THE ISS aoe
Tg SEINE
(Conclusion.)
The car glided out of the yard,
Jeaped from level to slope, and started
gwiftly down the road, out into the
open valley. Each stronger rush of
gry wind in Madelne’s face marked
the increase of speed. The buzz, the
roar of wheels, of heavy body in flight,
fncreased to a continuous droning
bum. The wind became an insupport-
able body moving toward her, crush-
ing her breast, making tlie task of
breathing most difficult. To Madeline
the time seemed to fly with the speed
af miles.
Cactus barred the way, rocks barr’
the way, gullies barred the way, and
these Nels addressed in the grim
humor with which he was wont to
view tragic things. Again and again
Link used the planks to cross washes
in sand. Presently he came to a
ditch where water had worn deep into
the road. Without hesitation he placed
them, measuring distance carefully,
and then started across. The danger
was in ditching the machine. One of
the planks split, sagged a little, but
Link made the crossing without slip.
At length a mile of clean, brown
sl3pe, ridged and grooved like a wash-
board, led gently down to meet the
floor of the valley, where the scant
grama-grass struggled to give a tinge
of gray. The road appeared to be-
come more clearly defined, and could
be seen striking straight across the
valley.
To Madeline’s dismay, that road
led down to a deep, narrow wash. The
crossing would have been lahorsome
for a horse; for an automobile it was
impassable. Link drove back to the
road, crossed it, and kept on down the
line of the wash. It was a deep cut in
red earth, worn straight down by
swift water in the rainy season. It
narrowed. When Link reached the
‘murrowest points he got out of the ear
and walked from place to place. Once
with a little jump he cleared the wash.
Then Madeline noted that the farther
rim was somewhat lower. In a flash
she divined Link's intention. He was
hunting a place to jump the car over
the crack in the ground.
Soon he found one that seemed to
suit him, for he tied his red scarf upon
a greasewood-bush. Then, returning
to the car, he clambered in, backéd up
the gentle slope and halted just short
of steeper ground. Hunching low over
the wheel, he started, slowly at first,
then faster, and then faster. The great
car gave a spring like a huge tiger.
The impact of suddenly formed wind
almost tore Madeline out of her seat.
She felt Nels’ powerful hands on her
shoulders. She closed her eyes. The
Jolting headway of the car gave place
to a gliding rush. This was broken
by a slight jar, and then above the
hum and roar rose a cowboy yell
Madeline waited with strained nerves
for the expected crash. It did not
come. Opening her eyes, she saw the
level valley floor without a break. She
had not even noticed the instant when
the car had shot over the wash.
A strange breathlessness attacked
her, and she attributed it to the celer-
ity with which she was being carried
along. Pulling the hood down over her
face, she sank low in the seat. The
whir of the car now seemed to be a
world-filling sound. There was a long,
blank period from which she awakened
to feel an arm supporting her. Then
she rallied. The velocity of the car
had been cut to the speed to which she
was accustomed. Throwing back the:
hood, she breathed freely again, recov-
ered fully.
The car was bowling along a wide
road upon the outskirts of a city.
Madeline asked what place it could be.
“Douglas,” replied Link. “An’ jest
around is Agua Prieta!”
That last name seemed to stun
Madeline. She heard no more, and
saw little until the car stopped. Nels
spoke to some one. Then sight of
khaki-clad soldiers quickened Made-
line's faculties. She was on the boun-
dary-line between the United States
and Mexico, and Agua Prieta, with its
white and blue-walled houses, its
brown-tiled roofs, lay before her. A
cavalry officer approached the car,
stared, and remowed his sombrero.
“Can you tell me anything about
Stewart, the American cowboy who
was captured by rebels a few days
ago? asked Madeline.
“Yes,” replied the officer. “Stewart
is reported to have Aone reckless fight-
ing and was captured. He got a Mexi-
can sentence. He ir known here along
the border, and the news of his cap-
ture stirred up excitement. We did
all we could to get his release. The
guerrillas feared to execute him here,
and believed he might be aided to es-
cape. So a detachment departed with
him for Mezquital.”
“He was sentenced to be shot Thurs-
day. at sunset—tonight?’
“Yes, I regret that I can’t give you
definite information, If you are friends
of Stewart's-—relatives—1 might
and"
“I am his wife,” interrupted Made
line.
