VOL XXXI
THE PHOENIX.
Do you know why the PHOENIX bicycle is the most
popular wheel in Pittsburg? Do you know why it won
the Butler-Pittsbugh race, and the Wheeling-Pittsburg?
Simply because bearing, chain, tire, frame—all the
parts —are made of the best material. Because we
build the lightest,easiest running wheel that is safe and
reliable for the roads.
We also make a specialty of an easy running and light
lady's wheel, which is equally popular.
A guarantee is a good thing in its
way. The PHOENIX guarantee cov
ers every point- hut tW point of all
is the fact that repairs or claims for de
fective parts constitute an exceedingly
small per centage of our cost of manu
facture.
For catalogue and other information
address,
THE STOVER BICYCLE M'f'g. Co.
FREEPORT, ILL, or
J. E. FORSYTHE, Agent.
BUTLER, PA.
DECLINE.
There has been a decline in the
price of materials from which buggies
lind other vehicles are made, therefore a
decline in the price of vehicles. Come
quick and see before it advances again.
S. B MARTINCOURT & CO.
BUTLER, -. - - PA.
W. F. HARTZELL. L. M. COCHRAN.
BUTLER ROOFING COMPANY,
Wholesale and Retail Dealers in
—Excelsior Fire-Proof Slate Paint—
For Shingle Roofs,and Ebonite Varnish for all Metal Roofs. Also,
Agents for the Climax Wool and Asbestos Felt, the King
of Roofing Felts.
All kinds of roofs repaired and painted on the shortest notice.
Estimates given on old or new work and the same promptly attended
to.
ALL WORK GUARANTEED.
BUTLER ROOFING COMPANY,
J2O SOUTH MCKEAN STREET, # * * BUTLER, PA.
SPRING! SPRING!
Are You interested
In Low Prices?
We offer a magnificent new stock for Spring and Summer at
PRICES THE LOWEST YET NAMED FOR STRICTLY
FIRST CLASS GOODS.
High Grades in all Departments. True merit in every Article. Hon
est Quality Everywhere.
An Immense Assortment.
Nothing Missing.
o o
Everything the Best.
The Quality will tell it. The Price will sell it. And that is the
reason you should come early to pet vour bargains from our splendid
line of
Shoes, Slippers and Oxfords
We show all the latest novelties in great profusion. We keep
the very finest selections in all standard styles. We make it a poinc
to have every article in stock the best of its kind.
IHE AT BTTUI7 114
Shoe Dealer. A" flUrr. s. Main St.
THE BUTLER CITIZEN.
The Testimonials
! Published in behalf of Hood's Sarsaparilla
I are not purchased. nor are they written up
! in our office, nor they from our employes,
i They are facts from truthful people, prov
! ing, as surely as anything can be proved
i by direct, personal, positive evidence, that
J-food's
A 1%%%%%% parilla
Be Sure to get r'ures
Hood's
Hood's Pills cure nausea, sick headache,
indigestion, biliousness. Sold by all druggieU.
SMT > '
Af JgIBUH SeiNK
■~i jibPACKABES !=■
MA\/FIKE PREMIUMS GIVEN FREE
TO DRINKERS OF LION COFFEB
A Scientist claims the
Root of Diseases to be
la the Clothes we Wear.
The best Spring
remedy for tlieiblues,
etc., is to discard
your uncomfortable
old duds which irri
tate the body:-leave
your measure at
ALAND'S for a
new suit which will
fit well, improve the
appearance by re
lieving you instant
ly of that tired feel
ing, and making you
cheerful and active.
The cost of this
sure cure is very
moderate.
TRY IT.
JOHN KEMPER,
Manufacturer of
Hai ■ness, Collars,
and Strap Work,
and Fly Nets,
j 7
and Dealer in
Whips, Dusters, Trunks and
Valises.
My Goods are all new and strict
first-c ; i i work guaran
teed
Repairing a Specialty.
:o: :o:
Opposite Campbell & Templeton's
Furniture Store.
342 S. Main St., - Butler, Pa.
All light suits
at reduced
prices at
THE RACKET STORE.
$8 Suits Reduced to $5
10 Suits Reduced to 8
12 Suits Reduced to 10
TRE RACKET STORE
BOOKS
FOR
25 CENTS!
ALTEMUR ED., CLOTH AND
SILVER.
STANDARD WORKS.
NEW ISSUES.
EXAMINE THEM
AT
DOUGLASS'.
Near Postoffice.
AT TH' END O' TH' ROAD.
1 was born way back at th end o' th' road.
**ere my remembrance of things first
An' .uere 1 lived. pl>jed. wcrked an' growed.
Jes natural like an' Jes because
I lived
At th' 1 -<1 o' th' road
At th' end o' th' f *5 'twas much th' same
This day or thai—except 'twas play
When up from th' turnpike some oae came.
An' jes as long as they happened to stay
An' talk,
At th' end o' th' road.
If I strnysd away I was glad to get home
To th' little red house, where mother an' dad
An' I bad a little world all our own.
