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(Continued from last week).
SYNOPSIS
CHAPTER I—Arriving at the lonely
e railroad station of El Cajon, New
co, Madeline Hammond, New York
finds no one to meet her. While in
waiting room a drunken cowboy en-
asks if she is married, and departs,
ving her terrified, He returns with a
est, who goes through some sort of
ny, and the cowboy forces her to
say ““SL" Asking her name and learning
her identity the cowboy seems dazed. In
$ shooting scrape outside the room a
can killed. The cowboy lets a
1, “Bonita,” take his horse and escape,
n conducts Madeline to Florence
ey, friend of her brother.
CHAPTER II.—Florence welcomes her,
her story, and dismisses the cow-
y, Gene Stewart. Next day Alfred
ond, Madeline's brother, takes
tewart to tark. Madeline exonerates
of any wrong intent.
CHAPTER III.—Alfred, scion of a
Foaithy family, had been dismissed from
home because of his dissipation.
Madeline sees that the West has re-
deemed him. She meets Stillwell, Al's
employer, typical western ranchman.
eline learns Stewart has gone over
the border.
CHAPTER IV.—Danny Mains, one of
Stillwell’'s cowboys, has disappeared,
wi some of Stillwell’s money. His
gd link his name with the girl Bo-
CHAPTER V.—Madeline gets a glimpse
of life on a western ranch,
CHAPTER VI.—Stewart’s horse comes
to the ranch with a note on the saddle
asking Madeline to accept the beautiful
animal. With her brother's consent she
does 80, naming him ‘‘Majesty,” her own
pet nickname. Madeline, independently
rich, arranges to buy Stillwell’s ranch
2d that of Don Carlos, a Mexican neigh-
CHAPTER VIIL.—Madeline feels she
has found her right place, under the light
of the western stars.
CHAPTER VIIL.—Learning Stewart had
been hurt in a brawl at Chiricahua, and
knowing her brother's fondness for him,
Madeline visits him and persuades him to
come to the ranch as the boss of her
cowboys.
CHAPTER IX.—Jim Nels, Nick Steele
and “Monty” Price are Madeline's chie
riders. They have a feud with Don Car-
los’ vaqueros, who are really guerrillas.
Madeline pledges Stewart to see that
peace is kept.
CHAPTER X.—Madeline and Florence,
returning home from Alfred’s ranch, run
into an ambush of vaqueros. Florence,
knowing the Mexicans are after Made-
line, decoys them away, and Madeline
gets home safely but alone,
CHAPTER XI.—A raiding guerrilla
band carries off Madeline, Stewart fol-
lows alone. The leader is a man with
whom Stewart had served in Mexico. He
releases the girl, arranging for ransom.
Returning home with Stewart, Madeline
finds herself strangely stirred.
CHAPTER XII. — Madeline's sister
Helen, with a party of eastern friends,
arrives at the ranch, craving excitement.
CHAPTER XIIl.—For the guests’ enter-
tainment a game of golf is arranged.
Stewart interrupts the game, insisting
the whole party return at once to the
house. He tells Madeline her guests are
not safe while the Mexican revolution is
going on, and urges them to go up to
the mountains out of danger. They de-
cide to do so.
Stewart rode on, and Madeline fol-
lowed. The way led in a winding
course through a matted, storm-
wrenched forest of stunted trees. Even
up to this elevation the desert reached
with its gaunt hand. The clouds over-
spreading the sky, hiding the sun,
made a welcome change. The pack-
train rested, and Stewart and Made-
line waited for the party to come up.
Here he briefly explained to her that
Don Carlos and his bandits had left
the ranch some time in the night. The
air grew oppressive; the horses panted.
“Sure it'll be a hummer,” said Stew-
art. “The first storm almost always Is
bad. I can feel it in the air.”
The air, indeed, seemed to be
charged with a heavy force that was
waiting to be liberated.
