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Newspaper Page Text
By Victor: Redcliffe.
(Copyright by W. G. Chapman.)
"We are looking, for a good can
didate for mayor, and -we're come to
The speaker was one of a group
of a dozen husky miners, rough, red
shirted, lacking all the formality of
the average "Committee," but repre
senting not only the brawn but the
brains and enterprise of Lucky
Ransome Jordan's eye 'glowed for
a moment, he threw back his head in
"My Name is Ransome Jordan."
his characteristic bluff and independ
ent way. Pride and pleasure showed
for a fleeting moment in his hand
some full bearded face. Then it fad
ed, slowly, steadily, until those of the
men who viewed him became as
grave as his own from some innate
"Boys," he said, and his full clear
voice was broken from some intense
emotion. "I thank you, but I cannot
"See here, Ransome Jordan!" cried
Big Ben, leader or the crowd, the
giant irresistible champion of a man
when he was his friend, "you'll run:
There isn't a man in the Gulch who
doesn't want you "
"Ben," interrupted Jordan in a
tone of unutterable pathos, "I can't
do it. There is a reason. Next, time
maybe, but not until "
"Until what?" challenged Big Ben
"Until later," faltered Jordan.
"Don't press me, boys. It's an honor
that fills my soul with pride and grat
itude. Pass it up till next year. Then
That was the way that Ransome
Jordan turned down what his friends
called the chance of his life. The com
mittee retired, less worked up as Big
Ben expressed it than uneasy. There
iwas a reason, Jordan had told them.
He held his secret and his loyal
friends respected it.
"Ransome, dear, why?" were the
words that greeted him as the wife
who had overheard all met him at the
doorway, and that was the hardest
part of it all.
She was a little, dark woman, the
daughter of an old prospector who
had picked up Jordan in the old days
when he wis sick and poor. It was
Nance Dalziell who had nursed Jor
dan back to health. It was she who
had staked him with a claim that
panned out big, and married him aft
er she had turned him from his old
Now those clear searching eyes of
hers challenged his soul. His love,
his gratitude, his loyalty spoke in his
fervent returning glance.
"Don't ask, Nance!" he pleaded.
"See here, it is you who made me
what I am. The boys-have helped, I
don't know why."
"Who could help it!" gently mur
mured Nance, stroking his great
brown hand caressingly.
"Now they want me to be mayor.
In these new days of progress, that
means something. It means schools,
churches, good roads, better citizens