“Bellefonte, Pa., March 24,1893
sm
CONSECRATING SELF.
You have feet—then run God's errands,
Here and there and everywhere—
Feet that should be ready, eager,
Every day to go—and dare,
Consecrate them: now to Jesus!
: He will show just where tc go;
Place true guide-boards long your life path,
Pho’ you wander to and fro.
You have hands—then do His bidding—
{Hands so strong that folded lie)
Strength and youth to be His servang,
. -As the moments quickly fly,
Censecrate them now to Jesus!
He will give you work to do—
Lay it just within your grasping—
- Work which you will never rue.
You have lips—then tell His goodness,
So that all the world may hear;
Loudly, gladly sing His praises,
How He daily grows more dear,
Consecrate them now to Jesus!
. Guard and keep them ever pure,
Saving naught to give Him sorrow—
Thus unto the end endure.
You have eyes—then see His mercies
Crowding round on every hand—
Health, home, friends, and all po=sessions,
And this great, free happy land,
Consecrate them now to Jesus!
They were given you to see
All his works, so great and wonderous,
«Wisely planned for you and me.
You have ears—then hear his teachings;
They who whispered clear and low,
Morning, noon, and in the night-time,
As you still in wisdom grow,
Consecrated them now to Jesus!
Hear his pleading, tender voice;
Heed His oft-repeated warnings,
For his friendship now rejoice.
You've a heart—give that to Jesus
Lay it humbly at His feet,
Saying, “as I am, oh, take me,
ake me for Thy service meet.”
Give it gladly, don’t withhold it,
He has bought it with His death;
Just for you, on dark Golgotha,
Pid He then yield up His breath.
Consecrate them all to Jesus—
Feet, hands, lips und eyes, and ears’!
He will give you strength to serve him;
Seatter too, your manv fears,
All for Jesus—all for talents,
All our labor, all our love;
Then, when earthly work is finished,
He will summon us above.
~New York ‘Observer.
THE FIREBREAIK.
EY RHODES MACKNZGHT.
Liscomb lay at full length upon a
bear-skin covering a rude couch. A
pipe was in his mouth, and he lazily
contemplated the eonvolutions of blue
smoke rising upward to the roof of the
shanty, Beside him was a window,
and-without the flowery preirie stretch-
ed away to the sky.
The man’s rough exterior was not
definitive ; at the first glanee the most
careless observer might see ithat.
There was moulding in ‘the counten-
anceg2 certain expression in the eyes,
a tura to the mouth, that did not come
in with the hirsute and uncouth
whole.
Midway between two affiuents of the
turbidillissouri, anddhirty miles north
of the great transcontinental line ot
the Northern Pacific Railway in Dak-
ota, he had built hisieabin. That had
been fifteen years betore, and he was a
youngaran then. Fer that length of
time he kad beer undisturbed, a re-
cluse. Eat gradually cizilization bad
pushed the frontier toward him, and
already, an outpost was within hailing
distance—a newly built board shanty’
which could be seen froma his window.
Upon this building he now and :again’|
| tioeless, hic eyes on the retreating wa
No ong knew the stony of this man’s
cast sullen eyes.
past life. Ee had come to a country
the members of whose sixiting papula-
tion showed no curiosity in regasd to.
one anothé:’s antecedents. It wae un-
derstosd that he kad a grievance ; but
then most.-men have; and while ¢hat
in itself wasao cause for a man’s ‘los
ing himself .on the outskirts of the
world, it wae sufficientif it pleased
him to thiak so. He had been known
te makeslagring remarke without ap-
parent reason; but they were remarks
directed toward a sex not much knows
in the region, and, not being personal,
they were passsd over withoutthought.|
Fuethermere, he rode well, shot well,
and drank.enaugh ; therefore he was
fellow by the pleinemen with whom
he came ir .contect. In classivg him
as a man witha woman in hie case
they excuse all lids eccentricities.