One by one the couples mounted to
the cedar forest, and the feminine
contingent declaimed eloquently for
rest. But there was to be no perma-
nent rest until night and then that de-
pended upon reaching the crags. The
pack-train wagged onward, and Stew-
art fell in behind. The storm-center
gathered slowly around the peaks;
low rumble and bowl of thunder in-
{immovable as Stone, He Sat His
Horse, Dark-Faced, Dark-Eyed, and,
Like an Indian Unconscious of
Thought.
7 ARomance
creased in frequence; slowly the light
shaded as smoky clouds rolled up; the
air grew sultrier, and the exasperating
breeze puffed a few times and then
failed.
An hour later the party had climbed
high and was rounding the side of a
great bare ridge, that long had hidden
the crags. The last burro of the pack-
train plodded over the ridge out of
Madeline’s sight. She looked back-
i ward down the slope, amused to see
ner guests change wearily from side to
slde in their saddles. Far below luy
the cedar flat and the foothills. Far
io the west the sky was still clear,
with shafts of sunlight shooting down
from behind the encroaching clouds,
Stewart reached the summit of rhe
ridge and, though only a few rads
ahead. he waved to her, sweeping bis
band revnd to wnat he saw beyond. It
was an impressive gesture, and Made-
line, never having ciimbed as high as
this. anticipated much,
Majesty surmounted the lust few
steps and, snorting, halted beside
Stewart’s black. To Madeiine the
scene was as if the world had changed.
The ridge was a mountain-top. it
dropped before her into a black, stone-
ridged. shrub-patched, many-canyoned
gulf. Massed inky clouds were piling
across the peaks, obscuring the high-
est ones. A fork of white lightning
flashed, and, like the booming of an
avalanche, thunder followed.
Madeline glanced at Stewart. He
had forgotten her presence. Immov-
able as stone, he sat his horse, dark-
faced, dark-eyed, and, like an Indian
unconscious of thought, he watched
and watched. To see him thus, to
divine the strange affinity between the
soul of this man, become primitive,
and the savage environment that had
developed him, were powerful helps to
Madeline Hammond in her strange de-
sire to understand his nature.
A cracking of iron-shod hoofs behind
her broke the spell. Monty had
reached the summit.
“Gene, what it won’t all be doin’ iia
a minnut Moses hisself couldn’t teil.”
observed Monty.
Then Dorothy climbed to his side
andSioflied? —, — 20 Haale
“Oh, isn't it just perfectly lovely!”
she exclaimed. “But I wish it wouldn't
storm. We'll all get wet.”
Once more Stewart faced the ascent,
keeping to the slow heave of the ridge
as it rose southward toward the loom-
Ing spires of rock. Soon he was oft
smooth ground, and Madeline, some
rods behind him, looked back with
concern at her friends. Here the real
toil, the real climb began, and a moun-
tain storm was about to burst in all its
fury.
The sky grew blacker; the slow-
gathering clouds appeared to’ be sud-
denly agitated; they piled and rolled
and mushroomed and obscured the
crags. The air moved heavily and
seemed to be laden with sulphurous
smoke, and sharp lightning flashes be-
gan to play. A: distant roar of wind
could be heard between the peals of
thunder. :
Stewart waited for Madeline under
the lee of a shelving cliff, where the
cowboys had halted the pack-train.
Majesty was sensitive to the flashes of
lightning. Madeline patted his neck
and softly called to him. The weary
burros nodded; the Mexican women
covered their heads with their mantles.
Stewart untied the slicker at the back
of Madeline's saddle and helped her
on with it. Then he put on his own.
The other cowboys followed suit. Pres-
ently Madeline saw Monty and Dor-
othy rounding the cliff, and hoped the
others would come soon.
A blue-white, knotted rope of light-
ning burned down out -of the clouds,
and instantly a thunder-clap erashed,
seeming to shake the foundations of
the earth. This moment of the break-
ing of the storm, with the strange
growing roar of wind, like a moaning
monster, was pregnant with a heart-
disturbing emotion for Madeline Ham-
mond. Glorious it was to be free,
healthy, out in the open, under the
shadow of the mountain and cloud, in
the .teeth of the wind and rain and
storm.
