Yorkville enquirer. [volume] (Yorkville, S.C.) 1855-2006, October 28, 1904, Image 1
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YORKVILLE ENQUIRER.
ISSUED SEKX-WEEELT.
l. k. ORisrs s0h8, Pubiiihen. }. % gletrggagtr: ^or the promotion of the golitical, goeiat, Agricultural, and (Tommenciat gntereals of the feogle. . {tbb^.1<o,^0ooi *B^E'o^a''cg'
ESTABLISHED 1855~ YORKVILLE, 8. O., FRIDAY, OCTOBER 28, 1904. N~Q. 87.
r~ **-?
. LITTLE
A ROMANCE OF THI
GREAT LORD HAWKE"
CYRUS TOWN
Lm* Author of "Commodore Paul Jonea,"
of the Si
*
Copyright, 1901, by D. Ap
CHAPTER Vm?CONTINUED.
He forgot that he was her knfght,
and stooping down lifted her slender
form in his strong young arms. She
half-struggled a moment and then acnntac/>oH
What was he to do with
ber? The carpetless room was bare of
furniture and, save for themselves,
empty. He hesitated, stepped Into the
window, sat down upon the low sill,
and set her on his knee, holding her
firmly, carefully, tenderly. She, too,
forgot that she was a lady, and nestled
against him as any child might have
done.
"Now tell me," he whispered?they
spoke softly all the time?"why did
you come here, Anne?"
It was the first time he had addressed
her without a title.
"I do not know," she answered. "I
?my room is over there, you know.
I couldn't sleep. I was thinking about
the Lady Jehane and her lover the
Baron de Crolsic?and about you, Sir
?Philip." The pause between the
"sir" and "Philip" was a long one.
which sweetened the name in his ears
as she continued, "I heard a sound and
1 thought it might be his ghost So
I came?I hurried too. I had no time
to dress."
"Were you not afraid?"
"The marquis says the de Rohans
are never afraid. I didn't like it, but
I came on tiptoe, and then I saw some
XV. i
thing DiacK ouisiae on uie wituu;
and I walked over there. I was a little
afraid, I think, perhaps because I am
part American," she added naively.
"Americans are never afraid, either,"
Interrupted Grafton promptly.
"Well, anyway, I saw it was you
and I was not afraid any more. And
I watched you stand and look, and
then I saw you get over the wall, and
then I was fearfully afraid?for you,
Philip. I thought you might be killed.
I slipped out and caught hold of you,
you came back, and now we are here
?together."
There was a long pause. She slipped
her arm about his neck and held him
as if she feared again that he might
fall. He scarcely knew what to say,
so he held her close and kept silent
until she spoke once more, drawing
herself away from him a little as she
did so. "I don't think knights carry
their ladies around like this, do they?
I don't think it's quite proper, is it?
But these stones are so cold, and I
forgot my slippers, I was so anxious.
Is it all right. Sir Philip?"
She wriggled her pretty toes as she
anxiously sought for reassurance from
her admirer and companion.
"Proper? Of course, and where is
Josette?" he answered, glad to get back
to the form if not the spirit of the
Play.
"Asleep," she answered, "the great
stupid! She doesn't care whether there
are any knights in the world oY not i
But what are you doing here? You |
nave not toia me yet. "I?I?I
thought I'd try?the tower,
you know?the wall?to go down."
"Yes, and was It for me?"
For the life of him he could not He
to this confiding and Innocent little
girl.
"Lady Anne," he whispered, "it was
for "
But he did not seem to be able to
tell her the truth either.
"Yes, Sir Philip, it was for "
"For freedom then!" he said desperately.
"Oh!" she quivered, "and you were
going to leave?me?"
O ft. V* v> ^ ?
SET HER ON HIS KNEE.
There was a world of reproach In
her voice and then silence. Presently
he discovered that she was weeping.
Her small frame shook with subdued
sobs. The sight alarmed him, pained
him deeply; he could not throw off
a guilty feeling as he held her closely,
trying to soothe and quiet her. He
was desperately uncomfortable, yet
the scene must be ended if he were
to get away. He could meet her in
laughter on a common ground, but
sobs were foreign to his philosophy.