The new shanty was a sore t6 him,
He had watched it building with
: growing resentment. To have one’s
« solitude broken in-upon after all these
« vears was an afirout—an affront the
»more poignant inthet was not merely
‘the neighborieg. of mankind, which
would have been had enough, but of
womankiad ; for the shanty was the
property of a man of family, who had
settled under the provisions of the
Hgmestead Act. The family was
smell—a wife, a danghter budding in-
to womanhaod, and a 'babe—but that
. was.no palliation te {Lissomb.
When they had came toiling over
.the prairie in a big covered wagon he
had feand it difficelt sto believe the
evidenge of his eyes, (onkie felt that he
4
looked upoa as a pretty desent sort of |
In one of his glances be caught
sight of Luby himself driving across
the prairie toward him. And this!
sight aroused him. He got to a sit- |
ting posture, and watched the on-com-
ing wagon for a moment,
“At1t again,” he muttered. “Hang-
ed it I don’t stop the whole blamed
business before it goes any further!”
Luby, it may be said, had got into
the habit of driving across’ his neigh-
bor’s quarter section by way of a short-
cut to the prairie road running north
and south. It wasa practice harmless
enough, seeing that Liscomb’s land
was not:under cultivation, but it was
salt to the younger man’s wound al-
ready smarting. Several times before
there had been words over it, and
these words had been about the only
intercourse exchanged. : On the Luby’s
side there had been notking but friend-
liness, but a bear had come in their
path,
‘Liscomb got up now determinedly,
-put on: hig wide-brimmed hat, and step
ped briskly from the cabin, followed
by the old red setter which was his on-
ly companion. He ploughed through
the heavy buffalo-grass obliquely to
cut off Luby’s progress. In a moment
they met.
“Mornin’,” said Luby, shortly, and
with prim lips that told of readiness
for the impending battle. He wasfifty,
his face was bronzed and farrowed,
and he had a'tuft on his chin like that
of a goat. He made no motion to
draw up.
“Didn’t I'tell you I wanted you to
stop crossing my land!” cried ‘Lis-
comb, planting himself before the ad-
vancing team.
“Who-a!” yelled Luby, rather .un-
necessarily, seeing that the beasts were
already - stopped. “How’ ? Le then
asked.
“I want you to stop crossing my
land,” repeated Liscomb.
“Oh, you do, eh ?” drawled Luby.
| “Well, mebbe I will, an’ mebbe I
won't.”
“I tell you again, I want yeu to
keep off my land.”
““Iidon’t see that I'm hurting your
land any.”
“Do you think ‘cause the govern.
ment gave you a quarter section you
own the whole Territory? Now,
you'd better turn back and go down
your own line before you get into trou-
ble.”
“Guess not,” replied Luby, with
careful unconcern. “Guess this coun-
try’s not eo plaguy tight as all that
comes to."
“Well you'll kaow more about this
county after you've lived bLere
awhile,”
~‘‘Mebbe,” said Luby. Then, jerking
the reius, he adjured his tcam to go
on.
‘Instantly Liscomb whipped a revol-
ver from the holster at his belt.
“We're our owa lawyers out this way,”
he remarked. “Yougo back now, or
I’ll blew up your whole blamed out-
BLY
Luby looked at the revolver. then at
the man. Without & word he turned
his team. But as he drove slowly
away helooked back, squinted an eye
viciously, and called cut: “You're
jess the orneriest stinker I ever see,
Jess you wait till I git a chance (o git
square. Bay, if I doa’t make you
Lsmart I"?
‘For a moment Liscomb stood mo.
gon. Then, dropping the revolver
back to its sheath, he turned toward
himself. It was his:distinct determin-
ation to beupon bad tesms with his
neighbor.
The remainder of the. day he was far
onto the westward shoeting prairie-
chickens. The evening. as was his
custom, he prepared to spend over his
books:
Seme time after lighting his lamp,
and when leaning over the table that
occupied a corner of hig living-room
he heard a footstep in. the doorway.
Atithe same moment his dog growled.
He turned quickly and saw the dauch-
ter of his neighbor pausing wndecided
apon the thresheld.
Nettie Luby was about eighteen.