Suddenly, as the ground quaked un-
grew black and crisscrossed by flaming
streaks, and between thunderous re-
ports there was.a strange hollow roar
sweeping down upon her, she realized
how: small was her knowledge and ex-
perience of the mighty forces of na-
ture,
With blacker gloom and deafening
roar came the torrent of rain. It was
a cloud-burst. It was like solid water
tumbling down. For long Madeline
sat her horse, head bent to the pelting
rain. When its force lessened and she
heard Stewart call for all to follow,
she looked up to see that he was start-
ing once more. She turned her horse
into his trail.
Rain fell steadily. The fury of the
storm, however, had passed, and the
roll of thunder diminished in volume.
The air had wonderfully cleared and
was growing cool. Madeline began to
der her horse's feet, and all the sky-
feel uncomfortably cold and wet. Stew-
art was climbing faster than formerly,
and she noted that Monty kept at her
heels, pressing her on. Time had been
lost, and the camp-site was a long way
off. The stag-hounds began to lag and
get footsore. The sharp rocks of the
trail were cruel to their feet. Then,
as Madeline began to tire, she noticed
less and less around her. Her horse
climbed and climbed, and brush and
sharp corners of stone everlastingly
pulled and tore at her wet garments.
A gray gloom settled down around her.
Night was approaching.
Stewart’s horse was on a jog-trot
now, and Madeline left the trail more
to Majesty than to her own choosing.
As black night began to envelop her
surroundings, she marked that the fir
trees had given place to pine forest.
Suddenly a pin-point of light pierced
the ebony blackness. It grew larger.
Black tree-trunks crossed her line of
vision. The light was a fire. She
heard a cowboy song and the wild
chorus of a pack of coyotes. Stew-
art’s tall figure, with sombrero slouched
down,
against a growing circle of light. And
by the aid of that light she saw him
Turn every moment or so to look back,
probably to assure himself that she
was close behind.
With a prospect of fire and warmth,
and food and rest, Madeline’s enthusi-
8sm revived. What a climb! There
was promise in this wild ride and lone-
ly trail and hidden craggy height, nor
only in the adventure her friends
yearned for, but in some nameless joy
and spirit for herself.
CHAPTER XV
The Crags.
Glad '‘ndeed was Madeline to be Nf
ed off her horse beside a roaring fire—-
to see steaming pots upon red-hot
coals. Except zbout her shoulders,
which had been protected by the slick-
er, she was wringing wet. The Mexi-
can women came quickly to help her
change in a tent nearby; but Made-
line preferred for the moment to warm
her numb feet and hands and to watch
the spectacle of her arriving friends.
“Warm clothés=hot drinks and grub
—warm blankets,” rang out Stewart's
sharp order,
Then, with Florence helping the
Mexican women, it was not long until
Madeline and the feminine side of the
party were comfortable, except for the
weariness and aches that only rest and
sleep could alleviate.
Neither fatigue nor pains, however,
nor the strangeness of being packed
sardinelike under canvas, nor the
howls of coyotes, kept Madeline's
guests from stretching out with long,
grateful sighs, and one by one drop-
ping into deep slumber. Madeline
whispered a little to Florence, and
laughed with her once or twice, and
then the light flickering on the canvas
faded and her eyelids closed. Dark-
ness and roar of camp life, low voices
of men, thump of horses’ hoofs, coyote !.
serenade, the sense of warmth and
sweet rest—all drifted away.
When she awakened shadows of
swaying branches moved on the sunlit
canvas above her. Slow, regular breath-
ing attested to the deep slumbers of
her tent comrades. She observed pres-
ently that Florence was missing from
the number. Madeline rose and peeped
out between the flaps.
An exquisitely beautiful scene sur-
prised and enthralled her gaze. Eager
to get out where she could enjoy an
unrestricted view, she searched for
her pack, found it in a corner, and
then hurriedly and quietly dressed.
