Bemorrai ac Bellefonte, Pa., January 30, 1903. THE PUNCTUATION POINTS. Six little marks from school are we, Very important, all agree. Filled to the brim with mystery, Six little marks from school. “3 One little mark is round and small, But where it stands the voice must fall; At the close ot a sentence all Place this little mark from school. “3 ‘One little mark, with gown a-trailing, Hold up the voice and, never failing, Tells you not long to pause when hailing This little mark from school. Tal) If out of breath you chance to meet Two little dots, both round and neat, Pause, and these tiny guardsmen greet— These little marks from school. [TER When shorter pauses are your pleasure, One trails his sword, takes half the meas- ure, Then speeds you on to seeks new treasure, This little mark from school. cegr ‘One little mark, ear shaped, implies, “Keep up the voice; await replies;” To gather information tries, This little mark from school. ep ‘One little mark, with an exclamation, Presents itself to your observation And leaves the voice at an elevation, This little mark from school. Six little marks! Be sure to heed us; Carefully study, write and read us, For you can never cease to need us, Six little marks from school ! —Julia M. Colton, in St. Nickolas. —————————— THE FLYING DEATH. A Story in Three Writings and a Telegram. PART 1.——THE TRACKS IN THE SAND. DOCUMENT No 1. A Letter in Explana- tion from Harris Haynes, Reporter Jor “The New Era,” off on Vacation, to his Managing Editor, Moxravk Point, L. I, Sept 20, 1902. Mg. Joun Crage, Managing Editor, The New Era, New York City. Dear Mr. Clare : Here is a case for your personal consideration. You will see pres- ently why I bave not pus it on the wire, If it resolves itself into anything sufficient- ly reasonable to print, there will be time for that later; at present it is—or, at least, it would appear on paper—a bit of pure in- sanity. Lest you should think it that, and myself the victim, I have two witnesses of character and reputation who will corrob- orate every fact in the case, and who go far- ther with the incredible inferences than I ean bring myself to do. They are Professor Willis Ravenden, expert in entomology and an enthusiast in every other branch of si- ence, and Stanford Colton,son of old Colton of the Button Trust, and himself a medical student close upon his diploma. Colton, like myself, is recuperating. Prof. Raven. den is studying the metamorphosis of a small, sky blue butterfly species of bug with a disjointed name which inhabits these parts but is rapidly leaving in consequence of his activity and ardor in the huut. We three constitute the total late season patronage of Third House, and probably five per cent. of the population of this forty square miles of grassland, the remainder being the men of the Life Saving Service, the farmer families of First, Second and Third Houses, and a little settlement of fisherman on the Sound side. There's splen- did isolation for you, within a hundred miles of New York. A good thing, too, if the case works out into something big, for there is little danger of its reaching any of the other newspaper offices. This afternoon—yesterday, to be accurate, as 16 1s now past midnight— we three went out for a tramp. On our return we ran in- to a fine, driving rain that blotted out the landscape. It’s no trick at all to get lost in this country, where the hillocks were all hatched out of the same egg, and the scrub oak patehes out of the same acorn. For an hour or so we circled around. Then we eaught the booming of the surf plainly, and came presently to the crest of the sand cliff eighty feet above the beach. As the mist blew away, we saw a few vards out from the cliff’s foot, and a short distance to the east, the body of a man lying on the hard sand. There was something in the huddled pos- ture that struck the eve with a shozk as of violence. With every reason for assuming, at first sight that the body bad been wash- ed up, I somehow knew that the man had not met death by the waves. Where we stood the cliff fell too precipitously to ad- mit of descent; but opposite the bod y it was lower, and here a ravine cat sharply through a dip between the bills at right angles to the beach. We half fell, half slipped down the abrupt declivity, made our way to the gully’s opening, which was almost blocked hy a great boulder, and came upon a soft and pebbly beach only a few feet wide, beyond which the hard, clean level of sand stretched to the receding waves. As we reached the open a man ap- peared around a point to the northward, saw the body, and broke into a run. Col- ton had started toward the body, but I ealled him back. I didn’t want the sand marked up just then. Keeping close to the + eliff’s edge, we went forward to meet the man. As soon as he could make himself heard above the surf he bailed us. ‘‘How long has that been there 2’ ‘I’ve just found it,” said Colton as we turned out toward the sea. ‘‘It must have been washed up at high tide.” “I’m the patrol from the Bow Hill sta- tion,’’ said the man briefly. ‘We are guests at Third House,’ said I. ‘“We’ll go through with this together.” ‘*‘Come along, then,’’ said he. We were now on a line with the body, which lay with the head toward the waves. The patrol suddenly checked and exclaim- ed, ‘It’s Panl Serdholm.” Then he rush- ed forward witha great ory. ‘‘He’s been murdered !”’ *‘Ob, surely not mardered,’’ expostulat- ed the Professor nervously. ‘He's been drowned, and——’ ‘Drowned !”’ cried the patrol in a heat of contempt. ‘‘And how about that gash in the hack of his neck ? He’s the guard from Sand Spit, two miles below. Three hours ago I saw him on the cliff yonder. Since -then he’s come and gone betwixt here and his station. And—’’ he gulped suddenly and torned upon us so sharply that the Professor jumped —‘‘what’s he met with 27’ ‘The wound might have been made by the surf dashing him on a sharp rock,” I suggested. : **No, sir,’’ said the patrol with emphasis. !“The tide ain’t that high in a month. It's murder, that’s what it is—bloody murder,” and he bent over the dead man, with twitch- ing shoulders. ‘“He’s right,’ said Colton, who had been hastily examining the corpse. ‘“This is no drowning case. The man was stabbed,and died instantly. Washea friend of yours?” he asked of the patrol. ‘No; nor of nobody’s, holm,’’ replied the man. last week we quarreled.”’ ing blankly at us. ‘‘How long would you say he had been dead ?*’ I asked Colton. ‘‘A very few minutes.”’ ‘“Then get to the top of the cliff and scat- ter,”’ I said. ‘‘The murderer must have escaped that way. From the hilltop yon can see the whole country. Keep off of that sand. can’t you? Make a detour to the gully.” **And what will you do?’ inquired Col- ton, looking at me curiously. ‘‘Stay here and study this out,’ I replied in a low tone. ‘‘You and the Professor meet me at Sand Spit in half an hour. Pa- trolman if vou don’t see anything, come back here in fifteen minutes.’” He hesitat- ed. “I've had ten years’ experience in murder cases,” I added. ‘‘If you will do as you're told for the next few minutes, we should clear this thing up.?’ No sooner had they disappeared cn the high ground than I ses myself to the solu- tion of the problem. Inland from the body stretched the hard beach. Not one of us had stepped between the body and the soft sand into which the cliff sloped. In this mass of rubble, footprints would be inde- terminable. Anywhere else they should stand out like the stamp on a coin. As we approached I bad noticed that there were no footprints to the north. On the side of the sea there was nothing except numerous faint bird tracks, extending al- most to the water. Taking off my shoes, I followed the spoor of the dead man. It stood out, plain as a poster, to the west- ward. For a hundred yards I followed it. There was no parallel track. To make cer- tain that his slayer had not crept upon him from that direction, I examined the prints for the marks of superimposed steps. None was there. Three sides, then, were elimin- ated. My first hasty glance at the sand be- tween the body and the hills had shown me nothing. Here, however. must be the evi- dence. Striking off from the dead man’s line, I walked out upon the hard surface. The sand was deeply indented beyond the body, where the three men had hurried across to the cliff. But no other footmark broke its evenness. Not until I was al- most on a line between the body and the mouth of the gully did I find aclue. Clear- ly imprinted on the clean level was the outline of a huge claw. There were the five talons and the nub of the foot. A lit- tle forward and to one side was a similar mark, except that it was slanted different- ly. Step by step, with staring eyes and shuddering mind, I followed the trail. Then I became aware of a second, confusing the first, the track of the same creature. At first the second track was distinct, then it merged with the firs,only so diverge again. The talons were turned in the direction op- posite to the first spoor. From the body to the soft sand stretched the unbroken lines. Nowhere else within a radius of many yards was there any other indication. The sand lay blank as a white sheet of pa- per; as blank as my mind, which struggled with one stupefying thought—that be- tween the body of the dead life saver and the refuge of the cliff no creature had pass- ed except one that stalked on monstrous clawed feet. You will appreciate now, Mr. Clare, thas this wasn’t just the thing to in- flict upon a matter-of-fact telegraph editor, without preparing his mind. My first thought was to preserve the evi- dence for a more careful examination. I hastily collected some flat rocks and had covered those tracks nearest the soft sand when Iheard a hail. For the present I didn’t want the others to know what I had found. I wanted to think it out, undis- turbed by conflicting theories. So I hasti- ly returned, and was putting on my shoes when the Bow Hill patrolman—his name was Schenck—came out of the gully. ‘‘See anything ?’’ I called. ‘‘Nothing to the northward. Have you found anything ?”’ ‘Nothing definite,’ I replied. ‘‘Don’t cross the sand there. Keep along down. We'll go to the Sand Spit Station and re- pors this,’ But the man was staring out beyond my litle column of rock shelters. *“What’s that thing?’ he said, pointing to the nearest unsheltered print. “My God! It looks likea bird track. And it leads straight to the body,’ he cried, in a voice that jangled on my nerves. But when he began to look fearfully overhead, into the gathering darkness, drawing in his shoulders like one shrinking from a blow, that was too much. I jumped to my fees, grabbed him by the arm, and started him along. “Don’t be a fool,” Isaid. ‘Keep this to yourself. I won’t have a lot of idiots prowling around these tracks. Understand ? You're to report this murder, and say noth- ing about what you don’t know. Later we'll take it up again.” The man seemed stunned. He walked along quietly, close to me, and it was «no comfort to feel him, now and again shaken by a violent shudder. We had nearly reached the station when Professor Raven- den and Colton came down to the beach in front of us. Colton bad nothing to tell. The professor reported baving started up a fine speciman of his sky-blue prey, and re- gretted deeply the lack of his net. If any- thing but a butterfly had bumped into him I don’t believe he would have noticed it. Before we reached the station, I cleared another point to my satisfaction. ‘The man wasn’t stabbed. He was shot, ”’ I said. “I'll stake my life that’s no bullet wound,” cried Colton quickly. ‘I’ve seen plenty of shooting cases. The bullet never was cass that made such a gap in a man’s head as that. It was a sharp instroment, with power behind it.” “To Mr. Colton’s opinion I must add my own, for what it is worth,”’ said Professor Ravenden. ! ‘Can you qualify as an expert?’ 1 de- manded with the rudeness of rasped nerves, was Paul Serd- ‘“No later than He paused, look- and in some surprise at the tone of certain- i ty in the old boy’s tone. “When in search of a sub-species of the Papilionidz in the Orinoco region,’’ said he mildly, ‘my party was attacked by the In- dians that infest the river, After we had beaten them off, it fell to my lot to attend the wounded. I thus had opportunity to observe the wounds made by their slender spears. The incision ander consideration bears a rather striking resemblance to the spear gashes which I then saw. I may add that I brought away my specimens of Pap- ilionidee intact, although we lost most of our provisions,’’ ‘‘No man has been near enough the spot where Serdholm was strack down to stab him,” Isaid. ‘Our footprints are plain; so are his. There are no others. The man was shot hv some one lying in the gully or on the cliff.”’ “I’I1 bet you five hundred to five dollars that the autopsy doesn’s result in the find- ing of a bullet,’ =ried Colton. I accepted, and it was agreed that he should stay and report from the autopsy. At the station I talked with various of the men, and, assuming for the time that the case presented no unusual features of mur- der, tried to get atsome helpful clue. Mo- tive was my firstaim. Results were scant. It is true that there was a general dislike of Serdholm, who was a moody and somewhat mysterious character, having come from no- body knew whence. On the other hand, no one had anything serious against him. The four clues that I struck, such as they were, I can tabulate briefly. (I.) A week ago Serdholm returned from Amagansett with a bruised face. He had been in a street fight with a local loafer who had attacked him when drunk. Re- port brought back by one of the farmers that the life saver heat the other fellow soundly, who went away threatening ven- geance. Found out by phone that the loaf- er was in Amagansett as late as five o’clock this afternoon. (IL.) Two months ago Serdholm accused a local fisherman of stealing some tobacco. Nothing fgrther since heard of the matter. (IIL.) Three weeks ago stranded juggler and mountebank found his way here, and asked aid of Serdholm; claimed to be his cousin. Serdholm turned him down. Man returned next day. Played some tricks and collected a little money from the men. Serdhold, angry at the jeers of the men about his relative, threw a heavy stick at him, knocking him down and out. As soon as he was able to walk, juggler went away crying. Not since seen. (IV.) This is the most direct'clue for mo- tive and opportunity. Coast guard Schenck (the man who met us at the scene of the murder) quarreled with the dead man over the daughter of a farmer, who prefers Schenck. They fought, but were separated. Schenck blacked Serdholm’s eye. Serdholm threatened to get square. Schenck cannot prove absolute alibi. His bearing and be- havior, however, are those of an innocent man. Moreover, the knife he carried was too small to have made the wound that kill- ed Serdholm. And how could Schenck—or any other man—have stabbed the victim and left no track on thesand ? This is the blank wall against which I come at every turn of conjecture. Professor Ravenden, Schenck, and I start- ed back, we two to Third House, Schenck to his station. Colton remained to wait for the coroner, who had sent word that he would be over as soon as a horse could bring him. As we were parting Schenck said: “Gentlemen, I’m afraid there's likely to be trouble for me over this.”’ ‘It’s quite possible that they may arrest you,” I said. ‘God knows that I never thought of kill- ing Serdholm or any other man. But I had a grudge against him,and I wasn’t faraway when he was killed. The only evidence to clear me are those queer tracks.” ‘I shall follow them until they lead me somewhere,’’ said I, ‘‘and I do not myself believe, Schenck, that you had any part in the thing.’’ “Thank you,’”’ said the guard. night.” Professor Ravenden turned to me as we entered the house. ‘Pardon a natural curiosity. Did I un- derstand that there were prints in the sand which might be potentially indicative 2’ ‘Professor Ravenden,’’ said I, ‘‘there is an inexplicable feature to this case. If you’ll come up to my room. I should very much like to draw on your fund of natural history.” When we were comfortably settled I be- gan. ‘‘Do you know this neck of land well ?’? ‘In the study of a curious and interest- ing variant of the Lycana psendargiolus, I have covered moss of it, from here to the Hither Wood.”’ ‘Have you ever heard of an ostrich farm about here ?”’ ‘No, sir. Such an enterprise would he practicable only in the warm months.” ‘Would it be possible for a wandering os- trich or other huge bird, escaped from some zoo, to have made its home here ?"’ ‘*Scientifically quite possible. May Iin- quire the purpose of this? Can it be that the tracks referred to by the patrol were the cloven hoof prints of —’* ‘‘Cloven hoofs I” I cried in sharp disap- pointment. ‘Is there no member of the ostrich family that has claws 2”? ‘‘None now extant. In the processes of evolution the claws of the ostrich, like its wings, have graduoally—?’ “Is there any huge clawed bird large enough and powerful enough to kill a man with a blow of its beak 2’ ‘‘No, sir,’’ said the Professor. ‘‘I know of no bird which would venture to attack man except the ostrich, emu, or cassowary, and the fighting weapon of this family is the hoof, not the beak. But you will again pardon me if I ask——? ‘Professor the only thing that approach- ed Serdholm within striking distance walk- ed on a foot armed with five great claws.” I rapidly sketched on a sheet of paper a rough, but careful, drawing. ‘‘Aund there’s its sign manual,” I added, pushing it to- ward him. Imagination could hardly picture a more precise, unemotional, and conventionally scientific man than Professor Ravenden. Yet, at the sight of the paper, bis eyes sparkled, he half started fiom his chair, a flush rose in his cheeks, he looked briskly and keenly from the sketch to me, and spoke in a voice that 1ang with a deep un- der thrill of excitement. ‘‘Are you sure, Mr. Haynes—are yon quite sure that this is substantially cor- rect 2’! ‘‘Minor details may be inexact. In all essentials, that will correspond to the marks made by something that walked from the mouth of the gully to the spot where we found the body, and back again.” Before I had fairly finished the Professor was ont of the room. He returned almost immediately with a flat slab of considerable weight. This he laid on the table, aud tak- ing my drawing, sedulously compared it with an impression, deep sunken into the slab. That impression, stamped as it was *'Good- on my brain, I would have identified as far as the eye could see it. “That’s it,’’ I cried, with the eagerness of trinmphant discovery. ‘The hird from whose foot that cast was made is the thing thas killed Serdholm.”’ “Mr. Haynes,”’ said the entomologist dryly, ‘this is not a cast.’’ “Not a cast ?”’ I said in bewilderment. ‘“Whas is it, then?’ “It is a rock of the Cretaceous period.’ “‘A 100k?’ I repeated dully. “Of what period ?”? ‘“The Cretaceous. The creature whose foot print you see there trod that rock when it wassoft ooze. That may have been one hdndred million years ago. It was at least ten million.”’ L I luoked again at the rock, and unneces- sary emotions stirred among the roots of my hair. “Where did you find i6?"’ I asked. ‘It formed a part of Mr. Stratton’s stone EE ———————————————————————————————————————————————— fence. Probably he picked it up in his pas- ture yonder. The maker of the mark in- habited the island where we now are—this land was then distinct from Long Island— in the incalculably ancient ages.” “What did this bird thing call itself ?”’ I demanded. A sense of the ghastly ridic- ulousuess of the thing was jostling in the core of my brain, a strong shudder of men- tal nausea born of the void into which I was gazing. : “It wasnota bird. It was a reptile. Science knows it as the Pteranodon.” ‘“Could it kill a man with its beak ?’’ “The first man came millions of years later—or so science thinks,’’ said the Pro- fessor. ‘‘However, primeval man, unarm- ed would bave fallen an easy prey to so for- midable a brute as this. The Pteranodon was a creature of prey.’’ he continued, with an attempt at pedantry which was obvious- ly a ruse to conquer his own excitment. “From what we can reconstruct, a reptile stands forth spreading more than twenty feet of bat like wings, and bearing a four- foot beak as terrible as a bayonet. This monster was the undisputed lord of the air; as dreadful as his cousins of the »arth, the Dinosaurs, whose very name caries the sig- nificance of terror.”’ ‘‘And you mean to tell me that this bil- lion years dead flying sword fish bas flitted out of the darkness of eternity to kill a miserable coast guard within a hundred miles of New York, in the year 19022?" I cried. He had told me nothing of the sort. I didn’t want to be told anything of the sort. I wanted reassuring. But I was long past weighing words. “I have not said so.’” replied the ento- mologist quickly. ‘Bat if your diagram is correct, Mr. Haynes—if it is reasonably ac- carate—I can tell you that no living bird ever made the prints which it produces, thas science knows no five toed bird and no bird, whatsoever, of sufficiently formidable beak to kill a man. Furthermore, that the one creature known to science which could make that print, and could slay man or a creature far more powerful than man, is the tiger of the air, the Pteranodon. Probably, however, your natural excitement, due to the distressing circumstances, has led yon into error, and your diagram is inac- curate.’’ y ‘Will you come and see?’ I demanded. ‘‘Willingly. I shall have to ask your help, however, with the rock. We would best sup first, I think.” Is was a hasty supper. We got a light, for it was now very dark, and, taking turns with the lantern and Cretaceous slab (which hadn’t lost any weight with age, by the way), we went direct to the shore and turned westward. Presently a light appeared around the face of the cliff, and Colton bailed us. He was on his way back to Third House, but of course joined us in our excursion, I bastily explained to him the matter of the footprints, the diagram, and the fossil marks. ‘‘Professor Ravenden would have us believe that Serdbo!m was killed by a beaked ghoul that lived ten or a hundred or a thousand million years ago,’’ I said reck- lessly. ‘‘A few years one way or the other doesn’t make any odds.’’ “Ill tell you one thing,” said Colton gravely. ‘‘He wasn’t killed by a bullet. It was a stab wound. A broad bladed knife or something of that sort, but driven with terrific power. The autopsy settled that. You lose your bet, Haynes. Why,” he cried suddenly, ‘‘it wasn’t nnlike what a heavy, sharp beak would make. But—but —this Pteranodon—is that it?—Oh, the devil ! I thought all those pterano-things were dead and buried before Adam’s great- grand father was a protoplasm.’ ‘Science has assumed that they were ex- tinct,”’ said the Professor. ‘‘But a scientif- ic assumption is a mere makeshift, useful only until it is overthrown by new facts. We have prehistoric survivals--the gar of of our rivers 18 unchanged from his ances- tors of fifteen million years ago. The crea- ture of the water has endured; why not the creature of the air?’ ‘‘Oh, come off,” said Colton seriously. “Where conld it live and not have been discovered ?”’ ‘‘Perbaps at the north or south pole’”’ said the Professor. ‘‘Perhapsin the depths of unexplored islands. Or possibly inside the glohe. Geographers are accustomed to say loosely that the earth is an open book. Setting aside the exceptions which I have noted, there still remains the interior, as unknown and mysterious as the planets. In its possible vast caverns there may well be reproduced the conditions in which the Pteranodon and its terrific contemporaries found their suitable environment on the earth’s surface, ages ago.’ ‘“Then how would it get out ?”’ ‘‘The violent volcanic disturbances of this summer might have opened an exit.” *‘Oh, that’s too much I’ I protested. *‘I was at Martinique myself, and if you ex- pect me to believe thas anything came out of that welter of flame and boiling rocks alive——"’ ‘‘You misinterpret me again,’”’ said the Professor blandly. *‘What I intended to convey is that these eruptions are indica- tive of great seismic changes, in the course of which vast openings may well have oc- ocurred in far parts of the earth. However, Iam merely defending the Pteranodon’s survival as an interesting possibility. My own belief is that your diagram, Mr. Hayne,s is faulty.” ‘‘Hold the light here, then.'’ I said, lay- ing down the slab, for we were now at the spot. ‘‘I will convince you as to that.” While the Professor held the light I un- covered one of the tracks. A quick excla- mation escaped him, He fell on his knees beside the print, and as he compared the today’s mark on the sand with the rock print of millions of years ago, his breath came hard. Iwould not care to say that I breathed as regularly as usual. When he litbed his head, his face was twitching ner- vously. *‘I have to ask your pardon, Mr. Haynes," he said. ‘“‘Your drawing was faithful.” ‘‘But what in Heaven’s name does it mean ?’’ cried Colton. ‘It means that we are on the verge of the most important discovery of modern times, ’’ eaid the Professor. ‘‘Savants have hitherto scouted the suggestions to be deduced from the persistent legend of the roe, and from certain almost universal North American Indian lore, notwithstanding that the theory of some monstrous winged creature widely different from any recognized exist- ing forms is supported hy more convincing proofs. In the north of England, in 1844, reputable witnesses found the tracks, after a night’s fall of snow, of a creature with a pendent tail, which made flights over houses and other obstructions, leaving a trail much like this before us. ) other corrohorative instances of a nature. In view of the present evidence, I would ray that this was unquestionably a Pteranodon, or a descendant little altered and a gigantic specimen, for these tracks are distinctly larger than the fossil marks. Gentlemen, I congratulate you both on yonr part in so epoch making a discovery.’’ ‘Do you expect a sane man to believe this thing ?’’ I demanded. ‘‘That’s what I feel,”’ said Colton. ‘‘But aime | on your own showing of the evidence, what else is there to helieve 2’ *‘But, see here,’’ I expostulated, all the time feeling as if I were arguing in and against a dream. ‘‘If this is a flying crea- ture, how explain the footprints leading up to Serdholm’s body,” as well as away from is?” “Owing to its structure,” said the Pro- fessor, ‘‘the Pteranodon could not rapidly rise from the ground in flight. It either sought an acelivity from which to launch itself, or ran swiftly along the ground,gath- ing impetus for a leap into the air with out- spread wings. Similarly, in alighting it probably ran along on its hind feet before dropping to its small fore feet. Now sap- pose the Pteranodon to be on the cliff’s edge, about to start upon its evening flight. Below it appears a man. Its ferocious na- ture is aroused. Down it swoops, skims swiftly with pattering feet toward him, im- pales him on its dreadful beak, then re- turns to climb the cliff and again launch itself for flight.”’ All this time I had been holding one of thesmaller rocks in my band. Now I flung it toward the gully and turned away, say- ingvehemently : ‘If the shore was covered with footprints I wouldn’t believe it. It’s too——?’ I never finished that sentence. From out of the darkness there came a hoarse cry. Heavy wings beat the air with swift strokes. In that instant panic seized me. I ran for the shelter of the cliff, and after me came Colton. Only the Professor stood his ground, bust it was with a tremulous voice that he called to us: ‘That was a common marsh or short eared owl that arose; the Asio accipitrinus is not rare hereabouts. There is nothing further to do tonight, and I believe that we are in some peril remaining here as the Pteranodon appears to be nocturnal.’ We returned to him ashamed. But all the way home, despite my better sense, I walked under an obsession of terror hover- ing in the blackness above. So here is the case as clearly as I can put it. I shall have time to work it out un- hampered, as the remoteness of the place is a safeguard so far as the news is concerned, and only we three know of the Pteranodon prints. Itisnow 4p. m., and I will send this over by the early wagon, which takes stuff to market. Then I'll get a couple hours’ sleep and go back to the place before any- one else overruns it with tracks. It has come on to rain, and the trail will be wip ed out, I fear, except the spots still pro- tected by my rock shelters. Professor Rav- enden is going to write a monograph on the sarvival of the Pteranodon. So there is one basis for a newspaper story. If he can af- ford to identify himself with the theory, surely we can. It seems like a nightmare—formless, meavingless. ‘What you will think of it I can only conjecture. But you must not think that I have lost my senses. I am sane enough; so is Colton; so, to all appear- ance, is Professor Ravenden. The facts are exactly as I have written them down. I bave left no clue untouched thus far. I will stake my life on the absence of foot- prints. And it all comes down to this Mr. Clare ; Pteranodon or no Pteranodon, as sure as my name is Haynes, the thing that killed Paul Serdholm never walked on hu- man feet. Very sincerely youis, HARRIS D. HAYNES. P. 5.