6
THE CHINESE MANDARIN.
He sits on the shelf by the little blue
clock.
And nods his head when tt says "tick,
tock,"
For tho' not a word of English he knows,
lti s polite from his queue to the tips of
his toes.
There's a far-away look in his slanting
eyes.
Is he dreaming, I wonder, of sunnier
skies,
Of cherry blooms and fragrant tea
In a flowery land across the sea?
Of tall bamboos asway In the wind,
And a dark-eyed sweetheart left behind;
Of a golden moon and fireflies' glow.
And lanterns hung In branches low?
Ah me! who knows or who can tell
What sorrows In his bosom dwell?
Hut a dear, brave-hearted little Chinee
Is this mandarin quaint from the land of
tea.
For he says not a word as he sits and
dreams
Of the music of birds and silver streams,
lint hiding his grief from the little blue
clock.
Gaily nods when it says "tick, tock."
—Olo Smith, in Good Housekeeping.
Li
n GAMBLING [
WITH FATE
By WILLIAM WALLACE COOK
Author of "Th« Oold Oletnrr*: A Storj of
the aolde 'i .. . ,
"Ui« Kri-ii i th«* Kncrmy," "ltogera
mmmM of BulU'," Etc., Kto.
V ✓
( Copyright, lIHKi, t>y William Wallace Cook)
CHAPTER II. — CONTINI'EI).
Picking up the weapon, Darrel
a spring and turned the barrel
down, revealing the cylinder. Six
cartridges nestled murderously under
bis eyes.
He listened intently. The scratch,
scratch of the clerk's pen came to hint
monotonously.
One by one he extracted the car
tridges and then, by means of a sharp
pointed steel letter opener he embed
ded deeply in each leaden slug the ini
tial "M." To replace the cartridges
and return the revolver to its original
place by the inkwell took but a mo
ment.
Next, Darrel recovered the pen and
continued his writing.
"In the event that Mr. Nathan Dar
rel, in whose pocketbook this message
is placed, should be made a victim of
foul play, he respectfully suggests the
following for the coroner's considera
tion:
First —The fact that Lester Mur
gatroyd lias sworn to shoot Nathan
Darrel on sight.
Second—The fact that a covert at
tack has ever been preferred by Lester
Murgatroyd to a meeting in the open.
Third —The fact that the bullets in
Lester Murgatroyd's revolver have been
marked with the letter "M."—Note:
The letter "M" might be mistaken for
"W" and technicalities have more
than once saved Murgatroyd.
A word to the wise, etc."
Folding the sheet Darrel placed it
in a red Morocco purse taken from his
breast pocket. Immediately after
wards he got up and passed into the
other room.
"Get through?" asked the sallow
laced young man.
"Yes," said Darrel. With a pleasant
"good afternoon" he left the office and
turned his steps in the direction of one
of the two hotels which the town
boasted.
CHAPTER IH.
DARREL'S GAME AT HAWKBILL'S.
Properly equipped with a stony dis
regard for human greed and frailty,
any observer could have loitered in
Hawkbill's on and after ten p. m.and
been certain of exciting entertainment.
A philosopher of another school might
have seen more than enough to point
a moral and adorn a tale and perhaps
have retreated with a discouraged
sense of man's inhumanity toman.
Darrel could be indifferent and hard,
or sympathetic and yielding. Deep in
his heart was ever a feeling that
stirred at another's misfortune and his
moods varied with the characters of the
players as well as with the play.
He stood close to a table, facing the
door and dividing his attention be
tween the fall of the cards and the
men who entered. An old, old game
familiarly known as "two pluck one"
was in progress, wherein a pair of
merciless campaigners were taking
money from a beardless and rash youth
who sat between them.
Cheating, on the part of the gam
blers, was constant and flagrant. But
(lie boy had eyes for only his own
cards and was playing with absorbed
and tremulous intensity.
"They'll have headlines on me in
the eastern papers," he recklessly
averred, "unless I make a big winning
to-night."
"There's no telling when the luck
'il turn,." answered one of the gam
blers insinuatingly, "shifting a cut"
with lightning quickness. "It's all
chance, you know. Up to now I've
won, but from this out it may be your
turn."
The youth clenched his teeth and
whitened, for he had a loser's grudge
against a winner's assumed superior
ity. He wagered the last of his money
a dozen crisp bills marked with a
*'C" in one corner.
He lost. Rising from the table with
the quiet remark, "I'm done, gentle
men," he walked steadily out into the
darkness, far beyond the glare of the
/red lamps.
It was the old stofy of the moth and
Ihe flame. Darrel knew it well, but
j?«t so well that familiarity bred any-
thing hut deeper and more consuming
pity.
