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n. mi l l 1??I I Bgeegg I IMBM ^ II II I II . II . I ???- ?? ISSUED SEHI-WBEKLT. i. x. grist's sons, Publishers. } 31 Jfatnilig gewspajer: Jfor the promotion o|( th^ fjolitieal. Social, ^gricnltnral and Commercial ^Interests of the |leople. J m*!S^Sfiopr^mi' ESTABLISHED 1855. YORKVILLE, 9. C., TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 28, 1905. ISTO. 17. [Copyrtfbt, 19*o, by A. I CHAPTER V?Continued. If Eonald Fanshaw could bare witnessed what passed at Carnleigh that ^ evening. It might have softened his sharp self-censure for what he had done in the heat of passion. He had always looked upon duelling as radically wrong, and he now told himself he bad gone too far in further humiliating a man after he had tacitly thrown himself on his mercy. Before he had quitted the colonel's wood that ll 1 1 \ . j m rooming ne ?ai uruugui ibcc iu lace with a product of his example that added a fresh sting to his general discontent. He had almost reached the boundary ,Vj fence when he came upon his shaggyhaired, barefooted brother, standing up to his ankles in the wet loam of a swampy spot. Dave was leaning on a rifle as tall and sturdy-looking as himself, an old-fashioned treasure which he brought out only on special occasions, such as prize shooting matches ?at which he was a champion shot? and when there was a threatened "blacjc uprising." "Why, Dave, what are you doing here?" Konald asked, in astonish ment. "Huh! I ain't a-doin' nothin', but what I would a-done, ef I'd a-been needed, would a-been a plenty." His brother stared at him. "You mean you thought of taking a hand, Dave?" "I was a-goin' to give you yore chance fust," said the fellow; "but, you bet. I was a-goin' to see which one was able to keep on his feet after the scrap, an' ef it had a-been him, he'd a-been my meat. I blowed this tube out with a prayer" (Dave patted his gun caressingly and smiled). "I kissed my patchin', blessed my powder, an' rammed my lead home with the arm of justice to all men." "Dave, that would have been mur^. der." "Murder a dog's hind foot! Ef that little cymlin'-heeded puppy had killed you. Bon, I'd a settled his hash ef I'd a-had to do it with my bare flats." Dare'broke into an impulsive laugh. "By hunkey. Ron, you give me the shivers awhile ago. I wasn't nigh enough to hear what was passin' twixt you an* him, but when I seed you draw _ yore knife an' ketch Mm by the collar, I thought you was goin' to dig out his heart, an' that he was a-goin' to stand still while j-ou was at it. What in the name o' common sense was you doIn'?" Ronald gave him the benefit of an explanation, and Dave laughed incredulously. "An* you didn't even slap his jaws?" "No. I was satisfied." "Well." was the philosophical re mark, as the speaker drew one of his feet out of the mire and prepare] to walk on, "ef satisfaction was good t' pat, an' growed on vines, I wouldn't send you out to pick none fur my dinner." CHAPTER VI. One morning in the month of July, when Ronald returned from his tobacco field, he found a score or more mountaineers in the front yard. They were discussing an awful crime that kn/t Kaati onmmittaaH nbnilt dftwn [hat day. Mrs. Telplay, a widow who lived alone in a cottage at the foot of the mountain, was found brutally murdered. It had been generally known that she kept quite a sum of money in an old hair trunk under her bed, having always refused to take the advice of her friends to put her savings in a more secure place. The trunk was found to have been split open by the bloody ax which had killed the owner, and the money was gone. Sydney Hart, a tall, raw-boned young man, with sharp black eyes and a big mustache dyed to match, sat astride his fine horse and told what he knew of the affair. As he talked he fanned his aquiline fade with his sombrero. "As soon as Jeff, that's her nigger bouse boy, came in to make the fires," he was saying as Ronald approached, "be seed what had happened, an' run out to give the alarm." "Didn't nobody suspicion Jeff?" queried old Fanshaw, who sat on the steps in bis stockings. "Don't be so blamed fast," snarled the narrator, with a frown. He could not abide interruption. He was a sort ! of leader of moonshiners, though it had never been proven against him, and he was accustomed to more re> , spect than he deserved. "Well, go on," grunted Fanshaw, "you are about as good at tellin' a thing as a one-legged man is at a kit-kin' bee. You no sooner make a start than you kick the end o* yore spine up in the ground an' thar you are." j The crowd laughed impulsively, but the fierce glare of Syd Hart's eyes soon put an end to the merriment. "You must a-had razor soup fur breakfast,"he grunted, letting his eyes lest on Fanshaw, and then he began to smile. "Thar wasn't no use a suspicion^' Jeff," he proceeded; "fur as soon as the news got out Thad Wilc liams straddled his mare an' notified the sheriff. Ratcliff is quick on trigger, an* he tuck Thad's mare an' made fur the spot armed to the teeth." "Well, did he ketch the one that did It?" broke in Dave Fanshaw, impatiently, and anyone could hare seen from his face that be was not one of Hart's followers. Syd bent his eyes on Dave's face and sneered. "You are like yore daddy," 4 he observed, "you want yore hog 'fore it's barbecued. Yes, you bet he ketehed 'im; that's what he was out after. About half a mile from the widow's house he run across a young stranger a-hidin' in a barn nigh the tale mines. He was too good a thing to be missed, so Ratcliff arrested 'im then an' thar an' made 'im turn 'is pockets wrong side out. He had fifty dollars In hard cash. an', mora I. KcUtgt Nmpiptr