the big mill whistle screeched the joyful news. A mule in a freight outfit unloading at the company store brayed a sonorous approval and the night shift turned over in their bunks and yawned a curse.

"I don't believe I want any lunch today," mused Prescott, and he turned aimlessly into a trail that crept around huge bowlders here and there and then with frightful acclivity darted up and up.

"The great and only superintendent of the War Eagle Mining Company can't iceep his bookkeeper from thinking of her, anyway," he confided to the trail, as he dug his toes into it and unforgivingly eyed a steep place ahead. "I guess it's up to some fellow with the glitter. It acts like an injection of strychnine on that heart of his."

The ceaseless stamps below pounded and the occasional boom of a blast was tossed from one echo to another till the last seemed to hush it with a reproving whisper. Old War Eagle Mountain was being utterly disembowled.

A low beckoning whistle halted Prescott. He threw a pebble at a chipmunk that scolded him from the branch of a mountain mahogany and then the flutter of a blue parasol in the mouth of the old tunnel used as a powder liouse cauglit his eye, and the very face that caused him to climb steep trails instead of lunching, peeped down at him. The chipmunk ran scolding to its mate as Prescott sat down beside the girl on an empty powder box.

"Well Mollie, I've done it."

"Pooh ! anybody can climb that hill ; you're short winded, that's all !"

"Short-sighted, too, I guess. At least I don't see how you are going to be Jlrs. James Prescott."

The girl was pretty, small and dark. Anybody could love her on an hour's ac- quaintance and even a bookkeeper could be pronounced sane for begging a few moments' private conversation with the superintendent.

"Papa says I shouldn't come here. It's dangerous you know, because there's a carloafl of giant powder stored behind us. Don't you feel a little creepy?"

"Mollie, I'm a nonentity in his eyes. Luck has got to work doubleshift with me if we are married very soon. You'll be given to the first fool that comes along, if he happens to own a gold mine."

Her brown eyes were on the point of her parasol as she dug it into the gravel at her feet.

"Jim, why can't you buy War Eagle shares? Papa says they'll go ever and ever so much higher, and you've three thousand saved up. Yoar uncle is a stock- holder and can't he get you 'inside the ring,' as papa says?"

The president wouldn't waste a postage stamp on an offer for less than two thousand shares, and they're ten dollars per share ; besides, Mollie, it would be just iike buying a chance on you, and if the shares didn't boom, I wouldn't get you. Your father is steeped in mining booms, and he half regards you as a good pros- pect it would be well to hold for a higher bid."

A fe^v loose pebbles, disturbed over the tunnel's mouth, fell into their laps; they started at the idea of an eavesdropper and, listening, heard footsteps running rapidly down the hill. Prescott sprang on a bowlder and watched an opening be- low.

"I know who it is," said Mollie from the top of another bowlder. "It's Jack Wilson, the man who discovered this mine."

"Wonder what he's slinking around here for; he's liable to get his neck twisted."

"Papa says he gets on a regular spree every time he comes over. He was prospecting here for the men who own the mine now, and was to have a third in- terest or something, but he claims they locked him out when they found he had struck it rich. He lives the other side of the mountain in the junipers, and makes periodical trips over to get drunk and swear vengeance on the mine and the men who swindled him."

The hard-hearted mill whistle screamed below them, and they picked their way down, hand in hand, separating when the window of the superintendent's ofl&ce crept around in view.

The old tunnel, where they had met, was the first effort of the War Eagle Mining Company on a vein that "pinched out;" the mother lode had to be tapped farther down. Two hundred feet in length and timbered thoroughly, its end served as a store house for the tons and tons of giant powder, caps and fuse. While the tunnel was in progression a problem in the form of bad air ham])ered them, and a shaft or air vent had been sunk from above entering the tunnel nearly at its end. As bad air escapes with a draft, the vent served as a sort of chimney, sucking off the bad and drawing in the pure. Just beyond where the vent entered the tunnel was a door to which the shift bosses and superintendent only had keys. The afternoon was hot. Even the mountain air seemed sleepy as Prescott perspired over the monthly report, casting an occasional longing look up at the comfortable looking white head of old War Eagle. The superintendent was showing the mine to some lace-booted, corduroyed gentlemen from Spokane, and Prescott worked lazily.

Below the mill, "tough towTi" fumed and cursed. Roney's cool beer was the only relief, and even the blacksmith came over to put his feet on a card table and cool off.

Jack Wilson was swaggering at the bar and drinking his grievance into larger proportions. "I tell you, boys, the whole d — camp ought to be wiped out. All I ever got could be put in your eye." The bartender grinningly nodded, as he wiped the bar with a mechanical right-arm swing.

Midnight and Prescott was still awake. At intervals he punched the pillow unmercifully, but the feathers only tantalized him by creeping into the corners. Why was gold placed above life itself? Mammon must stick its ogre head into his visions. Surely a hundred a month would keep a wife.

He got up and sat at the window with his chin gripped hard in his hands. In the moonlight he saw a wobbling figure slowly climbing the trail to the powder tunnel. It was Jack Wilson taking the short cut to his cabin in the j unipers. "I tell you, boys, the whole d — camp ought to be wiped out. All I ever got could be put in yer eye," floated up to him in a drunken, whining voice.

Suddenly the big mill hushed its pounding with a wheeze and the whistle shrieked and screamed to the dwellers of the camp. A moment later a hundred lights were lit and loud cries and hurrying of hob-nailed feet jumbled in a roar.

The powder tunnel was on fire ! The old, dry, half rotten timbers were blaz- ing and crackling. Air vents could suck fire as well as air. A quarter of a mile to water — and up hill. A carload of giant would split old War Eagle from top to bottom and the mill — the store — the homes would be literally bombarded to splinters by huge bowlders slung frcm a mighty catapult.

Jack Wilson, a diabolical grin on his drunken face, sat on a rock a mile up the mountain muttering, "The whole d — camp will be wiped out."

Far up the gulch the fren'-^ied people ran to escape the awful cannonade soon to open.

The superintendent and Prescott, their clothing smoking and eyebrows gone, etayed, hoping to the last to catch the roaring monster gasping for breath and strangle it.

"Come on, Prescott !" shouted Banners. "The camp's gone. Let's sa\ e the women — my family — God! Did they go with the rest?'"'

The bookkeeper stood, a wild look in his eyes, gazing into the furnace.

"Come on !" shouted Banners in his ear, trying to drag him.

"fSave them — Mollie — I'm going in — the other end — tear down the timbers — feed them to the fire."

Banners looked him in the face.

"Five minutes more she'll go. Good-bye, Prescott," and lie was gone.

Prescott jerked up a tuft of green grass, dipped it into a bucket of water, then, clinching it in his teeth, he grasped an a.\e and plunged into the mouth of the blazing tunnel.

The fire, now half way in, sucked him. gleefully on, and the heat seemed to bake him to the marrow. If he could only get through it. Smoking timbers were falling around him now. His arms clasped around his head, he charged the flames with the fierceness of a wild beast.

Fie fell; rose to his knees; he felt himself a coal of fire and loving tongues licked him. He crawled. The hot track rails marked great sears into his arui? and legs. The heat grew less. Up now with the axe while strength was left, and he hurled timber after timber into the eager flames, wrenching them loose "when he could, and chopping the rest.

Twenty feet of cleared space ! and the flames lashed themselves into a fury as Prescott's hand felt the powder-house door. Three or four feeble blows battered it open and he fell in across a case of fuse.

The crowd up the gulch waited in vain for the rending of War Eagle. The superintendent led them back to their homes, thanking God^ but no one- heard a word from his lips.

They gathered about the mouth of the tunnel, and when the superintend(>nt. followed by two shift bosses bearing a blistered form came out, they understood , and bared their heads.

A doctor knelt, and when they heard the words, "A good nurse." the brown bowlders of old War Eagle were nearly jarred from their beds by the cheer that went up — for one brave man.

Every woman in camp volunteered as nurse, but the doctor was one of those sly diplomats who believe one's heart should be in his work, so Prescott's blisters were lotioned and bandaged in the superintendent's own home.

A telegram arrived from the president of the company :

"Give P anything he wants. Two thousand shares deposited to his credit."

The superintendent blinked only once and answered.

"Mollie is all he wants."

A DREAM

By V lasta HouaeK

BLUSTERING ]\rarch had given away before April's tears, which in turn were dried by the persistently sunny nature of May. It was May that coaxled a green carpet from Mother Earth, that persuaded the flowers to unfold their soft petals; that clothed the naked trees in rustling leaves| that encouraged the birds in home-making among the leafy bowers. ]\: did all this, but it was June, beautiful June, that with richest touch, tunetl earth and all creation to the one grand, perfect chord; that of life and love. "■"'■

An old man, feeling its subtle power, was tempted out of doors for the first time in many weeks, and seating himself under a spreading maple, watched the dancing sunbeams at his feet, and listened to the leaves above, as they whispered to him of other days.

Pretty soon the snowy head began to nod drowsily, and the Goddess of Dreams, touching him with her magic wand, led him into a happy field, where the birds were singing and flowers nodded him welcome as they gaily rocked in the breeze. He looked wonderingly at the beauty around him.

"This is what Father Time calls Childhood," said she, smiling tenderly at him, as he once more trod the paths of those bygone years. Hardened by severer things, he did not feel the pebbles under foot that hurt him when, as a child, he had passed that wa}^ nor did he feel the little thorns among the flowers he plucked, and she did not tell him of them.

"Father Time next brought you here," she continued, as they entered the field adjoining. "This is called Youth." He noticed the flowers here, although not so bright, Avere of a richer, deeper color, while the birds' warbling had a note of thoughtfulness in it.

They came to a steam of dark, turbulent water, and as they crossed over, some vague, half-forgotten memory seemed to bother the old man.

"That is the stream of Disappointment," said the Goddess of Dreams, in an- swer to his backward glance. "The first time you crosssed it- was not bridged, and being very deep and cold, you were almost overcome, but since then you have bridged it over with Faith, and this bridge seems to grow stronger and firmer each succeeding year."

The path seemed to get rough and more stony as they passed on, and he began to notice weeds growing among the flowers, and that a careless step brought him in contact with the thorns and prickly leaves of the same; and as he gathered the bright flowers of Ambition and Success, he found it impossible to pluck the same without getting in the sombre ones of Care, Sorrow, and Regret. He held a mixed bouquet, and in gazing at the bright blossoms, he seemed to forget the sombre ones, and, Goddess of Dreams, did you remind him of the pangs they had caused him, when, as a young man, he had in reality gathered them so many, many years ago? Soon they came to a single rose bush, weighted down with its burden of white, and sinking upon his knees, he pressed the nearest flower to his lips, while his companion laughed softly.

"That is the flower of Love, which you know so well," she said, and the flowers he already held in his hand drooped for an instant, but he did not cast them away, and thereafter the flower of Love was added to those he already held, and shed its fragrance about them, as they continued their journey through the Past.

He soon began to tire. "Let us rest here for a while," lie begged of the Goddess of Dreams, but she shook her head. "Father Time would not hear of it ; we are not half through ]\[iddle Age yet; wait until you reach the end of your journey, then you can rest; you have but one more field to cross," and with a sigh

he once more pressed forward, but he noticed the flowers that grew so thickly about them before were beginning to appear less and less often, until they finally came to the last field she had spoken of, and where only the wMte blossoms of Peace and Content waved in the restful breeze.

He felt weary, and with a last look on the now withered bouquet of Ambition, Work, and Success, with its clinging companions of Care, Sorrow, and Regret, he flung it from him and sank down to rest in the shade and quietness of Old Age.

The Goddess, never aging, looked pityingly at the bent form and bowed head, thinking with what reluctance he had come to this field, and cast off those flowers when he first entered it twenty years ago.

She stooped over him. "Once more we have gone over the Past," she whispered .■softly. "Now tell me what you would have liked best, to bring from there with you to the land of Old Age?"

He smiled feebly, as he tenderly caressed the rose, still fresh and glowing in 'his hand. "Nothing more than I still have; 'tis something that never grows old," and a tiny breeze caused the rose to tremble joyously.

Father Time then touched the Goddess of Dreams on the shoulder. "Come, you have been with him long enough, depart." And with a last caress that brought a smile to the sleeper's face, she turned away.

Looking at the resting figure again, Father Time beckoned to the Angel of Death. "He looks tired," said he; "take him home," and lightly the spirit of the aged one was borne Heavenward, while Father Time passed on.

Slowly the sun had disappeared behind the hills; the birds had long since sought their nests, and even the flowers had closed their delicate petals, while the quietness of evening rested upon Mother Earth, and silently wrapped her in its folds. The old man still sat in his chair, his chin resting on his bosom, and above the leaves now sighed mournfully. It was growing damp, and his daughter miss- ing him, came out to bring him in.

Something in the pathetic droop of his whole flgure sent a throb of pity through her, and stooping quickly over him she pressed her lips upon his brow, only to find it cold in death, while a smile of Heaven still rested upon his face.

THE ROMANCE OF A LITTLE

OLD MAID

By Eva B. Pillsbury

THE chilly November wind was not too kind to the Little Old Maid as she tripped across Morrison street. She was on her way to the big depart- ment store where she earned her twenty-five dollars a month; but she curled down into the upturned collar of her blue kersey jacket, braced her umbrella against the wind, and fluttered along like a half-dried autumn leaf driven before the breeze.

But she found it warm in the big store, and the cheerful red soon left the Little Old Maid's nose, and found its rightful place in her still unwithered cheeks, though her bright brown hair, impolitely handled by the wind, stood out in fluffy disorder not unbecoming to the prim little face.

As she passed through the men's furnishing department on her way to her own counter, she noticed that a new lay figure had been added to the group of irre- proachable masculine dolls, whose mission in life is to present to the eyes of the Portland man all that is newest and most elegant in male attire.

In passing the figure, a sense of familiarity quickened her languid interest, and she glanced again at the face under the gray felt hat. It was as though a door

closed for twenty 3'ears had suddenly reopened, and her long buried lover bad appeared on its threshold.

In spite of its faultless perfection, its immobility of feature, and its slightly false coloring, the likeness was startling, and the Little Old Maid paused for an in- stant, staring with fascinated eyes, and then passed on trembling as if she had seen a ghost.

She was absent-minded all the forenoon, and once the elderly floorwalker in her department reprimanded her for inattention to customers. The tears sprang to her eyes, and her chin quivered, while the floorwalker stalked down the aisle muttering savagely, "I hate a snivelling woman! Wh'ad she need to cry for! It makes a man feel like goin' out an' kickin' himself around the block."

When the floorwalker sauntered up the aisle again the Little Old Maid would not look in his direction, which made Hm even more irate than before. "Course she is mad," he observed to himself. "Most women haven't any more sense 'n a hen. I'm thankful I don't have to deal with any of 'em outside of business hours."

But the memory of the tearful eyes and the quivering chin tormented the soft elderly heart buttoned inside the black cutaway coat, and 12 o'clock found him again reconnoitering near the Little Old Maid's counter.

She was alone and rearranging the goods, thrown into disorder by careless customers. The floorwalker cleared his throat violently. The Little Old Maid glanced up, caught his eyes, and deliberately turned her back.

"Excuse me, Miss — ah, Winters. Mebbe I was a little rough this morning — " he waited, listening, but no answer came. "You see, when a man has only a c\;p of muddy coffee and a few cold pancakes for breakfast he gets kind a down in the mouth after a while."

The Little Old Maid studied the boxes on the shelves with unswerving interest.

"When a fellow is knocked about in the world and hasn't no friends to speak of — " his listener cocked one eye at him half relentingly, "he is hardly responsible for every mean thing he says. Folks that have homes now — "

The little figure turned like a flash. "Haven't you got any home ?"

"Never had one since I was born. Hunt the word up in a dictionary once 'n a while just to see how it looks," and he chuckled amiably at his attempt to be funny.