He had not enjoyed experience of thi.s
womanly weakness, which is the
weapon of the helpless, and he was
powerless before her tears. He could
not bear to see her cry, and suppose
the marquis should see him. what
would he think? Would he not conclude
that Grafton had broken faith
with him? And yet there was a passing
sweetness in the situation too. He
had no wish to terminate the interview;
he forgot for the moment that
he Intended to.escape that night
FRANCE 6
5 DAYS WHEN "THE
WAS KING OF THE SEA
SEND BRADY <
"Reuben James," "For the Freedom
ee,"eic.
pluton h Co., New York.
"Now, my dear little girl," he began .
at last, "it's all play, you know." |
This was a most unfortunate state- ,
menL All her youthful energies had
been bent toward the obliteration of
this bitter fact. That is a moment of
the greatest sadness when we find out
our hardly maintained realities have
only been some other person's play!
"It's been play all the time," she
sobbed impulsively. "I knew it was
so! I tried not to believe it! Josette
told me so, and I said she was stupid;
but she knew more than I! You have
teen playing with me from the first,
haven't you? Let me go back to my
dolls, monsieur, 'tis all I'm fit for."
She tried vainly to break away.
"My dear child," he replied, still
holding her, but utterly at a loss to
know what to do or say, "you see
I "
"You never were my really truly
knight, were you?" she went on
through her tears. "You never cared
anything for me; you were just amusing
yourself, weren't you? Making
fun of a foolish girl. Oh, monsieur,
how could you? And now you aro
going to leave me!"
"Anne," he said at last, "you are
cnly a little girl, and I am a grown
ruah."
"Yes, I remember I said you were old
for a knight, but you were all I had!"
she wailed.
"But do you know," he continued,
"It wasn't all play after all?not exactly?and
if I lingered there on the
I# v'aii matvt mo nnnan If WQ Q
UtUUUIiJ II J UU OOTT Ui? liauoc, iv
because I did not wish to leave you.
'Tis truly so. Dear little lady, little
playfellow and comrade, I am your
knight and will be."
"And is there no other lady in England
or America? You said 'no' once,
but was it true?"
"It was true and it is true; there is
no lady in England or America, or anywhere
in the world, for me, except
in this little corner of France, and if
I hesitated about going away, it wa3
for you, but don't you see? My duty
?I am an English officer. My king is
at war with yours. I must go back!"
"You love your country, monsieur,
more than?but you do not love me
at all, do you?" she asked plteously.
"Of course I do," he answered
promptly. "I love you very much indeed;
you are the sweetest little girl
I know."
"Oh, the marquis loves me that way,
and Jean-Renaud, and Josette, and?"
"It'8 different with me, you know.
Not like that at all. You see, men do
their duty because they ought to, and
they love people because they have to."
"Do you have to love me, Sir Philip?"
"Yes, and I am glad to, my dear
little girl. I am afraid if I stay here
any longer and you grow any older?"
He hesitated; was he actually about to
propose to this child? He resumed,
rather tamely. "I had to go away, you
see. Now let me go. and some day
I will come back to you and "
"Put me down, monsieur." she said
gravely, with one of those swift
changes of mood which he had often
noticed before. "I insist upon it!
There, you may go now, but you will
never come back to me. I know it.
You will be somebody else's knight,
end I "
Her little head dropped forward. He
lifted his hand to her chin, turned
her face upward and kissed her, and
then drew her nearer to his breast
as he might have done a little sister.
Yet it was not such a kiss as a brother
might have given, nor was it a sister
whose lips met his own. It was the
Irst time he or any man had kissed
her, save her grandfather, whose love
did not express itself in frequent caresses.
She was but a child, yet something
thrilled and leaped in her heart
it his touch, and there was a faint
echo of her feeling, a brief response
to her heart-throb, in his own breast.
But in a moment she broke from
his arms?never again could he hold
her so as before. She stood and looked
at him from those glorious eyes of
aers, and time, In one swift moment,
in the meeting kiss, wiped out the difference
in years between the two. His
thoughts changed as he gazed upon
her. A new idea came to him. In a
few years she would have grown?why
not7
"Monsieur," she said at last, and the
change in her was evidenced by the
gravity and the added dignity or her
manner, "you have kissed away the
child. I am a woman; you cannot go
now."
"Why not, Mademoiselle .Anne? I
can love you?from a distance?for I
swear, child or not, I love you?and I
can come back."