—I shall send for a gun to-morrow, and if there’s any queer thing flying I'll try to get a shot at it. DocUMENT No 2. 4 telegram. Moxrauk Porn, N. Y., 8 a. m., Sept. 21, 1902: Jonx Crarg, Managing Editor, New Era Office, New York. Haynes mysteriously killed on beach this morning. Stab wound in heart. Send in- structions. WILLIS RAVENDEN, STANFORD COLTON. —DBy Samuel Hopkins Adams in McClure’s Magazine for January. Mr. Linderman’s Death. Caused by Bruising His Hand While Playing Blind Man's Bluff with His Children. Robert Packer Linderman, who died re- cently from septic poisoning, was unusual- ly fond of his children. There are six of them in the mansion on Fountain Hill, South Bethlehem. Christmas was cele- brated in the old-fashioned way, with games around the large tree. Mr. Linderman was the blind man in a hi- larious game of ‘‘blindman,s bluff’’ Christ mas Day, and after a very sharp pursuit of one of the participantsran into a door, the knob of which only slightly bruised his hand. Nothing was thought of the bruise that day, and the game, with the other jollity of the holidays, was carried out. He returned to bis business and thought nothing more of the incident until the lat- ter part of last week. Then his hand be- gan to pain him, and bad swelled so that Dr. Jacobi and other specialists were sent for. They found an unusually virulent case of poisoning, and despite all their remedies, the patient died on Wednesday of last week. Mr. Linderman was thirty-nine years old, son of a former business associate of Asa Packer, who left him and his brother a fortune. This fortune was in iron and steel plants, as well as rich coal mines in the Lehigh valley. He was educated at Lehigh University,and early became an official of the Bethlehem Iron company, which three years ago was merged into the Bethlehem Steel company, a corporation with $150,000,000 capital, of which he was the president. In addition, he was an officer in steamship and railroad companies, president and director in sever- al banks and head of the coal mining firm of Linderman & Skeer. The death of Mr. Linderman recall a sensational attempt, made on December 31st, 1900, to kidnap bis son, then abous twelve years of age. It was foiled by the kidnapers mistaking his gardener’s son for their victim, This was at the time of the celebrated Cudaby kidnaping, in Omaha, and at dusk one evening young Charles Kerschner, the the gardener’s son, was suddenly seized, as he was crossing the lawn, chloroformed, thrown into a carriage, and carried for many miles into the country. When the men beheld his features clearly they bun- dled him out on the road with the blunt statement : ‘“You’re not the one!’ No clue was ever found to the criminals. Mr. Linderman was married in 1884 to Miss Ruth May Sayre, who survives him. Preferred Dayligiat, Being of a thrifty tendency, she inquired of the operator, ‘‘How much do you charge for taking out a tooth ?’’ *‘Fifty cents; with gas, a dollar,” was the reply. “Then I guess I'll call to-morrow and have it taken ont hy daylight,’ annonnced the patient.—New York Times. ——Buberibe for the WATCHMAN. The Great American Newspaper. Elsewhere is noted that the New York Sun has again changed bands from Paul Dana, son of the great editor and Assistant Secretary of War under Stanton, to Win. M. Laffan, for years business manager of the Sun. The following sketch of the management of great metropolitan dailies is apropos. A New York newspaper asks if the 7,000,- 000 people in and around that city know much about the men who make the great metropolitan journals. In all probability they do not, nor the world at large, bhe- cause journalism has become so impersonal that few know the editors or writers as they were in the days of the elder Bennett, Horace Greeley, or Henry J. Raymond. According to newspaper parlance in New York, and perbaps elsewhere, ‘‘upstairs’ is the editorial management and ‘“‘down- stairs’’ is the business end. The dominant force may be one place or the other. On the evening Post the one great influence is the editor—Horace White—who every day puts his policy and views on the editorial page, and is the Post. Joseph Pulitzer, the owner of the World, spends his summers at Bar Harbor and much of the rest of the time abroad. He lays the course, in person, or by telegraph, but the man who 1uns the Worid is Brad- ford Merrill, James Gordon Bennett, of the Herald, does not set foot in this coun- try twice in ten years. His home is in Paris and on yachts in the Mediterranean. The Herald is run by William C. Reiok. The man of the Timesis Adolph S. Ochs, ‘‘downstairs,’’ who also controls the Phila- delphia Times. On the Sun there are “‘up- stairs’”’ Paul Dana, son of Charles A., and “‘downstairs,’’ Laffan. Herman Ridder, of Ridderbund fame, is ths controlling force of the Staats- Zeitung. He is “‘down- stairs,’ J. S. Seymour, ‘‘downstairs,”’ is the man of the Commercial Advertiser. Frank Munsey is never at the Daily News, and he says he can’t bear to go into the place. For several years after be became minister to France, Whitelaw Reid gave little personal attention to the Tribune. In his absence from the ‘“‘tall tower’ the seats of the mighty were ‘‘downstairs.”” More recens- ly Mr. Reid has been in his editorial sanctum habitually, and authority has moved ‘‘upstairs’’ again. The Mail and Express is run by a ‘‘council.”’ Since Colonel A. K. McClure has retired from the sanctum there is no example left in this State of the editor and the paper being one. When Colonel Watterson passes away there will end the last of the old regime in the Sonthwest, the inseparable connection or identity of the paper and its editor. In this change there has been both gain and loss. Whether they balance each other or not I cannot say. I think in the old days the big paper wielded a more potent power in forming public opinion, as it came to the reader as a personal missive from an admired editor, whose words and opinions were unquestioned. One Way of Detecting a Thief. Last fall in corn husking time George E. Rhinehart missed corn from hie field on his farm near Lewisburg, Union county. One evening at the close of a day’s husk- ing he went to a pile that was left in the field. He selected a large ear and broke off about two inches of the end and threw the ear back, but carefully preserved the smaller piece. A large portion of the pile of corn was stolen that night. He employed a detective and in a few days the detective learned that a man named John Hood had hauled corn from some- where to I. M. Pines, a store keeper in Lewisburg. Mr. Pines was called on and took Rhinehart and the detective up stairs to view thecorn that he had bought from Hood. Rhinehart picked upan ear of corn that was broken and it fitted exactly the piece he bad in his pocket that he had broken off in his field. Hood was taken into court to answer the charge of stealing corn, was found guilty by the jury and sentenced last week by the judge to a period of one year and six months in the eastern penitentiary. —Juniafa Sentinel and Republican. Dying Like Sheep from Plague. Thousands Fleeing from Stricken Mexican Cities. Information has reached Bisbee, Ariz., that the bubonic plague has made its ap- pearance at Toporico, Mexico, sixty-five miles from Minas Prietas, state of Sonora. The people of Toporico are greatly excited and many have left the town. It is also reported that the plague has been discovered in small interior towns in Sonora. It is reported that there is no plague at Hermossillo and Guayamas. At Topolo- bampo people are reported to be dying like sheep and the survivors are leaving the sticken city as fast as possible. Many leave in the night time, going out into the ocean in skiffs. It is feared that their de- parture will spread the plague. According to a letter received at Salt Lake City from Mazatlan, Mexico, deaths from buhonic plague are averaging 33 per cent. Up to January 5th, two days before this letter was written, there had been over 170 deaths. Fully a third of the popula- tion of 15,000 has fled. Rector Struck it Rich. Act of Charity Unexpectedly Brings Wealth to Him. Rev. W. E. Mason, who is credited with a sudden rise from the position of a poor rector to. that of a millionaire, is at the Waldorf, New York. Captain Lawrence, a miner, was taken ill while in Ogden, Utah, last September. One of the hotel clerks mentioned his oritic- al condition to Mr. Mason, who was the rector of Christ Protestant Episcopal church thereon a small salary. The clergyman visited the miner, called a doctor, got medi- cine for him, and nursed the invalid back to health. Upon his recovery Captain Lawrence gave to Mr. Mason some certificates of stock in a mining company. The stock had no marketable value as the time, hut subsequently became sought after. Gold in great quantities was yielded by the veins about Christmas. Mr. Mason resigned his rectorship upon realizing that be had be- come wealthy. ——What a happy lot the dog or the ox or the pig must have. They never have to worry about a new dress ora new coat two or three times a year, and when once they establish the fashion it stays for all time. Nature helps the dumb brute hut turns her back on man absolutely. Think of Towser coming home with his hair cut foot-ball pattern, and a sweater on, or the family cow in corsets and a heightening of her color from the use of powder and paste. The bumane society would be on hands at once to relieve the domestic creatures. But ‘map has no friend thas he can depend on. He is a slave, and there is no ray of hope for him.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers