Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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ISSUED SEMI-WEEKLY, l. m. GRIST'S SONS, Publishers } % Ifamilg Beurspaper: |for (he promotion of the political, Social. Agricultural and Commetjcial Interests of the people. { ter8?n01,e'"LVfAe cKi?VANC,!' ESTABLISHED 1855. YO RK^VILLE, s7c~TTfES"pi.Y,"~MARCH 10,1908. NO. 20. 1*" ^ * THI M & By CLARENCI nwwifwwiwiwitiwwwun PART II. WHO DIDN'T KILL CONSTANCE CRAIG. ^ CHAPTER VIII. "You Say You Did It!" A messenger was waiting for Mr Senn when he and the detective reach ed the hotel. Since the man had beer to the bank, found it closed, gone t< Senn's boarding place, found he wa: -* thfl Virtfol if ansent, ana men icamcu mt .. advance of as hungry a man as Seni and as anxious a man as Prier, it ii evident that he was both shrewd am swift. Mr. Senn took the letter, noticed tha ^ it was unsealed, glanced at the addresi upon the envelope. O. SENN. ESQ.. Introducing S. Lyman, and lost no time in reading what wtu written within. It was no more that he had expected, perhaps, but the receipt of the letter was a terrible shock nevertheless. It was as follows: "Boomville, Me.. Nov. 8, 1870. "Mr. Gilbert Senn: You will de liver the keys, books etc., of the ban! owned by my late father, Donald Bar ron. and known as 'Barron's Boomville Bank,' to the bearer. Mr. S. Lyman, who will take charge of my business hereafter. The subordinate employes will be retained in the banh at present. You can make Mr. Lyman familiar with the business, 01 you can delegate that work to thos< who have worked with you. Elsie Barron-Senn. "P. S.?It is only fair to say thai I defy you. I am your wife in name I shall never submit to your control or your presence near me, however ^ Remember that I can prosecute you at any time, and that I can force Mr Prier to testify, on his oath, to what nnnfos??fi T shall let vou retair your freedom, however, if you nre prudent! "I shall not let you assist furthei in my business. I shall not grant you a partnership. I warn you not to try to thwart me or baffle me. E. B. S. "P. S.. No. 2?You will not find it necessary to consult with Mr. Priei regarding the settlement of my business. He will not be admitted to the bank again on any pretext. E. B. S." Mr. Senn delivered the key to Mr t Lyman, taking a receipt for It. i^Jr "I have no other property belonging to Mrs. Senn or to her father," he said; "and, as I half expected that Mr. Barron's death would result in some changes in the force employed, I have given Mr. Clark full instructions rer garding the money and the books. You wlU find Mr. Clark on hand in the morning, and can obtain full information from him." "But. Mr. Senn," said Mr. Lyman. "1 have never met Mr. Clark; I am a stranger?or almost a stranger?in the place; I?I think this is very irregu_ lar." "It is. For a man to be displaced from a position which he has held foi years, is very irregular. Good-evening. Mr. Lyman." Good-evening." said thnt individual f pleasantly enough, but with a look ir his eyes which belied his tone. He bowed low. looked curiously ai Mr. Prier, and was gone. "Read that." said Senn, extending his wife's note. Prier read it. and handed it back. "You will do what she demands. ] suppose?" he asked. "I shall." . "Without regard to your rights?" Senn looked up to meet Prier's smile; he remembered his own question of th< morning, and took the implied rebuk< good naturedly. "Without regard to my rights. I fee that I've only one right which I car* for at all, just now?the right to j good supper, after my day's fast." "And you shall have it. Come up t< my room at once. They went up-stairs together. A sup per was served which was a credit alik< to the "Boomville House." and to th< taste and judgment of Mr. J. B. Prier. "I would rather have his friendshij *4 than his enmity," said Mr. Prier. sud deply, after Senn had had an opportu nitv to somewhat lessen his hunger. "Whose?" asked Senn. The new cashier's. You dismisse< him very abruptly and treated him in i * most shabby manner." "Well, what of it?" Thjs: I have no doubt he read Mrs Senn's letter: she threatens you ii that: I should be sorry, were I in you place, to have him possess a better rea son than the fact of his being in he service for desiring my injury." "It's true she threatens, but he threats are vague. What do they meai to an outsider? They may be nothinj more than the results of a quarrel be tween a husband and wife who havi learned to hate each other at thi threshold of their married life: no on< could be sure that anything in her let A ter proved that love might not onci have existed between the writer ant ttie one addressed. Am I not right?" "You are, and yet " "And yet you are kind enough t< wish me wed. and tired and won enough to see evil for me in the future Is it not so? I do not like Mr. Lyman I felt at once that I never could liki him; and I never waste words on thes< 2^ I do not and cannot like. Do you'."' Mr. Prier laughed. "You heard me call myself the talk atlve detective;' I am talkative, and am frank: I never waste words on an; persons outside two classes; my friend 4 ?and my victims." "And I?I suppose I am " "Who spent a day opening the saf for you? Who has cloyed your intel lect with good advice?" "You did: you have. My question i answered. I*> you like Mr. Lyman?" Prier reached across the table, tool the letter from Senn's hands, and reai it again. * "S. Lyman." he said, meditatively. "S Lyman; no, I don't like him. I shoul< prefer leaving out the period after hi initial, and spelling Lyman with small I. Say. Gilbert Senn do yoi ^ think I'd run any business withou keeping my eyes wide open?" "No; I think not." "You may he sure I wouldn't. Am AN ! i r I 2 BOUTELLE. \ iwnnnttinintwim ui in wm i yet. if I were going to open a bank tomorrow, and if I had to put S. Lyman or Gilbert Senn