Love has nothing to do with this,
monsieur, now; I am a French woman.
You must not go; you shall
not! You are a prisoner. The marquis
is absent. The castle is mine until
he returns. I am the chatelaine.
I could never look my grandfather In
the face again if I allowed you to escape."
"And how would you prevent it,
Mademoiselle Anne?"
"By standing in your way, so!" she
answered, stretching out her slender
arms and barring the window with her
slight figure. "A feeble barrier, you
say; yet you were my knight?even
though only in play?and I, at least,
do not forget it. Gentlemen do not
pass to freedom over the bodies of
their ladies," she continued quaintly.
."Ah!" he cried* looking at her with
'mingled pride~and "vexation, "I could
brush you aside in a moment"
"But you would not, Sir Philip," she
went on, lapsing into the old style
of address. "Besides, I should scream,
and then?and you cannot go down
those rocks at night. The danger?
it would kill me?the thought hurts
me here."
She laid her hand Innocently upon
her heart.
| "The baron of old did it," he answered.
"Oh, yes; but he went for love."
"And I for liberty."
"And is liberty stronger than love,
monsieur?"
"By heaven, Littlfe France," he answered
impulsively, calling her by a
name which she loved to hear, "I know
not if it be! I am afraid 'tis not,
since "
"Since what, monsieur?"
"Since I stay here with you," he replied
decisively. "Now, you must go
to bed. I want not your death upon
my hands."
He stepped forward and lifted her
in his arms again. She weakly protested,
but allowed it They both felt
the end of the game had come, yet
for the last time she indulged herself.
To-morrow would see?nay, to-night
saw her a child no longer. Yet she
clung to the spirit of the play, the
hardest to be lost of all the ideas
youth cherishes.
"You promise me on your word of
honor that you will not seek to escape
when I am gone to bed, Sir Philip?"
she asked, nestling against him, her
arms around his neck, her head on his
shoulder, as he carried her toward her
chamber.
"I promise you, Lady Anne, on the
faith of a knight?your knight"
"And you are not playing this time?"
"Not this time," he answered, setting
her down at the door of the
room. "Good-night," he added, pressing
his lips as of old to the little brown
hand.
"I trust you, Sir Philip," she answered.
"Good-night, and we will
never play together as we have."
"Yes, yes, to-morrow!" he cried after
her, as she shook her head sadly and
disappeared.
"Good God, man!" said Grafton to
himself, as he sat down in his room to
think it over, "you had a glorious
chance for liberty, and here you had
to go indulge in theatrics with that
little Rohan girl! And you are fool
enough to be satisfied with the situation,
my boy," he soliloquized. "Are
you falling in love with a chit of 13?
And yet how she looked when I
Pull yourself together, man! 'Tis
time to get out of here Such a
thing is preposterous?and Impossible
at best"
And yet he had lived long enough
tn Vnnw that it ia alwavs the lmDOS
sible that happens when hearts are
under consideration.
Fortunately It was only the next
morning that the marquis came home
with the welcome tidings for Grafton
?or were they unwelcome after all??
that he was exchanged, that he was
free to go that instant if he would.
"I am glad, Sir Philip" said Anne,
weeping as she hade him good-bye
alone in the tower-room, "that yon
didn't run away last night You will
be my knight In earnest and come
back to me some day? You promise
me?"
"Yes, In earnest," he answered, smiling,
"and some day I shall come back,
I promise you."
CHAPTER IX.
THE GENERAL'S HEART.
FIVE years had elapsed since
Philip Grafton left the Rose
of the Rohans In tears, and
a thousand leagues of ocean
now divided him from the old Breton
tower; five years filled with high endeavor
and honorable enterprise. He
had risen to the rank of post-captain
some years since and had been successfully
engaged in his profession In
many seas. His father had died meanwhile
and he was alone in the world.
To no woman among the many who
hod lnnVpH lnvo In his eves had he
given his affection, and his friends regarded
him as a confirmed bachelor.
Was he still dreaming of Anne? It
is enough to say he had not forgotten
her?perhaps that Is all.
