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ISSUED SEMI-WEEKLY. L. m. GRIST'S sons, Pubiuhw..} % 4amilS 4?r % promotion of thi* political, ?ociat, ^griculturat and (Tommcrrial Interests of the people { TWSb^f^^*Jjj!yiwESTABLISHED 1855. YORKVILLE, S. C-," TUESDAY, FEBRUABY ' XO. 15. "Alias Jimmy Valentine" CHAPTER IX. a volnntlne was i A Silence eusucu. > plainly suffering from the blow. Then an expression of confidence came into Valentine's face. He seated himself on a sofa at the left of the room. "She'll be back," he said. "You fellows are just like Izzy Snedden. He always said women didn't amount to much. Guess that was because one of the barmaids at the Cheshire Cheese in London peached on him to the Scotland Yard bulls, and he had to make a quick getaway hidden under the coal in a freight steamer. But this girl is different from the kind of women you and I have known, boys. She saw there was something good in me, even when I wore the stripes, and she took me out of the reach of Warden Handler and 'solitaire'?'solitaire,' boys. Does that mean anything to you?" Valentine's voice rose higher. * ? itn Hn nnp thine "Yes, ana sue g ku I lie, w ? ? more for me. She's coming back to help me start on the square." Red stepped close to Valentine, gripped his arm and hissed determinedly into his ears: "You know she won't, you don't think a straight girl would stand for a crook like you, do you? you, with the coppers always after you on account of some of the old stuff we did? Don't kid yourself, Jimmy. It's no go." "If any other crook had dreamed a dream like that, what a laugh it would be, but now you go, Red?you and Avery." Red rose quickly. "What do you mean?" suspiciously. The light of resolution shone in Valentine's eyes. "I've quit," he said. '"What!" snapped Red and Avery together. "I've quit." "What about Doyle?" put in Avery. "He's heavy on your mind, ain't he, Avery? I can beat Doyle." "You ain't going to lose that coin I've got staked out for an hour's work?" wailed Red. "Seven thousand if there's a dime!" "Yes, I'll lose that." "And a trip abroad to brace you up? a month in Paris?" "Yes: I lose that too." Red went on excitedly, bending tensely toward Valentine: "But you won't lose the old thrill of going into a bank Just before dawn, landing the watchman and feeling out a combination in the dark?" "And hearing the coppers pass ana try the door?" reminded Avery eagerly. "And seeing the old safe open up like an oyster and grabbing the dough?" said Red alluringly. "And make a clean getaway?" followed Avery. "And the long jump and the landing in at a swell cafe, Jimmy?eating the breakfast of the millionaire?" sang out Red. "With the coin in your kick?" added _. Avery. "And reading the papers and laughing our heads off at what suckers we made of the coppers?you ain't going to lose that, Jimmy?" Red pleaded, with every' ounce of effort he could control. Indecision had begun to show in Valentine's face, and now his surrender was complete. "You goLto me, Red," he announced, then added eagerly: "Where is this layout you got? Can we get to it tonight?" "Sure. It ain't two hours from here." "It's a cinch," commented Avery dellchtfidlv Jimmy Valentine had surrendered indeed. His two one-time accomplices had cunningly played on his weakness for the thrills of the "crooked game." The thrills of it to him were more precious than the rewards. They were his rewards. Besides, the girl had not returned. She had paid the debt she "and seeing the old safe open up like AN OISTEB." owed to her rescuer, and that was all. Well, let her go, reasoned Valentine. Never again would he commit the folly of placing faith in a straight girl! "Wait!" he cried. "My hands are pretty tough. I couldn't feel the tick of grandfather's clock the way they are now, but I can beat that. I can sandpaper them down till I can feel the pulse in a dead man's wrist. Where's the"? "We got him," whispered Bill Avery exultantly to Red. "We got him, an' he'll stick." Hardly had Jimmy Valentine made his declaration to again Join interests with Red Flanagan and Bill Avery than a bellboy entered the parlor, paging the name of "Mr. Valentine." Jimmy stepped forward hastily, seized an envelope bearing his name which the bov carried and excitedly tore it open. He found a brief note written in feminine penmanship. He read these words, and the color surged to his cheeks: "Please don't leave till I return. I inclose you a note Mrs. Webster asked me to give you. We saw her at the depot, where we went to reserve sleepers for tonight. Rose I^ane." "What is it?" asked Avery, drawing near. "Something from Doyle, I'll bet." Novelized by FREDERIC R. TOOMBS From the Great ? Play by PAUL ARMSTRONG f> :_U1 1Qin ku A mitrlra n ' Press Association. I "Yes, what is it?" questioned Red. 1 "It is the return of hope," answered Valentine, his emotion causing his i voice to shake. i "You've weakened again?" sneered i Red. ( "No; I'm strong again." "You mean that's from the girl?" i "She is coming back, Red, and I there's nothing to this earth or in h?1 i that can make me go wrong. You said i a minute ago that if you thought 1 had a chance you'd stick." I "I said it." i "Then I hold you to that." 1 "Good God!" exclaimed Avery. 1 "You're not goin' to turn square, too. ] Red?" "I'm going with Jimmy. If I'd do a bit for him I got to go if he asks it." "What am I goin' to do?" asked Avery plaintively. Valentine drew close to him. "I've got you a job, Bill, a good one," he announced. "Me a job! Where?" Valentine read from a note Mrs. Moore had left with him. "Listen," he said. " 'This will introduce the man you promised the position as watchman of one of your grain ID w "I KNOW WHAT'S INSIDE OF MEf elevators. The wages at $2.50 a day ' are satisfactory to him.'" Intense disgust spread over Bill Avery's face. ( "Two-fifty a day," he sneered. "A 1 man can't live on that." Valentine laughed. , "It costs 31 cents a day to keep a f man in Sing Sing," he reminded the 1 thief. ( "I don't want a job," snarled Av- c ery. "Only the suckers work for a 1 living." ' "Yes, you do want one," returned s Valentine, "and this is just your kind, 1 A A nrl lot m<> toll VOI1 SOmGthillC that you think I don't know. You're tired of being a crook?tired to death. I knew that when we were inside. But you are afraid of what a lot of old pals will say. Well, let them say. What they got? Did you ever see a crook with anything? What do they amount to? They haven't the standing of a house dog. You're tired of it, Bill, and ashamed of the years you've lost, and I know it. Now here's your chance, your day of salvation. There's the letter and here's the coin to get there." He handed Avery some bills. "It's way out west where no one knows you, and you've got a chance. Just think, back to a mother and then ahead to"? The hardened look began to fade from the thief's face. "Give it to me." He clutched the money in his hand. "I'll try, by God, I'll try." Tears trickled down Avery's prison paled cheeks. "That's the talk?that's the heart.' spoke Valentine sympathetically. "And if I fail I'll end it," said Av- ' ery. "You won't fail. It's oniv tne suckers that fail. Make the next train? heat Doyle. Get away." Avery turned toward one of the entrances. "Goodby, Jimmy. Goodby, Red." he cried, and he was gone. "I tell you. Red," said Valentine, looking after him, "there isn't a crook you know who wouldn't go straight if he could." "God!" exclaimed Red feelingly, "but you know what's inside of a man." "I know what's inside of me. and I dare face it." Jimmy Valentine crossed to a window and peered out into the street. No one in sight that he knew, yet he had lost all doubt that Rose I-ane would return. Her message had calmed his fears, and. more than that, it had come in time to save him from thrusting aside the one chance in the world to redeem his lost years. Another thought rose strong within him as he returned to the sofa, seated himself and saw Red standing disconsolately near the table. Something had to be done for Red?that was certain. Red Flanagan was young?barely twenty-five?and he had many characteristics that were not at all bad. Valentine was convinced that his friend would remain loyal to him if ho J could take him with him and that ho ; would become a man of honor and integrity if ho received the proper encouragement. He felt it his duty to i do this much for Red?give him a < chance, the chance that would turn ( square half the thieves in the prisons if they could but obtain it. And so he resolved that he would take Red with him wherever he went If possible to arrange it. Together they would hew a way out of the morass of degradation and misery Into which they had been plunged. Red had been unfortunate in his early environment. Here lay the cause of his lawbreaking career. Left an orphan in a crowded tenement on the east side of New York city at the age of thirteen, he had been taken care of by his uncle, a retired police captain, who operated a gambling house in Thirty-third street. Four years later Red was placed In charge of the buffet in this establishment. which occupation he followed until a new district leader was elected. One night during horse show week the sound of lusty ax blows on the armored front door struck terror into the hearts of the employees and the fashionably attired players of faro, roulette, baccarat and poker. The lad's truthful testimony at the trial which followed so enraged his uncle that Red no longer found a home R-ith him. Cast on his own resources, tie was attracted by the glittering promises of an expert poker and faro Sealer whom his uncle had employed. He joined with him in several trips on coasting steamers, "sitting in" with . iie gambler in poker games with the passengers and exchanging signals with Pirn concerning the cards they held. He learned the art ot denting tne corners of the aces, kings, queens and facks with his thumb nails so that in Jeallng with fingers sandpapered or worn almost to the bleeding point with pumice stone he could detect these inJentations and know when and to whom he was dealing the high cards. Prom this it was only a step to a partnership with the great Jimmy Valentine, the man who could "cop a gopher" without any artificial aids. All this was well known to Valentine. He himself had drifted into bad lompany in a manner somewhat simiar. He could see in the lessons of his iwn experiences that Red's misdeeds were not entirely blamable on Red. He was about to inform Red of his intention to aid him in a new career when he heard in the corridor the roice of Rose Lane addressing some )ne he believed must be her father. "Here she is, Red," whispered Valmtine, rising quickly. "You must get )ut till they go." But too late. At hat instant Rose Lane entered, forowed by her father. They saw Val1",ino olondltiff hv a susnleious look ng young man with very red hair. Valentine, realizing that he was on ;he verge of absolute ruin in the estination of the girl and her already luspicious father, for he could hardly sxplain Red's presence, turned coldly oward the thief. "I'm very sorry, sir," he said in iniifferent tones, "but I don't know _the nan you are inquiring for. Never loard of him. Guess you had better nquire of the clerk at the hotel ofice." Red. catching the hint, replied, 'Thank you, sir; I will do so," and vent out of the room, concealing a grinning face behind his hat. (To be Continued.) THE PHILOSOPHICAL BEGGAR. He Relies Not on Sympathy Alone But Also on Men's Vanity. "In begging," said the philosophi;al beggar, "much, very much, defends on the manner of approach. "The old. old way of saying. 'I walked the streets last night and I've ?ot to walk 'em tonight and I haven't lad anything to eat for seventeen lays,' the simple and commonly ;lumsy appeal to sympathy, is still he way most often followed because t is the easiest; but not all men are ympathetic and then the person appealed to in this way is always ready o detect a flaw in the story, the purpose of which is thus defeated by its pverdoing. "Exaggeration is the fatal defect in nost begging stories, a defect that lot only defeats the oeggar dui gives he person to whom appeal is made wo distinct satisfactions. In the first [ilace it gives that person a chance :o take credit to himself for detecting i fraud, and then knowing that he aas the further satisfaction of keepng his money, he doesn't have to give J p. "So these crude appeals, carelessy and bunglingly made, and addressed to the sense of sympathy only, alnost always fail. My appeal is more arefully considered, and besides, as Far us it is possible, it is adjusted to :he particular person addressed; and iften it is addressed primarily not to sympathy but to vanity. "The application of a title to a man s a great help if you know the title 0 give him and just how to apply it. Many a man likes to be addressed as judge, a great many men are mightily tdeased with being addressed as doctor and there are men who iike to be iddressed by military titles. I might say that some such men I address as olonel. but more as major, and there h sound reason in this. Plenty of nen would not aspire to or would not wpect to attain to the rank of colonel, and they would shy if so addressMi. though they might consider themselves fully equal to and fitted for the rank of major. "In military titles I never go below that rank. I never call anybody -aptain. there is no man who doesn't on si dor himself fit for a higher rank ;han that, and I very seldom address 1 man as boss, though that may somelimes do, and do well. "So now with this appeal to human vanity to be used, if it may be, ic on nid and nil i nielli lie wed erf 1 compose my story. I know on sight what person I can strike with some hope of success, and 1 don't waste time on others; and then I must decide on sight as to the form of the ippeal and as to whether it should tie made to sympathy only or to both sympathy and vanity. "Here now is begging that calls for keen discernment, quick action in lecision as to the precise nature and he extent of the call and sound judgment as to the opening approach. Such begging is indeed an intellectual [tursuit, calling into operation all the faculties of the mind, with an added tincture of the heart; and just as <urely as does success come to every man who follows whatever pursuit with intelligence and with complete levotion, so does such begging bring its own rewards to the beggar."? \'ew York Sun. ' The customer (at a very secondclass restaurant)?"That's a good idea, waiter. Samples of the different dishL'S glued on to the menu."?The Sketch. #U$rrUanrous grading. IN UNION THERE IS POWER. In Organization tho Farmers Find Their Strongest Weapon. To the Officers and Members of the Farmers' Union: Organization is today the greatest weapon and the most achieving tool at the disposal of the American farmer. I have stressed, in previous appeals, the almost magical value of organization, as shown in great and small business, state and Federal government, accomplishment generally the world over. But one could write volumes and yet leave many features of the subject unhandled. I am, moreover, extremely anxious that every American farmer not a member of the Farmers' Union Identify himself with this organization; for his own sake, first, and, necessarily, for the good of the organization. There is not one American state In which the Farmers' Union is well organized, but the lot of the farmers of that state generally has been improved. Why? For the simple reason that instead of working singly, or In pairs, for the local, the county or the state improvements and reforms they needed, they have worked as a unit. That is the secret of organization and its wonderful efficiency everywhere. For Instance: If it were to the interest of the farmers of a certain state to secure a larger educational appropriation that there might be more little "red school houses," what would bp the plan under the old system. A farmer or two would write his representative in the state legislature, the latter would laughingly read the letter and thprp thp mntter would end. It would continue to rest for months and years, until gradually the feeble, scattered voices grot together and made such an impression upon the law-making body that action was forthcoming. Had organization existed the result would have been hastened by as many as there was numerical power and wise leadership to the organization. That is what organization does? hastens results, reduces scattered public sentiment to a focus, and makes it heat hard, loud and persistently upon the ear-drums of a sleepy legislature. We have proved it in so many 3tates, that I cannot undertake to enumerate them. Politics is just one feature. If organization is effectual in that field, it is no less effectual in creating conditions that will lessen the farmers' debt, make his living conditions more -? i Ut_ # pifasaui, K'vc iiuii guuu luaus, put mm Into more friendly relations with his neighbors, and, finally, solve what the wise men call the "rural problem." Organization is the weapon of the many put into the hands of a few responsible, able and devoted men. That is why I am preaching its value. But organization can be most effective if you insist that your leaders be chosen for fitness and for ability to suffer and sacrifice rather than for Jollying and hand-shaking ability. So it will be an excellent plan for you to spend much of your time this vf>nr in lnnlrinir for mon who nnawcr this qualification, then giving them a square deal. If they fail, and you still believe them honest and capable, give them another trial. It doesn't matter if they turn out dishonest or grafters. Drop that special kind, and go at it again with another set. The American farmer is the hardest fellow in Christendom to organize because of his independence. He carps about his "rights." Even when surrendering a few of them for a while to better his condition he is often stubborn as a Missouri mule. Organization has gone forward faster in European countries, because the farmers there realized to begin with that they had less a chance, in politics and business, and that they must combine for their own good. The American farmer, until lately, has thought himself absolutely selfsufficient; he has stood upon the theory ui cvcrj American neiiig a King, over- r looking the way in which big and little t business and city men organized to enforce their "kingship." li And continued to let wealth drift i from the farm to the city, when the drift should, in the nature of things, be in the other direction. I have been frank about these things, because we must face them in order ^ to perfect our organization, and to bring into it every farmer in the country with the intelligence to know that organization is the keynote to his own a salvation. Charles S. Barrett. 1 Washington, D. C. t s SUN IS BAD TIMEKEEPER. 1 e United States Naval ObservatoryBases j Its Calculations on Stars Instead of } Trusting Old Sol. ^ If a large number of persons were r asked the question "What is meant 1 when in daytime a clock says 12 1 o'clock?" about 99 out of every 100 r would answer that at that hour the sun is on the meridian and it is noon. r But the sun is not on the meridian * each day when the clock is at 12. * Nearly every one has a friend who e owns a valuable watch that keeps ex- c cellent time, and many a time this ^ friend, on being asked the exact time, r has looked at his watch with a great deal of pride and has told the hour, ? at the same time remarking: "This ? watch regulates the sun." If the watch r keeps as poor time as does the sun it 1 should he sent to a watchmaker, for 1 the sun is a wretchedly bad timekeep- r er. It sometimes is as much as a quarter of an hour fast, and at another sea- j son it may he an equal amount slow. ? In fact, it may be said that a clock s of extreme precision, such as the as- 1 tronomers use, is never exactly at 12 c when the sun is on the meridian. a "But." it will be asked, "if the sun t does not give us our time, what, then, i does? As every one knows, the rotation of the earth on its axis is our measure t of time, each complete revolution mak- 1 ing a day. As the earth rotates it car- i ries our meridian around with it, and 1 as the meridian crosses through the c heavenly bodies, in succession they t are said to "transit." The interval of I time between two successive transits c 3f the same celestial body across the meridian is called a day. If the body considered is a star, we have what is known to the astronomer as a star day, or sidereal day. The stars are fixed, the earth rotates uniformly on its axis, and as a result the sidereal days for all stars are of equal length. But which star shall be chosen as the most important in the heavens, so that time shall be reckoned from it? Instead of selecting a star the astronomers have picked upon the vernal equinox, the intersection in the sky of the equator and ecliptic. When it Is on the meridian the astronomer's clock says Oh. Om. Os., the beginning of the sidereal day, whose hours run from 9h. to 24th. In a great observatory the position of the stars are recorded In time kept by such a sidereal clock, ind sidereal time is of great importance to the astronomer. Due to the annual revolution of the ;arth about the sun the sun appears to move continuously eastward among the stars, completing a Journey once in a year. The sun moves in what is ^alled the "ecliptic," and its motion Is from west to east among the stars, rhls apparent annual motion of the juri has very Important consequences. L<et us consider those only that refer to time. Imagine a sun and a star on the meridian together at noon on a certain lay. One complete revolution of the ?arth on its axis would bring the earth's meridian back to the star, and i sidereal day would have elapsed. In Lhls Interval of time the sun has apparently moved eastward among the jtars, and it is necessary for the earth :o rotate a little further on its axis :o overtake the sun, bring it out on the nerldian and complete the solar day. Hence sidereal days are each shorter :han solar days. As the sun completes its Journey in i year, it crosses the meridian one time ess in a year than does a star, and vith respect to the sun the stars gain me revolution, and hence in a year :here are 365} solar days, but 366} lidereal days. Consequently it is readly Been that in twelve months a side eal clock will gain a day in twenty'our hours, on a solar clock. Twentyfour hours yer year means two hours ler month, or nearly four minutes a lay, a second every six minutes. Sidereal time keeps track of the moioils of the stars (which is its sole jurpose), and hence it Is seen that each >f the stars will come on the meridian it 10 p. m. on the 1st of February; on he 1st of March it will be on the erllian at 8 p. m. The same thing l.olds joofl for all the fixed stars and congelations. If all sidereal days are equal to each >ther, are not all solar days likewise? Solar days, though longer than side *eal days, could be equal In length to >ach other only If the sun moved unl'ormly among the stars In a circle at Ight angles to the axis of the earth. This circle in the sky is the equator. 3ut the sun does not move In the iquator but In the ecliptic, and with a notion In this latter circle which Is not iniform. Hence a double cause exists vhich alters the Intervals of time beween successive transits of the sun icross the meridian, and which we call ipparent solar days. As a matter of 'act, a solar day at one time of the 'ear may be as much as 50 seconds onger than at another time of the 'ear. It is manifestly impossible to manifacture a clock which would keep track vith the actual time kept by the sun, tnd it became necessary to invent a iniform sun time that a clock could ollow. Consequently, the average, or he mean of the lengths of all the aplarent solar days for the year, was aken, and this was called the "mean lolar day." An imaginary sun called he "mean sun" is supposed to move in he sky which keeps this sort of time. The real sun does not give directly the ime of noon as kept by our clocks. Clock noon at any observatory difers from "apparent noon," when the ictual sun is on the meridian, by an imount known as the "equation of ime," which may be as great as 16 ninutes. A "clock which regulates he sun" would always be wrong. Ac urate, mean solar time may be deternined by the astronomer from obser ations on the sun, but, strange as it nay seem, a great observatory like he United States naval observatory of Joturminoa its nrecise so rV <19I11I1?5 lull UV. ivi . ar time l>y observations on stars.?New I fork Yorld. STUDY OF AIR CURRENTS. Tides In the Atmosphere Similar tol Those on the Sea. Until men began to navigate the airl tnd study its currents and movementsl ittle attention was paid to the condl-I Ions of the upper atmosphere, and I luch matters as atmospheric tides and I op currents completely encircling the! arth were of seemingly little interest. I Since men have down, and especial-1 y since men have flown and fallen, we I lave heard a great deal in a vague I vay of air currents. Recently Law-1 ence Hodges in a paper before an I English scientific body gave some! inique facts about air tides which are! lot generally known. The moon, we know, causes the ma-1 ine tides by its attraction. It draws he water on the surface of the earth I oward it in a hump on the side that is I >xposed to the lunar influence, and P lraws the earth itself away from the! vater on the opposite, leaving a corresponding hump of water. The air, it seems, Is affected in the! lame way. The layer of atmosphere I ibout the earth rises, falls and flows nore freely than water, because it is ighter, so the tide comes more quickly! n the air at a given spot than thel narine tide. This rise and fall, however, means! list as much to the navigator of the! lir as the tide in the sea does to the lailor, and has to be accounted for. I The most remarkable current, how-1 ;ver, is one constant stream in the! itmosphere running from west to east ompletely around the earth In the lpper atmosphere. This was first brought to public atention when the volcano Krakatao lew a cubic mile of matter into the ipper atmosphere in the *80. The ighter particles were seen to make a omplete circuit of the earth seven imes in this circumglobing current >efore they finally disappeared.?Chiago Tribune. MAD CAREER OF "BLACK BART." w Famous Bandit of Wisconsin and b< Michigan Changed By Operation. Governor Warner has commuted the y< sentence of "Black Bart" Holzhey, who "( has been In Marquette (Mich.) penitentiary since 1889 under a life sen- B< tence, to 40 years. This brings Hoi- m zhey under the scope of the pardon board and he was released on parole hi on New Year's Day. n Can a skillful operation transform a in man from an unruly, murderous ruf- re flan to a quiet, gentlemanly fellow, he fond of books and the society of refined and educated men? m "Black Bart" Holzhey, former noto- he rlous bandit and train robber, Is a living example of what may sometimes ne be accomplished by a comparatively ye simple surgical operation. Holzhey was sent to prison twenty- at one years ago for killing A. E. Flelschbeln, an Illinois banker, In the hold-up th of a stage coach near Lake Gogebic, Mich. He was sullen and Intractable th until an operation removed a bit of he bone that was pressing on his brain, at and he became almost Immediately a tn normal, law-abiding man with a con- sa sumlng thirst for knowledge. For pi several years he has been In charge of nl tne nnrary in ivianjmnie pen, uuu uc has made himself an expert photo- h< grapher and a elose student of photo- m graphy. m "I believe that the man Is now nor- hi mal and ought to be given a chance to to be a good citizen," said Governor Warner. "It is evident to me that he com- se mltted his numerous crimes under ex- H traordinary, unnatural circumstances Di from which he has completely recov- F1 ered." Holzhey's story is one of the most lo remarkable examples of daring crime and surprising reformation in the annals of criminology. It goes far to- fl< ward proving the theory of many prison experts that crime is due in a large w measure to physical conditions. Holzhey was a normal youth. At the age cl of 23 he experienced a sudden desire d( to commit crime. ra Reimund Holzhey was born in Thur- e> ingen, Germany, in 1866. He came to le the United States at the age of 16. or He worked In the woods of Wisconsin and northern Michigan. He was an F1 ordinary lumberjack for years. et3 Suddenly, witnoui giving any eviueru sign of a change In his disposition, he ra flashed into publicity as the most bold w and ingenious criminal of his genera- in lion. His exploits rivaled those of T! Jesse James. From April until Au- re gust, 1889, his name alone was enough e<3 to terrify travelers in the north hf woods, and his exploits were for w months the subject of comment and T1 embroidered narration. He became ar known as "Black Bart," owing to his swarthy appearance, and under that z* sobriquet became notorious as the co most picturesque criminal In the his- ly torles of Wisconsin and Michigan, the in terror of two states. ' at First, there were a series of house df robberies. A score of houses in the ed towns of the lumber district were en- PC + Ku anmo man whn tO lci ru auu a invu %jj uviov ?nu<*> .... left no evidence. Late In April the m stage between Antlgo and Shawano, so Wis., was stopped as It passed through m the woods. Holzhey covered the drlv- st er with his revolver while he cut open the mall sacks and took all the val- fo uable packages. This time he was rec- Sfl ognized. ha Many and many a stage which made co dally and triweekly trips between the 'n lumber camps and the town was stop- th ped in a piece of thick woodland, its passengers robbed and its mail pouch- wi es opened. Northern Wisconsin was Is in a state of terror. No driver left a*i town without a companion heavily armed. th Finding the robbery of stages too he hot work Holzhey changed his ground, se On May 9, when the Milwaukee and th Northern train stopped at Pike, "Black 'ft Bart," with a bristling mustache, sa climbed aboard. He gave his ticket ar to the conductor and watched him en- re ter the baggage car. Then he went to the end of the last coach, where the he brakeman was standing, whipped out a " revolver and told the brakle to walk in front of him, stopping at each seat. w' The brakie obeyed orders. At every a seat Holzhey stopped and took toll? P? watches, money, whatever he could get. He complained because he could not w' stop and search those who refused to ou give as much as he thought they mi ought. Then, as the train slowed down en at Ellis Junction, he swung off and fn disappeared in the woods. th Large rewards were offered for Holzhey's capture by the government and th the railroad. Scores of detectives were to allured by the big total and came to mi the north woods. Holzhey found the mi country untenable. So he disappeared, wl He was next heard of at Rhinelander, fo: 100 miles away. He had walked the entire distance through the woods. hii In that district lies the town of tu Sherwood. A Hebrew merchant was counting his cash there one noon while re his clerks were at lunch. In walked gu Holzhey. Approaching the merchant of he stuck a revolver in his face and told him to fork over. The men- ti\ chant gave him several hundred do!- pe lars. Holzhey stepped into the alley th behind the store. The victim gave the ini alarm, but the robber had disappeared, an The depredations continued. On Au- dr gust 7 Holzhey stopped a train on the Wisconsin Central railway, boarded the re: Milwaukee coach, stepped up to the be sleeping conductor and took his watch, wi look $100 in cash and several watches in: from those in the berths, pulled the T1 bellrope as the train neared Cadott cr and jumped off. m: The rewards for Holzhey's capture, ed dead or alive, now aggregated more im $2,500. Every man in the woods kept a sharp lookout for the bandit, yet pr when he appeared they feared to touch mi him. He was known in all the lum- an ber camps, and the lumbermen were tri . -t- LI ?.?o nl.lo eager 10 eaten mm, jci ?ic wao to enter nearly every camp in the pr woods, demand food, get it and go in away without a hand being raised os against him. of A man of tremendous energy and a wi clever woodsman, Holzhey would com- an mit a robbery and disappear, only to turn up next day twenty miles from zh the scene. No man went on a journey 0f without a gun, for fear of meeting jn the bandit. ha The night of August 25 Holzhey he spent at the Gogebic hotel, Gogebic, as There he saw three bankers and learn- hii ed that they were to travel by stage hi: next day to Lake Gogebic. He arose he early and disappeared. kr As the stage passed through the oods next day Holzhey stepped from ?hind a tree and stopped the driver. "I want to make a collection from >u fellows," he said to the bankers. Gentlemen, shell out." "All right," said A. E. Flelshbein, of ellevllle, 111., one of the trio. "Here's ine." With that he pulled a revolver from s hip pocket. Before he could fire, olzhey shot, and Fleischbein tumbled to the road. A second man trted to sist, and Holzhey shot him also. The >rse took fright and ran away. Holzhey coolly searched the second an whom he had wounded. As he Hit over him he said: "If that fool had not shot, you would >t have been hurt. I am sorry for >u, but It's my business." Then he rifled Flelschbeln's pockets id disappeared. He slept in the woods, only going to e villages for necessary food. It was when he went to Republic at the bandit was captured. One day ( walked Into Republic, 120 miles vay from where the crime was comltted, and where he thought himself tfe from detection, to obtain supies. Village Marshal Glade recogzed "Black Bart," and lured Holzhey the second story of a hotel. When ; came downstairs three powerful en pounced on him. It took three en to bind the desperado after he id made a fierce fight and attempted shoot his captor. Next day came Sheriff Foley and vera! men from Gogebic to Identify olzhey. Among them was Thomas amuth, driver of the coach In which lelschbeln had been a passenger. "That's the man," said Damuth, oklng at Holzhey. The robber returned the stare. "How are you, Damuth?" he said ircely. "Would you have shot Glade?" he as asked. "Would I have shot him?" he exaimed. "I would have shot them all ?ad in their tracks. I'd a d? sight ither be dead myself than here. I cpected a bullet every time I tackd a man, so why shouldn't I send . ~ u ~ on ic wneii u was iicucoonrj ! Holzhey was tried for killing ielschbein, found guilty and sentencI to life imprisonment at Marquette. The highway from Bessemer to the Jlroad passes through three miles of lid forest, and Sheriff Foley was not clined to risk any chances of rescue, he sheriff carried, in addition to his volvers, a double-barreled gun, loadI with slugs. Holzhey had his wrists indcuffed together, and a short chain ith gyves was fastened to his ankles, he night was starlight, clear and cold, id the road was covered with snow. One of the travelers accosted Holtey in German, asking If he was ild. "No," said he, moving his thinshod feet out of the snow and clankg the chain: "I am half iurned to one." He was offered ~a cfgar, but >cHned It, saying he had never smokI nor used tobacco. He was not dis>sed to converse, even in his mother ngue. The traveler tried him with uslc, humming in a low voice the ng from Schiller's "Robbers." The elody, sung by many voices, has a irring effect. The bandit listened with his hands lded across his breast, the firelight earning on his face and reflected LCk from his shackles. The waiting mpany gathered nearer to the burng stump, observing the bandit and e singer. "Yes." said Holzhey, when the song is finished. "I know it. The melody fine. I have heard it in Germany id America." He turned his back to the fire as e whistle of the locomotive was ard. "What if he should throw hlmlf across the track when the locomore comes along?" was asked of SherFoiey. "Let him do so if he wishes," id the sheriff. Helped into the car id to a seat near a window, Holzhey lapsed into silence. i In the pen he was sullen, but not rellious. He was given the same priv- i iges as the other prisoners. In the Uowlng March he stole a table knife, Netted it in his cell until he had made i dangerous weapon with a stiletto lint, and waited his chance. One day he refused to leave his cell i hen the other convicts were called it. Warden O. C. Tompkins sent a i an to bring him out. When the guard i itered his cell Holzhey seized him ) am behind and held the knife at his i roat. i Warden Tompkins, wondering why e guard did not bring Holzhey, went 1 investigate. He found the unhappy ' an fearful of making the slightest < avement while Holzhey menaced him th hsl stiletto. The warden went r a gun. "Let go that man, or I'll shoot," was 1 s warning to "Black Bart" on his re- ' rn. ' "Shoot away if you want," Holzhey ( plied. But he wheeled the helpless 1 ard between himself and the muzzle 1 the warden's gun. ' For two hours Holzhey held his cap- < re. Then Tompkins, taking a desrate chance, fired. The ball went rough Holzhey's knife hand, shatterg four fingers so that they had to be lputated. The exhausted guard was agged from the cell. As the months went by and Holzhey mained sullen and intractable, they gan to think that something was ong with him physically. An examation showed that he was insane. iey sent him to the asylum for the iminal insane at Ionia, where he relined a year. There he was operaton, and a bone that had been pressg on his brain was lifted. "Black Bart" went back to Marquette ison a changed man. His fierce nod had vanished. He was cheerful id obedient. He became the most usted man in the prison. Holzhey was put in charge of the ison library. He became interested books of travel and works on phllophy, and finally he began the study French, which he can now read and rite. He is familiar with the history id politics of every civilized nation. To illustrate the breadth of Holey's reading and his understanding current affairs, he wanted to invest copper stocks about a year ago. He id J600 saved in the years he had 1 en in prison. Warden James Russell sented to his buying stocks, as it was s money. When the warden asked < in what shares he thought of buying I was surprised at the bandit's I lowledge of the copper situation. < which he had gained solely by reading. He subscribed for a New York financial journal that cost him $12 a year, and for a Boston paper of the same nature. Within a year he had a profit of $1,800.?New York Tribune. BUFFALOES ON THE MARCH. When the Line of a Great Herd and of a Body of Troops Crossed. The immensity of the buffalo herds in this