She handed him the telegrams.
vise me—help me, if you can?”
With a wondering glance at her the
officer received the telegrams. Ee
read several, and whistled low In
amaze. His manner became quick,
alert, serious.
“YT can’t read these written in Span-
ish, but I know the names signed.”
Swiftly he ran through the others.
“Why, these mean Stewart's release
has been authorized. They explain
mysterious rumors we have heard
here. Greaser treathery! For some
strange reason messages from the
rebel junta have failed to reach their
destination. I'll go with you to Gen-
eral Salazar, the rebel chief in com-
mand. I know him. Perhaps we can
find out something.”
Nels made room for the officer. Link
sent the car whirring across the Une
fnto Mexican territory. The road
ended in an immense plaza, in the cen-
ter of which was a circular structure
that in some measure resembled a
eorral. It was a bull-ring, where the
national sport of bull-fighting was cur
ried on.
Madeline caught a glimpse of tents
inside, then her view was obstructed
by a curious, pressing throng. The
cavalry officer leaped from the car
and pushed his way into the entrance.
How stifling was this crowded, ill
smelling plaza! The sun, red and low-
ering, had sloped far down in the west,
but still burned with furnace heat. A
swarm of flies whirled over the car.
The shadows of low-salling ‘buzzards
crossed Madeline’s sight. Then she
saw a row of the huge, uncanny black
birds sitting upon, the tiled roof of a
“Will you rlease rerd these.”
“AG
She Handed Him the Telegrams. ®Ad-
vise Me—Help Me, If You Can?”
house. They had neither an air of
sleeping nor resting. They were walt-
ing. She fought off a horrible ghastly
idea before its full realization.
Suddenly the crowd parted to let the
cavalry officer and a, rebel of steking
presence get to the car.
“Madam, it is as I suspected,” said
the officer, quickly. “The messages
directing Stewart’s release never
reached Salazar. They were inter
cepted. But even without them we
might have secured Stewart's ex-
change if it had not been for the fact
that one of his captors wanted him
shot. This guerrilla intercepted the
orders, and then was instrumental in
taking Stewart to Mezquital. It is ex-
ceedingly sad. Why, he should be a
free man this instant. I regret—"
“Who did this—this thing?” cried
Madeline, cold and sick. “Who is the
guerrilla?”
“Senor Don Carlos Martinez. He has
been a bandit, a man of influence in
Sonora. He is more of a secret.agent
in the affairs of the revolution than an
active participator. But he has seen
guerrilla service.”
“Don Carlos! Stewart in his power!
Oh, God!” Madeline sank down, al-
most overcome, Then two great Hands,
powerful, thrilling, clasped her shoul-
ders, and Nels bent over her.
“Miss Majesty, shore we're wastin’
time here,” he sald. His voice, like his
hands, was uplifting. She wheeled to
him in trembling importunity. How
cold, bright, blue the flash of his eyes!
They told Madeline she must not
weaken. But she could not speak her
thouglit to Nels—could only look at
Link.
“Jt figgers impossible, but I'll do it”
sald Link Stevens, in answer to her
voiceless query.
“Can I get a permit to go Into the in-
terior—to Mezquital?” asked Madeline
of the officer.
“You are going on? Medam, it's a
forlorn hope. Mezquital is a hundred
miles away. But thére’s a chances
the barest chance if your man’ cin
drive this car. The Mexicans are
either murderous or ceremonious in
their executions. The arrangements
for Stewart's will be elaborate. But,
barring unusual circumstances, it will
take place precisely at the hour desig-
nated. You need no permit. Your mes-
sages are official papers. But to save
time, perhaps delay. I suggest you take
this Mexican, Senor Montes, with you.
He outranks Don Carlos and knows
the captain of the Mezquital detach-
ment.”
“I thank you, sir. I shall not forget
your kindness,” concluded Madeline.
The white, narrow road flashed out
of the foreground, slipped with incon-
celvable rapidity under the car. When
she marked a clump of cactus far
ahead it seemed to shoot at her, to
speed behind her even the instant she
noticed it. Nevertheless, Madeline
kuew Link was not putting the car to
its limit. Swiftly as he was flying, he
held something in reserve. And every
leaf and blade and branch of cactus
bore wicked thorn, any one of which
would be fatal to a tire.