at the head of it, my choice would be Gilbert Senn " "Thank you." "Though I never trusted a thief yet, . and would hate to trust a liar," coneluded the detective, in an almost inaudible undertone, as he meditatively 0 stirred his coffee. t "You are making a good meal," laughed Senn, "for a man who had * supper since we got the safe open." j "I didn't have supper." "You didn't? You went away to get t supper." s "I know I did. Tint there was some writing which had to be done. I forgot my hunger in my attention to my work." 3 "Did you? What was your work?" , "I'll tell you?later. By-the-way, I . suppose there will have to be an inquest over Donald Barron, after all; I heard, as I came from the bank, that the doctors are being found fault with, and the accuracy of their conclusions is being called in question. Do you suppose it possible " Prier stopped just there. He was watching Senn closely. Senn got up, . walked to the windows, closed the : blinds, drew down the curtains, and " came back to the table. His face was , pale. His hands shook as he tried to pick up his knife and fork. His voice trembled when he spoke: ' "I don't know what to suppose. There [ are possibilities so horrible?so horri. ble " 1 And he covered his eyes with his [ hands, as though to shut out some i dreadful sight. "What possibilities?" "Mind you. I accuse no one. I supi pose old Donald Barron died alone, and ' in a perfectly natural way. And yet? and yet " [ "Well? What is it? The night is . going fast." j "Thank God for that." "For what?" "That the night is going fast. It is horrible?horrible?and I cannot bear : It." "Well, go on with what you were about to say." ! "I will. Picture this: A man sleep! ing quietly and healthfully; an opened door: a stealthy footstep along his 1 floor; a sudden awakening of the sleeper to life?only to find head and throat muffled in a hot and seemingly impenetrable covering, while some strong ' wretch presses it closer and closer, L avoiding the almost aimless blows f which a blind animal instinct prompts. Think of many long minutes of that: think of the death which lies at the end ' of it, a death without a sign left behind to tell how it happened: think? think?Merciful God! can a human mind picture such a horrible?fiendish 1 Prier sprang forward. Ho caught Senn by the shoulders, his fingers leav' ing marks which were not obliterated for many a, day, and dragged him nearer the light. "What?what do you mean? What can you tell?" he fairly screamed into the ears of tlie once cashier. Senn sank back into the chair from which he had risen, and covered his face with his hands again. It was more ' than a minute before he tried to speak. i Then he looked up. and said, brokenly: "You?you surely?cannot think that I?that I?killed Donald Barron?" 1 "No: I know you didn't. I haven't ! told you yet where I spent last night: I 1 have only told you I spent it outside. I haven't told you yet how it would > have been impossible, in the state I was in. in a state of nervous dread and agitation, for me to have e done other than I did. The truth is, I " felt the bank and its treasures were as safe as they had ever been?far safer 5 since robbery had happened once--and I didn't watch there. I walked all night long, in front of Mr. Barron's house: no one went in: you are innocent?there. In fact. I am convinced * that an inquest in his case would be a 1 farce: he was not murdered: he died a natural death. But " "But what?" "But people have died in the way 1 vnu pictured, and remorse has led their 1 slayers, again and again, to deeds and looks and words which were little less 1 than confession. And you?you, CSilbert Senn " 1 Prler's passion mastered him theu, 1 and for a little time he could not find % words. He pushed a paper across the table e towards Senn. ? "Sign that!" he said, roughly. p Senn took up the paper and read it slowly through, his amazement showp ing more and more on his face as he * read. This was the paper he was asked to append his name to: this is the character he was asked to claim for 1 himself: "Boomville. Mo., ' "Wednesday Morning. Nov. S. 1S7rt. : "To Whom It May Concern: I, e Gilbert Senn. in the presence of Mr. J. B. Brier, or the city 01 rsosion. a detective having a considerable knowledge of the facts, do make and subscribe to the following statements. And I do declare that I do so without fear of personal violence being done I me by the said Prier; and I do further v declare that I will indorse all which s is herein stated when I am brought before the legal authorities, and that I will then answer all questions which may be asked me, and will answer e them fully and truthfully: "1. I knew Constance Craig. "2. I was acquainted with the arrangement of rooms in the house s which she occupied. "3. 1 knew some of the servants, and knew that they were sometimes all absent. J "4. I went to her house on the evening before the morning when she . was found dead in her bed. I went thjn. rather than at any other time, because the servants were all away, s I knew they would be absent. I unEl lawfully entered the sleeping room of Constance Craig. II "ii. She awoke and found me in t her room. I found that I was recognized. I caught up a pillow and held it over her face. I intended to kill her. I held the pillow there for many ^ minutes. 