He was at the youth's back in time
to snatch a six-shooter from his con
vulsive hand.
"Come, come," he said, as the boy
gave a startled cry and turned on him.
"Where is your manhood, young fel
low?"
"Manhood!" was the bitter response,
"ask the red, white and blue chips at
Hawkbill's. Give me that, or by—"
With a plunge he sought to catch the
weapon and tear it from Barrel's grasp.
"Softly!" warned the other, clutching
his hand. "If I get your money back
for you will you promise never to touch
another card so long as you live?"
"Who are you?" gasped the youth.
"My money is gone and I am ruined.
How can you get it back for meV"
"Follow me and you will find out.
As to who I am, that is beside the
question. Have 1 your promise?"
"Yes; but I should like —"
"Here's your revolver. I'd throw it
away, if 1 were yon."
Darrel pushed the weapon into the
young man's hand, turned sharply and
retraced his steps to Hawkbill's. The
two gamblers were still at. table.
What Darrel purposed doing called
for skill and courage. Both qualities
were his and he sought the issue with
that airy confidence to which others
Ijad often attributed his success.
It was by meddling in a somewhat
similar way that he bad earned the
hatred ot Murgatroyd. Yet that had
not cured him of the dangerous habit.
He had observed the gamblers care
fully. One was past middle age and
had iron gray hair and beard; the
other was but little older than the
man they had victimized.
"Well, Sturgis," the younger man
was saying as Darrel came up, "if we
could find some one else with a roll
this night's work would break the rec
ord."
"You're never satisfied, Cliff," re
turned Sturgis, tossing off the contents
of a glass just brought by a waiter.
"May I sit in with you, gentlemen?"
inquired Darrel, pleasantly.
At that moment he looked the un
sophisticated and ingenious eastern
gentleman, caring nothing for a little
"NOW THEN, MY BUCK," CRIED A
VOICE WITH PASSION, "WE'LL
SETTLE OUR DIFFERENCES MAN
TO MAN."
money and desirous only of whiling
away the time. As he spoke, he dis
played a large roll of bills.
"I had thought of quitting," said
Sturgis, shooting a glance at his con
federate, "but still, if you want a
round, I guess I could accommodate
you. Do you want to take a hand?"
he added, carelessly, to the other gam
bler.
"I might," returned Cliff, with ap
parent reluctance. "I'm not having
much luck to-niglit, though."
"Three will make it more interest
ing," observed Darrel, dropping into
a chair that placed him so he could
still watch the entrance.
Thereupon the playing began, the
youth whose battle Darrel was fight
ing, approaching the table and watch
ing eagerly. Darrel allowed the two
harpies to win enough of his money
to give them confidence, then careless
ly proposed that they play for a stake
consisting of all the money they had
about them.
Certain of winning, the other two
agreed, and from that moment to the
end of the game Darrel showed him
self the veteran player he was. Stur
gis purposely dealt him three aces and
himself four queens, the younger man
dropped out in feigned despair and
Darrel plucked a diamond stud from
his shirt and laid it on the heap of
gold and silver.
From various parts of the room a
general movement of the idly curious
had set in towards that particular
table, which made it necessary for
Darrel to request, in his politest tones,
that those between the table and the
door should draw aside in order that
he might watch for the entrance of "a
man he was waiting for."
The request was complied with. Be
hind his chair Darrel could hear the
sharp, tense breathing of the boy.
Sturgis asked hovr much the diamond
stud was worth and, when informed,
borrowed SSOO from Hawkbill Hen
derson, S2OO to meet Darrel's bet and
s.'loo to "raise" him. Darrel took a
magnificent watch from his vest pock
et, the gold case studded with gems.
"I am a stranger here," said he,
quietly, "and this is as far as I can go.
What have you?"
Sturgis exultantly spread out his
four queens. Darrel laid down four
kings and an ace.
"Take your money," said he, turning
to the boy.
A growl f»f rage came from Sturgis.
Catching up Ins opponent's discard, he
turned the pasteboards over.
"Tricked!" he shouted, springing
erect. "lie Lad three acos and di -
CAMKRON COUNTY PRESS, THURSDAY, APRIL 28, 1904
carded two! Hawkbill, I demand the
stakes."
Henderson, red-faced, bull-necked
and corpulent, swaggered closer.
"This place is on the square," he
said wheezingly to Darrel, "and if
you've juggled the cards the stakes go
to Sturgis."
Leaning forward with a quick move
ment, Darrel swept his hand under
the edge of the table in front of Stur
gis. Sturgis tried to stop the hand,
but was not quick enough.