It came at length, the bursting re-
port. The car lurched, went on like a
crippled thing, and halted, obedient to
the master hand at the wheel. Swift
as Link was in replacing the tire, he
lost time. The red sun, more sullen,
duskier as it neared the black, bold
horizon, appeared to mock Madeline.
te eye her in derision.
Link leaped in and the car sprang
ahead. The road began to wind up; it
turned and twisted in tantalizing, lazy
curves; it was in no hurry to surmount
a hill that began to assume proportions
of a mountain; it was leisurely, as
were all things in Mcxico except strife.
That was quick, fderce, bloody—it was
Spanish.
The descent from that elevation was
aimcult, extremely hazardous, yet Link
Stevens drove fast. Then, in taking
an abrupt curve, a grasping spear
ruined another tire. This time the car
rasped across the road into the cac-
tus, bursting the second front-wheel
tire. Like demons indeed Link and
Nels worked. Shuddering, Madeline
felt the declining heat of the sun. saw
with gloomy eyes the shading of the
red light over the desert. She did not
look back to see how near the sun was
to the horizon. She wanted to ask
Nels. Strange as anything on this ter-
rible ride was the absence of speech.
As yet no word had been spoken. Made
line wanted to shriek to Link to hurry.
But he was more than humanly swift
in all his actions. So with mute lips.
with the fire in her beginning to chill,
with a lifelessness menacing her spirit,
she watched, hoped against hope,
prayed for a long, straight, smooth
road.
Quite suddenly she saw it, seemingly
miles of clear, narrow lane disappear-
ing like a thin, white streak in distant
green. Perhaps Link Stevens’ heart
leaped like Madeline’s. The huge car
with a roar and a jerk seemed to aj
swer Madeline's call, a cry no less
poignant because it was silent.
Faster, faster, faster! The roar be
came a whining hum. Then for Made-
line sound ceased to be anything—she
could not hear. The wind was now
heavy, imponderak!e, no ionger a swift,
plastic thing, but soiid, like an onrush-
ing wall. It bore down upon Madeline
with such resistless weight that she
could not move. The green of desert
plants along the road merged in two
ghapeless fences, sliding at her from
the distance. Objects ahead began to
blur the white road, to grow streaky,
like rays of light, the sky to take on
more of a reddening haze.
That was Madeline's last clear sen-
gation upon the rice. Blinded, dazed,
she succumbed to the demands upon
her strength. She reeled, fell back,
only vaguely aware of a helping hand.
Confusion seized her senses. All about
her was a dark chaos through which
she was rushing, rushing, rushing un-
der the wrathful eye of a setting sun.
But at an end of infinite time that
rush ceased. Madeline lost the queer
feeling of being disembodied by a
frightfully swift careening’ through
boundless distance. She distinguished
voices, low at first, apparently far
away. Then she opened her eyes to
blurred but conscious sight.
" The car had come to a stop. Link
was lying face down over the wheel
Nels was rubbing her hands, calling to
her. She saw a house with clean white-
washed wall and brown-tiled roof. Be-
yond, over a dark mountain range,
peeped the last red curve, the last beau-
tiful ray of the setting sun.
CHAPTER XXII)
At the End of the Road.
Madeline saw that the car was sur
rounded by armed Mexicans, They
presented a contrast to the others she
bad seen that day; she wondered a
little at their silence, at thelr respect
fal front.
Suddenly a sharp spoken order
opened up the ranks next to the house,
Senor Montes appeared in the break,
coming swiftly. His dark face wore
a smile; his manner was courteous,
tmportant, authoritative.
“Senora, you got here in- time. Hi
Capitan Stewart will he free.”
“Free!” she whispered.
She rose, reeling.
“Come,” replied Montes, taking her
erm. “Perdoneme, Senora.
Senor Montes led Madeline through
a hall to a patio, and on through a
Tn room with flooring of rough,
bare boards that rattled, into a small-
er room full of armed quiet rebels
facing an open ‘window.
Montes directed. Madeline's atten-
ton to a man by the window. -A loose
scarf of vivid red hung from his
hand.
‘“Senora, they were waiting for the
gun to set when we arrived,” said
Montes. “The signal was about to be
given for Senor Stewart's walk to
death.”