Cad i over, his hands was red in streaks, an' he had blood on his handkerchief an' shirt-sleeres. He was a young fellow, an 'cried like a baby; he said he hadn't killed nobody, nur stole nobody's money, bul Ratcliff tuck 'lm in tow. He was sech a little fellow that Ratcliff 'lowed folks ud get the laugh on 'lm If he roped or handcuffed 'im, so he started on with 'im jest so. They made it all right till they got back heer a piece to the beginnin' o' Col. Hasbrooke's swamp. Thar, at Swiff's cabin, Ratcliff stopped to git a light fur his cigar. Nobody ever heerd tell n* him taldn' a nrisoner to tail with out he had a cigar stuck in his Jaw. He don' spend a dollar a jeer fur cigars. but he has to Bmoke one when he jugs a man. It makes him look important. He had jest called fur a chunk o' fire, an' Miz Swiff was fetchin' it out to 'im, when lo an' behold, the little stranger showed he was up to snuff. He dodged off behind a haystack before Ratcliff could draw his gun an' was off into the swamp like a skeered rabbit. A boss ain't ?vuth a tinker's dam in swampy land an' canc brakes, on' Ratcliff ain't as limber as he wuz twenty yeer back. And." the speaker broke off with a laugh, "the little skunk's in the swamp yIt. Me an' these fellows is to watch this road, an' Ratcliff's gone round t'other side to stir up the people. They'll drive 'im this way before long, an' then the fun will begin." "What do you mean by the fun?" broke in Ronald sharply. The gaunt giant on the horse shrugged his shoulders and bent a critical, half-aggre6sive glance on the questioner. "Oh, I reckon the boys won't want to wait fur them blamed thievish lawyers in town to get a whack at 'im an' finally git 'im turned loose. We hain't got much book l'arnin'. but we know -a hen a man's cuiltv. an' we know what lawyers Is." A murmur of approval rose from the group, even Mrs. Fanshaw, who sat locking between her two daughters on the porch, grunted as if Syd Hart had furnished the key to a problem which involved the welfare of the lf&tion. Ronald's face was fluohed, a look of determination was in his eyes. "No," he said, firmly; "they must give him n trial." Sydney Hart leaned back In his saddle and laughed tantalhiingly. "Oh, you want to get a chance at him, eh? You are studyfn* to be a lawyer. an* you've already begun to look atler the intrust of your gang. Well, you won't make anything out of this job if I can help it." "We shall see," answered Ronald. "He may not be guilty and you shall not lynch him!" The rider of the horse leaned towards Ronald and snapped his fingers, a white look of fury unbridled on his sinister face. "Bah!" he said, contemptuously. "If I couldn't thwart you I'd cut my throat. It'e o an then; vmi are a-coin' to eive the- scamp a trial an' I'm a-goin' to let the boys have the'r fun. lla. hal you mal.e nte sick." Ronald said nothing and Hart wheeled bis horse and. followed by the crowd, he started towards the edge of the swamp. Dave lingered by the side of his brother. "Don't stick yore head in the fire, Ron," he counseled; "no human power can balk Syd when he once makes up his mind. Besides, you'll make a dangerous enemy out o' him. an' everyt bing points to the fellow's guilt. What did he break an' run fur if be was innocent?" "That's what I want to know," interposed Jade Fanshaw, in a surly tone, and his wife and daugbiers nodded approvingly. "Because," was Ronald's reply, "he perhaps knew that the law is not upheld in these mountains and was afraid he would be lynched." "I believe he killed Mrs. Telplay," affirmed Mrs. Fanshaw, "an' as fur as I'm concerned, they may take Mm off an' hang 'im. The way justice Is cheated in court is enough to dissatisfy anybody." Ronald did not carry the argument further. He went up to his room, and from his window watched Sydney Hart placing his men along the road which led by the edge of the swamp. In about an hour Dave came upstairs and leaned in the doorway, an air of indecision on him. "1 have been studyin' over this, Ron," he sa.d, sheepishly, "an' I'm mighty sorry I can't go the whole hog with you, but I jest can't look at it like you do. I have decided to make it a draw?I'll not jine Hart's crowd nor yores nuther. I raought be with you ef I could see a ghost of a chance o' winnin', but them fellers would 6hoot us down-like black cats on a white fence." Ronald looked him over with a steady eye. "I could never feel like a patriotic American again if I do not fight for this fellow's life," he said. "Will you lend me your revolver again ?" Dave slowly drew it from his hippocket. "I feel like you are a-goin' to git yorese'f in a awful fix," he said. "1 wisht you would think better of it. You nur me, nur no one man can't run the universe." "You are right," replied Ronald, "but we can help do it. Our father, Dave, was fin nnflaw nn in TpnnAcspp rifirincr -r -- - o the war and I am going to try to atone for his conduct by upholding the law down here to the best of my ability." David sat down in a chair near Ronald's book-strewn table. "I've been powerful afraid somebody down heer would git hold o' all that," he said, with some concern. "I wish we had never located so near his old stamping-ground as this." "There is no use trying to escape the oonsequences of crime," responded Ronald. "I believe he thinks of his past night and day. i have seen him jump out of bejd in the middle of the night as if he thought some one was trying to kill him." "And I think ma is as much afeerd as he is," answered Dave. "Sometimes I think she took a hand in all of it." To this Ronald made no answer. CHAPTER VII. That morning the negroes on CoL Hasbrooke's plantation, being the first to