Her favorite stag-hounds, Russ and
Tartar, were asleep before the door,
where they had been chained. She
awakened them and loosened them,
thinking the while that it must have
been Stewart who had chained them
Close at hand also was a |
near her.
cowboy’s bed rolled up in a tarpaulin.
The cool air, fragrant with pine and
spruce and some subtle nameless tang,
sweet and tonic, made Madeline stand
erect and breathe slowly and deeply.
It was like drinking of a magic
draught. She felt it in her blood, that
it quickened its flow. Turning to look
in the other direction, beyond the tent,
she saw the remnants of last night's
temporary camp, and farther on a
grove of beautiful pines from which
came the sharp ring of the ax. Wider
gaze took in a wonderful park, not
only surrounded by lofty crags, but
full of crags of lesser height, many lift-
Ing their heads from dark green groves
of trees. The morning sun, not yet
above the eastern elevations, sent its
rosy and golden shafts in between the
towering rocks to tip the pines.
Madeline, with the hounds beside
her, walked through the nearest grove.
The ground was soft and springy and
brown with pine-needles.
Florence espied her under the trees
and came running. She was like a
young girl, with life and color and joy.
She wore a flannel blouse, corduroy
skirt, and moccasins. And “her hair
was fastened under a band like an In-
dian’s.
“Castleton’s gone with a gun, for
hours, it seems,” said Florence. “Gene
Just went to hunt him up. The other
gentlemen are still asleep. I imagine
they sure will sleep up heah in this
alr.”
Then, business-like, Florence fell to
questioning Madeline about details of
camp arrangement which Stewart,
and Florence herself, could hardly see
to without suggestion.
As the day advanced the charm of
the place grew upon Madeline. Even
at noon, with the sun beating down,
there was comfortable warmth rather
than heat. It was the kind of warmth
that Madeline liked to feel in the
spring.
Presently a chorus of merry calls
attracted her attention, and she turned
to see Helen limping along with Doro-
thy, and Mrs. Beck and Edith sup-
was now and then outlined |
porting each other. They were all
rested, but lame, and delighted with
the place, and as hungry as bears
awakened from a winter's sleep.
Then they had dinner, sitting on the
ground after the manner of Indians;
and it was a dinner that lacked merri-
ment only because everybody was too
busily appeasing appetite.
For a few days the prevailing fea-
tures of camp life for Madeline's
guests were sleep and rest. The men
were more visibly affected by the
mountain air than the women.
This languorous spell disappeared
presently, and then the days were full
of life and action. Necessarily, of
course, Madeline and her guests were
now thrown much in company with
the cowboys. And the party grew to
be like one big family.
Madeline found the situation one of
keen and double interest for her. If
before she had cared to study her
cowboys, particularly Stewart, now,
with the contrasts afforded by her
guests, she felt by turns she was
emused and mystified and perplexed
and saddened, and then again subtly
pleased.
From the thought of Stewart, and
the watchfulness growing out of it,
she discovered more about him. He
was not happy; he often paced up and
(own the grove at night: he absented
himself from camp sometimes during
the afternoon when Nels and Nick
and Monty were there; Le was always
watching the trails, as if he expected
to see some one come riding up. He
alone of the cowboys did not indulge
in the fun and talk around the camp-
fire. He remained preoccupied and sad,
and was always looking away irto As-
tance. Madeline had a strange seus
of his guardianship over her; and, re-
membering Don Carlos, she imagined
he worried a good deal over hig
charge, and, indeed, over the safety
of all the party.
A favorite lounging spot of Made-
line’s was a shaded niche under the
lee of crags facing the east. Here in
the shade of afternoon, she and Edith
would often lounge under a low-
branched tree. Seldom they talked
much, for it was afternoon and dreamy
with the strange spell of this moun-
tain fastness. There was smoky haze
in the valleys, a fleecy cloud resting
over the peaks, a sailing eagle in the
blue sky, silence that was the un-
broken silence of the wild heights,
and a soft wind laden with incense of
pine.
One afternoon, however, Edith ap
peared prone to talk seriously.