$he was a comely girl with fair skin
aod masees of brenze hair. This was
tke first of her he .had seen ata short
range, {There wasin her face some-
thing piquant wher she caught his eyes
then cast a furtive glance about the
room. She was not abashed; on the
contrary, she had .much self -posses-
sion. :
“Well 2” said Liscomb. He started
to rise, but remained seated with .his
body tent forward .and a hand upon
either arm of his chair.
“Well 2” he repeated presently,
when she did not answer.
Still she let her eyes play about the
room. The dog now seemed to interest’
ber much.
“Did you want anything?” Liscomb
asked, solemnly, rising at last.
“Oh no,” she responded, meeting his
gaze with a slight smile. ‘“Leastways,
his cabin. He was not ashamed of
“I don’t know where you're from,” even that limited society was unattain-
she pursued, “but we‘re from down in able.
Ioway. Au’ down that way every- |
took a homestead claim, an’ we get a |
Ioway way.
a good farmer.
got the house built. An’, say don’t
back there.”
She paueed, andseemed to be lost for
a moment in rewiniscence. Liscomb
“Bat it’s no use wishin’,”’ she recall
g’pose we might as well make the best
of it. Ma's mighty dis’pointed too.
ain’t one of them kind, but it’s jess as
plain ’s ken be that ke wishes we'd all
staid 't home in Ioway. An’ so,” she
added, the smile, coming into play
again—" an 80 when I heerd about—
that—this mornin’—I thought, I'd jess
come over an’ ask you not to beso
sassy—seein’ how things is.”
She had risen. and as he still sat
staring blankly at her without a word,
she gave a little nervous laugh as she
sidled toward the door.
“It ain’t perhaps jess the right
thing for me to be comin’ over this
way,” she said, ‘but pa 'n’ ma don’t
know anything about it, an’ I jess
thought I'd do it all myself. Aw’
you won't have any words again, will
you? I'm afraid—I kind of s’picion
that pa ’ll be doing something—doin’
something to kim’ (she pointed to the
dog) “if he comes over to our place.
For pa's real riled, an’ he isn’t himselt
when he gets that way. Now, you
won't, will you ? Y’ see, it’s hard get.
tin’ along with neighbor folks anyway
—leastways, itis for most people ; but
their ain’t no kind of use jess settin’
right out to be enemies. Don’t you
think so ? .Leastways, I don’t see the
good of it all. An’so .I jess thought
A’d come .over to ask you not to.
That's all. Good-night and before
Liscomb could get to his feet she had
vanished through the doorway.
‘For a little while he sat in a. manner
dazed. A dozen years out of the
world puts a man in a disadvantageous
position, especially with women, and
he was as powerless now to appreciate
the aspects of the girl’s visit as he had
been to answer her when she stood be-
fore nim, All he could say wassum-
med up .in the terse characterization,
“What nerve I” and that the kept re.
peating to himself in a voice of awe.
But Nettie Luby's interposition did
not open up a cordial communication
of ‘any kind. The recluse kept as
much to himself as he ever had, and
exchanged scowls with Luby whenever
they met with the heartiest reciprocity
He even went so far as to plant a row
of bushes to cut off the view .of the
hateful Luby shanty, and this, had
there been anything wanting, would
have farther widened the breach. Mrs,
Luby was greatly incensed at this
flagrant insult, and declared Liscomb
to be “nethin’ but a stuck-up scamp
keepin’ shady fer fear o’ the law”
Luby himself was contented with re-
curring forcible opinion that Liscomb
was a “‘stinker.”” But Nettie, although
she could nat but acknowledge herself
roundly snubbed, held her paace.