_ “Stewart’s walk!” echoed Madeline. |
“Ah, Senora, let me tell you his sen-
tence—the sentence I have had the
honor and happiness to revoke for
you.” £
Stewart had been court-martialed
and sentenced according to a Mexican
custom observed in cases of brave sol-
diers to whom honorable and fitting
executions were due. His hour had
been set for Thursday when the sun
bad sunk. Upon signal he was to be
liberated and was free to walk out
into the road, to take any direction he
pleased. He knew his sentence; knew
that death awaited him, that every
possible avenue of escape was blocked
by men with rifles ready. But he had
not the slightest idea at what moment
or from what direction the bullets
were to come.
“Senora, we have sent messengers
to every squad of waiting soldiers—
an order that El Capitan is not to be
shot. He is ignorant of his release. 1
shall give the signal for his freedom.”
“Is thers no—no possibility of a
mistake?" faltered Madeline.
“None. My order included unload-
ing of rifles.”
“Dou Carlos?”
“He is in irons, and must answer to
Genera; Salazar,” replied Montes.
With a heart stricken by both joy
and agony, she saw Montes give the
signal.
Then she waited. No change mani-
fested itself down the length of that
lonely road. There was absolute si-
lence in the room behind her. How
terribly, infinitely long seemed the
waiting!
Suddenly a deor opened and a tall |
men stepped out.
Madeline recognized Stewart. She |
had to place both hands on the win-
dow-sill for support, while a storm of
emotion swayed her. Like a retreat-
ing wave it rushed away. Stewart
lived. He was free. He had stepped
out Into the light. She had saved
him. Life changed for her in that in-
stant of realization and became sweet,
full, strange.
Stewart shook hands with some one
in the doorway. Then he looked up
and down the road. The door closed
behind him. Leisurely he rolled a
cigarette, stood close to the wall while
he scratched a match. HEven at that
distance Madeline’s keen eyes caught
the small flame, the first little puff of
smoke.
Stewart then took to the middle of
the road and leisurely began his walk.
Madeline watched him, with pride,
love, pain, glory combating for a mas-
tery over her. This walk of his seem-
ingly took longer than all her hours
of awakening, of strife, of remorse,
longer than the ride to find him. She
felt that it would be impossible for
her to wait till he reached the end of
the road. Yet in the hurry and riot
of her feelings she had fleeting panics.
She wanted to run to meet him. Nev-
ertheless, she stood rooted to her
covert behind the window, living that
terrible walk with him to the utter-
most thought of home, sister, mother,
sweetheart, wife, life itself—every
thought that could come to a man
stalking to meet his executioners.
With all that tumult in her mind and
heart Madeline still fell prey to the
incomprehensible variations of emotion
possible to a woman. Every step
Stewart took thrilled her. She had
some strange, subtle intuition that he
was not unhappy, and that he believed
beyond shadow of doubt that he was
walking to his death. His steps
dragged a little, though they had be-
gun to be swift. The old, hard, phys
fecal, wild nerve of the cowboy was
perhaps in conflict. with spiritual
growth of the finer man, realizing too
late that life ought not to be sacri-
ficed.
Then the dark gleam that was his
face took shape, grew sharper and
clearer. He was stalking now, and
there was a suggestion of Impatience
in his stride. It took these hidden
Mexicans. a long time to kill him! At
a point in the middle of the road, even
with the corner of a house and oppo-
site to Madeline's position, Stewart
halted stockstill. He presented a fair,
bold mark to his executioners, and he
stood there motionless a full mbment.
That walt was almost unendurable
for Madesine. Perhaps it was only a
moment, several moments at the long-
est, but the time seemed a year.
Stewart's face was scornful, hard.
Did he suspect treachery on the part
of his captors, that they meant to play
with him as a cat with a mouse, to
murder him at leisure? Madeline wag
! dead chief.
sure she caught the old, , inserutable;
mocking smile fleeting across his lips.
He held that position for what must
have been a reasonable time to his
mind, then with a laugh and a shrug
he threw the cigarette into the road.
He shook his head as If at the incom-
prehensible motives of men who could
have no fair reasons now for delay.
He made a sudden violent action
that was more than a straightening
of his powerful frame. It was the old
instinctive violence. Then he faced
north. Madeline read his thought,
knew he was thinking of her, calling
her a last silent farewell. He would
serve her to his last breath, leave her
free, keep his secret. That picture of
him, dark-browed, fire-eyed, strangely
sad and strong, sank indelibly into
Madeline’s heart of hearts.
The next instant he was striding
forward, to force by bold and scorn-
ful presence a speedy fulfillment of
his sentence.
Madeline stepped into the door,
crossed the threshold. Stewart stag-
gered as if indeed the bullets he ex-
pected had pierced him In mortal
wound. His dark face turned white.
His eyes had the rapt stare, the wild
fear of a man who saw an apparition,
yet who doubted his sight. Perhaps
he had called to her as thg Mexicans
called to their Virgin; perhaps he im:
agined sudden death had come um
awares, and this was her image ap
pearing to him in some other life.
“Who — are — you?” he whispered,
hoarsely.
She tried to lft her hands, faile&
tried again, and held them out, trem
! bling.
“It is 1. Majesty. Your wifel”
THE END]
SE CUSTOMS IN HAWAII
Fol-
Sf
Almost Unbelievable Atrocities
lowed the Death of a Man the
Islanders Ranked Highly.
Death was a catastrophe that was
made the occasion of great demonstra-
tion among the Hawaiian people, even
within the last century. In private
families this varied in character from
the head of the household down to the
humblest member. When, however, a
prominent person died, the ceremonies
were varbarous in the extreme. A
chief's immediate followers, as well
as many of his serfs, shaved their
heads or cut the hair short, which was
a tremendous sacrifice, and they
knocked out some of their front teeth
Often these devoted people tattooed
their tongues somewhat in the same
fashion as it was customary to do on
other parts of the body. All this was
done to keep alive the memory of the
It was also a custom to
bury alive some of the retainers
around the tomb.
‘When a very high rank chieftain
died, men and women, old and young,
priest and laity, acted like those pos-
sessed with devils. Property was wan-
tonly destroyed, and dwellings fired
merely to add to the confusion, while
gambling, theft and murder were open-
ly committed. No women, except the
widows of the deceased, were exempt
from the grossest violation, and in
their state of mental intoxication, wom-
en made no effort to protect them-
selves.
ROOM OF GREWSOME MEMORY
Wholesale Murders Committed
Chamber in What ls Believed Old-
est Inn in England.
The oldest inn in England is be-
lieved to be a certain hostelry at Coln-
brook, Buckinghamshire. This place
has a very black history, for. here,
many years ago, 60 murders were per-
petrated by the landlord and hig wife
before the crimes were discovered!
In this gloomy abode there is, on the
first floor, a large room known as the
“Blue Room.” Formerly it contained
an invocent-looking bed in which quite
a number of persons slept their last
sleep. The part of the floor on which
the bed rested was really a hinged
trap-door fixed above the brewhouse’s
boiling vat.
Guests who were known to be
wealthy always slept in the Blue room.
When the inkeeper had made sure that
the guest was asleep, the trap-door
bolts were drawn, and the unfortunate
man tumbled into the vat.
The last victim was Thomas Cole, a
clothier, of Reading, who had three
escapes before finally meeting his
death. Once he was taken ill before
rbaching the inn, and so slept else
where; a second time he was in a
hurry to get to London, and conse-
quently drove straight on; while on
another occasion when he stayed at
the inn the Blue room was occupied
by someone else; But at last his time
came, and his body was found later
in a brook.
Early Days of the United States.
Virtuous early geographers of the
United States did not confine their un-
flattering portrayals to lands across
the sea. Benjamin Davies, in 1813,
had this to say about his own country
in - “Manners: and Customs in the
United States.”
“Travelers: have observed a want of
urbanity, particularly in Philadelphia;
and in all the capital citles an’ eager
pursuit of wealth, by adventurous
speculations in commerce, by land-
jobbing, banks, insurance offices and
lotteries. The multiplication of inns,
taverns and dram shops is an obvious
national evil that calls loudiy for leg-
islative interference; for in no coun-
try are they more numerous or more
universally baneful. Schools are
spread everywhere through the well-
settled parts of the country, yet the
domestic regulation of children and
youth is not duly regarded.”
TR
CHEAP BOOKS NOT LONG AGO
Time When All the Best Literature of
the World Could Be Obtained
for Small Sum.
We poke fun at the age of the penny
dreadful and the dime novel, the gold-
en age of the newsboy Rory and of
Nick Carter. Yet that age was the
golden age not only of these, but also
of the book lover. Not, of course, of
the bibliophile, but of the lover of
books. It is a mistake to think that
the cheap old books were all trash,
declares the Nation. In the Seaside
library of Munro, for instance, one
could buy in the guise of the dime
novel the works of Balzac and
Hardy; one could buy “Don Quixote”
and “Faust.” The firm of John W.
Lovell printed at 10 cents a volume
all the works of Carlyle, Ruskin and
Emerson, of major poets and histori-
ans, and issues, in the same series, all
of Morley’s “English Men of Letters.”
From England Casseli sent his mar-
velous national library of little paper-
covered books in which many a man
first read his Plato, his Bacon and his
Johnson., To have a quarter in those
days was indeed to be free to enter all
the realms of gold. Well-bound re-
prints of all the world's great books
could then be had in such series as
the Salem edition, issued by Houghton,
Mifflin & Co., and the priceless Can-
terbury Poets and Camelot Classics ex-
ported to us by Walter Scott. The
Everyman Library at 35 cents a vol-
ume was the culminating point of the
great age of cheap and handy Englisb
books.
VARYING OPINIONS ON LOVE
From the Selections Made, Some Will
Disapprove and Some Will Read
With a Smile.
The Married Man—Love is an illu-
sion of youth, which only time, a wife
and ten children will dispel.
The Bachelor—Love is a mythical
emotion which was first foisted upon
the world by a sap-headed novelist in
need of “copy.”
The Debutante—Love! Search me;
1 can’t tell you, but it’s nice.
The Old Maid—Love is the heavenly
reward of all who withstand the
temptations of this life. If it isn't,
I've backed a loser.
The Cynic—Love is only experienced
by fools and babies. Neither are qual-
ified to give opinions.
The Married Woman—Love is like
expensive face cream. It wears off
quickly—but cannot be renewed.
The Chorus Girl—Love is an ideal
way of getting ready cash, and a sure
way through a breach of promise suit
to single happiness.
The Average Young Man—Love is
the most expensive form of gambling,
with all the odds against the man.
All the World—Love is an emotion
everyone seeks and no one is satisfied
with when found.—Passing Show, Lon-
don.
Collie Dog Saved Youngster.
A shepherd’s collie found a boy of
two and a half years of age who had
been lost in the hills on the Scottish
border for four days. The boy was
the son of a shepherd. He had been
taken by his mother on a peat cutting
expedition about a quarter of a mile
from their cottage home at Kerrhead,
on the Solway firth, While the mother
worked at the fuel the child lay down
and fell asleep. But when she had
finished her task the boy had disap-
peared. A three days’ search failed to
find him. On the fourth day, a shep-
herd from the neighboring farm of
Chaighouse steads, was recovering
some sheep which had strayed when
his dog ran off. The collie replied to
his master’s whistle, and, looking up
at him, again went off in the direction
from which he had come. The shep-
herd, realizing that there was some-
thing to account for the dog's behav-
for, followed. He found the missing
boy asleep in a bunch of rushes.
Combating Pinyon Jays.
Pinyon jays, inhabiting Rocky moun-
tain states, are birds of the same fam-
ily as crows and about half their size.
Between nesting seasons they rove in
large flocks, often containing hundreds
of birds and cause serious damage to
grain crops. Successful experiments
in methods of control of these birds
when attacking corn were made by the
biological survey of the United States
Department of Agriculture in west-
central Colorado, and a leaflet contain-
ing directions for using a simple but
effective poison formula has been dis-
tributed in that territory. During the
wheat harvest control measures are
not so successful, and in large fields,
where the birds can find ample food,
the use of poisoned baits is not found
profitable.
Strange Experience.
Not long ago 1 was visiting at my
sister's home. Her little boy, a child
of two years, was playing in the living
room one afternoon when the rest of
us were in the sewing room. Suddenly
I called him very sharply. “What's
the matter?” asked my sister. 1
blushed. 1 did not know why I had
called him. I had no reason at all,
for the child was not doing anything
naughty. “I don’t know,” I answered
her, trying to think of some reason for
the sharp summons. In the meantime
the little one ran to me. He had mo
sooner reached my side than the ceil
tng of the room in which he had been
fell. Everything im’ the riom was
either broken’ or badly scarred.” Had
the baby been there he would certainly
have been killed. ~Chicago Journal.