The Little Old Maid straightened some boxes on the counter, and replied with obvious embarrassment :

"You didn't say enough to — that is, I — "

"It's all right any how," interrupted the floorwalker, trying to cover her con- fusion and put an end to her self-accusations, and' mercifully turning his eyes away from her flushed face, he got an inspiration. "There's Hendrix down there flirtin' with them girls at the glove counter again. He knows that kind 0' thing's forbidden heTe. I'll tend to him for good an' all this time," and striking out boldly toward the glove counter, he sidetracked down the first aisle, and left tlie flirtatious Hendrix undisturbed.

The Little Old Maid took herself mentally to task with unsparing honesty. "Just think 0' me getting mad at that poor man, that hasn't a home to go to, and me with everything comfortable," and a vision of the tiny three-room flat rose before her, with its wee shiny kitchen, its snug living room carpeted with .sreen ingrain, the picture of Mount Hood against the walls, the Nottingham lace cur- tains, the shelf of books, and the little air-tight stove that imparted such comfort on cold nights.

At 6 o'clock she donned her blue jacket and her little ready-to-wear hat, and on her way out through the men's department stole a long look at the lay figure • reseml>ling her lost "Archie."

"It just seems like it must be him," and as she passed the immovable figure she softly whispered, "Good-night, Archie," trembling at her own temerity.

That night her sleep was broken by dreams of the lover who h.ad been dead for twenty years, though sometimes, instead of the dark curling locks she so well re- membered, his head appeared to be surmounted with a rim of thin, iron-gray hair, with a hberal display of shiny scalp at the top.

As time passed on the Little Old ]\Iaid formed the habit of looking each morn- ing for the handsome dummy with the face of "Archie/' and when no one was near she would whisper softly, "Good morning, dear," cherishing the foolish whim that she could hear in reply a whispered, "Good morning, little woman."

And every night at 6 o'clock the soft-hazel eyes of the Little Old Maid spoke a loving though inaiulible good-night to the melancholy brown orbs that must have looked expressionless to any one but this little, lonely, fanciful maiden of thirty- ejglit. .

The girl clerks around her, with the worldly wisdom of modern eighteen, began to cast shy looks at one another when she seemed particularly absent-minded.

"There goes Winters to 'er lunch. Just notice, ]\[ame' how she always goes through the men's department. Bet she's stuck on some one in there. Must be one o' them dummies, I guess. She'd be too scared to look at a real man."

"Gee, I shu'd sav so. poor old thing. Wonder how it feels to be an old maid. Say, Kit, how do you like my hair this way? Bob says — Buttons, ma'am. Yes'm, right down this aisle, third counter to the left. \Yho was that, Kit? Swell, ain't she? Regular Klondiker, but her hair is bleached all right."

"Sure," responded Kit fervently, studying the outlines of the stylish imported siiit disappearing down the aisle.

Finally there came a dark day for the Little Old Maid. The handsome dummy did not stand in its accustomed place one morning in late November, and she was somehow smitten with a sense of loss.

Then the elderly floorwalker in passing her counter laid a big golden aster down in front of her. She glanced up from the flower to catch a smile and wink nimbly exchanged between the young girls at her side.

With one sweep of her duster she whisked the flower from the counter to the floor, and viciously stepped on it, immediately hating herself for the deed.

Late in the day,' after dealing with a particularly trying customer, her tired brain served her a shabby trick. Figures may not lie, but they are frequently guilty of far greater sins, and on this occasion they danced wickedly before her wearied eyes with such mocking hilarity that somehow the mistake was made that Tes\iltcd in her being sent for by the cashier.

She never knew how it happened, but of course the firm could not afford to ilose nine dollars, so she must bear the loss occasioned by setting down the wrong ^figures.

It was a dreadful calamity to befall a little woman who was really in dire meed of a new winter suit, and when the mistake had been adjusted and the re- sponsibility properly fixed, the Little Old Maid crept out of the office and through the half-lighted building with burning eyes and a heavy heart.

It was past the hour of 6, and the store was deserted. She passed between long canvas-covered counters, on to the men's departuient, where the draped tables chilled her with their funereal suggestiveness. Everything was silent, cold, forlorn, and the forlornest thing of all was this bit of unhappy womanhood.

She resolutely choked bac^k the tears and hurried along through the empty aisles that an hour ago had been populous. All at once she recognized with a thrill that the dear counterpart of "Archie" stood in its accustomed place, just a few feet down the aisle.

As she drew near it she cast one anxious glance around. Not even the janitor was in siglit, and the Little Old Maid laid her head softly down against that manly shoulder, sobbing under her lu'eath, "Oh, Archie, Archie. I'm so lonely and tired!"

In the tumult of her grief she did not feel the beating of the heart under the gray fall overcoat.

An instant late r a Tremulous elderly voice spoke from under the soft felt hat. "My name is licmuel: but I knew you was all broken up, so I waited." She gave a little scream of terror and started away trembling with shame and confusion, but a large, masculine hand shot out and grasped the little, cold fingers and drew tliem gently through his arm.

"Come along, little M'oman," he said, leading her half unwillingly out through the echoing spaces into the gayly lighted street.

Then he spoke again: "I s'pose I'm no great shakes of a man to look at, but I've missed most o' the things that go to the makin' of a man, anyhow. But some ways — lately — since I've seen you, I've got to thinkin' that maybe there was somcthin' for me yet to look fo'ward to. I don't expect you could care for me right off. Wouldn't be natural. But I'd wait a year, or two years, for that matter. I've waited all my life for somethin' like this, and I can wait a little longer if — if I have to."

The unconscious pathos of those last words smote the tender heart of his listener. Still he must know the whole truth.

"There was some one else once," she said hesitatingly.

"Yes, Archie?" he asked, compassionately looking down at the little pink ear, her face being averted.

"But he died twenty years ago," she breathed the answer out in a regretful sigh.

"I s'pose he was young an' handsome," said her gray suitor gently; "looked maybe like that new dummy we got at tiie store. I've seen you look at that dummy like it was some one you'd known before soraewheres. I bought the coat an' hat oPen it to-day, thinkin" it might improve me some, but what's the use. When a man was born homely to begin with, an' has had all his lifetime to get gray an' bald, he ain't goin' to look purty no matter what you put on 'im."

Then as they stood at the busy corner, where the endless procession of home- goers surged to and fro, and the noisy electric cars whirled around the curve, he added patiently : "But I guess I ought to 'a waited, an' not a" took you by su'prise so. All I ask is that 3'ou'll take time to think about it. I don't ask you to say 'yes' now if you can't. All I ask is that you won't say 'no.' "

And the Little Old IMaid turned up to him the same look and smile that she had worn twenty years ago and said softly, "But I'm not a-going to say 'no', Lemuel."

THE SPECTRE OF THE SANDS

An Episode of Deatn Valley By 1 . Snelley Sutton

IT was a hot, sultry, almost unbearable afternoon. The sun, suspended like a sulphurous ball of fire midway between the glaring zenith and the long, low stretch of desolate sand-hills at the western horizon, seemed to be pressing its brazen cheek to the bosom of the barrenness; and in the dazzling distance of the waste — rising as if in somber defiance of the arid earth and parching sky — like a grim, mute sentinel against the simmering, tremulous background of un- dulating heat-currents, stood a Spanish Bayonet, that white-plumed relative of the yucca, which, save for a few scattered patches of lava and greasewood, afforded the only actual relief to the sand-seared eye.

Here, in this region of death and desolation, even the hardy cactus, so common to other sections of the Great Basin, refuses to subsist; and there are none of the weird, fascinating beauties so characteristic of many porti^is of the broad ]\Iojave. Today, in all the purview of wretched vastness, only the one lone yucca lifted its magic blossom from the torrid earth; and this, to the eyes of two men, a t least, was as a glimpse of Eden to the damned; yet its stalk was dry and pithy, and gave no moisture to their lips.

The serpents, which had unwontedly found their way from the distant circum- ference of the valley, crawled wearily at its roots, as if anxious for the faint, almost invisible shadow which its plume mercifully spread on the alkalescent sands. A chuca-walla lay panting among the spines; and near it lay the green-striped lizard known as the "four-legged snake,'^ whose black-forked tongue curled as if in thirst from its baneful mouth. These, and the desert -rattler, are the formidable monarchs of the Great Death Valley.

This valley is hot the marvelous region of fiction, where human skulls lie grin- ning by the cold but poisoned waters of the desert-well; where the verdant oasis lets forth its mysterious monsters to devour the wanderer, or where the fabled "Octopus-vine," so vividly described by imaginative journalists, reaches out its vampire tentacles to grasp and hold the passing prospector in the clutch of death, while the fragrance of its soporific flowers soothes him to unconscious slumber. But at the time of which I speak, when the borax caravan had cut no road through the awful vastness of the valley; when the whip of the teamster and the curse of the swamper had never penetrated the oppressive stillness of the void; when only the reptiles and the sun, the sand and the silence, were holding their doomful sway in the Valley of Death, it was an arid hell more terrible in truth than the fancy of a Verne, or the^morbid imagination of a Poe, could in their wildest flights con- ceive or contemplate.

This afternoon, in the igneous glare of an August welkin, not even the swelter- ing breath of the red simoom, or the seething gyrations of the fierce sirocco, relieved the stinging, intolerable monotony of the heat and silence. To the west, where the valley broadened out into a sea of burning sand, the heat-waves rendered the at- mosphere almost impenetrable beyond a brief distance; but out of this veil of in- candescence two men could be seen slowly plodding their way in the direction of the Spanish Bayonet.

One of them — a tall, middle-aged man carrying two canteens and a heavy knapsack, and clad in a blue denim "jumper" with faded blue overalls — walked considerably in advance of his companion; and by his steady, measured walk and easy demeanor evinced that he was more accustomed to his surroundings — perhaps an old denizen of the American Sahara. He glanced neither to the right nor left, but trudged steadily, straightly for the shaft of yucca.

The man behind him, who was much younger, heavier, but not so tall, though similarly attired, seemed terribly fatigued, and dragged, rather than lifted, his feet through the deep, hot sand. It seemed that each step would be his last, and a rest- less, hunted, almost insane expression gleamed forth from his rolling, bloodshot eyes. He was quite stooped, but a rifle, strapped to his shoulder, and a belt of cartridges, were his only burdens. Anon, as he heaped some malignant oath upon his companion for thus forcing him to hurry, there was a metallic ring of hatred in his voice; yet his tongue and lips had now become so parched and swollen that he spoke with difficulty.

They were two prospectors — George Donaldson and James McNully, respect- ively — who less than a month before had started from Oro Grande in quest of a fabulously rich mine which a dying Mexican had claimed to have discovered in the central section of Death Valley. Before breathing his last the old Mexican had given them a map of the valley, on which was diagramed the location of the rich bonanza. And so, procuring four good mules and a load of water and provisions, they bLarted in search of the mine — two life-long friends, who from childhood up had shared each other's joys and sorrows. They had not anticipated the treach- erous difficulties of desert life, and the second week out, while slowly winding their way through the mouth of the fatal valley, a terrific sandstorm forced them to seek protection beneath the wagon.

Five days they remained helpless beneath the invincible attack of sand and wind, and when the storm was over three of their mules were dead, and one was

blind. Donaldson, by some evil accident, had lost his compass, and upon thrusting his head from beneath the wagon found that the entire topography of the desert had seemed to change. The mountains appeared to him reversed, and to the north, where they had seen a high hill of barren sand, lay now but a vast blank of desert ; and three long hills that were not previously observed loomed up to the eastward. Their course had been so winding that from the position of the wagon they could not determine from whence they had come. Donaldson admitted that he was lost.

It was an act of charity to slay the mule whose eyesight had been destroyed by the blasts of sand, and this was done before they started on foot to return from the valley.

Leaving their wagon, Donaldson took a course that he averred was the right one, but McNully disputed it, and a doubt remained. However, at first with hope, and later with despair, they continued in their course. All the water that they could carry had been taken with them; but McNully had contracted a fever, and all but the contents of two canteens had been consimaed. But now, in vain Donaldson en- deavored to convince his companion that every drop must be treasured, and that only by drinking economically, and by denying themselves to the last limit of en- durance, could they expect to find their way out of the valley. This McNully stub- bornly refused to do, so Donaldson — with wisdom rather than with selfishness — carried the canteens and refused McNully even a taste of the precious water.

It had been two days since either of them had drunk. There was now little hope of finding a well, and only by this terrible denial could they escape death. Donaldson told himself that when his companion was no longer able to stand it he would let him drink, but until then he must suffer.

The hours had worn painfully by, and moments were now as eons to the two famished prospectors — especially to McNully. They had reached the Spanish Bayonet, and Donaldson with a quick incision of the knife found that it was dry. In despair his eyes roamed desperately over the desert, as if in search of some char- itable cactus from whose thorny barrel he could extract the juice. But there was none in sight. The "four-legged snake" darted across the sand; the chuca-walla crawled lazily from him; waves of intolerable heat danced before his dry, bleared eyes as though mocking him.

Another half-mile was covered, and before them lay the same unbroken vast- ness, the same seething glare, the same nothingness ! Their steps became slow and alarmingly heavy, and the wild, haggard expression of McNully's eyes had hardened ominously. The gleam of insanity shone from their depths as he gazed bitterly at the bent and burdened form of his companion in advance. Donaldson had told him that they must not drink till the last moment. Well, the last moment was approaching.

"George, I must drink, I tell you. I cannot stand it !"

"Nary a drop fur two hours, Jim. If we drink now we will run out of water and die on this blasted desert. Be sensible, Jim, an' wait a bit."

The white, hot sun burned as in hatred upon his brow, and the sky, leering above them, assumed a more parching aspect. Ah, what a precious thing was water ! — just a drop of it to moisten the feverish lip and dry, parched tongue ! Donaldson, in his two canteens, carried the only water that this damnable desert had ever known ; and he refused to let him — McNully — ^taste it, even now, when he was dying — yes, dying of this inward fire ! In those two canteens there was suffi- cient to last one man until he could find a well, but if both of them drank they would both die. They could not expect that both would escape; but if only one consumed the contents of the two vessels there would be enough to last him, and only one — the other — would be compelled to die. It was better that one should die to save the other than that both should give their bones to the hated sands. McNully carried the rifle. Donaldson was unarmed. Who would know if McNully pulled the trigger and Donaldson perished on the desert? McNully could say that his companion collapsed, and the "Valley of Death would not reveal its secret.

Donaldson was now walking much slower than was usual, but he was still a couple of hundred feet in advance, and seemed visibly uneasy, for again and again he turned liis head to look back at his insane companion. And, while McNuUy Avas strugghng through the sand in contemplation of the bloody deed, Donaldson drew the canteens around upon his breast and trudged more rapidly forward. Finally, after several minutes, he returned them to their former position, but still kept his hands in front of him. McNully was now gaining rapidly. The terror of death consumed him, and so —

Nervously, but cautiously, McXuUy lifted the rifle to his shoulder and ran his bloodshot eye blindly along the barrel. Finally, when he feared that Donaldson would look back, he pulled the trigger. Donaldson, with a smothered cry, fell for- ward on the parching sand — face downward, with his hands beneath him. Now, as in the last delirium of insanity, McNully staggered wildly to his side and kicked the body. There was no response, no movement of the limp, still limbs. The bullet had reached its mark.

But McNully did not observe the absence of a bullet-hole. lie was too eager to taste the water. Like a maniac he tore the vessels rudely from their place, and started, with a groan, as he observed how light they were. There were only a few pitiful drops in each canteen, which he drank exultantly. Then he gazed down at the outstretched body of his companion. So, he had been a traitor, and after all, had deserved to die ! He had stolen the water of the two canteens, and drank it when McNully was not observing him. No wonder Donaldson had been able to walk so fast ! Well, McNully had avenged himself.

A buzzard, appearing magically from some unknown quarter, circled lazily in the air above him, with its eye fastened upon the prostrate body of the prospector. Once or twice it flapped its greasy wings, and then flew on until lost in the far firma- ment. McNully gazed after it and smiled; he took the knapsack from Donaldson's sliouldcrs and trudged wearily on into the white vastness of the valley. He did not look back, for suddenly, before him, lay a land of fruit and water — a vision of heaven outstretched on the grim, hot desert. A great, wide emerald river over- shadowed by Hesperian groves of fruit and semi-tropic trees invited him to health and rest — to life — to water. Ah, God, how thankful he was that he had reached the river! But — what river was it? Perhaps a stream that had never been discovered — a river unknown to the nomads of the desert.