1 held it until her stinggles had ceased. When I lifted it up she was dead. "6. I knew, when I entered the room of Constance Craig, that murder was likely to be necessary. I deliberately and thoughtfully did as I did. with the possibilities fully in mind, and I neither claim now, nor will I ever, at any time, claim that the murder was the result of sudden passion, the result of unforeseen circumstances, nor that it was committed in self-defense. "7. I will, when arraigned before the proper tribunal, plead guilty of the crime of murder in the first degree, and will not plead extenuating circumstances of any kind. "8. I promise to reveal fully all that regards the causes of the crime, and to give the names of aH who knew of my purposes or any parts of them." Senn finished the reading, and looked dazedly up. Prler sat watching him narrowly, one hand?the right?being thrust carelessly into his pocket. "Sign it!" he thundered at Senn. Senn pushed the document back across the table. "I will never sign it," he said, quietly. "for it would be a terrible lie! I?I T rinvnr hpnrd Hill IH?l Kliut.l. i IIV i i 1 ?V < V. the name of Constance Craig before." "Gilbert Senn. one or the other of us will never leave this room alive unless I get to the bottom of this mystery which has troubled me for years." "Very well. I am unarmed, as you know, for you took pains to inquire of me tiiis morning. It will be the easiest tiling in the world for you to kill me; it will be a cowardly thing to do?but it may be a kind one; for I had rather die than have the world at large know a word against my name and my honor." "You would?" "I would. I have a mother, a grayhaired old lady, living among the hills to the north of us; I love her more than I love anything else in this world. It would kill her to know that her boy had gone wrong, and so you " "Well?" "And so you can shoot me to death, if vou desire, but you can neither threaten nor bribe nor coax me into putting my name at the bottom of that horrid lie!" "Lie? Is it a lie?" "It is. It would be a crime for me to sign it. I never knew Constance Craig. I never knew the servants of Constance C'raiK. for I never knew the servants of any person with whom I was personally unacquainted. I did not know the arrangement of the rooms in her house, for I never entered the house of a stranger. I never entered the sleeping room of any woman. I never committed the crime of murder. I will never sign the paper you have presented to me: I will not call for help; I will not try to escape. If you are resolved that I mtlst sign or die, kill me at once; you will gain nothing by waiting." "You say you had rather die than have dishonor and disgrace connected with you?" "I said it; with me?or with any one who bears my name. I would " "No matter. We are wandering from the subject. You would not like the world to know that you robbed the bank here?" "No; but I don't worry about that. The world will not know it." "It may. I know it. and your wife knows it." "Very well. Suppose you two do? You will netiher of you tell. But it is you who are wandering from the subject now; am I to live?or to die?" "Excuse me, Mr. Senn, but I am not wandering from the subject. The bank robbery is as closely connected with the murder of Constance Craig as any one event can be connected with another. Will you tell me why I will not tell that you robbed the bank?" "Because your story would be ridiculous and apparently merely malicious if unconfirmed bv other evidence. Think of what you have to tell, ending with helping a bank robber open his dead employer's safe and then inviting him home to supper. Would any one credit such a tale? You would be laughed out of Boomville." "And why will not Mrs. Senn tell?" "For various reasons. No one ever before heard of a woman doing what she did: no one would believe it now. She may have the same idea regarding dishonor and disgrace that I have: you remember what she did for her father; you remember that she is a Senn now. Besides, I understand that some have the idea that her marriage was arranged solely to the end that the business in which her father was engaged might have the benefit of the money I am supposed to have had. I think she may be willing to let that idea go uncontradicted." "But there would be dishonor and disgrace in that." "True. But women ar.d men sell themselves in marriage?sell themselves for gold?every day. It may be less evident than in this case, usually, though none the less true. Compared with the greater evil of being known r-? At..,. a* a lt'UMi ,s \\ lie, *V11 pi uu wr very willing' to be regarded as a very avaricious person " Hope was lighting with fear in Senn's breast. The night was going fast. With morning, he might find certainty >f life. And he must be vile indeed, or wretched indeed, who does not love life and long for its continuance while youth and health are still with him. So Sen 11 welcomed conversation, was glad when it wandered away from the subject of Constance Craig, and watchfully wondered at Prier and his purpose. and thought bitterly in the pauses of the conversation of his own probable ?and possible future. "And so," continued Senn, after a considerable pause. "I think Mrs. Senn will not speak of my crime until you do, and then "Well?" Senn smiled. "And then she will dispute you." he asserted. Prier pondered over that proposition for some time; the thought was evidently new to him. and was as evidently unpleasant. To think one haa another man in his power?fully in his power?and to have his intended victim himself point out an unthought of avenue of escape, must be exceedingly disagreeable?perhaps as much so to a detective who means to do nothing unjust and wants no advantage which Is unfair, as it would be to a desperate criminal. "Well." said Prier, at length, "you are certainly a cool one. You are the greatest rascal it was ever my fortune t meet?or the greatest fool. Seriously, I did not expect you to sign that paper. Frankly, I have not meant to make your crime in connection with the bank public; I have reasons?but no matter. I will tell you honestly, however, that I had no doubt I could prove that you stole Donald Barron's money?or that you say you did it?" "Which amounts to much the same thing." "To much the same thing; yes, sir, to much the same thing. But now, I do expect you to sign this, and to sign it promptly." And Prier pushed another somewhat lengthy document across the table to Senn. Senn read it, and could have laughed I for very joy. Compared with the for- j mer document it was so simple and so trivial. A man who did not quite understand it might And an excuse for putting his name at the bottom of so innocent and vague a document as that; one who knew nothing whatever of its meaning might find pardon in his own eyes for writing the lie of his signature to it. Only There is always an "only" or an "if or a "but" written across the safe and the simple in temptation's path. Only, the shrewdest, keenest and most merciless detective in America wrote it. and he has hung men on evidence whose beginnings were even more vague than that. This is the new confession which Senn was asked to sign: "Boomville, Me., Nov. 9th, 1870. "To Whom it May Concern: I, Gil| bert Senn, being pressed to tell the truth regarding certain matters, do, in the presence of 'Mr. J. B. Prier, freely make the following statements: "1. I have seen two rings which may be described as follows: "(a) One of them is a seal ring; gold; the setting a heavy white stone, on which ore engraved an anchor?a female head below it?and the letter 'S' below that. "(b) The other is an old-fashioned ring, the band of heavy silver; half of the setting, a blood-red brittle stone, is gone. "2. I admit the fact of these rings having been found by Mr. Prier under circumstances which justify him in the conclusion that they have been for many years in my possession. "3. I shall not deny, under any circumstances which may arise, that the rings mentioned have been in my possession." '"Will you sign that?" asked Prier, persuasively, when Senn had finished his reading. "I will not," answered Senn, "unless I am in some way compelled to do so." "I shall not try to compel you," said Prier, gravely, "by the use of any force. I let you wrong me, since I knew the power which sometimes lies in fear, tfy believing that I might kill you. You have been in no danger; you will be in no danger if you do not yourself provoke it by resistance to such authority as I may have. Let me explain: Those tings were found by me on the floor of Donald Barron's bank, near the safe. They were not there when the bank closed on Saturday night, for the room was carefully swept by a boy at the close of the day's work, while you finished your work upon the books. They were thert the morning after; they were there when I examined the bank, for I found them and secured them. Now you may sign the paper I have handed you, or you may let me try to prove that you know of these rtngs because you were the one who took the money from Barron's bank. You shall never have it to say that I have been unfair or underhanded; I have been frank and straightforward. I have proved myself a 'talkative detective' in very truth. But I am in earnest, desperately in earnest, and I tell you, Gilbert Senn, you have got to go into court and tell what you know of those rings.' "Suppose I snv I know nothing of them ?" "You'll have a chance to prove it; a jury will have an opportunity to compare your story with those of other men; twelve men will have an opportunity to decide upon its truth or falsity." "I know nothing of other people's rings; I never saw your rings." "Sign the paper, or I'll brand you as a bank robber." "On my word of honor, I know nothing " "Hah! The word of honor of a man who can do what you have boasted doing. You know nothing of the rings? nothing? Do you know nothing of the murder?" Prier sprang up excitedly. He laid his hand on Senn's shoulder. His eyes fairly blazed. "Do you know nothing of the murder?" he repeated; nothing? Let me paint you a picture?a picture such as you painted me. Listen, man. listen and look up: An Innooent woman, young and beautiful; see her sleeping quietly: fearlessly; God's vengeance on the man who would disturb her." Senn groaned. Prier shut his teeth sharply and savagely together. "A beautiful picture." continued the detective; "a very Eden come to earth again. But see! The serpent! A man creeps into the room. There is crime written all over his face?crime and fear. Why should he fear? The woman is weak?alone?defenseless; he is strong and active. She awakes. He is a coward. A shot may give alarm and bring help. A knife will leave a mark where its strength for evil falls, and he cannot run the risk of detection. He forces her back upon the bed?he covovca hup with nwn ?nnvr-whltp pillow; he?he I cannot go <?n?I? I cannot hear it " "For God's sake stop," cried Senn, excitedly: "I cannot hear it." "I should certainly think not. Gilbert Senn. I arrest you for the murder of Constance Craig!" Prier sprang upon hint, handcuffs in hand. Senn threw him hack. Prier drew his pistol; Senn wrenched it away and tossed it across the room. Prier's casket slipped from his pocket, fell upon the table, struck in such a way as to open, and its contents fell out. Two rings! A gold ring and a silver ring! The gold ring set with a broad, flat, white stone, on which were engraved an anchor, a woman's head, and the letter "S." The silver ring still holding half a broken blood-red stone. Those were the treasures which Prier had kept with so much care. Those were the talismans by whose aid he hoped to plant the gallows across the path of the "somebody" he was determined to hang. There is wisdom and unwisdom. Men in an emergency are quite as likely to be unwise as the opposite. With a chance to be wise, Senn threw the chance away. He turned the table over, letting the rings fall to the floor with the broken dishes, .and tried to crush them under his heels. Prler reached up and turned out the gas. The room was in utter darkness. He meant to save his rings, at any cost. Then both men started for that part of the room where Frier's revolver had been thrown. Half way there, they came in contact with one another. A furious flght ensued in the darkness, and for a