An' jes as good irs anyone had,
Out there
At th' end o' the' road.
From my attic window I've looked amazed
Hour after hour at th' turnpike's line.
A yellowish streak, till I grew dazed,
Wondering where an' in what long time
I'd get
At th' end o' th' road.
For where did they come from, th' folks that
went
Jogging along th' old turnpike?
An' most all strangers that I hadn't met;
An' over th' hills—what was it like.
Somewhere,
At th' end o' th' road?
Oae day me an' ma an' dad
Started off with th'old gray mare
On th' longest ride I'd ever had.
An 'twas almost night when we got there,
I thought.
At th' end o' th' road.
, When T dot un next dav an' see
The road still winding, winding down,
Twas th' biggest world. It seemed to me.
From where th' end was. through our town
Up home,
At th' end o" th' road.
I've traveled that road now many a year.
An' I've found some good an" found soma
bad;
Some up hill an' down, an' I'm not clear
If I will be sorry or I will be glad
To get
At th' end o' th' road.
—Walter U. Hazeltlne. In Good Housekeep
ing.
UNDER STRESS.
How an Urgent Suitor Won a
Widow in a Railway Train.
The Comtesse de Moncley—who will
soon change her name, as you shall
see—ls one of the most dellaious wid
ows imaginable, and also one of the
cleverest I have ever met. From the
very first day she knew precisely how
to avoid any exaggeration that could
be considered bad taste in the expres
aion of her sorrow, without falling
into the other extreme and making
those who saw her In her widow's
weeds think she must wear red satin
under her crape.
Early in April she had quietly left
her Paris apartment, where no mala
visitor had set foot since her husband's
death, and it was only by accident
that, a week later, I discovered the ad
dreas she had so carefully oonoealod
from everyone. It was "Syoamore
Villa, Chantilly." On the first of
May there might have been sesn to ar
rive at a little bit of a house, situated
at a convenient distance from Syca
more villa, several trunks, an English
cart and pony, a saddle-horse, a bull
terrier, two servants, and a man bor
dering on thirty. That man waa my
self.
I hasten to add that, in this circum
stance, I acted solely at my own risk
and peril, without any authorization,
any right whatever, and with no
other motive than my love—my
profound love —to prompt me to
hope that my change of domi
cile would not be a dead loss. Ah,
well —nothing venture, nothing win.
And what did I venture? The salon,
the May fetes, the Grand Prix, the
mob in the Alle des Poteaux, a few
balls —what were they in comparison
with the charms of a most attractive
neighborhood? I' have known men to
cross the seas and spend fortunes to
follow to the ends of the world ad
venturesses whose whole body was not
worth the tip of Mme. de Moncley*s
little finger.
Clarisse's pretty anger when I pre
sented myself at her house, on the day
of my arrival, was my first delightful
recompense. In spite of her grand
air, I saw that she was touohed, and I
doubt if ever lover experienced so
much pleasure in being shown the
door by a pretty woman. She took
her time about it, too, and only pushed
me into the street after a regulation
philippic, to which I listened very
humbly, replying only so much as was
necessary to lengthen the lecture,
which concluded in these words:
"And now you will do me the favor
to return to Paris. The train leaves
in an hour."
"An hour!" I objected, timidly.
That is hardly time to ship two horses
and a carriage and throw up a lease—"
"What is this!" she cried. "A lease!
You presumed to —go, Bir! What
audacity! A lease! And, if you please,
where is your house?"
"A long distance from here," I has
tened to reply; "at the other end of
the forest. I am sure it must have
taken me fully three-quarters of an
hour to come here."
To be precise, it had taken me about
five minutes.
"To think," she exclaimed, "what a
poor woman, deprived of her proteotor,
is exposed to! You would not have
dared to do this if my husband were
still alive. And to think that he con
sidered you his best friend! Poor
Charles!"
"He has never had any cause to com
plain," I murmured. "Let us talk to
gether of ,him."
"Never!"
"Then let us talk of ourselves, that
will be better still."
This suggestion shocked her so that
it took me a long time to calm her.
Finally, she did not wish to let me go
without having sworn never to set foot
in her house again. It is needless to
say that it took half an hour to per
suade me to make this promise—which
I broke the next morning and as often
as possible.
I over the months that fol
lowed, merely declaring that in this
vale of tears there is no more happy
lot than that of such an unhappy lover
as I was. Clarisse had the most ador-
Itble way of annihilating me with a,
look from her blue eyes—eyes that
were intended for quite another pur
pose than annihilating—whenever she
saw that I was going to fall on my
knees before her, and I must confess
she saw it at least ten times during
every visit I made her, still in despite
of her express prohibition. And when
Iso far forgot myself as to tell her,
if the intent were as good as the deed,
the late lamented ought to have a
heavy grudge against "his best friend,"
seeing that I had laved his wife madly
from the very first.
"Not another word," she would say,
severely; "you blaspheme against
friendship. Poor Charles!"
And her white, dimpled hand would
pitilessly stop my mouth, so that, if I
had followed my Inclination, I would,
have blasphemed from morning till
night like the worst traitor to friend
ship in the world.
The day she left off crape, I profited
by the occasion—naturally enough, it
seems to me—to propose myself in set
terms as a candidate to succeed poor
Charles. That evening—it was a June
evening, and the acacias made the
most of the power which certain vege
tables possess of intoxicating one
with their perfume—that evening, her
hand did not stop my mouth at all, it
reached for the bell. Clarisse did not
threaten, this time; she acted I saw
that I was on the point of being put
out by her servants—who consisted of
U T TLER. PA., FRIDAY, AUGUST IQ, 1894.
an old woman who had been her
nurse and whom I could have bowled
over with a breath. However, it was
no time for airy persiflage. Without
waiting for Nancy to seize me by the
collar, I took my hat and fled.
When day broke, I had not closed
my eyes; not that the situation seemed
desperate, for I had learned to read
Clarisse's eyes. But, all night long, J
had repeated over and over again to
myself:
"Heaven grant that the little hotel
In the Avenue Friedland is still for
sale! We would be so comfortable
there."
In spite of this, I was no further ad
vanced when September came, the last
month of my lease. I was no longer
shown the door when I suggested my
candidacy, but Clarisse assumed a
bored air and calmly talked of some
thing else. Between ourselves, I would
rather she rajig the bell, for I divined
that she was thinking:
"My dear friend, you do not dis
please me: quite the contrary. But
you must confess that, in the solitude
of Chantilly I have scarcely had oppor
tunity to enjoy my widowhood. Let
me see if it is really worthy of its rep
utation. In a j-ear or two we can talk
of your affair."
In a year or two! Pretty and charm
ing as she was, Clarisse would have a
score of adorers aronnd her. and ador
ers around the woman one wants to
marry «re like flioa in milk —they may
do no great harm, but they certainly
do not improve the milk.
Early in September Mme. de Monc
ley informed me one day that she was
going: to Paris on the morrow to have
a look at her apartment.
"I sincerely hope," she added, in a
severe tone, "that you do not think of
accompanying me."
"How can you suggest such a thing?"
said I, with appwent submission.
"You leave at—"
"At eight in the evening, as I do not
wish to be seen. I shall send Nancy in
the afternoon to prepare my room. Ah,
poor Paris!"
She no longer said "Poor Charles!" 1
admit that this "Poor Paris!" made me
much more uneasy.
The next evening, at eight o'clock,
the doors of the express train, which
stops hardly a minute, were already
close. Clarisse had not appeared. She
reached the station just as the bell
ran?.
"Quick, hurry up, madamel" oried
the railroad official.
"Hurry!" I repeated, opening a com
partment at random and helping
ner In.
But, instead of getting in, she fell
back, almost fainting, in my arms.
Here is what she bad seen, and what I,
too, had seen over her shoulder: The
seats of the compartment were unoeou
pied, and three men, perched like
tnonkeys on the backs of the seats,
held to their shoulders three guns,
Whereof the barrels shone in the lamp
light like cannons. One of them, as
we opened the door, had shouted in a
terrible voice: "Don't come in, for —"
I had closed the door so quickly that
we had not heard the end of the sen
tence. Then Clarisse and I bundled
ourselves Into the next oompartment
without quite knowing what we were
doing. The train was already under
way. We were alone. Mme. de Moncley
seemed half dead with fear, and I must
confess I was violently shaken.
"Did you see them?" she oried.
"What can be happening in that com
partment? They are going to fight—
to kill each other! What terrible trag
edy is to be enacted right beside us?"
"I don't understand It at all," I re
plied. "Only one explanation seems
possible to me. They are hunteiu who
have suddenly gone crasy. Other
wise, why should they climb upon the
seats? If they siljuply wanted to kill
oach other, they <*s#ld do it without all
that gymnastics."
"No," suggested Clarisse, "It is some
dreadful American kind of duel. In
such a case, it seems, they climb up on
anything they can find. But why
didn't they stop them at Chantilly?"
"The train itself scarcely stopped
there."
"Did you hear how they called out
'Don't come in!'? The wretches, they
don't want to be disturbed while they
are killing themselves. Goodness!
Just listen!"
The fusillade had commenced right
beside us. Several gun-shots had
eounded, dominated by a shrill pierc
ing cry, whioh still rings in my ears.
Then a deathly silence ensued: they
were all dead, however bad shots they
might have been.
Though we were making about fifty
miles an, hour at the time, I made
ready to g(fc-out upon the step and find
out what was going on in our neigh
bors' compartment. As I lowered the
window two arms seized me and a voice
broken with anguish but which
sounded very sweet, just the same—
gasped behind me:
"Philip, if you love me, do not gol
They will kill you!"
It was precisely like the fourth act
of "The Huguenots," except that my
name is not Raoul.
I saw the advantage of my situation,
and I resolved to profit by it. I profited
by it so well that, after a dialogue too
intimate to be repeated here, I was in a
position to sing—if I had had a voice,
which I haven't: "Thou-ou ha-ast said
it."
For she had said it. Poor Charles
was distanced now. She had said the
sweet words: "I love you."
A prey to emotions bordering on the
hysterical, Clarisse sobbed and clung
to me with all her strength, though I
had not the faintest desire to intrude
on the massacre next door. They
•ould kill themselves at their ease.
Let every man tend to his own affairs.
As for me, I was very much occupied
just then.
That Is why, early the next morning,
I hurried to my lawyer to speak to him
about the little hotel in the Avenue
Friedland, which was still for sale,
but, thank fortune, is now no longer
in the market. Decorators and fur
nishers are at work in it, and when
January comes, you will see it occu
pied by a certain young couple that I
know of.
But let us not anticipate. When the
train p*Ued into the city, my compan
ion and I had quite forgotten our
neighbors, or what was left of them;
but now the authorities must be in
formed and the bodies removed. I had
jumped out, and was looking about for
a sergeant de rille, when I beheld the
door of the famous compartment open
and the three hunters calmly desoend
from it, carrying, rolled up in a rug,
an inert mass which looked as if it
might be the body of a young child.
Without an instant's hesitation, I
seized one of the assassins by the col»
lar.
"Scoundrel!" 1 cried. "What have
you got in that rug?''
"Don't make such a row," he replied,
"or we'll have a hundred people at our
backs. It is only my poor dog."
"Dog!" I repeated, indignant at the
man's coolness. "Come, come, you
cannot deceive me, I saw it all."
My captive, whom I still held by the
collar, opened a corner of the rug and
showed me a setter's muzzle, with
fleeks of foam on it dappled with
blood. I dropped my hold on the man's
collar in the greatest confusion.
"Really, I scarcely kuow how to
apologize," 1 said. "But, frankly. It la
not astonishing that I should havo
been deceived —three men crouching
on the seats of the carriage and shoot
ing—"
"Still, the explanation is very simple,
cjyg was bitten three weeks ago.
I had the wound cauterized, and
thought the animal was saved. We
had been hunting all day near O'reil,
but, no sooner were we on the train
than hydrophobia developed and the
animal began to snap at us. To at
tempt to put the beast out was to
tempt death, and there was nothing
for it but for us to climb up on the
seats and shoot the doff. We were not
able to do so dntil after we left Chan
tilly, for the poor brute had taken
refuge under the seat. Finally, by
oalllng it, I persuaded it to put its
he*d out, and then we shot it. I tell
you, it's a trip I shall not soon forget."
"Nor shall I," I replied, and I re
joined Clarisse, who was waiting for
me at a little distance and whose curi
osity was vastly excited to see me thus
politely take leave of the assassins.
"Well, then," she said, making a lit
tle face when I had told her the story,
"that doesn't count. I take back what
I said."
But at the same time she softly
squeezed my arm with her own, and I
saw in her eyes that '•that" did
"coant." —From the French of Leon de
Tinseau, in San Francisco Argonaut.
A PUZZLED WAITER.
Sad Beault of Attempting to Speak a
Language He Didn't Know.
A correspondent who has returned
from the Antwerp exhibition, narrates
an adventure which befell two English
men there. He says: "Two very pre
sentable. well-dressed gentlemen, who
bore the stamp of Englishmen in face,
figure, clothes and easy-goinjr air, en
tered the restaurant where I was sit
ting, and one of them called out in
self-confident tones, which could bo
heard easily at the neighboring tables,
what was undoubtedly intended to be
'Garoon! Deux bocks,' but which
sounded: 'Gassong! too bo.' 'Oui, mon
sieur,' replied the waiter, as he rushed
into the inner room.
"The two gentlemen engaged in ami
cable conversation over the table for
about five minutes, when it struck
them that the waiter was a long time
with their beer. 'Gassongl' was again
shouted. 'Oui, monsieur," answered the
waiter. 'Lay too do, si TOO play.' 'Oui,
monsieur, tout de 9uite,' replied the
Belgian, and ouoe more rushed into the
other apartment. Again the two Eng
lishmen engaged ia conversation for
five or six minutes, and again one of
them shouted indignantly: 'Gassong!
lay too bo!'
"The waiter rushed behind the scenes
with more violence than ever, and in
two minutes returned with a triumph
ant face to plaee before the astonished
visitors two plates of boiled turbot.
They looked at the man and next at
the fish and then, with the help more
of signs than of words, managed to
explain to the waiter that they wanted
beer —bocks—not turbot. The situa
tion was an embarrassing one for all
concerned, and I could not help think
ing that something should be done at
home to prevent my company abroad
meeting with such inconveniences."—
London Telegraph.
—"I like to see a man think a good
deal of his home," said old Mrs. Jason,
"but when he stays out all night to
brag about how happy a home he has I
think ho is carrying his affection a lit
tle too far."—lndianapolis Journal.
A DECEPTIVE TARGET.
It Costs Something to l.earn to Hit the
Dangling Ball.
A shooting gallery peculiarity that
has recently came into popularity con
sists in a very light and fragile ball of
blown glass, or in some cases a hollow
egg shell suspended from a string.
