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f. •C v/. W^W: S* :P& ••Inyentori By a leading Jobber, selling to the trade oily. We offer exceptional inducements, absolutely necessary if ...„jnt and a bard worker. Commission. t*^—p« Wtfipl *WW S~* ,, B. I k-S tains from Wood. two good methods of ink-stains from wood.' (1) ill* is of concentrated sulphuric With one and three-quarter pints ater. Scour the stain* thoroughly water and sand, tthen pour swne mixture upon it and rub lintil has disappeared. (2) A$jply itlc acig (spirits of salts) piece of cloth.'- Afterward Northern Cigar Co St Minneapolis, JUnn r*L?'s*s'-i' retainaall the natural «ra notheavy—don't naittette nor rack thenerves. v\ '-4' 're mild but yethavebody—delicatelyfragrant. smoke evenly, smoothly, and mast draw well they are etch one all hand made. All sizes. Same quality* M. 8CHWARZ ft CO., MAKBR9. NBW YORK .4 Nora Bkotbbss & Cutlbk, Bt Paul, Minn., Distributors is the XarthwMt :re- er Wanted j& "•'tfrtf'iai- Ifl Sift. V-A- .1 v~ v.:r.- .-• 'JK it? tavihtertl* Cigars, -proper makes ih« aroma delicious. Hard Goal. The kind you can recommend to you neighbor. No higher in price than inferior coal. L®t us your order when ready to buy. J. W. TUTHILL LUMBER CO. Pioneers in the Lumder Business. 'S'i •'*. \«v Here is a.Chance as Cheap as the Crops Have Been Poor, wit^ the following papers at the prices given below St. Paul Weekly Dispatch.. .$1.50 Minneapolis Tribune Twice-a-DVeek.......... 17B or,'will give to advance-paying subscribers 100 sheets of paper and envelopes with your name printed upon it. •*V Sioux, City Journal..... .... .11.75 St. Pauii Daily News.,..:... 2.75 St. Paul Daily Dispatch.. ... 3.75 "100 These rates are open to new and old subscribers alike, by SIMPLY PAYING IN AQVANCE. If we dotit give more local news than any other paper printed inthe county, your money will be refunded. TheseHre"HAkD TIMES-RATES. If you take a paper take the one that gives'the most for your money the same as in making any other.purthase.. If not a subscriber drop us a postal card and we w0 send Lit to you a short time, for examination, FREE, Can you beat these proposition 's? -•v.-,' haver' it/?* -v- i- T'v J-.jiy,. 'I :fHE:"NEWSf "i ou re wonderful youngster. Wait till I'm able to travel, and we' go up into the high country together.' Louis clapped his hands. "Won that be glorious? I'd rather do that than anything else in the world." "Iiow is your sister?" asked Ray mond, with abrupt change of tone. "She is well. She's always well. We just catne in from a drive.- That the reason I wasn't here to help you. Did it hurt you going upstairs%' "Not a bit. The boys handled me as tenderly as a side o' pork. Let me see your drawings, will you?" The boy's face glowed. "Well, you just wait." And he rushed away to get them. Mrs. Baruett upou meeting Ann said, with deep feeling-. "Rob's iliuess has transformed him. He said to me a few moments ago: 'If 'you can find the man who shot, me, reward him. He bus done me a great service. I am lost in a dream of luxury.' He asked after you with emotion and said he would like to thank you for your serv ice to him." Ann, listening intently, remained cold ly impassive of face. "Mrs. Scribbins was tbe really efficient person. 1 have a horror of sick people, and as for wounds"— She shuddered for lack of words. Mrs. Barnett went on: "I like to do for him, he's so grateful and so obe dient. He says just the right thing al ways. There must be good breeding back of the man, although he never mentions his family. There's some love affair to'account for his being here. He's too handsome not to have had en tanglements Don't you think so?" "He insisted not," replied Ann. "He begged me to consider that his life had been quite commonplace/' "I don't believe it. He couldn't be commonplace. He said to me just now, 'Sometimes a man must hear the wash of the river of death to realize how fu tile he has allowed his life to become.' liis gratitude toward you is pathetic." Ann frowned. "It's worse it's op pressive. I did so little, and that little was not done with a gracious spirit, didn't enjoy it then nor in retrospect." "You mustn't let him know that His worship of you positively irradiates his face, and he's very handsome. He in gists that you were heroic." Ann grew a little petulant "I wish you wouldn't try to make mountains out of molehills. It was a most un 'pleasant experience, and I wish to for get it, not to have it dinned in my ears forever,. My going was folly, and my stay ixx that ghastly place was a tor ment. PleaBe allow me to put it put of my memory." Ann had a moment of bitter home sickness a feeling she had never known before. This mad trip Into the west with a reckless and supersensitive boy grew each moment more disastrous. At ••the moment she' fairly hated her cous Ins and alfthe guests at their table and longed, with unspeakable hunger, foi the roll of carriages on Fifth avenue juid the glitter and tumult ijf Broad :^way. The stony, uninterested stare of Jier inoSier wa« better than this pry ing, this overstrained Juterest on the part of Jeannctte. As for nRaymohd. -he had been mo mentarily Interesting as a cowboy/and MRrhen he was lying at the brink of the grave he had assumed tragic value, but iiow that he was on the way to recov ^ryllfereeaifei! TSftntwest. "He