little time the result seemed in doubt. Both were strong; both were so desperate with anger that they did not stop to consider consequences; each was in a mental condition very favorable to the sudden decease of the other if any advantage put that other in his power: if either one had happened to put his hand or that pistol, while the fight in the darkness was going on, I am very much afraid he would have?spoiled this story! Se?n. pulling fiercely at Prier, much as the pictures represent the lion pulling the buffalo down, was unfortunate enough to slip; Prior's clothing gave way; Senn fell so hard that he was completely stunned for a. moment. Prier lighted a match, partly to see what had happened and partly to aid him in determining what should happen next: his pistol and his handcuffs were both upon the floor and both in plain sight, one at his right and the Ill III I 21I HIS U*Il, film it l'UU|MV III Villus or so distant. Fortunately, in every sense, his eyes fell upon the handcuffs | first; he fastened them upon the wrists of his dazed foe, so that when Senn had recovered his senses he found himself a prisoner. , Prier lighted the pas. He got his pis- , tol; he picked up his rings and restored them to the casket and the casket to his pocket. By that time, there were a , dozen of the alarmed fhmates of the j hotel at the door of Prier's room clamoring for admission. Prier turned to Senn. , "I shall let these men in in a halfminute, he said, in a hoarse whisper, "and you've got to choose very prompt- i iy. Will you sign, or shall I prove that vou robbed Barron's bank as a step to- ( ward proving that you killed Constance ( Craig." . , "I'll sign," said Senn. sullenly, and | Prier freed his right hand long enough for him to do so. I Prier folded the paper and put it carefully into his pocket. Then, as he , moved toward the door to let in those | who were vigorously pounding there , and demanding admittance, he said: "Donald Barron died a natural death; ( Constance Craig was murdered. The murderer of that woman shall hang, j unless I find the grave of the guilty wretch lying across the path I am fol- ( lowing. Whoever can throw light upon , that murder, must and shall do so. Whoever robbed the bank In this city can explain the fate of Constance Craig1. Confession or accusation, as the case may be, I shall wring a full and explicit statement from the man who stole Barron's money, whoever he rnafj&e. You say you did It!" To be Continued. THROUGH HOLLAND. A Day's Travel In the Land of Wind Mills and Canals. Here Is a pretty description of a day's travel through Holland: "At Amsterdam I left the train arid boarded a boat bound for the Holder, the northernmost point of north Holland, where the low lying Islands curve round to the horizon, looking as if they had been appointed ocean outposts to Friesland. The voyage might take a day, but what of that? There is only one way to travel In Holland? j by water. The boat glides through the brimming canal and passes the clean towns and the many windmills. Life ' persists, passengers and cargoes come . and go, but you are no longer at war 1 with the world or in trouble with It. You are a spectator, idling through a summer day, wrapped In aloofness, content merely to be moving through the moist and luminous air. When the environs of Amsterdam are left behind and the water side houses give place ( to the reeds that bend as the backwash overtakes them and the factories ' fade into vast, bright meadows, the ' spirit of this land, wrested from the sea, obsesses the traveler. 1 forgot to 1 count the windmills, was indifferent to 1 the locality of the hut where Peter the ! Great studied shipbuilding and was content with pretending to choose a J habitation from among the dwellings whose gardens are washed by the wa- , ters of this great north canal. ( "We passed through Alkmaar, on ( one side Dutch farmhouses, compact, , four square, stretching in an endless j line along the waterway, on the other ( side the meadows, and beyond them, far away, the sweeping line of the } dunes. They rise above the North sea, j and on their sandy sides and heights , men are forever on the watch against { the encroachments of the ocean. They , plant the shrub called helm that binds ( the sand together, making a bulwark against the rage of the.waves. 'God ( gave- us the sea, but we made the j shore,' says the Dutchman. These flower fruitful and pastoral meadows * that outstretched as we glided north- J ward were once submerged In water. The fight against the sea never ceases. ^ As we moved northward the three great dikes loomed out. I gazed out at these high bulwarks, patrolled and & watched by day and by night, and . i <? 1 1 iUnf nt A motor mu.seu on me icgenu mai m mup.v. dam there is one master key a turn of j which hi times of peril from foreign , invasion will drown the land again. ( "And as I mused there swept pasta barge. The great sail was hoisted. The . family, a mite of the HO,000 canal population who live out their lives on these floating houses, were gathered round the tiller, where mynheer smoked and steered. The barge is the symbol of this sea conquering people. Below the Helder I landed. Beyond is the fort, with the fringe of islands oulposting Friesland, the fishing fleet and the gunboats, and the channel between the mainland and Texel open- 1 ing to the world. As I crossed the bridge I saw the sight of sights. There was no fuss, no shouting, no spilling of wine at that launch. The barge ( moved from her cradle, shot downward, took the water in a rush, pre- { tended to capsize and all at once ac- 1 quiesced. She had found her master." f ?Chicago News. ( Sixty thousand elephants are an- ( nually slaughtered in Africa to secure ( ivory. f 3ttic.crUaumts lieatlinj). , w HUNTING IN BRAZIL'S FOREST. P si Deer Tracks Sometimes . Lead to '( a Jaguards. Deer hunters from the