This always attracts the inexpert*
enced marksmen, because the natural
destructlveness inherent in human na
ture causes him to prefer to shoot at
something which he can smash rather
than at a target that gets no harm
from his accuracy.
Therefore, says the New York Sun.
be wastes his three shots, at one and
two-thirds cents a shot, not on targets,
but on the suspended mark. And he
never hits it.
The experienced man in rifle range
gunnery wastes no time on the de
ceitful ball. He knows that it can't bo
hit. Probably he knows it from ex
perience, for it is one of tSose facta
that no man will believe until he has
tried It for himself.
The reason for it is that a very light
hollow glass ball, or a blown egg if
properly hung on a slender thread,
will dodge any bullet that ever came
from a gun barrel. The air that the
bullet piles up in front of it blows the
light mark out of the projectile's path
until it has passed, after which the
target swings back to its original po
sition.
This is very provoking for the marks
man, who, if he be a good shot, bu
the doubtful satisfaction of seeing hi#
target execute three quick dodges at
the aforementioned price of one and
two-thirds cents per dodge.
There is nothing, however, so re
numerative to the proprietor as these
pendent marks, for the gunners, pro
voked at their lack of success, will keep
on and on and on trying to hit a mark
compared to which a pin head would
be a barn door shot, and they only
give it up in disgust when the cost be
gins to tell upon them or when some
wiser friend explains their lack of suc
cess.
Two dollars Is a cheap price to pay
for the knowledge that one of these
hanging targets is a better mark for a
baseball than for a bullet.
Ground for Disbelief.
Mrs. Mullins (reading the news
paper)—A Philadelphia man rejoices in
the name of Medycvnv Garczynskiegro.
Mr. Mullins—l don't believe it.
"You don't believe that is his right
name?"
"Xo; I don't believe he rejoices in
it."—Life.
A 8or« Way.
Maud —How did you get Ned to pro
pose to you, dear?
Marie—l told him that you were
dead in love with him, and were de
termined to win him at any cost, dear
est.—N. Y. World.
Trmclng: the Record.
Teacher—And Lot's wife—
Pnpil—Was turned into a pillar of
salt. Say, teacher, that's the first pil
lar-case mentioned in history, isn't it?
—Harper's Young People.
THE MORTAL COIL
WINTFB. SPRINB.
—Truth.
Sorry Tbroe Time*.
When a friend who shared our hobby
horse and our cookies in childhood
floats off on a European steamship we
are sorry. When she returns grasp
ing a cane wo suppose she is lame and
are sorry. When we ask after her poor
foot and tind she is only trying to be
a swell we are sorry again—this time
for ourselves. —JJ. Y. Herald.
IN PASSING.
Through halls whose carved panels held
A of cherubim.
Cp stairways wide I wandered »n
Through curtained alcoves dim:
And ever as my footsteps came
By alcove, hall and stair.
A myriad mirrors started up
And caught my shadow there.
Sometimes my profile paled and sank
A smile upon my lips;
Sometimes a blur my features were,
Swift darkening to eclipse;
But following as these figures fled
Faint ghosts of grayish gleams—
I walked beside, as one who walks
Companioned in his dreams
Oh: winding years that round my path
Like mirrors Sash and pass.
Once, always, do you hold for me
The wraith within the glass;
Some nfuht or day. some star or sun
(As what should say: "Beware:")
Reveals in your dead seasons' flight
My shadow passing there.
—Ernest McClaficy, in N. Y. Independent.
fly
Ma ckftH-
Ev C/Ov£fvmrt-
»■%—TT#K were seated
|! ySwl i, \fCW. at the card
rt !.'1 r VWI table in the
! °® ccr! *' c l u k"
' t ,1 I I' room, playing
B if! I P°k er w ' *
if I // the post-trad
jjl {I t jj er and drink
ing warm
beer. The windows had all been
thrown open to admit the night air,
which, from radiation, becomes
quickly freshened in drv climates,
when skies are clear and the sun has
set, and bathes the thick-walled,
adobe buildings, tempering them and
making them habitable, and, if closed
in the early morning, seem cloister*
of coolness —welcome refuge, after
drill or duty done in the glare and
pitiless heat of day. No other mater
ial know n to architecture so well re
sists the penetrating ardor of untem
pered rays shed in southern summer
by a cloudless sun; for adobe is of
mother earth, the grand conservator
of heat and cold, and, like her, makes
stubborn resistance to changing tem
perature.
The walls of the building now
seemed hot and exhaled through the
room the expiring heat of day. Stand
ing near them, hot air was breathed
on the face like the slow, warm
breath of a great animal sinking into
silent sleep. The sun had set, and
the dimness of twilight was creeping
from the valley over the foot-hills
and rising in shadowy cones of moun
tain purple up the pine-clad slopes be
yond, spreading over forests that
framed the base of frozen bastions,
whose faded whiteness, seen in fail
ing light, was that of snows a sunset
had left cold. The curtains and
flanks of nature's grand redoubt were
no longer visible, for the fugitive
after-glow had faded into gray, and
the sharp tracery of the divide was
lost for want of light.
Through the open window we could
see the sentry-lamps, just lighted, bor
dering the rectangle of the bare
parade—steady, sultry, and yellow,
like the street-lamps of a foreign
town. Around each, as far as the illu
mination extended, lay a disk of yel
low where the white parade had taken
up the tone of light that fell upon it.
Certainly in each disk lay a circular
shadow, cast by the base of the lamp
On the side of the general bar-room a
light near the door of the traders'
store illuminated the compound as far
as the troop corral, where a stable
guard paced the trravel in his rounds
past the heavy gates, challenging and
admitting mounted parties returning
from duty or from pass.
It was shortly after dinner, and, be
ing yet warm, the game had not grown
hilarious. Davis, out post-surgeon,
had not joined in the play. That
afternoon he had been shooting fool
quail on the mesquite flat up the Gila;
he was late at mess, so had missed the
arrival of the week's 'mail, this being
Friday; and, still in shooting-jacket,
was seated at the reading-table, look
ing over news contained in latest New
York papers, now ten days old, and
opening his letters.
"I thought I heard firing toward
Maekay." David had walked across
the room and was standing near an
open window. lie spoke quietly t<s
the trader's clerk, still giving the
alert attention of one uncertain that
he has heard a sound.
Mackay was an adobe village ad
joining the garrison, where soldiers
became intoxicated and were then
robbed, for the territorial laws were
getting severe and it was not wise to
rob men sober.
Several shots fired in quick succes
sion confirmed the doctor's opinion;
there was a pause in the poker game,
a shuffling back of chairs, and some
one said: "Remember, Jones, it was
your ante," as we joined the surgeon
at the window.
The shooting had ceased, and in the
village we could now hear the barking
of dogs, the hurrying of feet, and the
sound of an unshod horse galloping
over soft earth on the flat leading up
to the post. A moment later the
horse was halted under the sentry'a
challenge at the corral, and a cowboy,
clad as on rodeo, came into the gen
eral bar and asked for the post-sur
geon, saying, as Davis entered: "Doc,
they've had a scrap at the Harmony,
and need you and undertaker." He
spoke with the short, quick breath of
one who has hastened.
"The undertaking can wait," said
Davis; "but I'll go down at oncs.
Ride around to the hospital and tell
the steward to bring my operating
case and bandages to the Harmony.
I'll walk; you can overtake me."
I accompanied Davis to the village,
distant a few hundred 3*ards and com
prising a double row of square adobe
flats along the Calle Audea, an un-
paved street lined with aeequias, now
dry, but containing a few Lombardy
poplars whose pivotal leaves were too
languid to flutter, so still was th®
night air. There were no lights in the
Btreets, and in the most of houses they
bad been extinguished as soon as the
firing began; the few that remained
shone through windows opened to ad
mit the air and fell in rectangular
patches on the bare adobe footpath be
tween the buildings and the acequia.
These desultory illuminations made
the rest of the street seem dark,
though, from the splendid starlight)
•ummer nights in Arizona are never
really so.
We were guided to the Harmony by
the tramp of feet and the sound of
voices at the lower end of the street,
and as we walked toward it and en
tered the darkened space which suc
ceeded the illumination from a solitary
window, we stumbled over what, on ex
amination, proved to be the body of a
man, lying where he had stumbled
over the edge of the actquia in crossing
the street. We turned him over, and
Davis, on examination, found that h*
w&t dead, being shot through the base
of the neck. We left him lying where
we found him and hurried on to the
Harmony, which, together with the
portion of the street directly in front
of it, must, when we got there, have
contained every inhabitant of the vil
lage, even to the last Chinaman and 1
**....
Davis forced his way through the
outer erowTl that jammed the entrance
to the door; those recognizing his per
son tried to fall back and admit him.
I followed Davis, and finally found my
self inside the Harmony—a bar, gam
bling house and consert hall com
bined, and consisting of a single,
large, rectangular adobe room, dimly
lighted by a few dirty bracket reflector
lamps, whose siekly flames seemed
sinking for want of oxygen in the op
pressive alcoholic air. The tarnished
reflectors were set level so that the
limiting shadows from the base of the
lamps almost covered the floor, leav
ing the lower angles of the room in
feeble, uncertain half-light.
Lying quietly on a faro table was a
gambler, shot through the lungs. The
blood welled profusely from a bullet
hole iu his side and trickled into an
increasing pool, which was now over
spreading the "lay out" like a last
mocking, sanguinary wager, offered
ironically by one who had already ac
cepted the terms of death.
To the left stood a rancher, leaning
against the bar. holding with his right
hand liis left forearm, which was bad
ly shattered below the wrist.
In the dimly-lighted corner most re
mote from the door, seated on a piano
stool, was a young girl, sobbing vio
lently, as if in pain or in great grief.
In her despair, she had thrown herself
forward on to the piano and buried
her fair but dissipated face in a mass
of brown hair, drawn from nude
shoulders it had served to drape, and
now confined only by her white, bare
arms, which rested on the white, bare
keys. Her physical abandonment was
as utter as her moral hopelessness
seemed complete.
After stanching the hemorrhage of
the man shot through the lungs, Davis
turned his attention to the girl. Lay
ing his hand gently on her bare shoul*
der, which was trembling accompania
ment to her violent, intermittent sobs,
Davis asked her where she was hurt.
She sobbed in reply that she did not
SHE LEANED HE A.VILT OS THE PIXSO.
know. Then he made examination
and found that she was not hurt, but
that a stray shot from the direotlon of
the gaming-table had struck the key
board of the piano, ripping up some of
the keys beneath her fingers while she
was playing. She was unnerved with
fright, hysteria accompanying it.
Then the doetor bound up the ranoh
er's shattered wrist, after removing
some splintered fragments. The full
extent of the shooting now being
known and having been discussed, the
crowd began to thin away.
When the surgeon's work was fin
ished, a venerable frontiersman, who
had greatly assisted Davis in dressing
the wounded, spoke to the crowd that
still remained, saying, solemnly and
slowly: "Well, gentlemen, thi9 'ere
scrap has taught me one thing!"
"What was that. Uncle Jerry?" asked
a chorus of bystanders.
"Uncle Jerry" pulled himself up to
his full frontier height, and, after a
pause long enough to prepare us for a
speech oracular in patriarchal wisdom,
replied:
"It has taught me, gentlemen, never
to decline a drink."
He had been watching the poker
game, and just after he had risen from
nls seat and had started to the bar at
Tom Collins' inTitation to drink, the
ball had opened and the bullet which
finally lodged in the piano-keys passed
through the back of his then vacant
chair. —C. Overton, in San Francisco
Argonaut.
—All legal treatises and documents
during the twelfth and two following
centuries were written in a very stiff,
affected and undecipherable hand
called "court hand." It wa6 inten
tionally illegible, that the knowledge
of the law might be kept from the com
mon people.
The Wrong Husband.
Mrs. Alimony (to companion in lobby
of divorce court) —There comes my last
husband but three. Ido so want to in
troduce you, but I can't recall the dear
fellow's name. How annoying!
Ex-Husband (advancing gallantly)—
Madam, you look even more charming
than when you were Mrs. Jolliboy.
Mrs. Alimony—Thank you. (To com
panion. Let me introduce you to a
former spouse of mine, Mr. Jolliboy.
Ex-Husband (haughtily)— Madam, I
am not Jolliboy. Jolliboy was my im
mediate predecessor. —Life.
Woman and Man.
Inquiring' Son—Papa, what is reason?
Fond Parent—Reason, my boy, is that
which enables a man to determine what
is right.
Inquiring Son —And what is instinct?
Fond Parent —Instinct Is that which
tells a woman she is right whether she
is or not. —Tid-Bits.
Xo Money There.
First Burglar—Hark! I hear some
man talking.
Second Burglar—What's he saying?
First Burglar—That he never will
bet on another horse as long as he lives.
Second Burglar— Let's get out of this!
No money here; he's lost every cent. —
Puck.
Approving the Journal.
"As I look into your face, dearest,"
said young Wumpmug, "I can see the
whole record of the present congress.
"Tell me its features," said his steady
girl.
"Ayes, noes, lip, chin, cheek"—and
then the usual executive session fol
lowed. —Puck.
A Poser.
Her Adorer—No, sir, it Is not for the
sake of your daughter's money I love
her. It is on account of her sweet tem
per and charming manners.
Her Father—lf it is not for money
you wish to marry I can let you have
my niece. She has a much sweeter
temper and no money whatever. —Spare
Moments.
To the Best of Hli Knowledge.
Purchaser (bringing back purchase)
—This dog is the most ferocious beast I
ever camo across, and you said he was
as gentle as a woman.
Dealer in Canines—That's straight!
My wife's the only woman I know any
thing about.—Puck.
Too Eipenilfe
"Then you consent'." exclaimed the
young man, joyously.
"Yes," said her father. "It pains me
to give her up, but I really can't affora
to keep her any longer."—Chioago
Record.
A Vteful Man.
She—He's a bad scholar and a Door
athlete. Why don't the college author
ities put him out, anyhow?
He—But you ought to hear his ool"
lege T all^
TSTo. 3 2
tpSAgy.
TO MAKE A HAYRICK.
A Simple Contrivance Which Save* Lots
of labor.
The cut represents how to make a
saving in labor at hay making. AAA A
are four poles 32 feet long. They may
be made of 4x4 material and spliced.
BB arc 4x4 and 4 feet long. DD are
two timbers 4x4 and '2O feet long, fas
tened together with five one-half-inch
bolts 12 inches long. A pulley for
inch rope is under B and F a trip block
for a Lay carrier. Any hay carrier
that will work on a 4x4 may be used.
About 100 feet of inch rope is required,
which should run from the top of the
poles AA to a stack K. It is unneces
sary to dig holes for the poles; whea
moving the rigging, move but one pole
at a time.
The load of hay must be out«ide of
the poles under F, as shown in the cut
To unload, from 20 to 80 tons of hay
must be put in a riok or 8 tons in a
stack. In the center of BB a round
groove is cut and a yoke made of three
quarter-inch rod passes over BB and
down through the 4x4 D. This may be
put together on the ground and raised
with a team of horses. When the der
rick is on the ground drive a small stake
in the ground at the end of each pole
to prevent slipping when being raised.
M is a stake with pulley for a rope to
run from pulley under B for the horse
to pull the hay up by. AA is fastened
at the top end with ft bolt B is fas
tened to A A with bolts. I have used
such a rigging for two years with
great success.—Eddie Richardson, in
Farm and Home.
HOMEMADE CHEESE.
Slmpla Mat hod by Which It May Be Pr*-
duccu on the Farm.
To make cheese at home get a tin
man to solder a faucet near the bot
tom at one end of an ordinary tin
wash-boiler, which will hold five or
six pailfuls, says a writer in Hoard's
Dairyman. Fit a movable tin screen
inside about three inches from the
faucet and extending about the same
distance above it, which shall hold the
curd away from the faucet. This,
with a long, wooden paddle, is all you
need order especially for the work, ex
cept cheese-cloth, rennet and a cheese
press. Six pailfuls of sweet milk with
the cream all In It will make about fif
teen pounds of cheese. It need not be
of one milking if It is perfectly sweet.
Put the milk in the boiler on the stove
and heat it to eighty degrees. Re
move from the stove and add the ren
net
When the milk has coagulated,
which will take place in ten minutes
or less, it must be cut to the bottom of
the boiler each way, making about two
inch squares. They will begin to start
almost at once. Sink a small dipper
into it slowly and the whey may be re
moved gradually until two quarts or
more have been collected. Heat over
the curd, stirring it carefully. When
at one hundred degrees open the f ancet
and allow the whey to drain out, dip
ping it out from the top. When
drained, sprinkle half a teacupful of
fine dairy salt upon the curd and crum
ble and mix in thoroughly with the
hands.
Have a square of strong, loosely
woven cloth wet and placed in the
cheese hoop, which should be the size
of a peck measure. Press the curd
Into the hoop, adjust the cover after
the cloth has been folded on top of thd
ourd, and submit the cheese to gentle
pressure. Prepare a bandage of cheese
cloth large enough to go around the
cheese and wide enough to nearly cov
er the ends. Lay on the ends another
piece and sew it to the piece around
the cheese. Keep at seventy degrees
in a dry room. Too much salt or too
much scalding when heating the curd
hardens the cheese, while carelesg
stirring starts the "white whey" and
allows much of the butter fats to es
cape.
Dehorning Young Calve*.
The most practical and satisfactory
method of dehorning a calf when
quite young is to remove the button
like, semi-horny substance with an in
strument known as the trephine,
which is constructed for the purpose
of cutting out circular sections of
without injury to the underlying 6oft
tissues. By this method the horn is
removed with its foundation and the
brain is denuded of its bony covering
for a short period, but no horny ex*
crescence will appear to disfigure the
head of the matured animal, as may
happen when other methods are usedj
and the opening caused by the
Shine will become obliterated In a few
ays.
The Quality of Cheeee.
The quality of cheese will vary fto-.
cording to the quality of the mlllt
from which it is made, and propop?
tionately to the amount of fat present
in that milk. The fat is the oonstltife
ent which most affects the quality pt
the cheese, hence it is not possible tO
expect the same quality of cheese to
mado from large quantities of QPOf
milk as from small quantities of rich
milk. Hut with due care, the larger
yield of cheese which cau be obtained
from the poorer milk should
In value that of the higher quality
which can be made from the rleh milk.
Self AMorsncei
Father—That young man of yours
might just as well live here.
Daughter —That's what he propose*
to do after we are married. —Truth.
A Terrible Revelation.
He—At last we are alone, and we
have an opportunity to speak. I have
been seeking this moment for days and
days, for I have something to say to
you.
She—Go on, Mr. Harkins.
He—l will. Miss Jones, you perhaps
have not noticed that at times I have
been constrained, uneasy, even awk
ward, in your presence, that I
have had something on my mind that I
felt I must say to you.
She (softly)— Yes.
He —That constraint, that awkward
ness, Miss Jones, was due to—due to—
She—Goon, Mr. II ark ins.
He—Was due to the fact that I feared
you were not aware that I am engaged
to your mother. —Harper's Magazine.
All Kplcure'* Daughter.
A certain gentleman in this city
known as an epicure was dining a
friend not long ago, and the baby
daughter of the house, Katharine, aged
seven, was brought at dessert to 6ee
the guest. The guest, who is very
fond of children, was asking her all
sorts of questions, but her father was
somewhat taken aback when he asked:
"What do you love best in the world?"
and she answered:
"Papa and corn fritters, "-N. Y.
UltM* __