“See here, Majesty Hammond, do you
“See Here, Majesty Hammond, Do You
Intend to Spend the Rest of Your
Life in This Wilderness?”
intend to spend the rest of your life
in this wilderness?” she asked, bluntly.
Madeline was silent.
“Oh, it is glorious! Don’t misunder-
stand me, dear,” went on Edith, earn-
estly, as she laid her hand on Made-
line’s. “This trip has been a revela-
tion to me. I did not tell you, Majesty,
that I was ill when I arrived. Now
I'm well. So well! Look at Helen,
too. Why, she was a ghost when we
got here. Now she is brown and strong
and beautiful. If it were for nothing
else than this wonderful gift of health
I would love the West. But I have
come to love it for other things—even
spiritual things. Majesty, I have been
studying you. I see and feel what this
‘life has made of you. When I came 1
wondered at your strength, your viril-
ity, your serenity, your happiness. And
I was stunned. I wondered at the
causes of your change. Now I know.
You were sick of idleness, sick of use
lessness, If not of society—sick of the
horrible noises and smells and contacts
one can no longer escape in the cities.
I am sick of all that, too, and I could
tell you many women of our kind who
suffer in a like manner. You have
done what many of us want to do, but
have not the courage. You have left
it. I am not blind to the splendid dif-
ference you have made in your life. 1
think I would have discovered, even If
your brother had .not told me, what
good you have done to the Mexicans
and cattlemen of your range. Then
you have work to do. That is much. the
secret of your happiness, is it not?
Tell me. Tell me something of what it
means to you?”
“Work, of course, has much to do
with any one’s happiness,” replied
Madeline. “No one can be happy who
has no work. As regards myself—for
the rest I can hardly tell you. I have
never tried to put it in words. Frank-
ly, I believe, if T had not had money
that I could not have found such con-
tentment here. ‘That is not in any
sense a judgment against the West.
—
But if 1 had been poor I could not
have bought and maintained my ranch,
Stillwell tells me there are many
larger ranches than mine, but none
just like it. Then I am almost pay-
ing my expenses out of my business.
Think of that! My income, instead of
being wasted, is mostly saved. I think
—I hope I am useful. Of course my
ranch and range are real, my cowboys
are typical. If I were to tell you how
I feel about them it would simply be a
story of how Madeline Hammond sees
the West. They are true to the West.
It is T who am strange, and what 1
feel for them may be strange, too.
Edith, hold to your own impressions.”
“But, Majesty, my impressions have
changed. At first T did not like the
wind, the dust, the sun, the endless
open stretches. But now 1 do like
them. Where once I saw only terrible
wastes of barren ground now I see
beauty and something noble. Then, at
first, your cowboys struck me as dirty,
rough, loud, crude, savage—all that
was primitive. But I was wrong. 1
have changed. The dirt was only dust,
and this desert dust is clean. They
are still rough, loud, crude, and savage
in my eyes, but with a difference. They
are natural men. They are little chil-
dren. Monty Price is one of nature's
noblemen. The hard thing is to dis.
cover it. All his hideous person, all
his actions and speech, are masks of
his real nature, Nels is a joy, a sim:
ple, sweet, kindly. quiet man whom
some woman should have loved. What
would love have meant to him! He
told me that no woman ever loved him
except his mother, and he lost her
when he was ten, Every man onght tr
be lovei—especially such a man as
Neis. Somehow his gun record does
not impress me. 1 never could believe
be killed a man. Then take your fore
man, Stewart. He is a cowboy, his
work and life the same as the others.
But he has education and most of the
graces we are in the habit of saying
make a gentleman. Stewart is a
strange fellow, just like this strange
country. He's a man, Majesty, and 1
admire him. So, you see, my impres-
slons are developing with my stay out
here. I like the country, I like the men.
One reason 1 want to go home soon
fs because I am discontented enough
at home now, without falling in love
with the West, for, of course, Majesty,
I would. I could not live out here.