It was evening on the 12th of September,
1759, a clear though moonless
night. The wind fell as the sun set,
and the ships slowly drifted up the
river with the heavy flood-tide. On
the shore to the left lay the camp of
Bougainville. The white tents of the
soldiery on the heights of Cap-Rouge
could be dimly detected in the soft illumination
from the irradiating stars
overhead. Lights twinkled here and
there on the heights, or moved along
on the crest of the bluffs, showing
that, as usual, the French were on
the alert and watchful.
There was much unwonted but subdued
bustle on the English fleet as
well. Men were being paraded and
mustered on the decks, arms and
equipments looked to, ammunition
pouches filled to repletion, and the
haversacks and canteens of the men
provided with food and water, for it
was hardly known when and where
they would get anything to eat after
they left the ships.
Far down the river the distant lights
on Cape Diamond were almost hidden
in clouds of smoke, and the muffled
yet continuous roaring of the heavy
guns from Admiral Saunders' ships
of the line and the batteries at Point
Levis, with the answer of the French
from the works at Beauport and the
citadel of Quebec, told a tale of furious
cannonade. The admiral was certainly
doing his part. As he had promised,
he would keep them busy at the end
of the line.
Four bells in the first night watch
had Just been struck on the 50-gun
ship Sutherland, carrying the flag of
Admiral Holmes, commanding the
squadron of Cap-Rouge, when a boat
was seen making Its way 'through 'the
water approaching the starboard gangway
of the ship. Halls passed between
the Sutherland and the approaching
cutter.
"Boat ahoy!"
"The Porcupine!" promptly answered
a rather small man In the
stern-sheets of the boat, giving the
name of the vessel he commanded
and following his reply with the sharp
command, "Way enough! In bows!"
As he spoke he motioned to a midshipman
who sat beside him. Following
his officer's direction, the helm
was put over and the boat swept gently
alongside the gangway, the men
unshipping the oars at the same time.
"Leave a keeper in the boat and let i
the men go aboard the ship," continued
the officer, rising, "then have
the boat dropped astern. Tou will
follow me on deck, Mr. Robison," he
added, as he seized the manropes and
ran rapidly up the battens to the gang- j
way. i
"Good evening, Capt. Grafton," said ,
the officer of the deck, removing bis
cap and bowing low to the newcomer
as he stepped aboard. "The general I
has been asking for you." ,
"Ah, good evening, Hatfield! You
say the general is waiting for me?
Where is he?" |
"In the cabin yonder, sir."
"That's well. Will you have me announced
?"
"Mr. Giles," said Hatfield, turning to
his midshipman, "present my compliments
to the general and 6ay that
Capt. Grafton is here to see him."
"Ay, ay, sir!" replied the boy, touch- I
lng his cap and springing aft toward
the cabin.
"'Tis a fine night, Hatfield," remarked
Grafton, as they stood waiting.
"Indeed yes, sir."
"And a good time for our enterprise.
I believe it is set finally for this even-|
ing."
"I believe so, sir. The orders have
been sent around to all the ships."
"And time enough," responded Grafton.
"We cannot stay in this cursed ,
river much longer. Winter will soon
be on us." |
"The general's compliments to Mr.
Hatfield, and will Capt. Grafton please
come below in the cabin?" interrupted
the midshipman.
"By the way, Hatfield," said Grafton,
as he turned to follow the midshipman,
"where are Capt. Rous and !
the admiral?" I
"Below sir, in the admiral's cabin,
supervising the details for the evening.
Do you go with them, captain?"
"I believe that I am to have charge
of the debarkation," answered Grafton
hMPtiiv! "would you like to go?" I
"Indeed I would, sir." I
"Very well, I'll speak to Capt. Rous.
I shall doubtless see you again in a
few moments."
Presently Grafton entered the cabin.
"Ah, Grafton, glad to see you!" said I
a tall, thin man seated at a table, who
appeared to be very ill. "Prompt as
usual, I see." I
"You said nine o'clock, general, and
you know we sailors can be quite as
punctual as you gentlemen of the army?wind
and tide permitting, of
course."
"Well, captain, I?but stay I You
will excuse us, Monckton, and gentlemen
all, I am sure," said the general,
turning to his most trusted subordinate
and three or four staff officers
with whom he had been in consulta-.
tion, "I hare something of a private
nature to say to Capt Grafton, and
with your permission?no, no, keep
your seats!" he added, as he saw!
them rising, "we will withdraw to the
inner cabin. You see, I have two
rooms, Grafton, by the courtesy of
Capt, Rous, luxurious quarters for a
soldier in the course of an active campaign."
The two men, bowing to the officers,
who returned their salutations with
elaborate courtesy, withdrew into the
inner cabin. Motioning the sailor to
a seat the general sank down on a
transom, rested his elbow on the postsill,
leaned his head upon his hand,
and gazed through the open port toward
Cap-Rouge. Grafton did not
presume to break the silence.
"Philip," he said at last, turning
about and leaning forward toward his
friend, "we try it to-night."
"Yes, James."
"And you are to have charge of the
boaca."
"Ixwuijc you for that."
"I wanted a good man upon whom
I could depend. There must be no miscarriage
here if we can help it. 'Tis
our last chance. You saw Admiral
Saunders, as I requested?"
"Yes, and he delays sailing for a
short time longer, though he takes a
great risk."
"A noble fellow!" exclaimed the
young general heartily. "If he fails
to take the town, I will ever bear testimony
that our want of success was
not due to any lack of co-operation
on his part."
"Shall we succeed, think you,
Wolfe?" asked Grafton.
"What think you of the prospects
yourself?"
"I am a sailor I know little of such
things. Give me the deck of a ship
and I am at home. I fear nothing
there?unless it be a lee-shore?but on
land I prefer your views."
"Shall we fail? God knows!" murmured
Wolfe softly, haif soliloquizing.
"I tried to turn their flank on the
Montmorencl and failed there. I tried
a direct attack on the Beauport lines
and failed again. This time I know
not. The path's a poor one at best
A hundred men at the top might hold
an army." suddenly, as If awakened
from a dream. "Of course not! We
shall not fail! We can't fall! Philip,
I must have Quebec! And now, at
that! 'Tls our last chance, and mine!
'Tis sure a hard fate, but this body
of mine is done for. I may last for
a few days longer, but my race is
about run."
"Don't say that, James!" exclaimed
? 4
his boyhood friend, protesting even
against the bitter assurance in his
heart of the truth of the dying soldier's
words.
"It Isn't the saying, old friend, but
the fact, that makes It hard to bear
?and 'tis true. This poor frail body
la not equal to the demands I have
made upon it If it carry me through
{to-night and to-morrow I shall say
naught. Death may have Its way.
Peace, Philip. I know what you
would say, but I know myself 'tis
useless. I want to strike one good
blow for old England before I go.
11 should like to see the Cross of St
George floating above Cape Diamond
before?but we shall see. Stobo says
the path is practicable. He's a canny
Scot and should know what he's talking
about. I have examined it carefully
as we floated past it, and I believe
that we can get up. Once let
me get on those plains and I Interpose
between Montcalm and his base of
supplies. He must tight, retreat or
surrender."
" 'TIs easy to tell," answered Grafton.
"what he will do then."
I "Quite. He Is a splendid soldier, as
many of our poor fellows have cause
to know?and a fighter always. I
honor him."
"But suppose you get caught between
Montcalm and Bougainville's
men from Cap-Rouge, Wolfe?"
"The chances for their arriving on
the field together are very remote, and
we must crush the one who first makes
his appearance. Then we can easily
deal with the other."
"Have you Issued all the necessary
orders?"
"All."
"Have you thought of everything?"
"Everything but defeat. The men
are to enter the boats about 11
o'clock," he continued. "They are to
row up the river as if to make a landing
at Cap-Rouge and then return to
the ships. When the tide turns and
the ebb begins they are to drop silently
down the river. The ships will
follow after an hour's interval. The
boats will land the men at the designated
point, and then go across to the
other side and ferry over Burton's
troops, who will have marched there
before this, I presume. Those are
your orders, Grafton."
"What then?"
"Then we will bide the issue. 'Tis
a desperate hazard.A
"Ay, desperate, indeed."
"We play for a great stake, Grafton,
and fortune has been so hard to us
perhaps the tide may turn and luck
may serve."
"You are too wise a man to be lucky,
Wolfe," responded the naval officer.
"Well, perhaps the luck will be with
England, then. In fact, it is. Two
deserters from Cap-Rouge have ap
prised us that a flotilla of provision
boats is to be sent down to Quebec
to-night. We will be that flotilla."