rise, came first into possession of the grewsome news. Many of them had assembled on the steps of the veranda in the rear of the mansion and were speaking of the awful details in low tones. "Ef de do lay han's on 'im," opined Ephralm, the antiquated and disabled carriage driver of the colonel's father, "Marse Ratcliff couldn't tek 'im a mile to'ds de jail house, 'fo' some gang er white trash 'ud string 'im up ter a limb." "Now you er talkin', Eph," agreed Melvina, the portly head cook, as she stood in the door washing half a dozen dismembered chickens in a tub of water. "He won't stan' no mo' show dan a stump-tail bull in fly time." "What's all this about?" The voice came from the upper floor of the veranda, where the colonel stood in dressing-gown and slippers, his round, rubicund face aglow from his morning bath. Half a dozen neeroes essayed to ex plain, but the result was a noisy confusion of tones and words. The colonel stamped bis foot and swore furiously. This left Ephraim with the floor; he was too deaf to hear his master's command for silence. The colonel heard the story from his lips. "In my swamp, eh?" he exclaimed, when the carriage driver had finished, "a pretty come off! The next thing we hear all the cutthroats in Georgia will be hiding in my corn house and gin, and you lazy scampB will stand by and allow it." With this parting shot into the black, upturned faces, the colonel retreated into his room to finish dressing and to tell his guests the news. In a few minutes Hardy and Winkle came down for their early morning promenade on the front veranda and they were promptly followed by the ladies. "I hope they will chase Mm out near us," observed the captain, as he helped himself to one of the colonel's apple toddies, which James was passing round in a punch-bowl. "As long as I have lived in this section I have never been present at a lynching bee." As he finished speaking he found himself under the cold stare of Mrs. Lancaster's mild blue eyes. "I should think, Capt. Winkle," she remarked, "that you would have more consideration for a human life at stake than to look upon the matter as providing you with a nt.tv form of amusement." This young man smiled Indulgently as he put down bis glass and daintily touched bis lips and waxed mustache with bis handkerchief. "My dear Mrs. Lancaster," be cried, "you ladies are such delicious bundles of inconsistency; you would not, in your hearts, have these bloodthirsty fiends run at large, but as soon as one is about to suffer for his crime you fill his cell with flowers. Now, this swamprat has killed a helpless old woman and the people are rising to see that justice is done. He ought to be hung, and that promptly." The colonel was listening to this colloquy as be stirred the apples up in the toddy with an old-fashioned silver ladle. "Of course," he remarked, "lynch law is a deplorable thing. It is fusdamentally wrong, because .mistakes have now and then happened; but bow on earth are you going to stop it? Why, Mrs. Lnncaster, those chaps?Syd Hart, Tbad Williams and their ilk?would burn me out of house and home if I uttered a protest in this matter." "But, papa"?Evelyn stood holding to Mrs. Lancaster's band, and as she spoke her voice trembled?"but, papa, you must do something?you really must. The man has not been proved guilty; he may be absolutely innocent." "Ah, there you go!" laughed the colonel as be touched her chin playful ' SHE WENT OUT ON THE VERANDA TO GET A BETTER VIEW. ly. "You think your old father ought to run the world. Why, 1 am absolutely helpless. If I telegraphed the governor to order out the state militia, the} couldn't get here in time, anc! if they could these determined mountain men would make it hot for them. Twenty lives would be lost instead of one." Just then breakfast was announced. The colonel gallantly offered his arm to Mrs. Lancaster, and as she took it she started to draw Evelyn along with her. But the girl drew back. "I don't care to go in now," she faltered. "I had a cup of coffee in my room. Oh, I am so afraid they will hang him!" "Well, I shall come out to you soon, dear," said the widow, tenderly. "Wait for me." Seated at a window in the drawingroom?she felt too nervous to remain on the veranda alone?Evelyn had a good view of the road running along the edge of the swamp. She could see the ever-strengthening chain of men, their guns and pistols gleaming in the sunlight. To her the sight was more awful than had it been an army in battle array. Presently she saw a figure on a white horse moving along the line of men, pausing now and then as if in argument. She decided that the horse was Ronald Fanshaw's?that he was the rider. Something told her that ne was feeling- as she fell and that he was trying to influence his neighbors to refrain from illegal conduct. She watched the rider so closely tflat the strain on her eyes produced a blur in her vision. He was almost out of sight now, and she went out on the veranda to get a more extended view of the road bending round the swamp. She saw black Tobe, one of her father's servants, coming up the avenue from the road just traversed by Ronald. Tobe had been to the post ofRce and was bringing back a bag of letters and papers. As he handed her the bag she observed a half-frightened look in his eyes. "Tobe," she asked almost afraid to trust her voice to calm expression, "who is the man on the white horse?" rtl/1 aet VoneKan rnnn rr man missie," was the answer. "What is he doing?" she asked, with bated breath. "He's powerfully upset, young miss. He is doin' his level best to try tergu urn all to let de sheriff tek 'im fur ? f&'r trial. My Lawdl I wish you coulc a-heer dat young man talk; he sho is bright I" "Are they paying any attention ti him, Tobe?" "Not one speck, young miss; dey des laugh in his face en tell him dey wilt hang him ef he fools wid 'em." As Tobe went round the house towards the negro quarter, Evelyn stood holding the bag absent-mindedly. Her heart was in the throat. "How different he is from the rest of men I" she thought. "Ah, he is my hero! He is my hero! God bless him!* She opened the bag and spread the letters out on the ball table, their addresses upwards. There were five or six for Capt. Winkle, all dainty pink, white or blue scented envelopes, addressed in girlish handwritings. For barely an instant a slight sneer flitted over her troubled face, and then she turned back into the drawing-room She went again to the window. She could see the white horse and its rider coming back along the line of men. She could see Ronald gesticulating. Sometimes he took off his hat and wiped his brow as if be were futigued. Evelyn felt a soft band steal round her waist and, knowing to whom it belonged, she simply pointed towards the horseman. "Do you see him, Mrs. Lancaster?" she questioned, almost under her breath. "Who is it, dear?" asked her companion. "Mr. Ronald Fanshaw." Evelyn si t. f. 1_ t _ sL. ( /vM looked searcningiy ?u i"c in" u,u I visage. Her voice had almost a triumphant ring. "He i? trying to persuade them to do right. ^ "How do you know, dear?" Evelyn repeated what Tobe had said and added: "I want you to give your consent to something." "What is that, darling?" "Come Into the writing-room with me. I am afraid you will object, and yet so much may depend on it! Mrs. Lancaster's face wore a frown of perplexity as she followed Evelyn through the book-lined library into a little room adjoining. The girl sank into a chair at the table and took up a pen. She bit the end of it nervously as she glanced up at her friend. "I want to send him a line, only a word, saying that I approve of what he is doing, and that I do not want him to lose heart." Mrs. Lancaster looked dubious as she sat down at the table and leaned her white head on her thin, blue-veined hand. "I don't think you ought to^ do it without your father's consent," she said, still looking down. Evelyn sighed deeply. "He'd never consent?never; he d not understand my motive as you do; bed be perfectly unreasonable, but 1 do not want you to oppose me?that is, I don t want to do anything without your consent." _ The woman addressed now gave Evelyn a steady look. "Remember, 1 am your father s guest. I know how you feel, and if I though It would be quite right 1 would? "You have no idea how little encouragement he gets," interrupted Evelyn, impulsively. "He is the only one among all those people who is trying to do right." . I Mrs. Lancaster put her arm round Evelyn's shoulders and gently took the pen from her ngers. "1 love you as if you were my own child, Evelyn. You are too .voting find I inexperienced to see where ail this is leading. Oh, you must be careful. If there were no barriers between you it would not be so bad, but under the existing circumstances 1 should be very culpable to?to allow this. He a a I noble young man, and I like him can't explain why I like him so much. but 1 do." With an impatient toss of her head Evelvn waived all arguments. ... "If an innocent man should be killed to-day," she said, firmly, "you wilt be sorry we did not do something towards averting his fate." I Mrs. Lancaster shrank back a little, and then she became very thoughtful. Presently she suggested a compromise. "Suppose I write to him over my own name; will that do? A light kindled in Evelyn's eyes. "Yes, that will do; oh, I'm so glad, hUMrs. Lancaster dipped her pen. drew a sheet of paper towards her and wrote as follows: , "God bless you and help you succee in your noble efTort. Our prayers are with you.?Mrs. Lancaster." Evelyn was reading over her shoulder, and when the writing was done she kissed Mrs. Lancaster on the cheek. "For that one word," ?he chuckled. "What word do you mean ?" aBkeo her | companion. Taking the pen, Evelyn underscored the word "our" and laughingly folded the paper. "Perhaps it ought not to go that way," protested Mrs. Lancaster, but Evelyn only continued to laugh slyly, as she thrust the note into an envelope and held it under the old lady's eyes. "Ronald Fanshaw, Esquire," she diotated, firmly, and with a sigh Mrs. Lancaster reluctantly complied. A moment later Evelyn had slipped out into the negro quarter and called Tobe from his cabin. "Take it to Mr. Ronald Fanshaw," she said, "and do not say a word about it to anyone. Mind, to no one?not a soul!" TO BE CONTINUED. X* Your shortcomings keep you short. JHistrUnncous |traditi(|. FAMOUS GUN FIGHTER. Life Story of MB?t" Masterson, Ju?t Appointed United 8tatea Marshal. Word comes from the East that "Bat" Masterson, famous all over tne northwest as a "bad-man killer," has been appointed a deputy United States marshal for the district of New York. And no doubt the Imaginations of those who only know Mr. Masterson from hearsay begin to picture a grizzled Individual wriggling on his hands and knees through the wild fastnesses of Brooklyn, with one gun clutched tight in his teeth and four others slung about his body; or careering madly over the precipitous mountain tops of begoated Harlem seeking to lasso the sole remaining Kuiiiuier inai ine empire cuy punBesses. But "Bat" Ib not that kind of a person at all. Indeed he looks like a man you could take all sorts of liberties with, rather colorless In appearance, modestly dressed, well fed, and bearing In his face the Innocent, downtrodden aspect of one who only asks to be allowed to live and be let alone while he Is doing It. Revolver Always Handy. Real professional sleuths who work at the business all the time don't like him very much. He follows none of the regulation ethics at all, will not stand on street corners, and persistently denies himself the delight of clinching his hands behind his back or rolling his eyes. However, there Is generally a bulge at his hip pocket, and no man living can get his fingers round on top of that protuberance, more rapidly than Mr. Masterson when an emergency comes. But It Is to his credit that never In his history?a history compassing the killing of twenty-seven men?has he fired a shot except In self-defense, or when in the pursuit of his duty It was necessary to bring some criminal to the ground. Killings All Justified. Every one of his victims was either a robber or a murderer, and In no case, In all his western experience, has Masterson been without the active sympathy of all good citizens after every shooting in which he has been engaged. He never boasts about his exploits and has never yet permitted himself to be Interviewed with regard to "his strenuous western career as a sheriff, hunter, cowboy. "Bat" has never been a drunkard, but his one great passion always was, and till is, a love for gambling. In his younger days he would go hundreds of miles to partake of the delights of faro. Those who know him most intimately say he Is just as ready for that kind of a journey today. At the close of the civil war, when Masterson was 16 years old, he made tf|i his mind to become a buffalo hunter. At that time Buffalo Bill was beginning jo earn his reputation, and many thousands of youths besides Masterson were fired with the idea of imitating these exploits. One day, after confiding to his father that he was going to leave home and be a hunter In the west, he went away on the best horse in the family stable and was not heard of in that neighborhood again for years. Three months later the boy, then not much over 16, appeared in Fort Dodge, well mounted and carrying a rifle and a breech-loading revolver. At first he stayed about the camps of the buffalo hunters, doing all sorts of odd jobs to ingratiate himself in their favor, and he was soon permitted to accompany these men on their expeditions, and rapidly became known as one of the best hunters on the plains. Before he was 20 years old "Bat" had earned a reputation that extended over five states and territories, as a fearless hunter who could give a good account of himself not only In the middle of a ferocious herd but In any kind of human company In the worst part of the "Bad Lands." There was at that time a trading post on the Canadian river, known as Adobe Walls?a settlement consisting of two stores, a saloon and a blacksmith shop. It was here that Masterson killed his first man. He and several other hunters were busy over a game of poker In the saloon, when one of the players, cursing him after a dispute over the cards, drew out his revolver to kill him. Before his hand could go up. however, he was dead. Routs Band of Indians. In the end of June,, 1874, Just a few weeks after this Incident, "Bat" distinguished himself by routing a bloodthirsty band of over 100 Indians, practically single handed. These Indians, consisting of Cheyennes, Arapahoes. Comanches and Klowas, had sworn to wipe out the little party of eight hunters, and after awaiting their opportunity for some months finally surprised them In their camp asleep. Fortunately. the men had halted for the night at a broken-down adobe building fronted by heavy eottonwood trees. Awakened by a terrible yelling, they found themselves surrounded by the Indians, but, being well provided with ammunition, they were able to hold the band off for several days, a number of dead bodies of the enemy being * ' ? > "no?" aio. piled uji aruunu me iiui. uui ..... covered at this time, after wondering why the redskins should be so persistent in the face of continued defeats, that they were being led and encouraged by a negro who was a deserter from the United States army and still wore the uniform. The Indians approached closer and closer to the hut, throwing up barricades, at some points within 100 feet. Picks Off ths Leader. "Bat" determined that the only way to save their lives was for some one of the besieged to kill the negro. This man kept almost entirely out of sight and could not possibly be reached from within the hut. At midnight on the sixth day of the siege, weak and emaciated from lack of food, Masterson crawled through the thick grass away from the building, and creeping past a number of the Indians, found the spot where the negro lay asleep, surrounded by thirty or forty braves. Drawing his revolver, he shot the negro through the head. Then firing rapidly into the mass of Indians, he made his escape in the confusion back into the hut without a scratch. The Indians, disheartened by the death of their leader, gave up the fight after another twenty-four hours, and five of the hunters got away in safety. Three of their party had been killed by the bullets of the Indians. It was immediately after this occurrence that General Miles sent foi Masterson and put him in command of a body of famous scouts. While engaged on government work "Bat," single-handed, followed up a body ol Indians that had carried away foui young girls, after attacking a wagon train on the line of the Kansas-Pacific, and murdering all the others in the party. Masterson had abandoned the chase as hopeless, when one day, while hunting antelope, he saw an Indian slipping along the bed of a creek, a mile away from him. He followed and found the four white girls sleeping in a ravine, guarded by three Indians, the main body being- absent on a marauding expedition. Masterson at once began firing, and three of the Indians were killed by his gun?the fourth running away. He took the four girls and brought them in safety to General Miles' camp. Famous In Dodge City. "When "Bat" heard, a year after this Incident, that his brother had been appointed marshal of Dodge City, Kan., at that time one of the most notorious of all the settlements on the frontier, he gave up his government work and went out there. He found that his reputation had preceded him, and was welcomed by the peaceably disposed townspeople with open arms. A number of well-known desperadoes In the district made up their minds to put him out of the way, but gave up their attempts at murder after "Bat," in his first six months In the town, had killed nine of them In open fight. In the spring of 1877 he was elected sheriff of Dodge City, his brother still being marshal. Revenges Brother's Murder. A party of Texas cowboys came Into town one day and. after blowing holes in all the lamps and wounding a number of people on the streets, decided to wind up their "fun" in a dance hall. One of the few regulations that were strictly enforced In Dodge City at that time was the rule that before entering a dance hall weapons of all kinds were to be left in an outside office. This law the cowboys refused to obey, and Marshal Masterson set out to compel [ them to observe It. In the fight that followed he was killed, receiving no less than seven wounds, any one of which would have been fatal. "Bat" was la a gambling-house at the other end of the town, when he was told of the killing. The cowboys were In the dance hall. He got up ' m L'- !? AVOf thb [ mm 1MB I'llilll , naincu ?<vi w hall, and after making inquiries, decided that the responsibility for the murder lay among four cowboys, who were pointed out to him. He began to Are in the middle of a dance, and although he was shot at a number of times, was not hit. He killed all four of his men. and arrested the remainder of the band, three of whom were afterward lynched. Battle on the Roeks. This incident, while it made Masterson a greater power than ever among the reputable people of the state, was responsible for his being looked on by the cowboys all over the west as a bitter enemy. Time after time men came into Dodge City boasting that they were there to kill "Bat," but they either went away peaceably after being ordered by him to leave town or were killed as the result of gun fights precipitated by themselves. Once when Masterson was out hunting alone he was corralled by three desperate characters?Jim Bender, "Green" Nevlll and "Black and Tan" McCarthy?all of whom were wanted for killing in various parts of the west and all of whom had declared many times that they would murder Masterson on sight. They caught him up among the barren rocks and a battle royal, followed. "Bat." slipping off his horse and using pieces of rock for protection, held his enemies at bay for several minutes. Then, leaving his hat and the tip of an extra revolver so that they would imagine him to be still waiting for them In front, he crept round the rocks like a cat and came on them In the rear. in four shots of his revolver, fired so closely together that the murderers had barely time to turn on him, he killed two of them and dangerously wounded the third. The latter, however, was able to draw his gun, and with It he shot "Bat's" horse. Before he could fire again he was killed, and Masterson, walking into town three hours later, told his deputies to go out and bring in the bodies. Leading a Quiet Life. In the past fifteen years "Bat" has led rather a quiet life. As full of his sporting proclivities as ever, he has gravitated, naturally enough, toward all the big prize fights of the country. and Invariably held tne jod or keeping the crowds In order. If the marshal's office for the district of New York needs a whirlwind gun artist, who knows every prominent gambler, crook and horse thief In the United ^tates rather intimately, "Bat" will certainly fill the place. He may never be able to exercise any of his old talents In his new position, but probably the government thinks his picturesque history alone will make him worth his wages.?John R. Rathom in New York Sun. Long and Short Letters.?Sherwln Cody In his "Training Course In Correct English, Business Correspondence and Advertlsment Writing" lays down some rules as to the length of business letters. He says: "Write a long letter to? "A farmer. "A woman. "A customer who has asked you a question. "A customer who Is angry and needs quieting down and will be made only more angry If you seem to slight him. "A man who Is Interested, but must be convinced before he will buy your goods. "Write a short letter to? "A busy business man. "An indifferent man on whom you want to make a sharp Impression. "A person who has written you about a trivial matter for which he cares little. "A man who wants only a record or a piece of Information. "A person who needs only the slightest reminder of something he has forgotten or overlooked." > THE 3INEW8 OF WAR. / ' President Smith Makes an Address to the Farmers of the 8tate. I The following address was issued s last Friday by Mr. E. D. Smith, presi- | ' dent of the South Carolina Cotton as- j ' sociation: "To the People of the State who are j i Interested in the Southern Cotton I Association: i "In view of the numerous Inquiries that have come to me by those who > are holding spot cotton as to what method they can secure a loan on their cotton to meet their pressing1 i necessities, I call on the several county 1 organizations to appoint a committee i consisting of their chairman and three other members to see their local bankers at once and arrange plans by which those needing the money can secures i loan on their cotton. It is needless for me to emphasize the urgent imi. portance of this step. The three cardinal principles in our fight are as follows: The reduction of acreage, reduction of fertilizer and holding spot i cotton. Already the price of cotton has advanced $7.60 per bale, since the New Orleans convention. Had it not been for this organization and the hope that it inspired, cotton would have flooded the market at the disasfrmislv low Drlces Drevallinar a month ago and the south would have lost between $50,000,000 and $100,000,000, "If the local banks and the farmers who are able to and the merchants in their local organisations will pool their Interests and stand together at this acute crisis, the fight Is won. I am In a position to know, but cannot give the names of the parties furnishing me the Information, that the world 's needing cotton more than we are needing to sell; that Liverpool has not received one-fifth of the cotton that has been exported. Eighty per cent of that exported in January and February has gone to Russia; very little to Manchester. The stocks In all foreign centres are short, in all foreign and domestic mills they are short, and It Is only a question of holding together to secure a good price for our cotton. "I would like to state further that if no arrangements can be made locally, that the banks and warehouses of Columbia take care of every bale of cotton sent them and advance 80 per cent of Its value at the rate of 6 per cent. "Anyone wanting further information as to shipping to Columbia, Messrs. F. H. Weston and F. H. Hyatt may be communicated with. "The president, secretary and treasurer who were elected at your convention to take charge of this matter and see that you succeed, cannot hope to do our work efficiently without having facilities for doing it. "We need an office, we need stationery. we need a stenographer, we need o tvnawrltar and Wp need DOS t a ire stamps, the Incidental expenses to such a great undertaking:. Therefore we call on the public at large who are interested in this movement to sent Mr. F. H. Hyatt, treasurer, any contribution they feel able to make and send it at once and we promise that every cent sent us shall so far as we are able do 100 per cent good fot every 100 cents contributed." PARI8IAN SECRET POLICE. Strangers In the City Constantly Watohsd and Acts Recorded. About the words "the secret police" there is a pretty air of mystery. They summon up pictures of cloaked figures, of a man waiting in dark alleyways and of stealthy steps behind the curtains of corridors. They are woven into nine-tenths of popular French fiction. The woman concierge sunning herself in what Parisian doorway mpu please, feeds her imagination on tales of multiple disguises. For her the agent de la surete, who comes to inquire about her lodgers, is dark with mystery: he Is "of the secret, police." As a matter of fact, this branch of the police, though dressed in plain clothes, is not all occult. It has to do with plain and simple crimes. Most of the agents of the secrete are old soldiers, honorable men. They are supplemented, however, by a band of quasi police known as indicateurs. The people, who are permanently auxiliaries of the service, are recruited among the street fakirs and masterless rogues who foregather in Paris. Behind these humdrum agents and those gloomy outcasts, their aids, there is a mighty and mysterious "secret police" about which not one Parisian in a hundred has definite knowledge. The real secret police?today, as under the empire?Is that which is known as the brigade des recherches ?that Is, the brigade of investigation. The members of this force are recruited in a far higher range of society than the fellows of the surete Indeed, there is no class?from the old nobility to the new feudality of finance?which does not contribute to this occult system of espionage. It is not my purpose here to describe in detail the many ramifications of this ancient and potent order of spies. A foreigner in France, if he asso- ' elates frequently with people of importance, comes in time to know them well. They follow him in his comings and goings, report upon his acts and ? ??J Kla 11 fn xx/Ifh a Pfl TP opinions, UIIU Oil! mo >uv ...... ? unknown in our careless republic. One of these who were sent out on my train I came to know very well. What I was suspected of I know not, though during the troublous days of the Dreyfus case I fraternized with many | men?one of whom, the compte du Temple, an ex-deputy, was an aggressive royalist. Anyway, my spy and I came to know each other very well. He played a good game of billiards and was a companionable gentleman. A little later Dr. W. J. Sullivan, an , assistant corporation counsel of New York, visited me In Paris. He was greatly Interested in the secret police. I could hardly persuade him that from the moment we met and shook hands in the Gare du Nord until his departure from the Gare St. Lazare ' every act of his had been noted. I got the evidence from my friend, my pet spy In the brigade des recherches. The doctor's record was singularly i complete. He had not chatted with a 1 womgn, he had not dined out or breakfasted In my garden, he had not i bought a pair of yellow gloves, unseen i by some ubiquitous spy. The amazed gentleman, when he learned how close i had been the watch upon him, shuddered as Jf he had walked in peril, mid went back to New Tork wondering: So close are the