north find w their experience of little use In hunt- e( ing In the forests bordering the Ama- 0 zon River in Brazil; not that the game is different, for the deer found there ? are very similar to the deer hunted a here, being simply a little more stocky, owing to the fact that their range is restricted by the dense undergrowth found almost every where. Their runs ... are mostly confined to the little paths y keep open by nibbling the shoots ^ us they intrude from year to year. A well bred northern deerhound p. could overtake or tire out his quarry, without doubt, but the well bred nor- cj thern dog in Brazil soon succumbs to ?d the climate and the many pests and .. dangers which ho can neither recognize nor defend himself against, such cl as snakes, scorpions and a host of stinging insects. His pendant ears, hairy feet and thick coat of hair afford lodgment to his deadly enlmies. The native deerhound, as he is called, is not a hound at all, but a slender, almost hairless animal, with ears that ^ stand erect instead of being pendulous. ' SI He is always alert for hidden dangers, which he detects as quickly as his mas- 3-5 01 ter can. tr The only enemy he fails to avoid is the onca by which name the jaguar is p< known throughout South America, w which sometimes gets between the deer and the dog, and when the later comes %v along drops on him from some over- 1 hanging limb or leaning tree trunk. The jaguar, like all the cat family, tc hates dogs, and takes pleasure in trap- ,n ping one in this way, and is very ex- ai pert in foreseeing where game will run when pursued. la Deer, like most other wild animals, confine themselves to a limited tract ^ for their feeding ground. Their laby- a rlnthine pathways lead to all parts of this tract, and the hunter who knows ?* the ground selects a point on a run w where the deer is likely to pass and SC| Cfl here awaits a shot. As moving about is often almost ar w impossible save in these tunnelike paths, hunting in this way is very fat- 1 st igulng, for one can rarely stand erect in following the quarry, and getting ^'our game home, if you are so fortucc nate as to get any, is sometimes a difficult problem. 1 ru "My first experience in this kind of hunting was rather startling," said a T1 man back from Brazil. "I had been lying in wait at a little opening on one nf these paths and the dogs were comIng toward me in full cry . I was expectlng every moment to see the deer 01 break into view, when suddenly the barking ceased. al "A moment later the dogs came up 1 behind me from the direction in which k* el [ had come. Their backs were bristl- ? fr ing like an angry cat's, and their, tails were between their legs and they ai showed in every way that they were aN baoiy scared. "I had no doubt they had met an ai bnca, but where? I began to creep ^ cautiously along the path toward w where I had last heard them barking. cs [ had gone but a few yards when I ar heard the warning growl of an onca. w "A moment later, peering around i bend, I saw directly in the pathway and under the trunk of an overhang- te ng tree a largo onca lying on the body t'< >f a dead deer. He was licking the 8C blood from the animal's throat and ^ watching me with vicious eyes. 8F "Evidently he had selected his ambush In time to be ahead of both dog Pi ind deer, and had taken the first com- se cr. He was so near that it was easy to finish his career with a single shot 01 11 the ear. ra "The real difficulty was what to do ar with my game. T was fully a mile w< Trom the nearest house, and at least st half the way I must crawl through w me of those little tunnels, and night was already falling. So I took some choice cuts from the deer, and severing one of the onca's huge forepaws to gj luthenticate my story to my friends it home I put them in my game bag a ind followed by the dogs, who were now happy and exultant at their norrow escape, arrived home just as the Li tars were beginning to appear. ^ "It may surprise you, but the narlowest escape from death bv wild an- to imals in Brazil that I ever witnessed *h was in an encounter with a drove of hose diminutive southern hogs known ca in both continents as peccaries. Of cu course we have jaguars, as large as a to imall tleer. terrible fighters too, but th [ never knew a sober man when awake or :o be molested by cne. "You all know what a peccary is, ed md ours ate much like the Texan or po Mexican variety; a little larger, but wl :he same gray, thin beast, shaped like ha i flatfish, tusks, curved up. This is T1 :he only animal I know that a gun nr Joes not frighten. Ai "Singly or in companies of three or av 'our they are as timid as rabbits and jehave much like them, lying perfectly dv *till until almost trodden on. then th rashing away and making all the a lolse they can. Few, hunters have hi lerve enough to take a shot, even jn ,vhen they run in plain sight. ta "Save in the breeding season they th ?et together in droves of hundreds, wl sometimes thousands; then, let them an ilone if you are alone. ea "The victim of the adventure I al- m uded to was a young man who was tent out to Brazil by a firm in the to dates, ornamental lumber dealers, an vho wished to Durchase a suitable nr ract near the Amazon River and set isl jp a sawmill. A bl ight fellow, but no mi ,voodsman. "The nearest neighbor of Capt. Val- wl lez, with whom we were both stop- of sing, was some six miles by the cir- to luitous road, but there had been sev- in ?ral young people at both houses a eh 'ew years previously and much visit- wl ng back and forth; so a straight bri- ti< lie path?every one rides horseback si> here?had been out over an intervening hill. ed "But marriage and removal had jCj changed things, and the path was neg- se ected, though easily followed yet, in hrough the dense heavy timber. One Hi norning a party of us, five in number, th darted to make a call, all on