"Yes," laughed Grafton, "and give
the French such a breakfast as they
will And it difficult to digest, I'll warrant."
"Quite so," said Wolfe, smiling.
"But now that you have your official
instructions, Philip, there is another
thing I want you to do for me."
"Anything on earth, old friend."
"I know that, I know that," answered
the soldier. "You have always
been a friend to me since we were
boys together in old England. No
one could be truer or better than you
have been."
"Oh, that's all right," answered
Grafton, hastily, with the Anglo-Saxon
inclination to the avoidance of a scene.
"We have been friends since my father
sent me to the English school, where
we met. I was a little colonial lad
from Massachusetts, and mighty lonely
I was, Jimmie, until you took me
up and championed me."
"But you fought your own battles,
Phil."
"You saw that I had fair play, any
way. I'll ten you wnat it is, woue,
if your body only equalled your spirit,
what a knight you would have been!"
"Well, it's about that body that .
want to speak. As I told you, I am
doomed. I shall never get back tc
England alive; the sickness upon mr
is mortal. The physicians have sale
so, and I feel that it is true. Look a*
me, you can see for yourself! If i<
were not for the fight I should be or
my back now, and if I have to die I't
rather do it on the field yonder?after
we have won, of course?but that's as
God pleases. This is what 1 want you
to do."
As he spoke the young general unbuttoned
his waistcoat, loosened his
tie, and drew from his neck a little
gold chain to which was attached a
golden locket inclosed in a tight
leather case. He slipped the chain
over his head, drew the locket from
the case, opened it and held it toward
the light. He looked long and earnestly
at the picture it contained?the portrait
of a young and lovely woman.
Observing that his friend had considerately
turned his head, he raised it
softly to his lips. A single tear fell
upon the ivory miniature as he closed
the locket, slipped it back in the
leather case and extended it to Grafton.
Deep tribute of affection liee in
the tear of a soldier?of a soldier like
Wolfe.
"When you get back to England,
old friend," he said, slowly, "I want
you to give this to Katharine Lowther,
and tell her how, the night before I?
before the battle, I mean, I gave it to
you in the cabin of the ship, and how
I loved her to the end. I have sent my
farewells to my mother and the rest
by some who know them, but I lay this
last duty upon you. Nay, man, slip
it around your neck. 'Twill not hurt
Kitty, 'twould not hurt any girl to
have her portrait worn against so honest
a man's heart. And?" he hesitated,
"don't mention this to any one,
and see that it does not leave your
person until you give it to her. Now,
Philip, we must go. Your hand, old
friend, and good-by."
"God bless you, Jim," answered
Philip, his voice choking with eao
tlon. "On my word I will tell no one
of It, anfl no one shall see It or know
It until I give It to Miss Lowther. I
pledge you, old friend. But I won't
say good-by. I hope to congratulate
you to-morrow?in Quebec."
TO B? CONTINUED.
Jttijwltiuuous grading.
LASSOED A WILD CAMEL.
The Beast Then Proceeded to Take
Cattleman on a Journey.
A report from Topeka, Kan., that
an expedition may be organized to
round up the wild camels of this
region has aroused much interest
here.
There are several droves of these
camels in Arizona. They are frequently
seen on the borders of the
great salt desert. If it had been proved
possible to capture and domesti
Cttie me tuiiiucus uicjr nuuiu uaru
been put to practical use by the people
of this section before this.
The men who have attempted to
do what the members of the Topeka
expedition now purpose doing met
with signal failure, and none of them
care to go through the experience
again.
"Them Eastern fellers can round up
all the camels they want to. I don't
want no more of it in mine," was the
remark which "Clem" Miller made
when told of the project. Miller has
a ranch near the Mexico border between
Gila City and Yuma. "I would
not mind being off at a safe distance
when the round-up takes place, but
excuse me from participation in it It
would be fun for the onlooker, but
awful for the other fellow. Maybe
they do use camels on the 'Sahary*
desert, but they must be of a different
breed from these 'Arizony* animals.
"When I started my ranch a few
years ago I thought it would be a good
Idea to rope a few of these camels
that roam around here an* use 'em to
bring my ranch supplies over from
Yuma. I also had an idea that I could
establish a regular line of these 'beasts
of burden,' as my school teacher used
to call them, and do a regular freighting
business with them between the
towns of Arizony. I wasn't no tenderfoot
when I struck this part of the
country. I'd lived too long in West
Texas, and in the Apache region of
New Mexico not to know how to hold
my own on the range or in the mountains.