And that brings me to my point. Ad-
mitting all the beauty and charm and
wholesomeness and good of this won-
derful country, still it is no place for
you, Madeline Hammond. You have
your position, your wealth, your name,
your family, You must marry. You
must have children. You must not
| give up all that for a quixotic life in a
wilderness.”
“I am convinced, Edith, that I shall
live here all the rest of my life.”
“Oh, Majesty! I hate to preach this
way. But I promised your mother I
would talk to you. And the truth is I
hate—I hate what I'm saying. I envy
you your courage and wisdom. I know
you have refused to marry Boyd Har-
vey. I could see that in his face. 1
believe you will refuse Castleton.
Whom will you marry? What chance
is there for a woman of your position
to mary out here? What in the world
will become of you?”
“Quien sabe?’ replied Madeline,
with a smile that was almost sad.
Not so many hours after this con-
versation with Edith Madeline sat with
Boyd Harvey upon the grassy promon-
tory overlooking the west, and she
listened once again to his suave court-
ship.
Suddenly she turned to him and
said, “Boyd, if I married you would
you be willing—glad to spend the rest
of your life here in the West?”
“Majesty!” he exclaimed. There
was amaze in the voice usually so even
and well modulated—amaze in the
handsome face usually so indifferent.
Her question had startled him. She
saw him look down the iron-gray cliffs,
over the barren slopes and cedared
ridges, beyond the cactus-covered foot-
hills to the grim and ghastly desert.
Just then, with its red veils of sunlit
dust-clouds, its illimitable waste of
ruined and upheaved earth, it was a
sinister spectacle.
“No,” he replied, with a tingle of
shame in his cheek.
Madeline said no more, nor did he
speak. She was spared the pain of re-
fusing him, and she imagined he would
never ask her again. There was both
relief and regret in the conviction.
It was impossible not to like Boyd
Harvey. He was handsome, young,
rich, weil born, pleasant, cultivated—
he was all that made a gentleman of
his class. He was considered a very
desirable and eligible young man.
Madeline admitted all this.
Then she thought of things that
were perhaps exclusively her own
strange ideas. Boyd Harvey's white
skin did not tan even in this south-
western sun and wind. His hands
were whiter than her own, and as soft.
They were a proof that he never
worked. His frame was tall, graceful,
elegant. It did not bear evidence of
ruggedness. He had never indulged in
a sport more strenuous than yachting.
He hated effort and activity. He rode
horseback very little, disliked any but
moderate motoring, spent much time
in Newport and Europe, never walked
when he could help it, and had no am-
bition unless it were to pass the days
pleasantly. If he ever had any sons
they would be like him, only a genera-
tion more toward the inevitable extine-
tion of his race.
Madeline returned to camp in just
the mood to make a sharp, deciding
contrast. It happened—fatefully, per-
haps—that the first man she saw was
Stewart. Stewart was a combination
of fire, strength, and action. These at-
tributes seemed to cling about him.
There was something vital and com-
pelling in his presence. In him Made-
a %
line saw the strength 6f his forefa-
thers unimpaired. The life in him was
marvelously significant,
Madeline Hammond compared the
man of the East with the man of the
West; and that comparison was the
last parting regret for her old stand-
ards.
(To be continued).
TOURISTS KEEP OUT OF GER-
MANY.
Berlin.—Foreign tourists, especially
those from North and South America,
are so wearied and annoyed by the
passport, police and housing regula-
tions in Germany that only the most
resolute are remaining in the German
cities.
The influx of outsiders is so slight
that the German press, backed by
complaining hotelkeepers, merchants,
restaurant keepers and theatre mana-
gers, is criticizing the central govern-
ment for the difficulties it has placed
in the way of obtaining passport vises,
and the municipal government for its
heavy tax on foreigners and the ex-
acting police regulations.
The simplest sort of single room in
a Berlin hotel of the second class now
costs the equivalent of $4 a day. This
come about through the 80 per cent.
tax which the city of Berlin imposes
on the room charges to foreigners.