Liscomb was not a man prone to
petty anooyaace. Almost daily there
were openingg for further war, but he
asked nothing but to be let alone. And
ithe Lubys, dimly perceiving at last that
hat was the only course left open to
#hem, humored him.
ested her; she
Tue spring came late, and with its
body’s p'lite as ken be. Things goes coming they found themselves entirely |
better go, dcd’t you see. Now there out of provisions and other supplies,
ain’t any of us butjess pa an’ maan'| The nearest town lying on the railroad |
me an’ the baby. That’s little Annie. | thirty miles to tne south, it became
She ain’t two yet, but she's jéss as cun- | necessary to plan an expedition for the
nin’! We didn’t get on very well down | relief of their necesities ; and upon this '
there, an’ so when pa gets a chance to expedition it was decided that Mrs.
sell out, why, we old out an come up Luby should accompany her husband.
here to Dakota. There's only jess the | They were to be gone two days and a
four of us, an’ we don’t like it very | night, driving down in the covered
well 's far as we got. Y’ .ses we'ye | wagon, and Nettie was to be left at the
shanty alone with the intant Annie.
hundred 'n’ sixty acres; but, gracious! Mrs. Luby airing her morbid dislike
the land upjhere ain’t what it is down | for Liscomb, suggested that one of the
Leastways, that’s what | Brown girls, from the ranch spoken of,
pa gays, an’ I guess he knows, ‘cause, ' be persuaded to come up and keep
even if we didn't get on very well, pa’s | Nettie company, and, by virtue ot her
Leastways, that's | presence presumably, to discounten-
what everybody says. We don’t take | ance and hold in check any annoyance
much to folks up this way. Or” (she | which Liscomb
corrected herself, with a slight laugh) | enough to contemplate during their ab
“p'r'aps they dov’ttake much to us. |sence. But the intrepid and indepen-
‘We came by the railroad as far as|dent Nettie guessed she could take care
Dickinson don’t you know, au’ then we | of herself, and Annie too, for that mat-
came on up with jess the team. An’|ter, and eo the precaution was not
we've had to live jess in the tent till pa | taken.
might be ornery
Early in a May morning Luby and
you think he was pretty smart to put | wife set out t'eir journey. Luby. as
it up all jess himself? Well, the folks | was his custom ia the first hours of the
up this way seem to be pretty near all | day, was fractious and taciturn ; and
Swedes, an’ they’re easy enough folks | Mrs. Luby with her husband’s cross-
to get along with, but they're 80 inso- | ness, with the unusual excitement of
ciable. Don’t you think so? They [ithetrip, with the burden of wearing her
pass by you jess like sticks, an’ never | best in the way of clothes, and with
a single word’ra smile. An’, gracious! | the horrible conviction that she was in
when we got up here at last there ain't | her normal state of forgetting some-
any folks up here at all! Oaly you. |thing was fairly beside herself. There
Not even Swedes! An’ me, who's | was bustle and confusion. Tne lunch-
been so much used to company !|eon was notin the wagon—oh yes, it
We're mighty sociable folks down | was.
Ioway way ; an’ say, but we do have | there they were. They would never
the fun down there! I wish I was |get away; and Annie would be sure to
Where were the cushions 2—oh,
be taken sick ; and could Nettie really
manage alone?
But at last they were off, and as far
shifted himself uneasily, but be still | 4eross the prairie as eye could reach,
eyed her with a dogged and stony | Mr, Luby’s black bonnet could be
stare. seen bobbing out from the canvas cov-
ering of the wagon, while she threw
ed herself with a deep breath, “an’ I | kisses back with a fat hand in thread
mitts. Then she wept a little, and her
husband swore. Aud there was a tear
An’ pa’ he don’t say much, because he | on Neitie’s cheek, too, as she stood
holding the baby 1n the doorway of the
little shanty and watched the ungainly
wagon disappearing in the distance.
Tears, however. did not come easy
to Nettie, and she soon had the baby
squatted comfortably on the floor of the
kitchen, while she herselt began to
clear away the remains of the hurried
early breaktast. She hummed a litle
and whistled a little, and was altogeth-
light hearted and brave. After all, the
folke would only be away & day. And
what was a day, she asked herself,
The infant Annie was at that age
which amuses itself with whatever
comes first to hand. Lacking a ball or
a rattle or something with which to
make a noise, she could not quite con-
tentedly play with the little tuzzy tas-
gels ou her knit boots, and thus she
was no care to Nettie at all. The girl
cleared away the rude crockery, and
set the ruder furniture into prim order.
Then she was sorry she did not have it
all to do over again.
The door of the kitchen faced Lis-
comb’s cabin, and Liscomb’s bushes
were not yet leafy enough to obstruct
the view, It was for this twofold rea-
son that when Liscomb bimselt. came
out with his gunn and his dog he at-
tracted the girl’s attention. She stood
in the doorway watching his figure re-
ceding to the westward. He was going
for prairie chickens, doubtless. And
then she rather naturally reflected that
if Liscomb had been any way a decent
sort of man, she might have chicken
tor dinner.
But Liscomb must have changed his
mind, for presently she saw him come
back. He put down his gun, caught
his hobbled bronco, which was grazing
near by, and spddled it. Then he rode
away. And nct once had he looked
toward her.
That he did not return again that
day she was sure, because she watched.
Probably it was merely becanse of her
isolation that the man’s actions inter
would have been
equally interested in the movements of
any other human being. And some-
how she found it €onvenient to assure
herselt of this when wondering where
he had gone.
There was an old horse in the Luby
barn that was an object of veneration.
He was too old to work, and he was
the object of Neitie's affection the more
because as a colt he had been her play-
wate. To this veteran she paid a visit
during the course of the afternoon, and
upon Pilot's sleek fat back the infant
Auuie passed a gleeful half-hour, the
while Nettie held a one-sided but earn-
£8t conversation with him. But even
this divertisemeant killed but little time,
and the girl returned to the kitchen
wearied with the trial.
Bhe found some old agricultural pa-
For months | pers carefully preserved by her father
there was no mere connection between | 20d began to read ; but inasmuch as
the two shanties than if the rods |8he bad read them very thoroughly
reese,
was not a tornado. She would not
worry herszelt atout it anyway.
Without arousing little Annie, she
went to the barn and fed Pilot. then
milked the cow waiting patiently at
one site of the small corral. Ieturn-
ing to the kitchen, she lighted a lamp
and made ready the little evening meal.
But even with this employment she
could not throw off a feeling of fore-
‘boding.
The infant Annie was fretful, and in-
clined to be mischievous, and it was
with some difficulty that she was re-
strained ; but in the midst of her fret
tulness she fell soand asleep, with her
cheek pillowed on the table, and was
promptly put to bed. Then the girl
weut out to the doorstep again and
cast her eyes into the inky darkness.
Low down in the southwest there
seemed to be a slight dull red reflection
upon the sky ; but it was, or whether
80 not it was really a reflection she could
not tell. The slight breeze stirring
was hot and dry. She was apprehen-
sive, as one is who does not know in
what the danger lies. Brave and self-
reliant, she was willing to meet almost
any terror; it was the uncertainty that
alarmed her:
For some time she kept her gaze fix-
ed upon that curious dull glow. At
could not say that her eyes did not de-
ceive her. All else was of ebon black-
ness.
At the end of a half-hour she turned
in again, and sat her down to read.
But that she could not do so long as
the mysterious light lasted. Time and
again she got up and went to the door,
and always was there that unchanging
thread ot dull red.
At last, in sheer weariness she put
out the lamp and flung herself upon the
sofa. She did not intend to sleep, and
she removed none of her clothing. For
awhile she lay with wide eyes looking
into the darkness—for hours, it seemed;
and then she dozed and awoke, dozed
and awoke. At laet she was asleep,
The light on the horizon grew bright
er, and gradually mounted the sky. A
breeze started up, hot and gusty, and
with it came a sound of crackling like
the distant firing of musketry. And
presently the horizon was marked by
a line of livid fire. Betore it came
great volumes of smoke.
The girl started up, choking. For a
moment she stood stiff with fright, but
only for a moment. She rushed to the
door, and cast her eyes upon the sea
of flame rapidly sweeping on toward
her. Its edge was ragged, here swift
ly, there more slowly advancing, re-
ceding ; dying out in places almost as
suddenly as it leaped nto existence, it
yet came on with unyielding certainty,
licking up everything betore it. There
were miles of it.
Amid the terrifying crackling of the
dry wild grass she heard a scream of
fright almost human. It was Pilot;
and the beast’s terror aroused her.
She recalled what she had been read-
ing that afternoon in the agricultural
Journal,
Without pausing a moment for
further thought, she clutched her skirts
ard ran madly to the barn. She need-
ed no light, tor even the interior was
brilliant as day. The aged brute was
stamping and snorting, and was galled
with the halter which beld him. She
passed quickly to his side, and put
her hand on his neck; even in his
frenzy he seemed to know her, and to
have confidence.
She got the plow harness from its
peg and threw it upon him, and ina
moment she had fastened the girth.
Thenshe led him bridleless out to
where the plough lay, and made fast
the traces. She patted him gently.
“Now, Pilot—now, Pilo..” she said.
With a mad plunge he was off.
Ino great billow of red and amber and
crange the great sea of flame was com-
ing onward. Ebb and flow, yet al-
ways onward. Here it seemed white
like breaking surf, there flowing low
and even like molten metal. And its
breath withered and scorched.
From east to west, from west to east
old Pilot galloped. No stiffness was
in him now. And behind him, stal-
wart and determined, her face lighted
by the blaze, her ruddy hair flying dis-
ordered and burnished to a livelier
glow, her strong young hands clutch-
ing the handles of the plough, the girl
encouraged him, soothed him, with
her clear ringing voice.
“Now, Pilot! pow, Pilot!” she
cried.
Leaping high into air, seethinng,
bissing, eating its way vyoraciously
through all, the waves of fire swept on
It seemed impossible to stem the re-
sistless flood, Yet she did not flinch.
The furrows of black loam broadened
to a wide band ready to curb. Old
Pilot’s hoofs glinted in his rapid flight,
and his snorting arose even above the
loud crackling and roar. Breathless
panting, sweating and scorched, wom-
an and beast kept on from east to west
and from west to east, Now the fire
intervals 1t seemed to brighter, yet she’
with a sudden movement he threw his
arme about her and pressed his mouth
10 hers.
She pulled herself away, panting and
furious. ‘*How dare you!” sve cried,
every fibre of her militant. “Say, I'll
—I'll—Lll kit you!” And betore he
could say a word she burst into tears
and fled to the shanty.
For a little while Liscomb gazed ab-
stractedly at the doorway through
which she had
and then he turned to contemplate the
breeze ; but here all was over.
Mechanically he tiamped along the
edge of the furrows to his shanty. He
did not seem to know, or care, that his
bronco was gone. He seemed to gee
nothing. Sitting upon a bench by his
doorway, he waited. But what he
awaited he did not quite know.
It was not long before the dawn
came, and with its coming he descried
far out over the prairie a covered wag-
on driven ata rate of speed not alto-
character. It was the Lubys, he con-
| jectured, and he was in a short time-
made sure when it was driven up to.
the neighboring shanty. Luby sprang
and at the same instant Nettie appear-
ed in the doorway. And the caresses
of the ensuing five minutes were as
earshot,
After waiting until the reunited fami.
ly had gone within, and for what seem-
bent his steps toward this shanty, the
very sight of which he had always hat-
ed. Noone seemed to notice his ap-
proach, and when he got to the open
kitchen door he saw the three sitting
about the table. Nettie alone caught
sight of him. He beckoned her, and
she came out.
“I want you to forgive me for what I
did,” he said. “Yon seemed offended.-"
“I was worse—I was mad; an’ I'm
mad now."
“But it was only gratitude on my
part. [didn't know what I did. T
waut you to forgive me, Will you?”
“Mebbe.”
“Well, say you will.”
All right; I say it.” She smiled
subtly, and turned as if to go. “Any-
thing more you want ?”’ she added.
“Yes,” he replied, flushing-~proba.-
bly at the proximity of others,
“Well, what 2”
You."
Me? What for? When?”
“For my wife. Now. I love you,
Nettie.”