I had never met a wild animal
that could get the best of me in a
square deal. But to tell the truth I
had never considered the camels as
being wild animals. The only camels
I ever had seen until I came to Arizony
was them that are carried around
in circuses back East. They were
tame enough.
"Well, one morning, four years ago,
about this time of year, I set out with
three of my cowboys to round up a
bunch of camels. My cowboys were
experts with the rope. Two of them
were Texans and the other was a
Mexican whom I had picked up in Sonora.
His name was Manuel. He was
the only one of the party who objected
to going. He hung back and repeatedly
told me that the camels were
'no bueno," and I had to give him a
good 'cussln' in my best Spanish before
I could get him to hunch up to
the game.
"It was nigh on to noon when we
first caught sight of the drove of camels.
There were five of the animals
feedin' on some desert plains near one
of the big sand dunes about seventeen
miles north of my ranch. They
were probably a half mile away from
us when they first saw us. They rose
their heads and seemed to sniff the
air a few times and then leisurely dis
J l-n-J A t
uppeareu uciimu mc muu u?.>v?
divided my party into two parts. Manuel
and I started around the sand dune
one way and the two Texans went the
other* way. We were to slip up on the
camels and rope as many as we could.
This plan worked all rlg-ht as far as
it went.
"Manuel and I crept around the big
pile of sand on our horses so carefully
that we got within a few yards of
three of the camels before we saw
them or they saw us. They were
standing In a nook of the sand dune.
"The surprise was mutual, but I recovered
from the shock before the
camels and let go my coll of rope with
my old-time speed and accuracy. The
loop settled far down over the neck
and chest of the animal before the
rope became fully stretched. My cow
pony settled back on his haunches,
but to my surprise, the camel walked
right off with him.
"Then followed such a race as I never
before witnessed. The camel
didn't seem to be running, but I'll be
blamed If it didn't carry my pony
along at what seemed to me to be the
speed of a locomotive. My pony sat
down on his haunches for a short distance,
but the dragging effects were
too disagreeable and he managed to
get up, and the way that camel made
him run was marvelous. The pony
simply had to run or be dragged iu
death. The rope was looped around
the pommel of my saddle and was
drawn so tight that It was Impossible
for me to loosen it. I felt In my
pocket for my knife to cut the rope,
tut It wasn't there.
"There was only one thing for mc to
do, and that was to get off that cow
pony and leave him to his fate. It
seemed to me that he was being pulled
along at the rate of a mile a minute
when I dropped off in the sand.
The fall shook me up considerable, but
I was thankful I got out of it alive. I
sat up and watched the camel and
pony disappear In the distance. I
looked back and saw my three cowboys
coming out towards me. None
of the other camels was in sight
"One of the Texans told me he had
roped a camel and was being carried
off the same way as I, when he saved
the pony by cutting the rope. We rode
back to the ranch without any camels,
and I have never had any desire to
domesticate them desert animals since
then."?Gila City (Ariz.) Cbr. St
Louis Post Dispatch.
RAI8ING EEEF CATTLE.
An Avenue of Profit Open to 8outh
Carolini Farmers.
When one looks over the waste
places of this state and considers that
thousands of cattlfe and sheep might
be raised where now there Is not a
sheep on a thousand hills, nor & doxen
herds of beef cattle In the state, he
sees the necessity for a revival. The
beef trust Is fastened on the people.
The price of cut meat Is fixed by the
trust, which is encouraged by our national
legislation. There Is no sign of
a reduction in the price. Our people
should be exhorted to raise beef cattle
on a large scale. On the rivers and
abandoned lands of the state there is
ample room for thousands of cattle.
Raising beef or fat cattle la a specialty.
The dair> business, thoroughbred
hogs, sheep and horses cannot go
along with it The fact Is the
farmer who is trying a half dosen or
more specialties at the same time will
generally fall. He should have a big
bank account, and then he may get
some fun out of the business. Let
him,take that one thing for which he
and his land are best suited and stick
to it through thick and thin. If cotton
is his crop, let him plant cotton
with only enough small grain, corn
and truck to supply the farm. It In
the dairy business, let him raise dairy
cattle and subordinate all his efforts
toward getting the best dairy possible.