Js mere ly one of the thousands of other com monplace young eastern men who have tried their fortunes in the west and fallal/' she said. "Why should I be burdened with any further care of ifAt dinner Don told again for the for tiethi time tbe story of Raymond's shooting and in spite of .Ann's protests putier in as the^heroine,'which relnfu riated her almost to the point of leav ing the fable. The "Ah's!" and "Dear me's!" and "By Jove's!" volleying from the listeners were quite insupportable. One lady said, "Poor fellow!" "Not at all," said. Dr. Braide. "He was. a lucky dog. I'd be shot any day to get such a nurse." Jelmnette saw the angry flush on •^Ann's face^and bastily turned the con versation Into less personal channels. Thus every- influence swept her to ward a dislike of -tbe wounded man's very name, and thereafter she Ignored his presence In the house, his being In the world, as thbugh he did not exist. She neither asked after hls health nor replied to any report or question made by her brother concerning him. Louls brought to Raymond one day a small.limp book In red leather, which his" proffered with the air of giving a gem. "What's this?" asked Raymond. ."Ydur diary?" '-'iSfo^jny father's. He was out here beforrf I was born, when the Indians were here." .. Raymond opened" the volume with languid interest, but soon realized that Sie* .was looking into the past through the eyes of a poet Part of it was. writ ten I'n- ink very legibly, but In a fine running hand, while other of the pages were hastily scribbled in pencil and not to be easily deciphered. Plainly the record-bad been made under great dis advantages~and .in the field. The inks 'MfflbrVMottii' colors, some watery blue, some dusty black BY... HAMLIN GARLAND A A N A I N ieos. O I (Continued.) Louls opened the book at the trout, wherein the picture of a, slender, smil ing, handsome young fellow in som brero and hunting clothes had been pasted. He enjoyed his new hat, didn't be?" said Raymond, to whom' tbe essential incongruity of "the relined face and bor der ruitian toggery first appealed. "You're the image of your father?" he added, looking keenly at tlie boy. "He don't look much older In this picture, taken at Sylvanite. Well, Sylvunite was a wild town in those days. Is there much about it in the book?" Ten pages. He wrote a page of fine script every day, but I don't care so much for that—these stage rides, imd the big canyons, and crossing the livers, and the Indians—he saw lots of Indians—the Utes—these are what in terest me." Raymond became profoundly inter ested in this book. There was an ap: peal in the closing entry which touched him profoundly. The entry was head ed' "The Last View" and closed with these words: "I love my home and my friends in the east, but this primeval world has laid its spell upon me. 1 shall come again next year." Did he come again?" asked Ray mond. 'No," answered Louis sadly. And it was soon evident to Raymond that the lad knew very little of his father beyond the message in the worn little book. Leave this with me, Louis. I want to read it all," he said. And the boy was glad of this interest. Mrs. Barnett came in later and ask ed, "What are you reading?" "It is a journal kept by Louis' fa ther. Did you know him?" "Oh, very well! He was my favor ite uncle." "Tell me of him. Who was he-how did he come to make this trip?" Mrs. Barnett took a comfortable seat. "I don't know where Uncle Phil got his streak of sentiment. He was one of six brothers, all successful busi ness men keen, practical—you know the kind. But Phil—well, he was the odd sheep—he always seemed a boy to me. He worked in the bank, but his mind was on other things. I don't remember how they came to send him out -here, but Ican -recall perfectly the effect he bad on me when talking of his trip. He glorified this country. He saw tbe mountains as the old time landscapists pictured them. When I first came 1 wept with disappointment, the range seemed so prosaic by con trast. He talked of nothing else for a year. Then he married and gradual ly ceased referring to his experiences." "He never came again, Louis tells me." "No. His wife was not the kind of girl to go west. I don't want to say anything severe about Alicia, but she made Phil very unhappy. When Ann was born Phil wanted to call her Hes per, in memory of his trip to the west, but Alicia cried out against it It was an odd name, but it was pretty, and there was no reason,, why the father shouldn't have had lijs wish, but that was her way. She was cold and selfish even in her honeymoon. I never saw such a girl. Phil went with her to every fashionable resort in Europe, but she not merely refused to make a trip Into his Hesperian mountains, but she wouldn't let him go. He used to get up into the Adlrondacks now and then, I remember, but only for a day or two. Oh, bow exacting she was! After Louis was born she grew worse. She became You tay the father called her Uerpert" morbi|. I never could see that she bad particle of maternal affection. If Ann isn't like her it Is because Phil's blood is in her veins. Louis is exactly as Phil was, as I recall him when I saw him first." "You say the father called her Hes per?" pursued Raymond, acutely Inter-' ested in all that concerned Ann. It was bis pet name for her. Pew people knew*' it I dott't knows It, for