She laughed, buat colored, too.
“Cause of the tire ?”’ she asked.
The triviality he passed. “Will you
be my wife?’ he repeated, stubbornly.
“Well,” she answered, looking into
the distance, as if considering—‘“well,
no, not jess yet awhile, I guess,”
“Some time ?"’ he persisted.
But instead of answering, she glanc-
ed quickly at the door, in response to
the sound of a heavy footstep. Luby
had come out, and stood with a shot
gun levelled. :
“Young man,” he sain, in a harsh
voice, “jess you light out. I've been
a-waitin’ for this ’ere chance, an, now
I've got. You'te on my proputty now,
an’ the sooner you dig ou fer home the
wholer yer koggone skin ’ll be, ’cause
I’m goin’ to pepper it’s full er holes as
a sieve” He took a sight along the
rusty barrel.
With the first word, Nettie was be-
tween them. She suffered her father
to conclude, then she said, flushed with
indignation : “Pa, how aare you iu-
terrupt my company! It's jess the
first time I’ve ever had to blush fer
you, an’ I hope it’s goin’ to be the last.
I'm tired of all this fuss an’ foolin’,
an’ theres going to be an end to it right
now. The gentlman has asked me to
get married. I said po, because I
wasn’t certain, an’ now I'm jess goin’
to say yes.” ;
Luby, open-mouthed, lowered the
gun.— Harper's Weekly.
Nine Miners Killed.
Terrible Disaster Caused by a Premature Ex-
plosion.
McALLisTER, I. T., March 14.-.-A
serious disaster, caused by the premature
explosion of a blast, took place last
night in Shaft No. 1 of the Choctaw
Coal Company’s mines at Anderson.
There were only eighteen men in the
mine at the time. Of these nine were
kilied outright and eight so badly burn-
ed that they will probably die. Theex-
citement is so intense that it is impossi-
ble to ascertain the rames of all the
dead and injured. Thedead who have
already been taken from the mine are
John McFadden, John Scanlan, W. E.
Warren, Ernest = Matthews, Warren
Love and Jules Triocori.
The Appointment of a Commission.
disappeared,.
flames, still without seeming to notice.
When he recalled himself there was.
tothing but the red ashes of the grass 3
far to the right and far to the left the-
fire still swept on, blown by the gentle:
gether in keeping with its lumbering.
to the ground, Mrs. Luby tumbled out,.
good to him as if he had been within.
ed to him a decorous time therealter, he-
-r
them had been | POtOCe but many times during the | was upon them. One last furrow, and
was centainly far enough out of the | nothing petickler. I jess come to take | which ¢ u |
long winter evenings, they did not af- | it was over.
separated
world te insure solitude for the rest of | a look around.” leagues.
‘WasuiNgToN, March 14.—The Cabi-
net at its session to-day discussed the
his days. But with the coming of the
railroad ;all bad been changed; a
great number of people poured into the
country to4ake up claims for the free
farms the government offered. That
ithe Lubys. came into the section where
‘he had passed so many years alone
was chance;ithey had made their se-
flection at the land office at Bismarck.
And in any event others would come.
But it was upon the Lubys that Lis-
comb lavished the first hot flush of his
resentment. They were the pioneers
of the new order of things, and, lilze
all pioneers, they were to bear the
onus, From that first day when the
lumbering family wagon loomed upon |
the distant line of prairie and sky he
had hated them.
Now, as he looked over-shoulder at
the newly completed shanty, he felt the
full force of that hatred, It was the
visible earnest of the fact that they had
come to stay. So long as they had lived
in.a shelter tent there was the possibil-
ity that their coming was a bad dream
from which he would awake. But
there was no getting over the shanty,
He uncousciously sat down again
and stared: For a dozen years he had
vot epoken to a woman ; and row he
was amazed, yet could mot remember if
he had the right to be. And if he had
not been carried away with amaze.
ment he would have been embarrassed
despite his mood.
The girl presently dropped into a
chair by the door and éyed him with
disconcerting steadfastness. She was
evidently not conscious of her own
temerity.