foot ex- ev :ept the young man Morris. His city mi ?hoes made so long a walk difficult and sa Japt. Valdez lent him a horse to ride, hn cautioning him against getting far th lhead of the others. to "But the hill was steep, and w< . alked slowly, and In half an hour h< as out of sight and hearing. Aftei lodding along for a while we wen tartled by the report of a gun, fob >wed shortly by* another shot, fai head of us. "We had gone perhaps half a mil< h^n we began to hear the smothercl pop of a revolver, fired at intervah f a few seconds. About the sarm me we became aware of a distant lurmurlng, or roaring, not unlike an pproachlng storm; a momertt latei lis was punctuated with shrill jueals and yelps. "The captain halted us, saying There is trouble ahead, and we shall e in it too if we arc not careful, [orris has fallen in with a big drove I peccaries." Then he gave us his lan for a rescue. "We were silently to approach as ose to the rear of the drove as posble without attracting their notice. ' Morris was not sa/ely out of their ?ach we must rush In and take our lances with him. "If he was, we were to scatter a >w yards apart. When as near a? e could get, unnoticed, each was to nd a tree he could quickly get Into, we failed to stampede them and ere attacked. Then at the captain's: gnal all were to begin to shoot, lout and make all the noise we could i we dashe'd forward. If the rear nes took fright and ran, we could ust them to stampede the lot, for inic is contagious with peccaries as 1th sheep. "When we came In sight Morris as seated astride a limb of a low ranched tree so near the ground rnt he had to keep his feet drawn up i get them out of reach of the leapg and snarling little fiends beneath, id we could see the blood trickling om one torn shoe. Half a dozen or ore victims of his small revolver y piled below him and were utilized t their comrades for a footing to get little nearer their victim. "For the space of at least one-fourth ' an acre the ground below him as covered with a sea of jumping, lualling, bristling, white-lipped peciries, with only one object In life, id it was only a question of time hen they would attain it. Fortuitely for all concerned the captain's rategy succeeded. "As we burst from our cover, mak g a noise by every means at our mrnand, the nearer animals, who id not yet seen us, took fright and ished in on the others, adding their inger cries to our unearthly hubbub, here was an instant's hush, then le entire herd, and there must have ?en more than a thousand, tore off irough the woods and were soon it of our hearing. "When we came up to Morris he most fell into our arms, faint from ight and loss of blood. As he had ien riding carelessly along a strager from the drove had Jumped out om almost under his horse's feet id wtih a sharp 'woof-woof' dashed vay. "The horse had sprung sidewiso id thrown him and galloped off. orris was not hurt by the fall, but hen he rose to his feet he saw peciries peering at him on every side id drawing curiously nearer. He as very angry, and picking up his in had shot the nearest two. "Instead of scampering away in rror, as he had expected, they bris?d their backs and charged him. He rambled Into the nearest tree and lought he was safe, but one had rung into the air and with a flirt of ie head ripped open his shoe and oughed a deep gash in his foot, vering a vein. "By curling: his feet up he kept it of further danger, but he was .pidly growing weak from bleeding id he would soon have fallen had e not come to his rescue. We anched the blood and got him home, here he soon recovered." AN INCIDENT OF TRAVEL. lowing How Easy It Is to Confound Customs Officer With a Hotel Runner. The American whose knowledge of istilian was not over great left the sbon express at the station of Las elicias in Madrid, his suit case in aid. There didn't seem to be anything hinder, so he walked right through e doorway and stopped on the platrm for a moment before he took a b. He was a little* surprised that no istoms officer had been in the station inspect baggage, but concluded that e inspection at Valencia de Alcantara i the frontier had been enough Incidentally the American was inclinto be annoyed by the importunity of irters and cabmen, and as he knew here he was going he didn't care to ive his handbag dragged from him. lis happened a moment later, a large an in corduroys seizing the bag. The nerlcan just as hurriedly took it ray, supposing him a hotel runner. "No, hombre," cried the man in cor iroys with a magnificent gesture, rowing buck his coat and displaying broad leather band diagonally across s chest adorned with a breastplate gleaming brass which read "Ayunmiento de Madrid" and some other ings. He was the customs officer tiose duty it was to look for tobacco id alcohol brought in. The apparent gerness of the American to get way ust have stirred his suspicions. The latter, however, thought it best keep his calmness. He leaned over id tapped the brass badge. "Very etty." he said in his imperfect Spani. Then as a bright thought, "How uch did it cost you?" The customs man grew angry and th a movement of the hand indicative deep disgust ordered the American open the bag and kept him waiting a group of twenty or thirty grinning, attering porters for twenty minutes (die he carefully examined every arMe in the bug. Then he chalked a rn and let the American go "You're lucky you didn't get arrest," said a Spanish friend to the Amerm. "Those fellows, cheap as they em, have a big pull. You'd have got to all sorts of trouble afterward, too. e'd have tipped off his friends and ey'd have made it annoying for you ery time you left the city. What ade him most angry was what you id about buying the badge. They ive to pay well to get the place, even ough they're not supposed to. That uched a raw place." 