Ann couside absurd as she grew older anu nj^r fers to it. I.thinkJt is a prettjr don't you?" "Yes. It is-beautiful." His egea-t on a musing look. Hesper! Somehow the name expr ed the poetry of the father's con tlou, and with little else to do i|( wounded wau gave long hours fo'^lp$ ^i calling and relieving liis ex perlenc#'^ relieving liis with her as his nurse. He longed with a great longing t^jpee her again, but to Ills curious shyness bad been added tbe humility of -eiA' who feels himself unworthy to ask favor, and tbe troubled look whlebrfe catt«e now and again into the lines hiti face made Louis sad. The boy ldea|£?l# ized him, made of him a wonderful bf^^ ing, better worth serving than any^ monarch, and in this strain he talked Ann till she impatiently,begged him to "'4 stop. But in her secret heart Ann admit* ted that she, too, bad been touchetf by the indefinable charm of Ray-.v'-.^ moud's voice and manner, but ^e^ question of how best to check liisyjr^ growing power -over her brother's life had become a Very serious problem, for as the days wore on he put her aside as completely as she ignored hla^ hero. Together Raymond and the boy read the little red book, mapping the points described as best they could—a task of .J some difficulty, for tbe traveler had 41 purposely given mythical names to tbe^' towns,, rivers and peaks. It had all been a wonderland to Philip Rupert, and he took care to have no stupid or vulgar name mar the perfect effect There was something in all this which refined and softened thS young^. rancher. Joined with his love for "Hesper" (as he loved to call Ann In secret), this boyish father's* enthusi asms transmuted every reckless, bit ter impulse into stern resolutions to enter upon anew life—a life with pur pose andrdevotion in its course. Ann rose to comply, with a little thrill of unpleasant excitement. She did not want to see him, and yet she could not decently refuse. w.,.- At the door of the sitting room Mrs. Barnett stopped, and the girl Walked in alone, her face set in lines of cold disdain. Raymond sat in a big, padded chair, with his back to the window and the sunlight streaming over his head. He wore a handsome gray dressing gown, and the linen at his neck and.,,wrists was spotlessly clean/- His hands were refined—almost delicate In effect—and his clean shaven face and his well brushed, abundant brown hair gave evidence of a most careful toilet. Something, mystically solemn and sweet was in his eyes, and his li^. trembled as he greeto her. "-x'his Is very good it! yon. Pardon me, wofit you? I am forbidden to stand." "I beg you, do not think of it." .. "Dare I ask you to be seated? I want to thank you more suitably than I have been able to do for what you did for me." fv. "Please don't, Mr. Raymond. I in sure you I deserve no credit. I wentP' out there under compulsion, and what I did was determined by pressure of circuinstauces. l'ui not a bit of a hero* inef-nnd 1 do not like praise." He was chilled by her tone and for a moment hesitated. "A sick man may be forgiven some things," he began to say .at last. "I may as well confess* that I have been longing to see.you. I have been trying l'or many days to rise and dress iu order that I might have you come in. You must let me ask your forgiveness for the rude way in which 1 received you that day. All that I did seems incredible to me now, like the action of another man." A gleam of amusement crossed Ann's face. "I didn't blame you. I'm willing to admit that your position was try ing." He wras too exalted of mood to re spond to her quizzical tone. "I had lived for years quite apart from any— from association with cultivated peo ple, and besides I had begun to feci that I was wasting my life and had be come irritable. 1 went to the ranch to pay off a debt, and I—well, I had fallen into a groove. You recalled me to bet ter things." "I and the bullet," she said rather flippantly, for she was becoming appre hensive of the trend of his confidences. He'ignOred her interruption, or, ratb er, he plowed across It with something like bis old time resolution. "It is due to you to know—or at any rate I desire you to know—that I am not a fugitive from' justice. Baker thought he was being funny." "I am not so dull as you think, Mr. Raymond. I understood him perfect ly." "I am glad you did. It is true I am estranged from my family, but it is not due— My faults have never been crim inal." "Please do not feel it necessary to explain," interrupted Ann. "It Is pain ful to you, and—and it Is wholly unnec-1 essary. I beg you to desist. I hope you will understand that I am in no sense doubting you." A shadow of pain crossed his face. Somehow the reality of their meeting was not as he bad imagined it She, on her part was angry and dis pleased with herself and resentful of his implied social equality, and yet he looked the gentleman, and bi.$ face was very handsome, very moving.via its clear pallor. Suffering had hiHrUe-., ly refined its lines. bn1 she co:?'d 3t (T« fee ConttaNed.) -:m r# CHAPTER VIII. last there came a day when I\ the doctor permitted-his pa tient to be clothed and seat* A ed in an easy chair, and, calling Mrs. Barnett to him, Raymond asked, "Do you think Miss Rupert will see ne now?" "I will ask her," replied Jeannette, with due appreciation of tbe romantic situation. & •v :J®S|