“I thought I'd jess come over to give
you a call,” she went on, “for you
don’t seem to be very friendly like. I
heerd you an’ pa got kind of interduc-
ed this mornin’. But.eay, don’t you
think you was pretty sassy? Me
thinks so. An’ think so too. Pa
thinks worse’a that. Come, don’t you
think you was a little bit sassy—a
weenty bit ?"’
She acked this very earnestly; but
as she got no reply, her lips were puck
ered and she showed some teeth and
dimples, Her candor was very engag:
ing,
He broke ground aad planted a crop
from their hands, and there were
attended to. i
That winter was a particularly rig. |i
climate. Unused as they were to it, ' I
lutely.cut off from everybody and every. |
Within a very short time Luby him. | ford any remarkable entertainment,
self was too much occupied to think of | 80d she fell asleep over an article to
anything outside his own coneerns, | Which she afterward owed her life.
When she awoke it was dusk. Lit-
of wheat, ani single handed he harvest. | tle Aunie was slumbering soundly and
ed it. So hard did he work tnat by | peacefully upon the sofa where she
the time winter set in the tamily was | had been placed. It may have been
in what might be called a prosperous | the daze of the sudden awakening, but
conditioa. The women bad worked [the girl felt that something strange
none theless hard, for the larger part | bad come upon her. The air was
of the furnishings of the shanty came , heavy and hard to breathe.
She went out upon the doorstep and
elothes to be made and a garden to be | scanned the heavens and the surround-
ng prairie: She could discern noth-
ng unusual, and was about to turn
orous one, even for that hyperborean | back, when she caught sight of what
ooked to be a low bank of clouds far
the Lubys suffered much. But per [down in the southwest. She strained
baps it was not 80 much the severity | her eyes, but could make nothing more
of the weather they felt; whenever | of it; it was formless, and seemed rath-
there was a blizzard, and there were |er to be a thick haziness, She was in
many, they were enow-bound—abso- | dread of tornadoes, yet she was quite
ure that this wae not a tornado. She
thing, Some miles to the south of | had heard her father speak many a
them there was a ranch where there | a time cf the signs which presage vio-
were . women, and with them Mus. | lent storms, and she had herself wit.
Luby had picked up acquaintance dur. | nessed a tornado in the distance down ' without speaking. But his eyes said
ing the summer ; but for months now in Iowa. And she was quite sure this
The mad flames leaped to the band
of new turned earth, licked the edged,
and made as if to burst across. But
it was useless. The mighty flood was
checked. And the furrows ran not
only past the Luby shanty, but far up
beyond Liscomb’s she had forgiven
him. For a while the girl stood
watching the flames, and when she
saw that they were powerless she smil-
ed softly to herself.
“Good Pilot! good Pilot!’ she said,
leaning her face up against the soft
nose beside her.
And the aged animal whinnied.
Thus they stood when the sound of
pounding hoof-beats came from the
rear. A bronco, foam-flecked and
wild-eyed, dashed up to the line of fur-
rows. A man threw himself to the
ground.
The girl turned and saw Liscomb.
He paused, and looked first to right,
then to left. He perceived in a glance
what work had been done. Then he
approached her, coming quite close,
much. And before she could know,
matter of the appointment of a commis-
sion to visit Hawaii. Ex-Representa-
tive Blount, of Georgia was favorably
considered as one of the commissioners,
and he was in the Cabinet room during
a part of the meeting.
But Not All of Dana's Stripe.
From the Stenbeuville, Ohio, Gazette.
The New York Sun says there are
more Democrats than officers. Well
there does seem to be a large number
of Democrats these times,
Justice Jackson's Assignment.
WasnINGTON, March 13.—Justice
Jackson was to-day assigned to duty
over the circuit which the late Justice
Lamar presided.
——Senator Smith, of New Jersey, is
nearly seven feet high, and his gray
hairis a fitting crown to the good-natur-
ed face beneath it. He looks like a man
who is pondering over the question of
Speaker Flynn being the biggest fellow
in the State.