The hand reappeared with a small,
nickel-plated contrivance known as a
table "hold out." A murmur passed
through the crowd.
"Sturgis has been using that, all
evening," remarked Darrel, coolly.
"He cheated that boy out of his money
and—"
With an imprecation, Sturgis hurled
himself towards Darrel, a gleaming
object in his mind. Hawkbill threw
himself in the way and ordered Sturgis
to keep back.
It was evident that the baffled gam
bler had friends who would rally to
his side and Darrel swept the stakes
into his hat, clapped the hat on his
head and caught the boy by the arm
and hurried him out.
At the hotel the young man's money
was returned to him. Tears stood in
his eyes as he thanked Darrel and the
latter, gruffly bidding him remember
his promise, went out into the dark
street intent on returning to Hawk
bill's and waiting for Murgatroyd.
CHAPTER IV.
DARREL'S ENCOUNTER WITH
STURGIS.
As time mellows the perspective of
past events, so it blurs and modifies
the characters of those who made
them. Much of the glory of Anaconda
has departed and Sandy Bar has gone
the way of the "played out" mining
camp, yet tradition deals generously
with the exploits of Nate Darrel—often
too generously.
The strange features of his feud with
Murgatroyd were sufficiently incred
ible in cold truth; and when the out
line of the facts faded with a lapse
of years, imagination was drawn upon
to sharpen the reminiscences. The
added material was not always to Dar
rel's credit.
Yet 110 one who now remembers Dar
rel will ever tell you that he tried to be
anything but a gentleman. If the part
was beyond him, it was solely the fault
of his unfortunate vocation.
In any other walk of life his sterling
qualities of mind and heart would have
claimed their tribute of respect and so
cial position. A man who believed that
his fate was of his own making could
hardly have been ignorant of this; but
passion for play was too deeply in
grained in his nature. The notoriety
he had courted and won, in any other
profession would have been the mill
stone that pulled him under.
The recovery of the boy's money
aptly illustrates Darrel's character.
He could not see anything wrong in
turning the tables on the blacklegs
and it was a pleasure for him to be
aide to do it.
He played an "honorable" game; and
he considered it honorable to worst a
couple of sharpers at their own tac
tics.
As he made his way back along the
straggling street toward Hawkbill
Henderson's he was warily watchful.
Recent events had taken his attention
somewhat from his mafti purpose in
coming to Sandy Bar and the murder
ous Murgatroyd might be lurking any
where in the shadows or dogging his
steps.
The wheezy tones of fiddles, guitars
and a bass-viol, accompanied by hoarse
shouts, laughter and a fall of dancing
feet echoed from a building across
the way. Other buildings along the
street were aglare with light and rife
with a clink of glasses, a rattle of
poker chips and boisterous cries of
drinkers and players.
There were few 011 the street at that
moment and Darrel passed rapidly on
in the direction of the gambling place.
Abruptly a form hurled itself across
his path from a dark space between
two shanties on his left.
Instantly a revolver was in his hand.
"Now then, my buck," cried a voice
sharp with passion, "we'll settle our
differences man toman."
"We have no differences to settle,
Sturgis," returned Dariel, relieved and
not a little surprised. He was looking
for Murgatroyd, not Sturgis.
The gambler was in a blind, unrea
soning fury. In the light of later
events it was patent that Darrel had
set a trap for him and beaten him
and his confederate at their own game.
When a man like Sturgis has such
a grievance tliero is but one way in
which the score can be settled. Stur
gis was fiercely determined and Dar
rel was quick to comprehend his peril.
A flaring lamp in front of the dance
hall opposite cast a dim light over the
scene. The field was clear for the en
counter, no one being abroad in the
street apart from the two concerned.
Rigidly erect the two men stood, re
volvers ready and swinging at. their
sides, their eyes alert and watching
catlike each other's slightest move
ment.
"You're either the devil himself or
else you're—Nate Darrel of 'Frisco,"
said Sturgis, between his teeth. "No
man could play the game you did with
out being one or the other. It was
Darrel's discard you threw into the
deadwood, and you sat between Cliff
and me anil helped yourself to just
what you wanted out of the pack."
Darrel laughed a little at that. It
wasn't the first time his phenomenal
skill had led a gambler to confound
him with the arch fiend.
"You're a bungler, Sturgis," said he,
"and have yet to learn the first rudi
ments of your profession. I have
taught you a lesson and if you want to
live long enough to profit by it you'll
put that gun in your pocket and take I
yourself oIf."
An exasperated cry foil from Stur
gis' lips. Recklessly he threw himself
forward, raising the six-shooter to a
level with his eyes.
There was no blood on Nate Darrel's
hands. In his whole career he had
never found it necessary to protect his
life by taking another's.
His ready wit and his wonderful
strength—which his slight form in a
manner belied —had times out of mind
been his bulwarks of self-defense. He
had a horror of bloodshed and carried
a revolver in humble demonstration of
the theory that leads great nations to
build great navies—hoping to make the
arbitrament of war still more remote.
By coming to Sandy Bar in quest of
Murgatroyd he had faced an issue at
direct variance with his inclinations.
He was well aware that fatalities were
almost certain to result; if he were
the victim, no aehing void would be
left in the world, while if Murgatroyd
101 l the cause of humanity would be
advanced.
But he wanted no exchange of shots
with Sturgis. He had threatened, but
it was with the forlorn hope of avoid
ing a clash.
As the irate blackleg plunged for
ward. Darrel threw himself to one side.
At that precise moment a shot rang
out from some point at Darrel's rear,
a bullet fanned his cheek and Sturgis,
with an agonized cry, tossed his hands
in the air, reeled and fell face down
ward on the sidewalk.
Darrel was stunned by the sudden
ness of the tragedy. In a second ho
had whirled to look back up the street,
but saw 110 one. Then he did the
worst thing possible for himself by
hastening to the prostrate form and
making an examination.
Sturgis was already dead. The bullet
had penetrated his .heart and a stream
of blood flowed from the wound and
lormed a pool beneath him.
The shot and the tortured cry of the
dying man had aroused the people.
From the dance hall they came on a
run, and from Hawkbill's and other
resorts a half-drunken mob charged
for the scene.
Darrel was found standing over
Sturgis revolver in hand. Sturgis was
dead and the habitues of Hawkbill's
knew that Sturgis and Darrel had
quarreled at cards.
Only one inference was possible.
Darrel drew it as quickly as those
around him.
"Where's the marshal?" he asked,
his voice perfectly steady.
His hand tightened a little on the
revolver and he retreated slowly until
his back was against the wall of the
nearest building, the half circle of
threatening faces in front.
"We don't, need the marshal," said
Cliff, savagely. "Jack Sturgis is dead
and you're the one that killed him.
Do we need the marshal, boys?"
He appealed to the crowd. A snarl
ing negative passed through the rank*
of the crowd and the half circle be
gan to contract.
ITo He Continued.]
RUFUS CHOATE'S ADVICE.
( liolorli* Client Concluded to Follow
It it ml There Wan No Fur
ther Troulile.
It seems always to have lain within
the power of the distinguished lawyer
and humorist, Rufus Choate, to lead
a choleric client from ways of anger
into the paths of peace. Just before
the war a southern gentleman was
dining with a friend in one of the best
hotels of Boston. He was of French
creole extraction, and his name was
Delacour, says a writer in Lippincott's
Magazine. The waiter was a colored
man, and the southerner gave his or
ders in a very domineering fashion,
finding fault freely with what was put
before him and the way in which it
was served. Finally the waiter be
came incensed and told Mr. Delacour
togo to a place warm and remote.
The latter sprang furiously to his feet
and would have shot the offender dead
if he had not been restrained by his
wiser friend, who said:
"You can't do that sort of thing
here. You will have to remember
where you are."
"Do you suppose that I am going to
put up with such insolence and not
be revenged?" said the enraged man.
"Certainly not. But do it by pro
cess of law."
The landlord was first interviewed
and the waiter discharged. That was
not sufficient to satisfy the wounded
feelings of Mr. Delacour. He asked
who was the best lawyer in the city,
and was told it was Rufus Choate.
Making his way to his office, he said:
"Mr. Choate, I want to engage you
in a case. What will your retaining
fee be?"
"About $50."
The check was made out and handed
over.
"Now," said the lawyer, "what are
the facts of the case?"
He was told. Said Mr. Choate,
thoughtfully:
"I know the United States law on
the subject well, and I know the law
of the commonwealth of Massachu
setts, and I can assure you, sir, that
there is no power 011 earth strong
enough to force you togo to that
place if you don't want to go. And
if I were you I wouldn't."
"Well," said the southerner, accept
ing the situation, "I think I'll take
jour advice," and they parted good
friends.
I'llfuvorn 1,1 e lmprefmlonft.
Once upon a time a man, who was
traversing the public highway, saw an
automobile approaching him, and
stood, intending to speak to the rider
if he knew him; but when he saw that
he was a stranger, he started on his
way, though not quickly enough t<>
get out. of the way of the machine,
which struck him, bruising him quite
severely.
Moral —Strangers sometimes strika
us unfavorably.—N. Y. Herald.
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