These were among the tangled thoughts of the crazed McNully, as he stag- gered faintly in the direction of the wood-fringed river. There was nothing to tell him that he was pursuing the dread mirage — the fatal, death-delusion known as the Desert Lie. Only when the sun went down, and he found himself staring vacantly into an endless, unbroken desert of desolation did he realize that it was all a phan- tom of the sun's creation — an iridescent picture of Tantalian mockery.

The fever was eating at his brain. A mixture of sand and alkali whirled in an eddying cloud before him ; and a blast of air — like the breath of some bantering devil — arose from the white bosom of the parching barrenness, seeming to sap the last remnant of strength from his brain and body. He lay upon the sand and breathed with difficulty. Finally his head fell back, and his eyes closed wearily. Again tlie buzzard appeared, soaring in wide circles, and exulting at the wretch whom it knew must soon become its feast.

The sun descended and soon the air became more tolerable, but McNully was now resigned. The despair and anguish had given place to apathy — a dumb, cold feeling of indifference. But as the moon arose above the far, gray hills of the hor- izon, scanning the desert with its spectral, ghastly face, IMcNully discerned a visitor, a black, restless phantom that moved uncertainly among the sands, at times dis- appearing behind a near-by knoll, and later appearing in another portion of the descrt^now behind him — now before him — going slowly and furtively around him. and drawing nearer and nearer as it went, until at last it vanished and was visible no more. Tie could not stand, l)ut he grasped the rifle, which he still carried, and lay there, watching eagerly, deliriously, for the spectre.

Gradually the moon ascended and the lifeless, lustre-lacking stars came out

to view his wretchedness. His fingers had released the- rifle, the glaze of death had blinded his eyes to the spectre that crawled slowly, deliberatel}"^, toward him.

"Jim ! Jim ! Don't shoot — it's me — your partner — Donaldson ! I've got some' water, Jim."

Yes, it was Donaldson. McNully lifted his head with an effort, but instantly it fell back upon the sand.

"I — I won't shoot, George," was the husky answer. "Water ! For God's sake, give me water !"

Donaldson came toward him, and from the bosom of his shirt extracted a couple of flasks containing the precious moisture. Hurriedly, tenderly, as brother unto brother, he lifted McN"ully's head and pressed the mouth of a flask, with its warm but welcome water, to the dying man's lips.

'"George! I — thought — I— had — killed — you!" McNully gasped.

"I was too slick, Jim. I thought this morning that you were gettin' demented, so T says to myself that I'd just keep my weather eye open. Long about the middle o' the afternoon I seen you playin' a little nervously with the trigger, so I tried to keep out o' range, an' while you wasn't lookin' I emptied the canteens into these two flasks, for I knew if you got hold of 'em we'd never pull through to water. Then, all of a sudden you fired the gim, but I knew you was insane, so I furgived you, old pal, and jest flattened out on the sand, thar, an' acted possum. I made careful to bury the bottles under the sand beneath me, so if you turned me over you wouldn't find 'em. I calcklated to get hold o' the rifle, but you kept it out'en reach, an' I wouldn't scrap for it. I jest let you take the empty canteens an' knapsack, an' when you was nearly out o' sight I gets up an' starts after you. I jest thought I'd let you travel as fur as you would, then I'd come up an' give you some water. You had the gun, though, an' tonight I was a little skeered of it, so I kept mum waitin' for you to go to sleep so I could sneak up an' steal it. That's all there is to it, Jim."

There was no answer. Jim opened his eyes and smiled faintly, but his voice had left him. He reached out and grasped Donaldson's hand. Finally his eyes again closed, and thus, from the darkness of the desert, he passed peacefully into the deeper darkness of death.

Donaldson's water had come too late.

^ * ^

In the morning Donaldson was crossing Ihe Amargosa with a good supply of water — and a village not far distant.

THE DEFENSE OF THE RANCHE

By 1. L. Graname

ww^^ GUESS it will be pretty lonely place over there, military grant, you know, out on the Eed Elk Creek most and I've got it all ready for occupancy.

I

of the year," remarked ex- Wish you'd give me some pointers as to

Trooper Billy Boyd, late of the peculiarities of that section, Sandy."

Her Majesty's Fourteenth Cameron grinned cynically and eyed

Hussars, as he pulled up his sleigh team Boyd in an exasperating way under his

at the gate of Fort Perry, North Alberta, coonskin cap and dense white eyebrows,

where old Sandy Cameron was kindling "Well, man, while ye'll likely be gray

his beloved pipe for the morning smoke, an' thrang wi' company ower yonner, I'm

"An' is that where ve're for?" answered thinkin'.

J?

the old frontiersman. He was one of the oldest trappers in

"Yes," replied Boyd, "I've got a good the Hudson Bay Company's serv ice at

that time in North Alberta. He knew tlie whole country from the Great Slave Lake to the Montana boundary line, almost to a square yard, and was well ac- quainted with the territory on the Eed Elk Creek, twenty-five miles from Fort Perry, where it empties into the North Saskatchewan.

"Ecds or breeds?" inquired Boyd, non- chalantly.

"Oh, plenty o' them, too," said Cam- eron, "and worse nor them, forbye. The gray beasties are just botching (swarm- ing) in the spruce in yon quarter, lad."

"What, wolves?" cried Boyd con- temptuously, laughing, "why, Fruin there and I will soon attend to them. Won't we Fruin?"

Boyd's fine collie frisked in the snow around the waiting horses, at the idea, and barked at the croaking old sourdough who was predicting evil.

"Is that the only drawback, Sandy?"

"Ye'll maybe think that's plenty afore we ha'e the sicht o' ye at the Fort again," growled Cameron. Boyd laughed gaily, gave the old hunter a playful stroke across the back with his blacksnake and "tchiked" to the horse, which sprang through the gateway and off across the snow prairie at fine speed.

Boyd, after serving a term with the Northwest Mounted Police, had obtained his discharge and was taking up farming at Red Elk, a lonely spot, with no living companions save his faithful Highland collie and his team of bays. His nearest neighbors were the ]\Iasons, who had a ranch twelve miles west of Red Elk Creek. Mason was also a retired British soldier, having been sergeant-major of one of the dragoon regiments. He lived with his wife, son and two daughters. The eldest, Maisie, was betrothed to Boyd. The Ma- sons had helped Boyd to build his castle, as he called it, and now, his duties as mounted policeman completed, he was go- ing to enter into occupation.

That winter set in to break records for cold. Boyd's ability to keep tally on the steady drop of the mercury vanished one morning late in January along with the volatile fluid itself into the red bulb at the bottom of the thermometer glass.

Then he knew it was what they call cold out on the Alberta plains. Indoors one was forced to stay during such spells. Feeding the horses and keeping the stove going with spruce logs were the only occu- pations.

The "big freeze" lasted nearly a week, the monotony of existence being broken by a succession of blizzards from the northeast. They brought the very burgs of Hudson Bay in their teeth, and thor- oughly tested the stability of Boyd's cas- tle. Had it not been built by what the people at the fort called a crank it must have succumbed to those arctic tempests. Fortunately its timbers were mortised, dovetailed and pinned like one of Caesar's bridges, so that where a board shanty, the usual Alberta home, would have been whirled into kindling wood, Boyd's house weathered the gales.

It was one story and a half, with a look- out tower on top from which he was wont to survey the surrounding country. From this coign of vantage the soldier-rancher often watched the deer, arctic hare, jack rabbits and little antelope wandering around the house and clearing in search of food, and, of course, the coyote, every inch a thief, flitted at all hours like a yel- low ghost about the open spaces and lurked in the shadowy places.

From a peep hole alongside the door Boyd fed the deer with scraps, which they took greedily from his hand. The peep hole is one of those devices of the middle ages which the lonely settler in untrodden Canada is wise to incorporate in the front elevation of his abode. It is built so as to enable the inmate to rake the whole clearing in front with his rifle without opening door or window, when unwelcome guests, Indians, bear, or wolf, happen to call. Then, Boyd's military instincts had led him to contrive that the windows on the lower floor shoidd all open outward on hinges like port-hole coverings. On the wall of his little dining-room hung his old cavalry sabre, his cavalry trumpet, relic of his early days in the service, his Winchester rifle, and big service? revolver. On the bugle Boyd was fond of practicing the calls for amusement, and the clear note of the instrument could be heard across the snow-bound prairie for many miles.

One morning a strange thing h appened. The poor deer, which were as tame as scented the peril and feared for his mas- hearth cats, and hung around the peep ter. Had Bo3'd required any stimulus hole all day like a crowd around a railway to increase his speed it would have been ticket office on an excursion day, watching supplied by the appalling sight which with great tearful eyes for any crumbs met his eye at the fringe of wood behind Boyd might spare them, suddenly disap- the house, where a dozen gaunt, dark-gray peared. Not a living thing was to be seen timber wolves, in groups of twos and anywhere around the house all day. The threes, in full cry, were bursting through air was much warmer, but still as the the tangle into the open. Their long red tomb. Overhead the sky stretched blue tongues lolled out of their slobbering jaws, and cloudless, and it was filled with warm and the soldier even in that desperate mo- sparkling sunshine. Boyd, who had been ment noted the glitter of those rows of getting out spruce poles up the woods for fearful fangs. No man ever ran faster a new barn to be built in the spring, set clad as Boyd was during that last ten off with his axe and cord, to continue yards.

the work after his week's idleness. When "Back Fruin; lie down, lad!" he about a quarter of a mile from the house shouted before he opened the door, fearing he remembered that he had left his iron ^^^^ ^|^g ^jog ^^^Id spring out and trip splitting wedges behind him, and turned j^jj^^ In ^e flung, and as Boyd dashed back to get them. ^y^Q ^qqj. g]^^|- -^j^]^ ^^ thunderous slam two "Hallo, what's this?" he exclaimed as of the gray fiends tumbled in a confused he stooped down to examine the snow be- mass over one another on the very step, side his own outbound tracks. Close by It was like the fall of a gray breaker on the depression made by his moccasined the beach in stormy weather. Another feet were the deep dents left by either a instant and their fangs would have fas- very large dog or a wolf. They came out tened upon him. Shooting the iron bolts with the footprints to a certain point ; Boyd surveyed the scene in his front yard stopped, turned and went back toward with mingled feelings. There were scores the house, sometimes toping the first of the savage brutes. In their rage and trail. He was puzzled to understand what disappointment they behaved like mad had become of the animal, but at the same things. They bounded high into the air, time pushed on for the house. While still whisking their brushes and snapping their about two hundred yards from the door tremendous jaws with a sound such as the a long low howl that made the silent swarming sharks make in Kingston Har- woods echo strangely, broke upon his ear. bor, Jamaica; howling and wailing the He had heard a wolf's howl before at while in the most appalling fashion. They Fort Perry ; but not like that. It sounded scratched at the door ; stood up on their like a signal ; a strange, sustained ulula- hind legs under the windows ; hurled them- tion, ending in a sharp yelp. Boyd doubled selves in masses against the door, and his speed, running across the clearing for fought with one another for place near the door. Again the long warning howl the building. Then they would race madly burst forth, this time accompanied around the house and stable until they at a greater distance by many others, had a track like a circus ring beaten in There seemed to be hundreds of those hor- the snow with their feet. It was a grand rible voices yelling in the woods. Then though terrifying sight. The poor horses Boyd understood. He had been tracked also smelled danger and whinnied and by an old skirmisher scenting for his band, stamped in their stalls. Boyd took down The wolf had turned when it saw Boyd his Winchester and opened fire on the stop, and then had slunk back toward the wolves, taking the first one clean through dwelling, only to plunge into the bush and the heart. In less time than it takes to give his mates the summons. As Boyd say it the beast's bones were picked. Just sprinted the remaining fifty yards to his a flash of red and gray, some crimson door the bowlings came nearer and nearer, stippling in the snow. Fruin's excitement Axe and cord he cast aside, for he was became intense. He and one of the wolves heavilv clad and knew his danger. If even swore furiouslv at one another through one of the wolves should get between him the door. Boyd had no ammunition to and the house he was done for. Fruin's waste and his intention was to pick off a anxious bark came from the house. He wolf now and then, but his plans were sadly altered. Fruin in his eagerness to help his master leaped clean through one of the windows which had been insecurely fastened. Before Boyd could rush to the window to fire and cover the poor collie from attack Fruin was gone under a wild surging pyramid of frantic, clawing and snapping wolves. Boyd fastened up the window and pointing the rifle straight at the mass of grey demons opened steady fire on them. Again and again ho filled the magazine until uneaten wolves lay in heaps around the door and the rest of the band skulked behind the stumps. All that remained of poor Fruin was a small red spot just under the window. Then began the siege. For three days and nights the wolves, whose numbers had been considerably augmented since the battle on the first day, kept close watch over the lonely dwelling. Now and then Boyd picked off one of the brutes, but although the wolves must have been famishing, they did not dare to touch the carcasses by day. At night the dead were dragged away and devoured.

Late in the afternoon of the third day of the siege Boyd suddenly remembered that the Masons had promised to visit him on a certain day.

"What day is it?" he frantically shouted, rushing to his little desk in the upper room. In the excitement and danger of the fighting with the wolves he had forgotten his reckoning of the days. With throbbing pulses he sat down to try to calculate the day. They were to come over the last Wednesday of January. Well, the wolves came Monday morning; they were there all that day; all Tuesday, and now it was late Wednesday, and no sign of the Masons. He sprang up with a cry of joy.

They had decided to wait; they would not be coming until the Sunday; they—

Hist! Hark! What was that? Could it be? No, no, surely not—yet, there again came the sound borne in through the open window of the little towers—tinkle, tinkle, tinkle! The sleigh bells! The Masons' sleigh bells!

The strong soldier felt his veins grow cold and perspiration burst over his brow. He rushed madly downstairs and gazed through the peep hole. Not a living wolf was to be seen. Not a sound of them" from any quarter. Only the two that he had shot that morning near the wood pile. Tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, came again the silvery sound borne on tlie western wind from the well-worn track leading to the Masons' ranch.

Seizing his cavalry trumpet, Boyd dashed upstairs again and with all the power of his lungs blew the cavalry call "Retire !" If he could hear the sleigh bells surely they could hear that well- known call, which was understood quite as well by the members of Mason's family as by the old sergeant-major himself.

Boyd paused in an agony of anxiety. Maisie might be there ! Alas ! she was almost sure to be there, for she never missed an opportunity to see her affianced. Again and again the soldier blew the call from the upper windows as the darkness settled over the snow-covered prairie and the line of gloomy woods.

Then came the sound of galloping horses, wild cries, shots, howls of wolves. Yes, yes, that crack team of Mason's was giving the brutes a race for it. But could they do it with that distance to traverse? Boyd watched the corner round which the flying sleigh team would appear in a few moments, ready with his rifle to thin out the pursuers. Faster and faster came the hoof beats ; the good steeds were flying for dear life; the pistols and rifles crackled incessantly; wildly howling, the great band of wolves raced beside the galloping horses and tried to leap upon them and into the sleigh.

Like a lightning flash they swept round the corner in full view of the house, and simultaneously Boyd's rifle began spitting death into the masses of the pursuing wolves.

But he had a better plan than that. Opening the huge stove, he seized the ends of two flaming brands and rushed from the house flourishing them wildly above his head. This proved better than all the rifle fire, for the wolves fled from the blazing gumsticks, and kept at a distance while the trembling team was unhitched and crowded into the stable, while the visitors and their host thankfully closed the doors and windows and gathered round the stove to discuss their adventures.

Under the steady and combined fusilade from the rifles and pistols of the party next morning the besiegers melted away into the woods and left the little settlement, apparently forever, for wolves have not been seen in that locality in any considerable numbers since that time.

DECORATIVE SCULPTURE AT THE LEWIS & CLARK EXPOSITION

By Anatel Parker McCann

NO feature of the Lewis and Clark Exposition is more pertinently suggestive of the mighty changes wrought by the century which has passed since the two great captains threaded the Oregon forests, than the display of deco- rative sculpture which adorns the plazas and terraces lof the grounds. The Ex- position harks back to days when the great Oregon land felt for the first time the tread of the white man; it slants, in long perspective, to the scenes of early settlement, when houses of rougli-hewn logs, furnished only with the simplest necessities and fashioned for comfort rather than beauty, nestled in the clear- ings; it recalls times of struggle, of lal)or, and of the increasing prosperity which was their reward.

But in all these days, beauty was yet afar off. Art had not brought her gifts into the homes of the Northwest. The first needs of daily life pressed so closely upon the Oregon home-builder that he was forced to think always of utility rather than of beauty.

The Exposition honors these days of the past. Its stately buildings, its beautiful lawns and gardens, its fountains and In'idges, its opulent embellishment on all sides — these, indeed, point the contrast between then and now. But in splendid unison they proclaim that the thousand- fold richer life of to-day was made pos- sible only by the strenuous living of the pioneer ; that the material prosperity whose foundation was laid by him paved the way for the leisure, the culture, and the intellectual attainment of his suc- cessors ; that the handsome cities, noble architecture, great libraries, public and

COWBOY AT REST. "Artistic in conception and beautiful in design," Solon H. Borgrlum, the sculptor, was born in Ogden, Utah, and his work reflects, in a marked degree,

the true spirit of the West.

The statue of CAPTAIN MERIWETHER LEWIS. "One of the handsomest men of his time." "Tall, lithe, intrepid and fearless." The sculptor is Charles Lopez, a Mexican, who is now modeling a statue of President McKinley for Philadelphia,

THE BLIZZARD, by Solon H. Borglum. "One can feel the sharp onset of the gale as it twists the horse's mane and blows the grizzled beard of the prospector in wavering strands."

private collections of art which exist in the Oregon of to-day are all bound by ties of direct succession to the heroic days of the past.

With distinct utterance, this tale is told by the noble groups of statuary in the Ex- position grounds. They bespeak an art worthy of the highest civilization, and, in two-fold expression — since, for the most part, their subjects are events of pioneer life — give insistent emphasis to the swell- ing tide of the century's progress.

It matters not that nearly all the groups of statuary at the Lewis and Clark Exposi- tion were brought from St. Louis. They fit admirably into the decorative scheme here, and are thoroughly typical of the Northwest. Moreover, they have a land- scape setting here which was lacking at St. Louis, and this offers such satisfactory background that persons who saw the groups there cannot fail to discover new beauties in them when viewed in this new environment.

Had special commissions for sculptural work been given out by the officials of the Portland Exposition, it is doubtful

whether more satisfactory results could have been secured. The Indian, the cow- boy, the prospector, the moving figures of the Lewis and Clark Expedition — what subjects are more typical than these of the early days of the Oregon Country?

The bronze statue of Sacajawea, which is to be placed in a commanding position near the top of the grand stairway, will doubtless hold first place in popular favor. As a newly discovered heroine in the pan- orama of American history and a rival of Pocahontas — for Sacajawea, too, was the daughter of a chief — the Shoshone ffirl has captured the warm heart of the West. The story of her fidelity and her fortitude has already been told in The Pacific Monthly. To the women of the Northwest is due the credit of having recognized her virtues and first given them the meed of public praise : to a woman, also, fell the pleasant task of creating a permanent idealization of the young Indian mother.

Here one may pause to refiect upon the distinction that our great expositions have conferred upon women sculptor? At the Columbian Exposit ion, the model

ing of the statue of Columbus which stood in front of the Administration building, was assigned to Miss Mary Lawrence, now the wife of Michael Tonetti, the sculptor. At St. Louis, the figure of Victory which surmounted the dome of Festival Hall, the focal point of the decorative scheme, was the work of Miss Evelyn B. Longman. That this place of honor was won by merit is shown l)y the fact that the figure was modeled for a place on the Varied Indus- tries building, but upon its arrival it proved to be so fine a work of art that the chief of sculptors gave it the first place of honor. At the Lewis and Clark Expo- sition, Miss Alice Cooper, of Denver, the sculptor of "Sacajawea," has won first honors.

The four strong groups by Solon H. Borgium strike a note of originality achieved by few American sculptors. Mr. Borgium has chosen for his subjects the Indian, showing one of his aborignal cus- toms, the Indian as alfected by his rela- tions to the whites, the plainsman, and the prospector.

His group "The First Step to Civiliza-

tion," which stands in front of the Aud- itorium, depicts the Indian after contact with the white race. A noble looking chief, holding the Bible to his breast, is telling his son that in the ways of the white man is wisdom found. The youth peers forward searching the future and seeming to catch the spirit of a new day. Fine dignity of character is expressed in the figure of the Indian and the grouping and composition are admirable.

The three other Borgium groups are in- stalled on the terrace overlooking the lake. The soft green of summer foliage, the deeper shades of the tall firs behind, and the rising mountains farther back furnish an unparalleled setting of beauty for these. One could not wish a fairer sight than that of their pale splendor gleaming amidst these bowers of green.

"Cowboy at Eest" is both artistic in conception and beautiful in design. There is splendid repose in the prone figure of the plainsman stretched beside his faith- ful cayuse and in every line of the animal as it stands, with lowered eyelids, content under the will of its master. There is no

SHOOTING UP THE TOWN. The sculptor, Frederick Remingrton, has caught the spirit of the plains.

"It recalls the days when the Saturday night frolic of the cowboys who came to town was

the chief social institution of the week in border towns."

The statue_of CAPTAIN WILLIAM CLARK. "A look of high calm resolve shines from his face." Frederick Wellington Ruckstuhl, the sculp tor, was at one time the secretary of the National Sculptuxe Society.

monotony of repose, however, for, though at rest, the cowboy keeps watchful eye. His sombrero shields his face from the sun, as he looks out across the plains to where his herd is grazing. Perhaps he watches lest the silhouette of an Indian should move across the distant sky. His pistol is ready at his side, but in this hour of repose he has no need of it. The lariat hangs from the pommel of his saddle, but the strong arm which can wield it so well is relaxed and inert.

"The Blizzard" tells with picturesque strength the story of the lone prospector and his pony caught in the fury of a fierce storm. One can feel the sharp onset of the gale as it twists the horse's mane and blows the grizzled beard of the prospector in wavering strands. Crouched in the shelter of the pony, the man has thrown down his pick and the other implements of his work, giving his whole power of re- sistance to the wrath of the storm. The stress and intensity of this figure will be sure to strike a chord of remembrance in the breast of many an old prospector who will visit the Exposition during the summer.

The "Indian Buffalo Dance," while it can scarcely be called artistic in idea, is virile and striking. Four Indians, in various degrees of frenzy, are celebrating the buffalo dance. One stands upright, firm and strong, poised on one foot ready to swing into the next step. At his left, executing a wild fandango, is a second brave bedecked with the hide of a slaugh- tered bufi^alo. Behind, one is fiercely beating a tom tom. At the right crouches a fourth. Tlie faces of the Indians are interesting studies. The red man of the wilds is there in all his untamed savagery before yet the pale face has invaded his domain.

No less eminent a critic than Lorado Taft, of Chicago, has said of Mr. Borg- lum: "His work is only begun, but it gives promise of a new and virile inter- pretation of the magnificent 'Epic of the West'; of an art of national flavor, yet distinctly individual, which will be en- joyed long after the cowboys have fol- lowed the wild red men over the 'long trail' into the dim land of legend and song."

The statues of Captains Meriwether Lewis and William Clark, which stand at either end of the balustrade at the top of

MISS ALICE COOPER. The sculptor of the statue

of Sacajawea, the Indian girl who acted as

guide to Lewis and Clark one hundred

years ago.

the Grand Stairway, near the Sacajawea statue, are full of historic interest.

Captain Lewis, who was called one of the handsomest men of his time, is de- picted tall, lithe, intrepid and fearless. His right hand grasps the flintlock mus- ket, his trusty companion; his left is extended, palm downwards, as if some new cause for wonderment or admiration had been discovered. Or it may be a gesture of paciflcation. Two knapsacks he car- ries, one perhaps for the papers and field glasses that were so necessary a part of his equipment. A sword swings at his side and a powder horn hangs with the knapsack from his shoulder.

Captain Clark is garbed in leathern coat and leggings which are fastened with leathern strings and ornamented with heavy leather fringe. A look of liigh, calm resolve shines from his face, and the equable temper of a lawgiver — such a look as one might expect on the face of the man who for years in later life, from the Council Hall in St. Louis, dispensed justice to tribes of Indians throughout all the West.

The statue of Captain Lewis was mod- eled by Charles Lopez, a Mexican by birth, but a pupil of the American sculp- tor J. L. A. Ward and subsequ ently of Falguiere in Paris. Mr. Lopez was re- cently commissioned to execute a statue of President McKinley for Philadelphia.

Mr. Frederick Wellington Euckstuhl, the sculptor of the Clark monument, is widely known as the founder and for some years the secretary of the National Sculp- ture Society. Important sculpture by him is to be found in the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York, in the Congressional Library in Washington and in the Appel- late Court House in New York City.

"Shooting up the Town," the cowboy group by Frederick Remington, which greets the Exposition visitor as soon as he enters the grounds, strikes the festive note of the great "Fair." It recalls the days when the Saturday night frolic of the cowboys who came to town was the chief social institution of the week in bor- der towns. There is so much of Rem- ington's individual art, or, at least, of the kind of art by which he is best known, in this group, that one who had known him merely as a brush artist would at once query the relationship of the sculptor to the famous artist upon first seeing this group without knowing its creator.

Of classical sculpture, the Lewis and Clark Exposition boasts two beautiful groups. These are by Philip Martiny, who has been awarded first rating among decorative sculptors. They adorn the water front at either end of the boat land- ing, "Neptune" and "Amphitrite." The god of the sea and his consort have risen from the deep in their shell chariots. They survey calmly the waters of the tiny lake as if pleased with the vision of beauty.

Neptune stands lordly in his chariot, his right hand loosely closed around the tri- dent, symbol of his power. He is borne along by his sea-horses with bristling manes and fiery nostrils, their superb en- ergy controlled by tiny cherubs who have garlanded them with roses and curb their impetuosity with silken strands.

Amphitrite, fresh from her sea gar- dens, her beautiful form only half con- cealed by the floating drapery which she gathers in one hand, looks the equal of her lord in regal power. She stands as erectly poised and there is in her carriage the very air of command which a powerful goddess must ever show.

cow ATTACKED BY MOUNTAIN LIONS. This group teUs its own story. The sculptor is E. C. Potter, of Connecticut, who is famous for his equestrienne statues.

SACAJAWEA,

THE BIRD-WOMAN

Tn memory of Sacajawea, a Shoshone maiden, who was at the head of the Lewis and Clarlt expedition, and whose statue graces the Ex- position, now open, in the City of Portland, Oregon.

In the mighty Western country, Stretcliing far on eittier side, Wliere the Slioshone cauglit the salmon

While he wooed his dusky bride, Lived a bright and comely maiden.

Near the rapid flowing stream Which glides onward toward the ocean

Like a lover's brightest dream — Filling all the land with music.

And with flowers of gaudy hue; Springing from her towering summits, Reared against the azure blue.

Stolen by the treacherous Blackfoot,

Driven far across the plains There to be the slaving mistress

For a master's selfish gains. But a child, in years and stature,

Still a babe was at her breast, When for Clark, she led his convoy

To explore the unknown West. Not a shadow clouds her visage,

Tho' she knows the dangers well; Where their path lies, thro' the desert

She alone, of all, can tell.

Swift to see the safest channel

Through the rapids, foam and spray; Showing where to camp at evening.

Ever watchful thro' the day. Saving many an ugly blunder

By her skill and lack of fear, Sacajawea led them onward

'Till the cataract they hear. When the boats are safely hidden,

And the trail is quickly found. When with silent, fawn-like footsteps

Swift she races o'er the ground.

Never sad, nor discontented;

Joyous as a mountain bird; Through the day she sings of Nature,

And at night her voice is heard Crooning love songs to her infant.

Clasped in rapture to her breast — Of the friends who soon will meet them.

In whose homes thej' both may rest. Thus she cheers the weary travelers

With her promise soon to meet Those who are her nearest kindred,

In their flowery decked retreat.

And when bright the "Lemi"* glimmers

'Neath the low descending sun, Well she knows the noble river —

That her task is nearly done. Welcomes now a band of warriors.

Clasps her sister to her breast, Sobs with joy, to meet her people,

Telling them with fervent zest, Of the kindness of the pale face —

Of their care of her, when ill, Asking that they guide them onward,

That their mission they may All.

Aided by her chieftain brother.

Soon a laden fleet of boats, Gliding onward toward the ocean,

Down the placid river floats; And at last they stand enchanted

On the sandy, sloping shore Where the waves of the Pacific

Like the distant thunders roar. Gazing on the mighty waters,

Sacajawea shrank with fear; Then she smiled and told lier baby

"God is great — His voice I hear." Statue of Sacajawea at the Exposition. By Miss Cooper.

That was all the pay she asked for;

That was all the prize she sought; Though she'd earned a. prince's ransom,

Soon her labors were forgot. For a hundred years she's slumbered.

While a miglity empire grew Where she led the noble captains

And where now is spread to view A bouquet of regal splendor,

Dazzling, like the mid-day sun; Sacajawea, Clark and Lewis

Earned success and grandly won.

E. F. Eldridge.

• "Lemi," the Indian name of the Snake River.

THE SIGNIFICANCE OF THE LEWIS AND CLARK EXPOSITION

By Eva Emery Dye Autkor or "Tke Conquest, "McLougnlm and Old Oregon, Etc.

ONE hundred years ago the civ- ilized world clustered around the theater of Napoleonic wars. To-da}' the grand stage is the Pacific; in battles by land and sea, surj^assing any the world has ever known.

One hundred years ago every breeze bore news that over-awed the nations. Napoleon interdicted the commerce of the world. Even Jefferson exclaimed : "Wliy are we safe from Bonaparte? Only because he has not the British fleet at his command."

The Ohio Eiver was covered with float- ing caravans of men, women, children, cattle, hogs and horses "going west," one hundred years ago. Everywhere invent- ive minds were puzzling over motors, pad- dles — duck-foot, goose-foot and elliptical — wings and sails, side wheels, stern wheels and screws- boat.

To-day new caravans are passing in new vehicles, taking cross-cuts where the fath-

-inventing the steam-

ers followed the Ohio, the Mississippi, the Missouri and the Columbia. And every- where inventive minds are puzzling over new motors, new paddles, wings and sails, side wheels, stern wheels and screws — in- venting the airship.

Wild deer crossing the Ohio heard the bugle call of flatboatmen bearing Ken- tucky hemp and flour, Ohio apples, cider, nuts and cheese down to New Orleans — one hundred years ago. Clouds of wild pigeons darkened the sky. Myriads of wild turkeys hung in the sycamores, and Tecumseh was arousing the Indian to a last stand against the onrushing white man.

St. Louis was a village on the border; beyond lay darkest America, untraversed even by the trapper. Lewis and Clark were approaching Oregon, one hundred years ago, resting in this July at the Orcat Falls of the Missouri, that since the beginning of time had thundered down those rocks unheeded.

One hundred years ago a few Spaniards

The Oriental Exhibits Building:, Lewis and Clark Expos ition.

had set up their missions in Mexican Cal- ifornia, a few Eussians had built a trad- ing fort at Sitka, a few ships had touched Oregon; but the United States was a clus- ter of obscure settlements looking to Eu- rope for news and merchandise. Europe, in the throes of continual conflict, paid little heed to infant America, even when Jefferson shut up her ports and sealed her warehouses. But America developed within and westward.

To-day, like thistle-down blown all abroad, ten thousand cities smile where yesterday the red man's cattle ran. To- day, when Koosevelt speaks, the nations listen.

To-day we celebrate not only the con- quest, the arduous, strenuous, and not al- ways peaceful conquest of the West, but the meeting with the East. The centennial expositions of Philadelphia, Chicago, St. Louis and Oregon are steps, promises and pi«ophesies of to-mororw, when, perhaps, Nome City will invite the nations to the

lair where late "the wolf's long howl was heard on Unalaska's shore."

The back door of America has become the front door of Asia, the portal up whose grand staircase ascends the wealth of Ormus and of Ind.

Fifty years ago American editors es- tablished a newspaper that is published to this day in that identical Panama whose wide-swung gate will soon admit the merchant marine of the world.

The sails that swept round purple Tyre and Sidon, to Carthage, Greece, and Ven- ice, to the Dutch of Holland, and to Eng- land, are whitening other and wider seas, distant no longer, but washing our own shores of the Pacific. And the signfi- cance lies in the diffusion of intelligence. For lack of it Russia has fallen. By sup- port of it Japan has risen.

That the advance guard of the Ameri- can college sailed in a whaling ship to Honolulu before Maine or Missouri were

A glimpse of the natural park on the Exposition grounds.

One of the immense columns in the interior of the Log Palace.

The Agricultural Building'.

admitted as states, seems almost unbeliev- able, but to that, as much as anything, we owe the possession of Hawaii. That Cali- fornia gold miners sent their children to Oregon colleges fifty years ago has been forgotten. In the fact that a hundred centers have sister universities with Yale and Harvard, lies the glory of the West to-day.

When Lewis and Clark crossed the con- tinent one hundred years ago, the Greater West hove in sight. To-day that Greater West is no West, but East. And in that lies the significance of the Lewis and Clark Pacific Centennial. The front of the world has changed. A wiser world, a wider world, and a better world is here than was known a hundred years ago.

The European Exhibits Building.

THE STORY OF THE LEWIS AND CLARK EXPEDITION

By Jokn A. Morris

THE Lewis and Clark Exposition now taking place in the City of Portland commemorates the original exploration of a vast country, through which run multitudinous railroads connecting great cities, where scarce a hundred years ago roamed only savage tribes and unnum- bered herds of buffalo.

Meriwether Lewis, one of the young men engaged in the enterprise, was born near Charlottesville, Va., August 18, 177-i. He was a distant relation of Gen- eral Washington, his uncle. Fielding Lewis, having married Washington's sis- ter. At 20 years of age Lewis volun- teered to put down Shay's rebellion; and afterwards he became private secretary to President Jefferson, who organized the Lewis and Clark expedition. This bril- liant man died from a pistol shot, in a house where he sought lodging over night, en route to Washington on a visit to President Jefferson. As he was subject to fits of melancholia, many say he com- mitted suicide, though his relatives claim that he was murdered.

William Clark was born in Virginia August 1, 1770, and at 22 years of age he entered the army, intent upon leading the soldier's life. He was forced to re- sign five years later, on account of fail- ing health; and Lewis, becoming ac- quainted with him, seeing engineering and executive ability in him, persuaded him to accompany that which is now his- torically known as the Lewis and Clark expedition. This he did ; and the com- pany, numbering forty-four men, left Washington July 5, 1803. These con- sisted of Frenchmen, Americans and one negro — all hardy, venturesome fellows.

T";p; first thousand "miles up the Mis- souri Eiver fram St. Louis was truly ap- palling on account of the difficulties en- countered. Snags and half submerged logs seemed to combine against the craft, to prevent it from invading the head-

waters of the river; but owing to the de- termination of the men the obstacles that beset them were overcome, and they finally reached Council Bluffs, where they dis- tributed their presents among the In- dians.

After staying here for a time, they pushed on their way into the country of the Omahas, whose villages along the river were decimated since Cruzatte, one of the company who spoke their language, had traded there years before. Blackbird, an enemy, had poisoned the little town out of existence by means of arsenic.

^\^ule the party was preparing to erect its winter quarters among the Mandan Indians, in the southern part of what is now Dakota, an Indian woman named Sacajawea, known among members of her own tribe as the "bird woman" because of her gift of song, came forward to help the intrepid pioneers, Lewis and Clark, in the ultimate purpose of their expedi- tion. She it was who led them through the vast wilderness of the Xorthwest, piloting the vanguard of civilization across a continent.

It is thus to her credit that America presents its modern appearance on the map of the new world, for were it not for the presence and power of Sacajawea, the little band would in all probability have been massacred, and Lewis and Clark would not have been able to complete their explorations and surveys in time to en- able the country to lay claim to such an extensive area of territory.

At 13 years of age the Dakotas had stolen her from her people, and brought her far away into their own country. They treated her well, however, and a few years later a French fur trader, named Charboneau, gave them the price of her ransom and made her his wife, promis- ing her that she should some day visit her people. Learning that Lewis and Clark were in search of a guide, the little Frenchman informed Sacajawea that this was her opportunity.

She Avas at this time 18 years of age, and readily promised to lead the expedi- tion over the pathless wilderness that stretched for hundreds of miles west- ward from the headwaters of the Mis- souri.

In the spring of 1805 they came into the land of the Shoshones, whom they fonnd honest, true and fearless. Their horses Avere their pride, and they had so many that they were willing to trade some of them for tomahawks. Until the white man came among them they had never seen steel hatchets, guns, rifles and the like. The lightning-like feats of the paleface with some of these weapons were a continual source of astonishment to the Indians.

In the western part of Idaho they came across the tribe from which Saca- jawea had been stolen five years previous, and one of the old women recognized the girl as the child who had been taken away from her. The relatives of the Indian maid tried to persuade her to abandon the party and remain in her old home, but Sacajawea was "true blue" and would not rest content until she had seen the explorers reach the Pacific Ocean. Besides, had she not given her word?

One of the most memorable (though al- most tragic) occurrences of the trip was the meeting of the Lewis and Clark band with Sacajawea's brother and his war- riors. Doubtless, if the little "bird woman" had not been with the party the expedition would have ended then and there.

It was just before they came to the headwaters of the Columbia Eiver as they were defiling down a narrow canyon when a band of Indians, in war paint and thundering the war whoop, came down upon them. The chief, a fierce-looking savage, looming tall and strong at the head of the column, seemed intent on wiping the company out of existence. He probably would have done so, as the band of white men were weak from a long fast, and the Indians far outnumbered the ex- plorers, had not Sacajawea sprung for- ward with a little cry of pleasure and surprise, and in tlio language of the at-

tacking tribe soon convinced the chief that she was his long-lost sister. He sprang from his horse and caught the girl in his arms.

Wlien he found out how fond the white men were of her, how she was regarded as their leader, and how a white man had made her his wife, the chief became their friend, seeing that they had all the rations and horses they required. He also sent runners ahead to warn the Sho- shone people as far as the setting sun not to molest the travelers.

Not until November 7, 1805, after more than two years of hardship and privation, did Lewis and Clark reach the western limits of sunset land. Here they built a rude fortification, which they named Fort Clatsop, after a friendly tribe of Indians they had met on their way to the sea. Here the company spent all winter, the men spending their time in w'riting up reports, studying the cus- toms of the tribes about them, the fauna, the animal life, the climate, the topo- grapliical and geographical formation of the country, etc.

Sacajawea was an object of supreme curiosity to the Chinook Indian women, among whom they now stayed. She had a white man for a husband, a little half- breed boy, Toussant, for a son, and acted as guide for a large band of white men.

On March 23, 1806, Lewis and Clark and their band of intrepid men left Fort Clatsop to retrace their steps to civiliza- tion, back to the ]\Iandan country where they had first met Sacajawea, the "bird Avoman." She insisted on s:oing Avith them, and she had her Avay, although her people begged her to remain Avith the Slioshones. Near AAdiere the toAvn of Bismarck noAV stands, in South Dakota, the Avhito men left her with her husband and litttlo boy. On parting LeAvis gave $500 to Charboneau in payment for his services as cook. Avliile to Sacajawea lie gave a number of trinlcets and bead Avork'. Clark begged to be alloAved to educate the little Toussant, and Avhen he was three years old SacajaAvea and her husband took him to St. Louis, Avhere General Clark ])laced hiui in a convent. He received a good education and became a man of worth.

By WILLIAM BITTLE WELLS

'The Political Situation in Oregon

The political situation in Oregon presents a peculiar anomaly. The state is normally Eepublican by a majority of from ten to twenty thousand votes. Portland, the leading city, is the center of Republican influence, and the stronghold of the party. Yet, to-day, Oregon has a Democratic Governor; the Sheriff of Multnomah County, the lead- ing county in the state, and in which Portland is situated, is a Democratic Sheriff; the District Attorney for the section in which Portland is situated is a Democrat, and now Portland has elected a Democratic Mayor. The Eepublican nominee. Judge Williams, was a Republican of National repute, and has taken a conspicuous part in the counsels of the Nation, especially during Grant's administration. While, therefore, it may appear on the surface that Democracy has triumphed, and that the Republican party has been defeated, such, as a matter of fact, is far from being the case. Oregon to-day is a Republican state, and Portland is a Republican city, but the people of Oregon have demonstrated conclusively that on occasion they can rise superior to parties and politics and will register their convictions as men and not as subservient tools of a party ma- chine. The election of the four Democrats was, if we may hazard the statement, not so much an indorsement of the Democratic nominees as it wag a protest against methods which have prevailed to a large extent in the Republican party of Oregon. Two bitter factions in the party have been striving for the mastery of the state. This con- tributed to the election of Governor Chamberlain and to the Democratic District Attor- ney. Unfortunately, however, the same thing can not be said regarding the eleclion of the Democratic Sheriff and the Democratic Mayor. Mr. Word was put into office as the crying protest of an indignant and outraged public at a time when the city was pledged by its officials for unrighteousness and municipal rottenness. Dr. Lane goes into office as a further protest against such conditions. There could not, therefore, be a healthier sign of public morality and responsibility than is to be found in the fact that a Republican state and a Republican city have thrown off the shackles of party politics and asserted that manhood which must be the controlling factor in preserving our National life from disintegration and ruin. The shoals which have heretofore wrecked the greatest nations in history will, if unheeded, result in the downfall of this Republic. No man, no set of men, no nation, therefore, can stand for unrighteousness with impunity. This fact is clearly branded on every page of history. That we can rise superior to party and politics; that we are willing to assert our manhood; that we, as American citizens, are loyal to our best and highest traditions is encouraging and strengthening. It means that a nation of the people, by the people, and for the people shall endure and not perish from the earth.

» » *

TAe Moral oi tke Russian Defeat

The sweeping victory of the Japanese over the Russian navy in the Sea of Japan is simply a further demonstration of the startling incapacity, unpreparedness and general inefficiency which has characterized the Russian army and navy and the entire manage- ment of the war from its inception. It would be difficult to conjure up a more pathetic spectacle than that which is presented in the helplessness of the Rojestvensky squadron

when it fell into the grip of Togo. The overwhelming victory of the Japanese has been made evident in the light which has been thrown on the movements of the Eussian fleet since it left Russian waters. The vessels were fully manned. There was no dearth of coal, and a few, at least, of the warships were of the most modern and approved type. The guns were probably capable of shooting straight, and the battleships had sufficient armor plate to withstand a good hard knocking, even at the hands of a superior adversary. Un- doubtedly, neither the ships, nor the ammunition, nor the guns, nor the coal were to blame for the disgraceful defeat of Eojestvensky. The harrowing result can be laid almost entirely to the state of mind of the Russian officers and men. Eojestvensky, according to the newspapers, had no confidence in his own success, his only hope being to reach Vladi- vostok in a shattered condition. In the Indian Ocean, the crew on one of the vessels muti- nied, and a number of the men were executed. There was a feeling throughout the whole squadron of uncertainty. While the attitude of mind might not be called exactly that of fear, it certainly must have broached so near that feeling that the line of demarkation between it and a natural state of apprehension could hardly be established. With officers and crew in such a state of mind, and, on the other hand, with the Japanese alert, eager, watchful, determined and aggressive, in all human nature there could be no other result. The moral of this battle is that it is men that count, and not guns or ships or coal. Napoleon once said that God is on the side of the heaviest battalion, but it is not so. In- deed, it would be difficult to find a case in all history where such a bare statement, not accompanied by explanation after explanation, can be found to be substantiated. The greatest factor in the struggles between nations, as well as the struggles between men individually and collectively, consists, we are forced to believe, in the attitude of the mind of those who are the combatants. In all departments of human endeavor, unquenchable confidence in one 's own ability or policy is more than half the battle. A football team that enters the field without enthusiasm and confidence is already beaten. It is worse than folly for men to undertake any commercial enterprise without enthvisiasm and the fullest confidence and belief in ultimate success. So in all forms of human endeavor, and in all forms of struggles between men for the mastery. It is the man that counts. With- out belief, without enthusiasm, the cause is already lost. Russia was defeated before she began. America was entitled to her independence, and the first shot on Boston's streets sounded the death knell to English supremacy on this continent. The wrong may seem to triumph temporarily, but the right eventually conquers and remains. The laws of righteousness are right. They are unchangeable. The world advances steadily and is coming day by day and year by year into a better and higher conception of right. There can be no such things as final defeat of right. Truth is marching on.

« * *

Tne Seventn Year

The Pacific Monthly celebrates its seventh birthday with this number — doubtless the best issue of the magazine which has ever been published. The edition, 50,000 copies, is easily the largest which the magazine has ever printed, and the illustrations are the best that could be procured regardless of price. Seven years' study of conditions that confront magazine jiublishing on the Pacific Coast strengthens the belief of the publishers in the opportunity for a great Western magazine. That others have recognized the situation, is shown in the fact that during the seven years that the Pacific Monthly has been in ex- istence, over twenty different monthly publications have attempted to secure a foothold on the Pacific Coast. Three of these have been absorbed by this magazine and the balance have failed. The policy of the publishers of the Pacific Monthly has been to improve the magazine continually in every way possible. This policy has already attracted wide at- tention uf the press and of readers of the magazine. In fact, every number of the maga- zine in which exceptional progress was shown, owing to the great demand, is now out of print. This gratifying and encouraging result of the policy which we have adopted has led the jniblishers to ado])t a still more vigorous and progressive course in reference to the quality of illustrations, the number of stories to be printed monthly and the general char- acter of the magazine. It is our purpose to print more short stories each month than any other illustrated 10 cent magazine, and although the high quality of the illustrations of the Pacific Monthly has been a feature of the magazine during the past two years, better pa])er and better ink will be used in order to improve, if possible, the magazine in this respect. Eeaders of the Pacific Monthly who are interested in the coming supremacy of the Pacific and the lands which border it, or in any phase of the subject, will find the articles of Dr. Wolf Von Schierbrand of extraordinary interest and value. With clear-cut, interesting stories, rare and beautiful illustrations, illustrated articles on industrial prob- lems connected with the great West, and representing the energy, enthusiasm, and optimism of this part of the world as no other publication attempts to do, the Pacific Monthly should, for the next year, be of more than ordinary interest to every magazine reader in the land. In taking this opportunity to call attention briefly to some of the extensive plans which the publishers have for the enlargement and beautification of the magazine, we wish to acknowledge the generous support which we have received in the past from advertisers and magazine readers on this Coast. We can assure them that they will not only get value received, but ere the time of their subscription or advertising patronage lias passed they will thank us for suggesting at this time a continuation of their support during the com- ing twelve months.

A Review of tne most important activities of the

montli in Politics, Science, Art, Education

and Religious Xnougnt

Another Armada

Eussia, vanquished on land, twice driven from strongholds, once from one of the greatest fortified cities in the world, completed her disgrace in the Orient by a defeat on the sea which was not even palliated with heroism. Eojestvensky and Nebogatoff, with their combined fleets, entered a Japanese trap off the Corean coast. May 28, and were forced into an inglorious defeat after three days' fighting. Eojestvensky is accused of having hidden in the bottom of a torpedo-destroyer, and Nebogatoff siurrendered his portion of the fleet without attempting to defend himself. The Eussian vessels were undoubtedly hard-pressed, and were not in fit condition for fight- ing after the long sea voyage, but from the accounts of the battle which have gone abroad they did not make use of even those advantages they had. Nebogatoff is said to have surrendered when he had plenty of powder, and his men were perfectly capable of fighting. Eojestvensky wrote ruin for his hopes of escape by hesitating in his movements when

sudden and violent action would have alone brought success.

• * *

Mosquito How the battle was planned is not known, as the Japanese will not give

Fl f' \X/ Ir ofiicial information, and the Eussians were mere dupes. All that is ^ known is that on the morning of May 28 the Japanese sighted tne Eus- sian combined fleet, which they were evidently lying in wait for, off Laincourt Eock, be- tween Japan and Corea, in the most hazardous portion of the progress of the Eussians. Immediately the whole Japanese fleet divided itself into squadrons, under the general command of Admiral Togo, and proceeded against the advancing Eussians from every side.

The Eussians were moving on steadily in double column, Japanese vessels swarming in from every side. The Eussians opened fire and immediately the command went through the whole Japanese fleet to attack. From that moment for three days the Eussians were not given a second 's respite.

All the most modern methods of naval warfare were used, proj'^ctiles taking dis- astrous effect in many cases and, when this means failed, torpedoes did the work from underneath. The first day's battle left the Eussians edging off to the northwest, making headway, but decidedly '"groggy." The Japanese did not interrupt their attack, and during the night the Eussians were less able to hold their own. The second day the advantage was all with the Japenese, and the Evissian?? were on the run. On the second night the destroj'ers and torpedo boats completed their deadly work, and the Eussian fleet was practically annihilated, with twenty-two vessels lost.

Roosevelt as Peace Maker

The Eussian fleet, nothing but jnnk, and that in the hands of the enemy, President Eoosevelt was the first to begin talk of peace. Boosevelt seems to take the stand that Eiissia's pride will prevent her from de- liberately suing for peace, and that an outsider must intervene. This humanitarian view is shared by the powers, but they leave the work to this country's President, and he seems more than willing to take it up. His first move was to call Count Cassini, the Eussian Ambassador, to a private conference, exj^laining to him what a hopeless thing it is for Eussia to continue the war with Japan and the uselessness of such dreadful loss of life. Count Cassini listened to the friendly advice, and gave the strange-sounding retort that Eusbia had not really lost any ground in the East, and that Port Arthur itself was only leased. Such sophistry may be well enough to ease the wounds of a nation's pride, but in the light of actual events is foolish. Eussia has experienced nothing but defeat and loss in the Orient. The destruction of armies and of fleets is something in itself, though the mediaeval carelessness of life of the Eussians would make this weigh less. Count Cassini spoke of the loss of territory as being suffered by China, but the memory of Kuropatkin turns this to ridicule. Meanwhile Eoosevelt received an actual rebuff. Word came from St. Petersburg that the news of the terrible disaster removed all possibility of talking peace with Nicholas.

Russia's ^^® position that Eussia takes on this peace matter is that of a bully

i ■ J who is licked and hates above all things to admit it. And like all

bullies, Eussia, even in defeat, takes on a patronizing air and stands on a false pride which is rapidly losing for that country what little sympathy the world accorded it in the "beginning. Ordinarily a completely defeated nation is at least sym- pathized with, but not Eussia. In its stupid way it broke its head on a fence, and then it stands and blinks at the fence. The world in general prefers a knave to a fool, and Eussia has posed in the light of the greatest fool nation in history, and nothing has testified to this so much as the bland way in which Eojestvensky sailed into a trap which he must have known would be set for him in the neighborhood of the Corean Straits.

• * *

Mots Once ^^^ news of Eussia 's complete defeat upon the sea became known

■vyf- throughout the empire, and the feeling against the government grew

^^^^ threateningly strong. The police instinctively felt this, and the first

faint sign of revolution called from them a brutal attack upon a peaceable gathering. On Sunday night, June 4, a crowd of 5,000 people gathered in the Pavlovsk Gardens, near the Czar's palace Tsarkoe-Selo, and began services for the dead sailors who were killed in the naval engagement. Twenty police entered and were evicted by the crowd. Shortly afterwards, however, several hundred police returned and, with drawn swords, drove the people into the streets and through lines of infantry with raised rifles. No demonstration followed this assault, but everywhere throughout the empire there has arisen an uneasy feeling which might readily be turned into revolt, and it would probably not take the form of a strike this time.

« » •

Social War "^^^ teamsters strike in Chicago, which has been growing stronger for

• /-"i • weeks in spite of all the efforts of power and money to import sufficient

in icago numbers of men to carry on the work, has developed into little less than

a social war. It is not a strike for more wages or shorter hours, nor even for recognition in the ordinary sensie of the word, but for control of the industrial situation. Chicago, being the home of the most advanced modern movements, has by this become the first city in which this inevitable conflict has arisen. With the unions lined up in firm array on one side and the employers on the other, and neither willing to give the other an inch of advantage, the struggle has worn on for weeks and no end has been sighted. Both sides have attempted to foment trouble among their opponents. President Shea of the International Brotherhood of Teamsters swore that Montgomery, Ward & Co., the firm against which the strike began, had attempted to bribe him to direct the boy- cott equally against a rival firm, Sears, Eoebuck & Co. Libel proceedings were started against Shea for this statement, and he was arrested, though released on $5,000 bonds. He claims the charge was trumped up with the purpose of creating trouble in the labor ranks.

The trouble arose of its own accord when the Building Trades withdrew their Sup- port from the strike, because the teamsters encroached upon their class of labor to some extent. However, the ranks of the unions have not been greatly broken, but neither have those of the employers. And at the present writing there is less likelihood of settle- ment of the difficulty than ever. The strikers would be more willing to come to terms, if they did not believe that the loss of this battle would mean continuous defeat. Previously they never had such strong employers' organizations to combat, and now they feel that they must win or lose forever. Meanwhile the employers continue im- porting teamsters, and the strikers still fight daily with the police, and war continues

openly.

• * «-

PkilaJelpkia Public opinion won a victory in Philadelphia over boodlers by defeating f~r the attempt of the gas company to secure a franchise from the city

^^ over a period of seventy-five years for $25,000,000. The sum was con-

sidered so low and the price of gas stated in the franchise so high in the light of probable cheapening in the cost of production that the people would not submit to a hold-up at the hands of the city's council^ and by the aid of Mayor Weaver's veto balked the scheme. The United Gas Improvement Company had undoubtedly bought up a majority of the council and railroaded the ordinance through before an opportunity for an opposi- tion to develop was given. But immediately the fraud was m<ade known a popular demonstration took place, which took the form of an immense crowd gathering before the city hall and demanding that the action of the council be rescinded. The lead- ing newspapers took a position of active opposition to the franchise, and Mayor Weaver, willy-nilly, was obliged to follow the public demand. He gave his veto, but the gas company, backed by the Eepublican machine, boasted that it would pass the ordinance over the Mayor's veto, and had injunction proceedings started to prevent the new ap- pointees of the Mayor to the heads of the (le])artments of public works and public safety from occupying their offices. But here the Mayor's authority over tlie jiolice counted more than anything, and the leaders in the gas deal retired to Atlantic Ci ty to reconnoiter.

Exposition '^'^'^ Lewis and Clark Exposition opened on time, June 1, practically

Q complete. A beautiful day added all that was not provided to make

P^'^® the opening a success. An attendance of <!0,000 people filled the grounds,

but did not crowd them. Most of these people were from Portland, but the city has been filled constantly since with from 5,000 to 10,000 strangers. The first month of an exposi- tion is always the worst, and it is not generally until the middle of July that the large attendance of outside people begins. Towards the end, especially in September, it is expected that a great many Eastern travelers will arrive, as the Fair has been very broadly advertised all over the country, particularly by the railroads. The scope of the Exposition is as broad as the world, but the chief interest centers about the Pacific Ocean, the Pacific States, Alaska, and the Orient. The distinguishing feature to this Exposition is the prominence given the Orient, and on this account it is different from any other exposition ever held.

• * ♦

Peace in "^^^^ squabble in Venezuela ended in a clearing of the diplomatic decks

Venezuela ^°*^^ ^^^ placing of W. W. Eussell, formerly minister to Colombia, aa

representative of the United States at Bogota, and the filling of his berth by John Barrett. With the removal of Bowen from Venezuela, the United States has taken away the element of personal feeling in the trouble between the two countries, or rather between Venezuela and the asphalt trust, and an amicable arrangement will eventually be reached.

The diplomatic change involved in this method of peace-making has brought John Barrett once more prominently before the public. This young man of restless pro- clivities, who claims Oregon as his home, has filled many diiSicult positions in the diplo- matic corps, not having received the plums, such as European courts, but the out-of-the- way places, such as Siam and Argentine. Eemoved to Panama, he upheld his dignity among a class of officials who were inclined to disregard him, and when his usefulness there was ended, it seemed for a short time as if his career were to end. He was easily the most prominent diplomat assigned to posts outside of Europe, and there was no out- side position left to fill.

Then it became necessary to remove Bowen, and it seems now rather odd, in the light of Barrett's meteoric flights, that he was not sent to Venezuela instead of Eussell. It was hinted some time ago that Barrett feared political death, and was about to dodge it by resigning. But as those who have watched his career might have expected, he bobbed up as serenely as ever, and is now filling a post which is sure to become conspicuous

in the public eye, with the canal zone only a little way ofP.

• » *

Chinese '^^® Chinese Exclusion Act, which has been the subject of debate in

■pi- At ^^^^^ country for a score of years, has been assaulted from a new quarter. As this act is enforced, not only coolie labor, against which it was particularly aimed, but all classes of Chinamen are excluded from this country. China, now that it is beginning to awaken to the modern world, begins to feel the stigma of insult in the general exclusion of its people from this country. It feels as if its merchants and scholars at least should be allowed to travel through and reside in this country as freely as Americans reside in China. The commercial bodies of leading cities, such as Shanghai, threaten a general boycott on American goods, unless a more enlightened policy is adopted by this country. At present the exports of the United States to China are comparatively small, but as the country opens they would naturally swell greatly.

The desire of Americans to enter the Chinese field has been made very apparent by them in their search for concessions from the Imperial Government, and American mer- chants are seeking to extend their operations constantly in the same territory. The astute Oriental, knowing the commercial turn of mind of this country, purposes balking this expansion, and if necessary cutting off trade altogether as a lever by which to

obtain reciprocal privileges from this country.

• « *

Railroad Eegulation of railroad rates by the Government has become one of the

1^ , definite purposes of the Eoosevelt administration, and the next session

of Congress will undoubtedly devote a great deal of time to this very important industrial matter. The administration has made it generally known that it would carry out the fight against the railroads to the end, and with the exception of Secretary Morton believes in using the hammer-and-tong method. Secretary Morton, being a railroad man, perhaps realizes that the question is more delicate than the Inter- state Commerce Commission considers it. Eailroad men generally complain of the personnel of this body, and say it is not fit to solve the problem. Moreover, there are questions in the adjustment of rates which are said to require a shifting rule. Notably mentioned among these is the necessity of making fecial rates in parts of the country in which development must be stimulated. Secretary Morton might have been a valuable aid in the solving of certain railroad problems incidental to rates, but his resignation to accept the presidency of the New York subway system removes him from that field of

valuable public activity.

IMPRESSIONS

By CHARLES ERSKINE SCOTT WOOD

Every law which meddles with trade is a blunder or plunder.

Russia

It is said the Czar has issued an ukase making Trepoff dictator and has prohibited any meeting of the Zemstovs and any agitation for Constitutional government.

Whom the gods would destroy they first make mad. There need have been no English revolution if only there could have been English evolution. But Charles obstinately adhered to what he believed his God-given prerogatives and lost his head, and the evolution came through bloody revolution. The Archbishops, the Bishops, the Clergy, supported the Divine Eights of the Crown, and their preachings and teachings made Charles more obstinate. Louis XIV, Louis XV, and even Louis XVI, though he cut but little figure in the already breaking tempest, adhered to their Kingly special privilege, and in this were maintained by cardinal, archbishop and abbe. The old gentleman with the unspellable and unpronounceable name, who is the Grand Metropolitan or Chief Synod or Pope of the Greek Church, stiffens the neck of the Czar against all reform, against every change in the "Godgiven" and very enjoyable special privileges of the ruling classes, and notwithstanding the fine leaven of Constitutional government which is working all over Europe, it is probable that the Russian lump will be leavened only with blood, as were England and France.

Whipping Post

Oregon has established the whipping post for wife-beaters. Certainly wife-beaters deserve beating of some kind, but as I read of the first chastisement—the observing crowd, the bared back, the skin gradually welling out its blood, the groans of the victim—I wondered if in the creation of so brutalizing a drama we were not paying a high price for the cure. Whether the public was not being hurt more than the back of the man brute. Still that cannot be, for this is a law—and the Law is all wise, without fault.

I thought, too, what a soothing effect this would have on the lower nature of the man, and how it would tend to make him return home to love the wife who had testified against him. As I understand the case, he had deposited his wages with her, and because she would not give them back to him, he beat her and struck her in the face and bruised her badly. So far as he is concerned, I am not wasting any sympathy, but I am wondering how his being beaten and then turned loose with a lacerated back will tend to elevate public morals or increase happy homes, or even prevent wife-beating.

The Japanese Naval Victory

This is another argument in favor of Molinari 's theory that war will cease and international arbitration and an international police system will come because war is too expensive. A battleship costs about four millions, and it becomes a useless waste, if a quarter of a million dollar torpedo-boat can put the battleship to sleep in three minutes.

Interstate Protective Tariff

If it were not for the interstate commerce clause of the United States Constitution we would surely have interstate protective tariff, in spite of the fact that freedom of commerce among the states has been one of the elemental causes of our progress as a nation. Formerly stove peddlers and wagon peddlers went through the rural districts of Idaho and Oregon and sold good stoves and good wagons at prices lower tlmn those fancied by the country store. To buy good stoves and wagons cheaply was a benefit to the farmer, but that doesn't count. He is only a victim. So the Legislatures of Idaho and Oregon, representing the country store and the local dealer, passed laws putting such an outrageous tax on the stove and wagon peddlers as to put them out of business. But the Farmer is still patient. Job was a farmer.

Charles Byron Bellinger

I would be glad to think when I am dead that some one would say of me: He was a kindly man. He loved Justice. He hated oppression. He was sympathetic. He was charitable to the erring. Such a man was Judge Bellinger. A brilliant lawyer, an able and upright judge. A genial friend with a large sense of humor and a large store of pity. And yet his greatest quality as judge and as a man was his sympathy with all men. All men to him were brothers. He was a rare man.

Frenzied Finance

That "Frenzied Finance" is not suicidally frenzied the following from the New York American will show:

"Several years ago the National City Bank bought the old custom house from Lyman J. Gage, Secretary of the Treasury. The price to be paid was over $3,000,000. Only $.50,000 has been paid. The balance was placed to the credit of the United States, but the money remained in the City Bank. The Government always has millions in that bank.

The Government became a renter. It paid to the bank every year $132,000 rent.

Yesterday Mr. Sulzer made a fight to have the rent stopped. He called for a vote, and IT WAS A TIE. Tellers were called for, and the motion went through.

But while the bank charged the Government rent, when the New York tax assessor tried to put the custom house on the tax books the bank said the building belonged to the Government. It saved $75,000 in city taxes by this claim.

The point is, though, that this is one of the finest examples of fine finance. The bank got the property and never let but $50,000 slip out of its treasury for it. It passed the re- mainder to the credit of the Government. It has an average of, say, $15,000,000 of Gov- ernment deposits. It can lend this money at a rate of 5 per cent. The interest it gets for its Government deposits is more than the price offered for the building."

Lyman Gage is now president of one of the "Frenzied Finance" banks. He is an honest man. Given such power as our political system gives to our governing class, and we shall continually be exploited by honest officials and robbed by dishonest ones.

Oregon Land Frauds

Whatever be the result of these trials, the people of Oregon should remember these things:

They really ought not to be so greatly surprised.