3 DECAY IN WOOD." 3 r It Can Be Prevented at Little Cost ? With Much 8aving. It is estimated that a fence post, r which under ordinary circumstances will last for perhaps two years, will, if s given preservative treatment costing about 10 cents, last eighteen years. The ' service of other timbers, such as raili road ties, telephone poles, and mine t props, can be doubled and often trebled i by inexpensive preservative treatment. Today, when the cost of wood is a big I Item to every farmer, every stockman, every railroad manager?to everyone, , in fact, who must use timber where It I is likely to decay?this is a fact which Should bo carefully considered. It is easy to see that if the length of time timbers can be used is doubled, only half as much timber will be required as before and only one-half as much money will need to be spent in the purchase of timber. Moreover, many woods which were for a long time considered almost worthless can be treated and made to last as long as the scarcer and more expensive kinds. Of the actual savings in dollars and cents through preservative treatment, a fence post such as was mentioned at the beginning might serve as one example. The post Is of loblolly pine, and Costs, untreated, about 8 cents, or including the cost of setting, 14 cents. It lasts about two years. Compounding I Interests at 5 per cent, the annual charge of such a post Is 7.53 cents; i that Is, It costs 7.53 cents a year to keep the post In service. Preservative treati ment costing 10 cents will increase its length of life to about eighteen years. In this case the total cost of the post, i set, Is 24 cents, which compounded at 5 per cent, gives an annual charge of 2.04 cents. Thus the saving due to treatment Is 5.49 cents a year. Assum-. ing that there are 200 posts per mile, there is a saving each year for every mile of fence of a sum equivalent to the interest on 3219.60. In the same way preservative treatment will increase the length of life of a loblolly pine railroad tie from five years to twelve years and will reduce the annual charge from 11.52 cents to 9.48 cents, which amounts to a saving of $58.75 per mile. It is estimated that 150,000 acres are required each year to grow timber for the anthracite coal mines alone. The average life of an untreated mine prop is not more than three years. By proper preservative treatment It can be prolonged by many times this figure. Telephone and telegraph poles, which in ten or twelve years, or even less, decay so badly at the ground line that they have to be removed, can, by a simple treatment of their butts, be made to last twenty or twenty-five years. Sap shingles, which are almost valueless In their natural state, can easily be treated and made to outlast even painted shingles of the most decay resistant woods. Thousands of dollars are lost every year by the socalled "bluing" of freshly sawed sapwood lumber. This can be prevented by proper treatment, and at a cost so small as to put it within the reach of the smallest operator. in uic suuiu liic emu auuiiuaiu loblolly pine, one of the easiest of aJl woods to treat, can by proper preparation be made to take the place of the high-grade longleaf pine for many purposes. Black and tupelo gums and other little-used woods have a new and increasing importance because of the possibility of preserving them from decay at small cost. In the Northeastern and Lake States are tamarack, hemlock, beech, birch and maple, and the red and black oaks, all of which by proper treatment may help to replace the fast-diminishing white oak and cedar. In the states of the Mississippi valley the pressing fencepost problem may be greatly relieved by treating such species as cottonwood, willow and hackberry. Circular 139 of the Forest Service, "A Primer of Wood Preservation," tells in simple terms what decay Is and how It can be retarded, describes briefly certain preservatives and processes, gives examples of the saving in dollars and cents, and tells what wood preservation can do in the future. The circular can be had free upon application to the Forester, Forest Service, Washington, D. C. SANG HER VERY BEST. Frederick the Great Was Posted and Marie Frausch Was Wise. There is a good story told of a prima donna named Marie Frausch, who lived in the time of Frederick the Great. Whenever anything or anybody displeased the haughty Frausch she, after the manner of prima donnas in general, would suddenly become too hoarse to sing. One evening there was to be sung an opera in her repertory, and it was expected that the king would attend. At the appointed hour the manager came forward and announced that, owing to a sore throat, Frauleln Frausch was unable to appear. The people were preparing to leave the house, but his majesty rose and commanded them to keep their seats. A few moments afterward an officer and four dragoons entered the capricious singer's room. "Fraulein," said the officer, "the king inquires after your health." "The king Is very good," said Frausch, with a pout, "but I have a sore throat." "His majesty is aware of the fact and has charged me to take you to the military hospital to be cured." Frnnlein. turning verv nale. suggest ed that they were jesting, but was told that Prussian officers never indulged in persiflage. Soon she found herself in a coach with four men. "I am a little better now," Frausch faltered, "and I will try to sing." "Back to the theater!" said the officer to the coachman. The fruulein began to think she had yielded too easily. "I shall not be able to sing my best," she interposed. "Pardon, fraulein," responded the officer, "but I think you will." "And why?" "Because two dragoons in attendance behind the scenes have orders to carry you off to the military hospital at the least cough." Fraulein Frausch never sang better than she did that night.?Chicago Record-Herald. >tv In Queen Elizabeth's time a woman would eat a pound of beefsteak for breakfast.