The result of this is hotels are
practically empty and hotel men are
facing bankruptcy. Tourist agencies
no longer refer visitors to hotels, but
send them to boarding-houses.
In Hamburg and Bremen there is as
much complaint about overcharges in
hotels as there is in Berlin. During
the recent Leipzig fair American buy-
ers were charged such extortionate
rates that many of them left in dis-
gust without making any purchases.
The troubles of foreigners begin
when they attempt to get vises to en-
ter Germany. For a time only per-
sons with documents proving they are
coming for business reasons were
granted permission. Students and
tourists who desired to visit Germany
were curtly refused.
Complaints poured in from Ameri-
cans in London, Paris, Rome and
Vienna who had come to Europe with
the intention of visiting Germany, but
who had failed to get vises in New
York before leaving.
There apparently has been some re-
laxation in the vise policy. Business
men now realize that by requiring for-
eigners to limit their stay in German
cities, and by preventing others from
entering, the financial situation has
been made worse than ever.
Prices on practically all manufac-
tured articles in Germany were up to
the world level, so there was no rea-
son to keep the visitors out on the
ground that they would profiteer if
admitted.
The uncertainty about the status of
foreigners in Germany, coupled with
the difficulties of crossing the Rhine-
land because of the train service in-
terruptions incidental to the French
occupation, has been widely heralded
in western Europe.
France and Italy have used it to
advantage in their efforts to attract
and retain visitors as long as possible.
Nevertheless the cities still collect
their high taxes on foreigners, and
hotels and shops continue to charge
foreigners more than they do Ger-
mans. One hotelkeeper defended the
practice on the ground that the Ger-
mans must increase rates because
their hotels are nearly empty.
Red Lights in the Ruhr.
From the Philadelphia Public Ledger.
Scarlet lights at last are beginning
to flicker in the uncertain dusk of the
Ruhr. The wonder is that these sig-
nal rockets of trouble have been de-
layed so long.
The Nationalists are as ripe for
trouble and blood as the Communists.
The uprising has taken the shape of a
“hunger strike;” but it is impossible
to ignore its political trends and
threats.
The Nationalists are ready to help
rip things apart, then turn on Com-
munist and Republican alike and,
finally, on the French. The Commun-
ists get their inspiration from Mos-
cow. It was not for nothing that Mos-
cow has been sending thousands of
tons of grain into the Ruhr. That
grain was used as a bribe to German
radicals. If they were willing to form
“Red centuries” and strike in the
name of the proletariat, they got the
grain. If not, they didn’t.
Russians may be starving, but Mos-
cow is able to boast that she ean find
grain for export. For this she must
be paid in trouble and revolts.
The Soviet hand has been and will
be busy in the Ruhr; but at most and
worst the Moscow Reds have only
hastened the inevitable. Disorders
were bound to come. Berlin has been
expecting them and Paris has been
counting on them, in some way, to
help in breaking the deadlock. The
industries of the Ruhr are on a gold
basis; the Krupp von Bohlens, the
Stinnes and the Thyssens would see to
that. The workers are being paid in
paper marks and their wages are
dropping farther and farther behind
the cost of living.
The Red uprisings in Dortmund and
Essen may be the beginnings of the
big explosion. The Ruhr is ripe and
ready for disorder, anarchy and chaos.
It is one great powder barrel with the
head knocked out, with Communists
and Nationalists hurling a shower of
sparks around and into it.
Citizens Must Have Fishing License.
Under the provision of House Bill
No. 358 signed by the Governor May
24th, it is necessary for all resident
citizens, male or female, over the age
of eighteen years to procure a license
to fish in any of the waters of the
Commonwealth, or the waters bound-
ing or adjacent thereto.
The bill further provides that any
amount in excess of $400,000 in any
one year shall be used solely under
the direction of the Department of
Fisheries with the consent of the Gov-
ernor for the purchase of lands and
waters, and for the impounding of
waters, and to make the same avail-
able for use by the citizens of the
Commonwealth for fishing, hunting
and forest purposes.
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