If he goes into the fat cattle business,
let every crop planted and every
house built be to the interest of
beef cattle. That is the only way to
succeed in South Carolina. Two years
ago a carload of young Shorthorns
and grades were sold in Spartanburg.
They were bought by farmers. Up to
this date no special Improvement has
been reported in slse or quality of
cattle.
W. R. Walker of Union, 8. C., ingoing
into the beef cattle business in
the right way. His farm Is In the
lower part of Cherokee county, extending
from Pecolet to Br ad river,
a mile or two above their junction.
He has large bodies of bottom lands.
Coma a# the Vi lllfli o ro rilOVnH an/1
kjviiiv. v/t v tiv> ut v i wgg vv? ?i i
rough. The Japan clover growi where
It has a chance. The Means or Johnson
grass Is found on the river lands.
Much of the upland is nearly level or
rolling and well adapted to hold crops.
He Is about twenty miles from a railway
station and the roads are not
very good. He concluded to go into
the cattle business about two years
ago. He bought some Shorthorns.
While they are fine cattle they were
too large and unwieldy for his hills
and rough ground. He thinks they are
best to cross with our conrnon scrub
stock for the grades will have the activity
of the scrub and the beef quality
of the Shorthorn. He began to investigate
the other breeds. He was
not after an all-purpose cow, but pn*
that would make only beef and make
It quick. Last winter he bought sixty
or seventy Angus polled cattle, all
of them being nearly pure, and three
bulls and some cows thoroughbred.
He will soon work all his cattle up
to the Angus type. He now has about
100 and they are generally in fine
condition. Not one has died during
the summer. These cattle are pure
black and without horns, the latter
Koifln? O rrmo f iHuontfltro In ihin
ping:. He la at no trouble about milking:.
for the cows scarcely afford
enough milk to raise their calves.
For summer pasture he depended
the present year on Japan clover,
Johnson grass and native grasses. He
has found out that all bushes and
sprouts have to be taken from a pasture,
for no grass will flourish in the
shade. He has set twenty-flve or
thirty acres In Bermuda gTass and
proposes to Increase the acreage
largely.
The Johnson grass has always been
considered a terror to farmers, but
Mr. Walker likes it. Where he has
a good stand he cleans the land off
and sows a bushel or two of sorghum
seed to the acre with a cutaway harrow
as soon as it will germinate. He
gets two cuttings from the mixture
and the hay Is flne. He thinks he
made six tons of dried sorghum hay
from one acre of swamp land that
heretofore produced onlj common
grass. He plants fields of sorghum
near his pasture fence so that when
grass gets short or when cold weather
approaches he can cut that and throw
It over In the pasture. He considers
peas and sorghum the best and cheapest
feed possible for cattle. In all his
corn land he plants or sows peas, or
will hereafter, and this will grlve his
cattle several weeks flne feed after
the corn Is gathered. The roots and
vines will Improve the land. _ Winter
pasture Is receiving* his attention for
It Is necessary to have good pasturage
for calves, cows with young
calves, or cattle In bad condition. He
will try a mixture of wheat, oats and
rye with some crimson clover. He
will shelter his cattle In the winter
and herd them In lots during the summer.
He expects to cut down his fertilizer
bills and soon do away with
purchasing any. Cotton will be an Incidental
crop and as the manure Increases
the land will improve rapidly.
Thus Mr. Walker has only one idea
and that is to raise the finest beef
cattle, If he has to buy his milk and
butter from his neighbors. The next
consideration is the gradual Improvement
of his land. He proposes to attempt
nothing that will be in the way
of his one object. It may be two or
three years before he has many for
market, for he Is now working to Increase
his herd up to the maximum
number for a poor season. There Is
no reason why he should not succeed.
He has the land and the cattle to
start with. He can use the ordinary
labor of the country. There is a constant
demand for beef. Should his
herd increase so that he would have
to expand somewhat, there are thousands
of acres of cheap land near
him. We shall watch the results of
his work with much interest, for cattle,
pea vine hay and sorghum with
small grain will greatly enrich our
state.?Capt. Chas. Petty in Spartanburg
Journal.