The evil is in the theory which lodges in our so-called representatives supreme power over our public domain.

The Senate does not represent the people, but special interests purchase seats there, as if it were a stock exchange.

The House of Representatives does not represent the people, but certain political organizations or machines which work at politics as a business. The people are really nowhere represented.

There are two evils which have always worked a fraud on the general rights, and always will: (1) A power of disposal of the public lands, unqualified and unconditional, which ought not to be conceded to any body of men; (2) the body of men represents really a special shrewd governing class, not the rather ignorant mass of plain people. Not till the ignorant mass perceives the evil and the remedy will the remedy come. The remedy is, I think, less and less governmental power.

A view of Portland's upper harbor, showing one of the largest lumber mills in the city.

A Siwash hop-picker. From a photograph by Cantwell, Everett, Washington.

"The truth is that optimism, an infinite, ineradicable optism, is the base upon which all man's conceptions are founded, the instinctive feeling which is natural to him under all circumstances. What we term optimism is simply the form in which our own life-force, or vital energy, and the processes of life in our organism are presented to our consciousness. Optimism is, therefore, only another term for vitality, an intensi- fication of the fact of existence." — Max Nordau.

A merry heart goes all the day. Your sad tires in a mile-a.

— Shakespeare.

It is good To lengthen to the last a sunny mood.

-Lowell.

We sink to rise. — Emerson.

I never will believe that our youngest days are our happiest. — George Eliot.

• * *

What I must do is all that concerns me, not what the people think. This rule, equally arduous in actual and in intellectual life, may serve for the whole distinction between greatness and meanness. It is the harder because you will always find those who think they know what is your duty better than you know it. It is easy in the world to live after the world's opinion; it is easy in solitude to live after our own; but the great man is he who in the midst of the crowd keeps with perfect sweetness the independence of solitude.

— Emerson. .

• * *

Why is it that the bad side of life seems so much more conspicuous than the good? Is it because predominance of evil makes it more common, or that we being evil see it more readily, or that the abnormal, by its nature, stands out excusant and disfiguring? What- ever the answer, it should be the ambition of every lover of goodness to make much of goodness, to sound its praises, to flavor his words with its appreciation. Part of hating evil is ignoring it, neglecting it. Thinking of things of good report and speaking of them strengthens good. Shutting our mouths as well as our ears against the fruit of evil, in the scorn of silence, weakens its hold upon us. — Maltbie Davenport Babcock.

• * *

Cheerfulness is the sunny ray of life. It is the constant portion of none, and the word itself comprehends a multitude of degrees and modifications. The sum of all is this, that man, out of inward and outward circumstances, forms himself and the track on which his

life glides on. — Wilhelm von Humboldt.

• * *

The most certain sign of wisdom is a continual cheerfulness. Her state is like that of things in the regions above the moon, always clear and serene. — Montaigne.

» » *

Laughing cheerfulness throws sunlight on all the paths of life. — Eichter.

• * »

What, indeed, does not that word cheerfulness imply? It means a contented spirit, it means a pure heart, it means a kind and loving disposition, it means humility and charity, it means a generous appreciation of others, and a modest opinion of self.— Thackeray.

• * *

Men's best successes come after their disappointments. — Henry Ward Beecher.

Let there be light: and there was light. — Genesis, 1:3.

• * *

For with thee is the fountain of life; in thy light shall we see light. — Psalms, 36:9.

• * *

He that loveth his brother abideth in the light, and there is none occasion of stumbling

in him.— 1 John, 2:10.

• * *

Blessed is the man that walketh not in the counsel of the wicked, nor standeth in the way of sinners, nor sitteth in the seat of scoffers. But his delight is in the law of Jehovah; and on his law doth he meditate day and night. And he shall be like a tree planted by the streams of water, that bringeth forth its fruit in its season, whose leaf also doth not wither; and whatsoever he doeth shall prosper. The wicked are not so, but are like the chaff which the wind driveth away. Therefore the wicked shall not stand in the judgment, nor sinners in the congregation of the righteous. For Jehovah knoweth the way of the righteous; but the way of the wicked Shall perish. Psalm, 1.

• * *

The heavens declare the glory of God; and the firmament showeth his handiwork. Day unto day uttereth speech, and night unto night showeth knowledge. There is no speech or langimge; their voice is not heard. Their line is gone out through all the earth, and their words to the end of the world. In them hath he set a tabernacle for the sun, which is as a bridegroom coming out of his chamber, and rejoieeth as a strong man to run his course. His going forth is from the end of the heavens, and his circuit unto the end of it; and there is nothing hid from the heat thereof. The law of Jehovah is sure, mak- ing wise the simple. The precepts of Jehovah are right, rejoicing the heart: The com- mandment of Jehovah is pure, enlightening the eyes. The fear of Jehovah is clean, en- during forever: The orclinances of Jehovah are true, and righteous altogether. More to be desired are they than gold, yea, than much find gold; sweeter also than honey and the droppings of the honeycomb. Moreover by them is thy servant warned: In keeping them there is great reward. Who can discern his errors? Clear thou me from hidden faults. Keep back thy servant also from presumptuous sins; let them not have dominion over me: Then shall I be upright, and I shall be clear from great transgression. Let the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be acceptable in thy sight, O Jehovah, my rock, and my redeemer. — Psalm, 19.

• » »

Jehovah is my light and my salvation; whom shall 1 fear? Jehovah is the strength of my life; of whom shall I be afraid? When evil-doers came upon me to eat my flesh, even mine adversaries and my foes, they stumbled and fell. Though a host should encamp against me, my heart shall not fear: Though war should rise against me, even then will I be confident. One thing have I asked of Jehovah, that will I seek after; that I may dwell in the house of Jehovah all the days of my life, to behold the beauty of Jehovah, and to inquire in his temple. For in the day of trouble he will keep me secretly in his pavilion: In the covert of his tabernacle will be hide me; he will lift me upon a rock. And now fihall my head be lifted up above mine enemies rountl about me; and I will offer in his tabernacle sacrifices of joy; I will sing, yea, I will sing praises unto Jehovah. Hear, O Jehovah, when I cry with my voice: Have mercy upon me, and answer me. When thou saidst. Seek ye my face; my heart said unto thee. Thy face, Jehovah, will I seek. Hide not thy face from me; put not thy servant away in auger: Thou hast been my help; cast me not off, neither forsake me, O God of my salvation. When my father and my mother forsake me, then Jehovah will take me up. Teach me thy way, O Jehovah; and lead me in a clean path, because of mine enemies. Deliver me not over unto the will of mine adversaries: For false witnesses are risen up against me, and such as breathe out cruelty. I had fainted, unless I had believed to see the goodness! of Jehovah in the land of the living. Wait for Jehovah: Bo strong and let thy heart take courage; yea, wait thou for Jehovah. Psalm, 27.

PARDNEES, by Rex. E. Beach. Pub- lished by McClure, Phillips & Co., New York. This collection of Mr. Beach's fascinating stories of Alaska will be hailed with pleas- ure by those who have become familiar with "Big George" and "Cap." That these stories have been published, separatelv, in a magazine, will not in the least detract from, but will rather add to, tue interest with which they will now be read in book form. The rough mixture of ungrammatical Eng- lish and picturesque slang used bv the pio- neers of the far A'orth is delightful. As an illustration, take the opening paragraph from "Pardners," the first story in the col- lection and the one from which the book is named:

I'Most all the old quotations need fixing" said Joyce in tones forbidding dispute "For instance, the guy that alluded to marriages germinating in heaven certainlv got off on the wrong foot. He meant pardnerships. The same works ain't got capacity for both no mor n you can build a split-second stop-watch in a stone quarry. No, sir! A true pardner- sliip is the sanctifledest relation that grows is and has its beans, while any two folks of 'op-

^n^fJ^Z o'J """""y ",'? P®^ the game out ^?,^L ^- °^ course, all pardnerships ain't thlVlt 0^2 ^'■'^^l °"® "'at's heaven borned there s a thousand made in— There goes them cussed dogs again."

The title of the book, "Pardners," is pe- culiarly appropriate, aside from its being the name of the first story of the collection; for that curious tie which so often exists between two prospectors or miners, known as a 'Pardnership," is treated of in nearly all of the stories.

Most of the tales are of Alaska, but a few are not. "The Mule Driver and the Garrulous Mute" is one of the exceptions, the Mute" is playing the game in order to save his "pardner," who, after having killed an Indian, is making tracks for the Mexican border. The one who remains is naturally suspected of the crime, and by refusing to talk, or to understand what is said to him, he gains time for his fleeing mate. The "Mute," who is an ex-mule driver, is able to hold out until he sees a mule team being ill treated and then—but let him tell it:

"Now a good mule driver is the littlest or neriest speck in the human line that's known onp il.S"°-1^°P^' '^"t when you get a poor ^PoH 't'^ !P°'^ °"® of them cholera germs you bnnni?*'°"* •'"■^^ ^y contact. The leader of this bunch was worse than the worst; strong on

Wp ?;LT; but surprising weak on judgment. i^rnJ^^f' fv,"'K?,i^® t""' '■"" V^^mp into the nnd tTr.-?^ the building, stopped, backed, swung, and proceeded to get into grief

• * » * • * «

tin^°^'^'^^^ "^"'^ ^^" "^^^^^ a- heap of tribul'a- W 'twl ^"^ "^""'^^ '^^^ '^^ak a man's heart, =ta^^ ^ wasn L no excuse for that driver to stand up on his hind legs, close his eves and throw thirty foot of lalh into that pluAg1n\ ?IP H}\i-.'^'"*r^^^'^-7"^^-'^- ^'hen he did it^all fi^^ii 1 L °'"^!-i"^^® °^ "^^ began to foam and fizzle like sedlitz; out they came, biling, in mouthfu s. and streams, and squirts, back- vvards, sideways, and through my nose hf^c^-^®! ^'^H infernal half-spiled, dog-rob- bing T^alloper I says; 'you don't know enough to drive puddle ducks to a pond. You qiSt heaving that quirt or I'll harm you past heal-

"* * * J skipped over the wheels * * * linls. *^^*® S'™ ^ *°^^ ^"^ gathered up the

"I just intimated things over them with that ^Jl\?' a""^ i"^^^^."^ H t'^^'" ^'^^ they was my own thP VnSLV^°'^- I starts at the worst words d^^o^ %^ X langwidge and the range had pro- duced, to date, and got .steadily and rapidlv worse as long as I talked. ^ <^ ^^ idpiuiy

. "Arizona may be slow in the matter of stand- ing collars and rag-time, but she leads the ^^=fif'"T??!'°^"'ty. Without being swelled on ^^^f,^ ,' ^^' f^l' top. that I once had more'n a local reputation in that line, having origi- nated some quaint and feeling conceits which has won modest attention, and this day I was certainly trained to the minute

fr,,- fiff *^^^^^®*^ them brutes fast and earnest tor five minutes steady, and never crossed mv trail or repeated a thought."

In the last three stories of the book "Big George" and "Cap" are the principal char- acters.

Humor and pathos abound in this most interesting collection of tales. Mr. Beach has struck the right chord. "Pardners" is a distinct addition to American literature.

• * *

" CHESS— HUMANICS, " a philosophy of chess, a sociological allegory, by Wallace E. Nevill. Published by the Whitaker & Rav Company, San Francisco. This peculiar book is little more than a collection of thoughts from many great minds, ancient and modern. Just what these extracts have to do with the game of chess is not always clear. It would seem as though checkers, or any other game, would have served as well.

In chapter III we read, "Chess is played with 'white' men versus 'black' men." Then follows a series of articles and para- graphs bearing on the race problem.

Again, under the caption of "The Kiug." we find the questions of "Monarchies." "Despotism," and the like discussed bv Gid- ding, Spencer, Cicero, Shakespeare, Thack- eray, Zenophon, David Starr Jordan, Aris- totle, Carlyle, Pope, John Adams, Horace, Garfield, and many others.. The book is a curiositv.

Devoted to the development, growth and progress of the West. For a greater Pacific Coast

The Effect of the Exposition

The mere fact that an exposition, such as the Lewis and Clark Centennial, is now being held at Portland, is significant of the great progress which has been made in the Pacific Northwest. It is a magnificent monument to the progressive spirit of this vast region west of the Rocky Mountains. It will bring to the attention of the rest of the civilized world the present achievements and the splendid promise of the Pacific West in a form never before attempted.

It is a mistake to think that the progress of this Western country has all been made in the last ten years — or in the last twenty-five years. It has been going on, slowly at first, but with ever increasing momentum, since the advent of the first white settlers. And these pioneers are the men and women who made possible this latest world 's fair.

Our progress has been continuous, but the results obtained are now, for the first time, placed on exhibition in such a manner as to be properly understood by Eastern and foreign visitors.

Mo9t of the Eastern visitors will come here, and are coming here now, not so much to attend the Exposition as to see the country. They are taking advantage of the low rates offered by the railroads to investigate for themselves the truth of the many rumors that have reached them concerning the resources of the Pacific Coast States. Of course all will visit Oregon. Those who come here direct from the East will probably return via either Washington or California. Many will go to California first and return via Puget Sound, while others will reverse this. The result is inevitable. Homeseekers and visitors will come here in greater numbers than ever before. Nor is this all. Capi- talists of New York, Boston, Chicago, and other Eastern cities will seek large invest- ments in these growing states.

The effect on the cities of Portland and Seattle is already felt. In advertising the Fair, attention has been drawn to these cities, and thousands have come here within the past few months. In Portland it is impossible to obtain office room, and many new buildings are in contemplation for the immediate future. A large number of new build- ings, business blocks and residences are now under construction in both cities.

The Lewis and Clark Exposition certainly marks the beginning of a new era for the Pacific Coast.

The Portage Road

Saturday, June 3, 1905, was a great day at Celilo, on the Columbia River. The occasion was the opening of the new Portage Road, which makes it possible to ship cargo from Lewiston, Idaho, to Portland by water, with the exception of the land haul around the Celilo Falls.

The Portage Road is but a temporary expedient, however, but one which will prove of great benefit to shippers until such time as the new locks shall be completed.

It is not very long since the Cascades marked the end of open water. Then the locks built by the United States Government brought The Dalles into direct connection with the sea. And now Idaho towns will be able to ship by water.

The first steamer to make the new run from Lewiston to the Portage Road was the "Mountain Gem," which has the honor to be the first to navigate the upper Columbia in many years. But forty years ago Celilo was quite a steamboat center. At that time there were not less than six boats plying between that port and Lewiston.

The first steamer on the upper Columbia service was the "Col. Wright," which was built at Celilo — as were all the boats operated in that part of the river — in 1858. The steamer "Harvest Queen," so familiar to residents of Portland and Astoria, was built at Celilo in 1878, and for a time made the run between her home port and Lewiston.

She is said to have been the most palatial steamer that ever docked at Lewistton. She has been used for towing on the Willamette and lower Columbia for many years.

And now, at this writing, meetings are being held in Portland by those interested in the Portage Eoad, and attended by prominent business men of Lewiston, for the pur- pose of organizing the Open River Transportation Company, the object being the con- struction and operation of a fleet of steamboats on the upper Columbia and Snake Rivers. June 3 was a "red letter day" for Idaho — and for Portland.

Portland and Lumber

That Portland is the greatest lumber city in the United States stands undisputed. The Isthmian Canal Commission is going to purchase an enormous quantity of lumber — several hundred million feet — for use in the construction of the great canal. The Oregon Lumber Manufacturers' Association made a wise move when it, on May 27, adopted a resolution calling the attention of the commission to Portland and suggesting that a branch purchasing office be established here. In a letter recently received by the Chamber of Commerce from Major H. J. Gallagher, deputy purchasing and shipping agent, it was stated that contracts would in all probability go to Pacific Coast bidders.