region was beyond computation. One day south of the Arkansas, between Wichita and Camp Supply, they were so numerous that they crowded the marching columns of the win?. teenth Kansas so dangerously close that companies were detailed to wheel out in front and fire volleys into the charging masses," said William D. Street of Decatur county, at a meeting of the Kansas Historical society. But it was not until I came to the northwestern frontier that I beheld the main herd. One night in June. 1860, company D, Second b&t&llon, Restate militia, then out on a scouting expedition to protect the frontier settlements, camped on Buffalo creek, where Jewell city is now located. All night long the guards reported hearing the roar of the buffalo herd, and in the stillness of the bright morning, it sounded more like distant thunder than anything else it could be compared with. It was the tramping of the mighty herd and the moaning of the bulls. Just west of Jewell City is a high point of bluff that projects south of the main range of hills between Buffalo and Brown creeks, now known, we believe, as Scarborough's Peak. When the camp was broken the scouts were sent in advance to reconnolter from the bluff to ascertain, If possible, whether the column were In the proximity of any prowling Indians. They advanced with great care, scanning the country far and near. After a time they signaled the command to advance by way of the bluff and awaited our approach. When we reached the top of the bluff what a bewildering scene awaited our anxious gaze! To the northwest, toward the head of the Limestone, for about 12 or 15 miles, west across that valley to Oak creek about the same distance, away to the southwest to the forks of the Solomon, past where Cawker City Is now located, about 25 miles south to the Solomon river, and southeast toward where Beloit is now situated, say 15 or 20 miles, and away across the Solomon river as far as the field glasses would carry the vision toward the Blue Hills, there was a moving, black mass of buffalo, all traveling to the northwest at the rate of about one or two miles an hour. "The northeast side of the line was about a mile from us; all ether sides, beginning and ending, were undefined. They were moving deliberately and undisturbed, which told us that no Indians were in the vicinity. * "We marched down and into them. A few shots were fired. The herd opened as we passed through and closed up behind us, while those to the windward ran away. That night we camped behind a sheltered bend and bluff of one of the branches of the Limestone. The advance had killed several fine animals, which were dressed and loaded into the wagons for our meat rations. All night the buffalo were passing with a continual roar. Guards were doubled and every precaution taken to prevent them from running over the camp. The next morning we turned our course, marching north toward White Rock creek, and about noon passed out of the herd. Looking back from the high bluffs we gazed long at that black mass still moving northwest. "Many times has the question come to my mind. How many buffaloes were In that herd. And the answer? no one could tell. The herd was not less than 20 miles In width?we never Baw the other side?at least 60 miles In length and maybe much longer?two counties of buffaloes. There might have been 100,000 or 1,000,000 or 100,000,000. I don't know. In the cowboy days In western Kansas we saw 7,000 head of cattle in one roundup. "After gazing at them a few moments our thoughts turned to that buffalo herd. For a comparison Imagine a large pail of waier; take from it or add to it a drop and there you have It. Seven thousand head of cattle was not a drop in the bucket as compared with that herd of buffalo. "Seeing them a person would have said there would be plenty of buffalo a hundred years to come, or even longer. Just think that ten years later there was hardly a buffalo on the continent! That vast herd and the many other herds had ben exterminated by th'? ruthless slaughter of the hide hunters, who left the meat to rot on the plan> as food for the coyotes and carrion :rows, taking only the niaes wnicn were hauled away in wagons to the Union Pacific railroad and shipped east in train loads."?Topeka, Kan.. Capital | Bank Notes Made of Skin. In China, the first country in the vorld credited with using bank notes, certain skins were so valuable that hey were accepted as cash and passed 'rom hand to hand in the same way is bank notes are at the present day. The negotiability of these skins arose :hus: The Emperor Ou Ti, being in .vant of money, gave his treasurer to understand that such a state of affairs must not continue. At that time It was customary for princes and courtiers on entering the royal presence to cover their faces with a piece 3f skin. Taking advantage of this custom, the treasurer ordered a decree to be issued forbidding the use 3f any other skins for this purpose except those of a certain white deer n the royal parks. Immediately there was a demand for pieces of these skins, which, being a monopoly, were sold at a high price, and the royal coffers refilled. The steady value r>f the skins thus secured made them readily pass and be accepted as an equivalent of coin of the realm. In the Russian seal fisheries of Alaska he workmen were formerly paid in the currency stamped on squares or tvalrus hide.?Tid Bits. tir Chappie?"I say, old cock, let's go shooting, eh, what?" Cholly?Nothing In it, old chap. We shouldn't bag anyting but our trousers, y' know."? Cleveland Leader.