meshes of this police net that not even a casual visitor slips through.?Success. ? THE 8C0TCH IRISH. Win. E. Curtis Tells of Their Antecedents. J. M. lioyd of Chicago inquires .he origin an ! history of the term "ScotchIrish" as applied to an important element of the population of the United . States. TCarly in the seventeenth century, became of a rebellion against the crown and the flight of the eerls who ruled the northern counties of Ireland, about 4,000,000 acres of "pkuitatlons" in Tyrone, Londonderry, Derry, Donegal, Armagh, Down, Fermanagh, Antrim and Cavan counties were confiscated and taken possession of by the government, divided into small estates (none larger than 2,000 acres), and granted to English and Scotch 3>rotestants of known loyeity and subrtance. The purpose of King James was to protestantise the entire district. In 1609 the forfeited laids were surveyed and the plan of distribution was thoroughly conceived and well carried out. Fifty-nine Scotch Presbyterians of high social standing and wide influence were chosen, erich of whom received a tract of 2,000 acres, upon the condition, however, that they should live on their grants and also they should each bring with them forty-eight able yeomen of 18 years an l upward, natives of England or "the Inward parts" of Scotland. Each of these men was given a farm. They were all Protestants and men of "piety, industry and virtue." Tiiey pledged themselves to build "fortlled places for defense, houses to live in and churches In which for to worship." The native Irish remaining on the lands were forcibly transferred to the least accessible districts, so that they might not ml* or Intermarry with the newcomers. Thus, northern Ireland was populated by a new race of lowland Sects, peace-loving, Industrious Protestants, frugal in their habits, strong of character and vigorous in their theology. The term "Scotch-Irish" is peculiar to America and is generally applied to the descendants of these families, who during the eighteenth century sought more pre mising careers and homer. In America and have borne an active and important" part In the settlement and development of the United States. Indeed, tht. sons and daughters of those vigorous Oalvinists have been leaders and builders In every state in the Union. Prior to the revolution no other section of the old world sent so many emigrants to the American colonies as did the Scotch towns and vlllageri In ?ti? nftpUi nf Ireland. Massachusetts was settled by Puritans, Pennslyvtnla by Quak ers, Maryland by the Cat bo* lies and Virginia ?by Episcopalians, but the Scotch-Irish Presbyterians scattered all over the colon lea At the time of tiie revolution they had seventy communities in New England, 'orty In New York, fifty In New Jersey, 130 In Pennsylvania and Delaware, more thin 100 in Virginia Maryland and the Cumberland tains, :Afty in North Carolina, seventy In South Carolina and Georgia?in all more than 500 settlements, with a population of 385,000, almost without exception people of education and wetJth. They lytre active leaders In the revolution and their descendants have ever since taken an active part In the affairs of the nation?Chicago Record Herald. The Only Child's Sad Life. She Is the only child of the only married child. That makes her the only grand child and the only niece, and you might think that hers was a life of lollapops and lenient Indulgence. But It is nothing of the sort. The other morning her mamma spread a nice piece of bread with cur- . rant Jam and passed It to her on her breakfast plate. "My dear," said her papa, "do you think she ought to have Jam so early in the n orning?" "Well,' said her mamma, "the doctor says we must tempt her appetite." "But jam, my dear, Is too rich for a child's stomach," said her papa firmly, as he removed the slice of bread and Jam. "Now, don't cry, dear," consoled mamma; "you know you are mamma's only little girl." "No, don't cry," added her grandma. "You shall have an apple by and by." "An apple!" exclaimed her uncle, who is a dyspeptic. "The idea of .giving that child anything so indigestible as an apple!" "But. William," argued the grandma, "fruit of any kind is good for the system." "Nonsense!" cried her uncle. "Well, do give the child something to eat. Why don't you make her eat that porridge." "Yes. eat the porridge, darling," urged mamma. "It hasn't got enough sugar on it," pouted the only child. "Auntie will put some more on it," said her aunt. "That's right!" cried grandma, "load the child's stomach with sugar." * * "J ?-- ?? ? AMAAn Kanlr AUmie aroppeu me sugiu g|w<u In the bowl. "I suppose that would be bad for her," she agreed doubtfully. An hour later her mamma bundled her up In hood and leggings and sent her out to play In the "fresh air." She had hardly trundled her sled half a block where her grandpa came round the corner with his throat muffled up and his hands In his pockets. "Why Madeline!" he cried In a shocked tone, "what on earth Is your mother thinking about, to let you come out In this damp weather? Does she want to kill her only child with pneu* monia?" And forthwith he bundled her up In his arms and carried her straight back Into the house. Then there was a heated argument and a family council, during which the only child stood In hope, fear and doubt, finally to be sent to the nursery, where the temperature coull be regulated.?New York Press. A Matter of Chanob.?"What a change a woman can make In & man's life!" slghad the very young man. "Right you are, my boy," sighed the scanty liaired man who had been up against the matrimonial game for many years, "and what a lot of change she requires while doing It!"