In this connection it is interesting to note the following lumber vessels, the amount of their cargoes, and their destinations, which recently cleared from the Columbia River and received their cargoes at Portland: "Aku, " Port Arthur, 2,380,029 feet; "Orange Branch," Shanghai, 2,889,348 feet; "Guernsey," Kiao Chou, 3,433,432 feet; "Elm Branch," Port Arthur, 2,413,347 feet; "Inverness," Yokohama, 2,609,551 feet; "Oak Branch," Shanghai, 1,483,446 feet; "Norman Isles," Shanghai, 2,696,960 feet; "Almond Branch," Shanghai, 2,667,142 feet; "Palatina," Japan, 2,924,240 feet; "Thvra," China, 3,550,941 feet; "Oceano," China, 3,994,173 feet; " Strathgyle, " Manila, 3,600,000 feet; "Kohala," Shanghai, 1,021,703 feet.

Mining

Mining is keeping pace with other branches of industry in its general advancement. In Oregon new strikes are being made, and the mines are continually increasing the output of the precious metal. A rich strike was recently made in the Platts group. Rock Creek Camp, Baker County. Work has been resumed on the Red Boy and Virginia mines in the same county. In Nevada, Mr. J. P. Fitting, manager of the Bonanza King, announces that he will at once install fifteen stamps, concentrating tables, and cyaniding vats. The Bonanza King is a gold and silver mine, about twenty-five miles northeast of Lovelock, in Humboldt County. A mill, equipped with Huntingtons and plates, has been in operation for some time, and Mr. Fitting has been recovering $20 per ton of ore from the plates. Reports from other parts of Nevada are very encouraging.

At the present time the capital stock issues in the mining industry in the United States amounts to more than $3,000,000,000.

Irrigation

Too much can not be said or written on the subject of irrigation. Nothing is of more importance to us than the reclamation of the arid lands of the great West. The President, Congress, and the various States interested are working hard on this sub- ject; much is being accomplished and more will be.

The Congressional excursion, consisting of the Senate and House Irrigation Com- mittees, left Kansas City June 1. The itinerary of the trip is as follows: Kansas City, June 1; El Paso, 3 to 5; Maricopa, Ariz., 5; Phoenix, 6 to 8; Yuma, Old Beach and Calexico, 9 and 10; Redlands and Riverside, 11; Los Angeles, 11 to 13; San Francisco, 14 and 15; Sacramento, 16; Sparks and Hazen, Nov., 17 and 18; Ogden and Salt Lake, 19 and 20; Minidoka, Nampa and Boise, 21 and 22; Portland, 23 and 24; Seattle, 25; Billings, 27; Cody, 28; Toluca, 29; Alliance, 30; Cheyenne and Denver, July 1; Montrose, 2; Denver, 4.

At last winter's sessions of the Legislatures of the irrigation states certain acts were passed of importance to irrigation projects. In California there was passed an act to co-operate with the United States in the construction of the Klamath project, lying both in Oregon and California. The United States was authorized to change the level of certain lakes, and all claims of the state to lands uncovered by lowering those portions of the lakes lying in California were ceded to the United States. Also an act was passed making appropriations for co-operation with the United States Geological Survey. _ Also an act providing for the reclamation by drainage of a certain described district in the Sacramento Valley, and its protection from floods.

In Oregon an act relating to the Klamath project was enacted similar to the one enacted by the California Legislature. There was also an act passed regulating ap- propriation of water by private parties. Other legislation in Oregon established the much needed office of State Engineer, made an appropriation for co-operation with the United States Hydrographic and Topographic Surveys, provided for right of way for irrigation works constructed by authority of the United States over state lands, and passed a bill providing for the organization of an irrigation district in connection with the Malheur project of the Reclamation Service.

Written for Monthly unless designated

By

HUGH HERDMAN

tlie Pacmc otnerwise

On the Trail.

Have you heard of The Trail by the river Where there's laughter and mirth without

It's thVlrail of the elf wlio, neglectful of self, J

Finds his fee in the joy of the giver. Come in perioque or batteau, Come in sampan or canoe, Come from cottage or from chateau, Come and join our merry crew. Cast aside that mournful plight, For we hit The Trail to-night.

All the races of earth will be present, From the North and the South, East and West; „

Here the glum Esquimau in his tepee ot

snow, There the yodling Tyrolean peasant. Come in perioque or batteau, Come in sampan or canoe, (Joine from cottage or from chateau. Come and join our merry crew. Cast aside that mournful plight. For we hit The Trail to-night.

We shall see sweetest maids of Japan,

Arm in arm with the beauties of France;

We'll behold on the Lake, Walla Walla and Snake,

With the belles from the hot Kurdistan. Come in perioque or batteau. Come in sampan or canoe, Come from cottage or from chateau. Come and join our merry crew. Cast aside that mournful plight, For we hit The Trail to-night.

We will joggle on "Moses" through Cairo, We will 'call on .Tack Frost at the Pole, We will paddle through Venice, brave spa- ghetti's bold menace. And we'll stare like the veriest tyro. Come in perioque or batteau, Come in sampan or canoe, Come from cottage or from chateau, Come and join our merry crew. Cast aside that mournful plight. For we hit The Trail to-night.

So come on, hit The Trail and be jolly,

Let the morrow take care of itself.

We'll be young for to-night, take our meed of delight, T -n m

See the world at a glance, and thank ± oliy. In the perioque and batteau, In the sampan and canoe, From the cottage and the chateau, We have come, a merry crew. We are all in happy pligkt. For we hit The Trail to-night.

• -H- *

Difference of Viewpoint.

Collie— Say, Fido, that mistress of yours is a very beautiful woman. It must be great to have her hold you close to her and kiss

you. , . ,

Fido— Yes, it would be if it weren't for her

husband. .

Collie— Does he object to her kissing you^ Fido— I don't know or care. But I object

to his kissing her first. He drinks and

smokes.

• * *

Memorial Day Reflections.

"I wonder," said the motorman philoso- pher, "I wonder how many people, when they visit the cemeteries to-day, will think of the poor Japanese and Eussian dead that lie at the bottom of the China Sea to-day, or of the maimed and wounded, or of the broken hearts of the mothers, wives, and sweet- hearts at home. Not many. We are selfish even in our sorrow. So long as grief doesn t come near to us, we don't care much about it But when it does, then we howl like sin— Confound that dog! Get out of that, you brute! Get!— That dog runs out and barks at the car every time I pass. I'll run over him some day and fix hini good and plenty. He makes me mad."

"And break the heart of that sweet little girl that owns him?" was suggested.

"Eh what's that?" he asked, looking sheepish, and then laughing. "Say, I guess I wouldn't make a very good preacher,

would I?

• * *

A Cause of Misunderstanding.

Binks— What word causes more domestic rows than any other?

Jinks— Give it up.

Binks—' ' Typewriter. ' ' When a man talks about his bii-d of a typewriter, n^eamng his machine, his wife immediately infers that he is referring to his stenographer.

HUMOR.

The Wail of the Billboards.

The agitation over the unsightliness of the billboards that harrow the esthetic sense of almost every civic community has caused no small concern among the billboards themselves. The following conversation, which was recently overheard in the sign room of a well-known firm of decorators, shows that the creations of advertisers have feelings themselves.

Sunny Jim — This Civic Improvement League makes me tired.

Mellin 's Food Baby — T 'ought oo never dot tired, Jim.

Sunny Jim — I don 't when there 's any- body looking. But that Civic Improvement League sure does fatigue me.

Friend Oats Cook — What are they trj'in' to do, Jim?

Sunny Jim — Tryin' to have us abolished. Friend Oats Cook — What's that mean? Sunny Jim — Torn down, Tausted up. Chocolate Waitress — Pomquoi? Are we not what you call ze — ze — beautiful? Non? Sunny Jim — They say we 're not. They say we are too high, too long, too short, too low, too ugly, too — well, just on the bum all 'round.

Chocolate Waitress — On ze bum! On ze bum, is eet! Oh, zis Improvement — what you call eet — League, eet iss on ze bum. Eet haf ze bad eye, ze crooked, ze cross eye. On ze bum, bah!

Shaving-Stick Man — Those old hayseeds need a shave.

Sunny Jim — Most of them are women. Pink Pill Dame — Then they need some of these Pink Pills for Pale People.

Columbia Soup Cook — What 'g the real kick, Jim?

Sunny Jim — Well, they say we spoil the beauty of the city, that we are unsightly, and that we are generally offensive.

Cigarette Triplets — They don't mean us, of course.

Chocolate Waitress — Poof! You dudes!

Stuck on ze shape. You, you ees ze vera ones.

Cigarette Triplets— Hear the sweet little

parlez-vous, will you? Ah there, sweetness!

Chocolate Waitress — Oh, you go to ze devil!

George W. Childrens — Children, children,

you mustn't quarrel. Let's all be generous

and good, and we'll all be happy.

Aunt Jemima — Whuffo' dey gwine buss us up? Tell me datf Whuffo' dey gwine do datf Dat's what Ah wants tu know.

Cigarette Triplets — Because you 're too big, Aunty.

Aunt Jemima — Wants you go on 'way f 'um me. Yer heah me? Don't talk ter me. Cigarette Triplets— Now, don't get mad, Aunty.

Aunt Jemima — Ah ain't mad. No, in- deedy. Ah don't 'low myself ter get mad wiv no low down white trash. No, suh! Ah is jes' er plain black niggah, but Ah is er heap sight bettah dan you-all po' white trash what smokes dem stinkin', good-fer- nothin' cigumeetes. Yah, suh, dat's what Ah is.

BRAND \

NStocli

PERFECTION IN] CAMhED GOODS

Fea.s.CornJruit:i Tomatoes, Bean^ Yejctabks, Catsup Salmon,01ivcOil vSYrup5Xlam5, Oysters. 6hrimp. Lob5ter5 . . .

Allen SJIewi^

Portland . Om<?on'

c ■INI g;;;;,,;,,; ^" ' , 7- ;?rrTT O «— ^

tJLJ.^S.A.'

Sunny Jim — Say, Aunt Jemima, a boy threw a rock and hit me on the head to-day. Won't you tie it up?

Aunt Jemima — Deed Ah will, honey. Whah he hit you? Eight dere? Nemind, honey, Ah fix it. Whuilo' he do dat? Jes' lemme cotch him! Good-fer-nothin', low down white trash! Dere, honey, hit's all right now.

Cigarette Triplets — Say, Aunty —

Sunny Jim — Say, you nincompoops, keep your traps shut, will you? If you don't quit teasing this old woman, I'll tie all three of you into a double bow knot and use you for a floor mop. You cigar store loafers, you mashers, you perfumed ninnies. I think I'll do it anyhow.

(He starts toward them, but they exit sud- denly.)

Cliocolate Waitress — Good, good! Bravo, M'seer Jim! Now we haf ze nice, quiet time.

Aunt Jemima — Honey, don't you spoil yo' han's by touchin' dem low clown white trash. You jes' leave dem ter me. Ah '11 jes' tek 'em ercross my knee and spank 'em good. Yah, suh, you jes' leave 'em ter me. Ah '11 learn 'em manners.

[At this point the first faint glimmer of

day appeared, the company scurried away to

their posts of duty, and quoth the Red Eaven,

"Evermore."]

• * *

The good die young — witness the spring lamb.

All Eyes Tov|

9| BOUT two million (2,000,000) peoj •3*" Portland this year. Many of the tate will unquestionably increase in vali| than this.

HOLLADAr;

Offers not only an investment, but it the location of a home.

It is the geographical center of Portland. It is eau well drained — 150 feet above the river. Commani Mt. Adams and the surrounding country. It is very a district. Has one hour more sunlight than over the ri trolley lines and sewers. Lots sold on advantageous te where it will be a comfort and a joy and an investn:

Write for full particulars or call upon

The OREGON RE^

Room 4, 88; 2 Third Strcj

An Imported Cigar in All but the PRICE

La Integridad

»»

Distributors

Allen & Lewis

Havana Cigars

SOLD WHEREVER QUALITY AND WORKMANSHIP IS APPRECIATED

Don't forget to mention The Pacific Monthly when dealing with advertisers. It will be appreciated.

HUMOE.

ird Portland

1 visit the Lewis and Clark Fair in 1 remain here permanently. Real Es- here could be nothing more certain

ADDITION

most delightful place in Portland for

t desirable residence district in the city. A level plat- view of the city, the river, Mt. Hood, Mt. St. Helens,

and within easy walking distance of the business

IS improved streets, gas, electric lights, water mains, jme-builders. Seeing is believing. Locate your home is certain to enhance is value.

STATE COMPANY

PORTLAND, OREGON

The Summer Girl.

Now cloth sweet Pearl, tne summer girl In garbs that seem a dream, Disport upon the beach; And lay her train to catch the swain Who ventures in her reach.

Upon the sands all day she stands With anxious mien and meek, Intent upon her game; In pensive mood she sits and broods. But lands him all the same.

• * *

The Measure of Success.

Billkuss — Wilkins, what, in your opinion, is the way to gauge success in politics?

Wilkins — Well, I've been in the game a long time, and I've concluded that the only measure of success is whether or not a man has been indicted.

• * *

Chunks of Wisdom.

When a man gets a letter addressed merely with the name of the city, without the street number, he takes it rather as a compliment to himself than as a credit to the postoflfice department.

What an uncomfortable time our ancestors who are in the next world must be having if they pride themselves on our achievements!

Wouldn 't Epicurus have been a great presi- dent of a life insurance company!

=^

THE HILL

MILITARY ACADEMY

HOTEL

LEWIS AND CLARK

EXPOSITION

PORTLAND, OREGON

NOT TOO NEAR NOT TOO FAR

This Fits the Case Exactly Location Ideal

HIS splendid building has been thrown open for the convenience and en- tainment of persons visiting the Fair. Within ten minutes walk of main entrance; only building in the block. Gives fine view of Exposition building and miles of the Willamette River. Street cars pass the door. Re- servations should be made now. For rates and particulars apply to

DR. J. W. HILL, 821 Marshall Street, Portland, Oregon

Don't forget to mention The Pacific Monthly when dealing with advertisers. It will be appreciated.

Against the Theory of Evolution.

"No, sir," said the man with the long face, solemn mien and sable garb, "I do not be- lieve in the Darwinian theory. I take no stock in the doctrine of the survival of the fittest. I am one who believes implicitly in the old Biblical idea of life and death. Man, like every other animal, is born, lives his al- lotted days, dies, and is buried. There is no evolution from the lower to the higher or- der, there is no natural selection. I can not see that any selection at all is made, natural or unnatural. Some are good, some are bad, and some indifferent. But in the end — and there always is an end — every one, except such as lie unburied, gets his wooden, stone, or lead enclosure and his six feet of earth. ' '

The auditor listened in surprise to one who in this day and age of the world did not be- lieve in evolution, or at least in the survival of the fittest.

' ' I repeat, ' ' said the speaker emphatically, "1 repeat that I do not believe in any of that stuff, especially in that survival business. My business has convinced me otherwise."

"What is your business, may I ask?" in- quired some one in the crowd.

' ' I am an undertaker, ' ' ne replied with a smile like the yawn of the grave.

Fumes from Uncle Rastus' Pipe.

'Pears ter me dat mos' ob der motes dat we all sees in odder folks' eyes am jes' i^lain spots on owah own sj^ecs.

Mos' men, when dey mek up der min's ter get a helpmeet, has er sneakin' notion dat she '11 furnish de meat.

' ' Mek hay when de sun shines ' ' sounds mighty fine ter der man dat's settin' on der po'ch in der shade, sippin' er mint julep.

What's dat? Gwine chloroform all de men when dey gets ter be sixty yeahs ol'? Lawd- a-massy! When 's a man gwiue get time ter 'pent ob all his sins an'- — an' foolishness? Jes' tell me dat. No, suh, I reckon day ain' gwine do dat, 'caze de debbil got 'bout all he kin tek keer ob now.

As the Twig Is Bent.

The heir apparent disturbed his royal father's afternoon slumbers with his piercing screams of rage.

"What's the matter?" asked the Czar of the Chief Nurse.

"He wants something he shouldn't have," replied the Chief Nurse.

"What is it?"

"Those bombs that were taken from the anarchist to-day. He wants to play with them."

"Oh, let him have them. He might as well get used to them whileyoung,"