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• >. fj: This is a story about the Texas Plains People ByZANE GREY SYNOP81S. The time of the story: about 1875. The place: The Texas cow country. The chief character: Buckley Duane, a young man who has Inherited a lust to kill, which suppresses. In self-defense he snoots dead a drunken bully and is forced to flee to the wild count outlaw band. he ry where he joins Bland's „ Euchre, an amiable rascal, tells him about Jennie, a young girl who had been abducte^ and sola to Bland for a »ad fate. They determine to rescue the girl and restore her to civilisation. Eu chre has Just reconnoltered; and Is re porting the outlook to Buck. Euchre is . killed. Buck kille Bland and Is danger ously wounded by Mrs. Bland, but es capes with Jennie. Jennie is abducted. Buck never sees her again, but kills her abductor. Duane barely escapes death at the hands of lynchers for a crime he nev er committed. He goes to see Captain MacNelly of the Rangers. * CHAPTER XIV—Continued. Dnane averted his face a moment, hesitated till the swelling left his throat, and then said, "It's worth what I went through to-day to hear that. "I can imagine how you feel about IL Wheù I was In the war—but let's get down to the business of this meet ing." He pulled his chair close to Duane's. "You've had word more than once In the last two years that I wanted to see you, why didn't you hunt me up?" "I supposed you imagined me one of those gun-fighters who couldn't take a dare and expected me to ride up to your camp and be arrested." , "That was natural, I suppose," went on MacNelly. "You didn't know me, otherwise you would have come. I've been a long time getting Jo you. But the nature of my job, as far ns you're concerned, made me cautious. Duane, you're aware of the hard name you bear all over the Southwest?" "Once in a while I'm Jarred into realizing," replied Duane. It's the hardest, barring Murrell and Cheseldine, on the Texas border. But there's this difference. Murrell in his day was known to deserve his infamous name, Cheseldine In his day also. But I've found hundreds of men In southwest Texas who're friends, who swear you never com mitted a crime. The farther south I get the clearer this becomes. What I want to know is the truth. Have you ever done anything criminal? Tell me the truth, Duane. It won't make any difference in my plan. And when I say crime T mean what I would call crime, or any reasonable Texan." "That way my hands are clean," re plied Duane. "You never held up a man, robbed a store for you needed "Somehow I always kept out of that, just when pressed the hardest." "Duane, I'm glad !" MacNelly ex claimed, gripping Duane's hand. "Glad for your mother's sakel But, all the same, in spite of this, you are a Texas outlaw accountable to the state. You're perfectly aware that under ex isting circumstances, if you fell into the hands of the law, you'd probably hang, at least go to jail for a long term." * I your of to as the b, stole a horse when i bad—never anything "That's what kept me on the dodge all these years," replied Duane. "Certainly.' MacNelly's eyes nar rowed and glittered. The muscles along his brown cheeks set hard and tense. He leaned close to Duane, laid sinewy, pressing fingers npon Duane's knee. "Listen to this," he whispered, hoarsely. "If I place a pardon In your hand—make you a free, honest citizen once more, clear your name of infamy, make your mother, ÿour sister proud of you—will you swear yourself to a service, any service I demand of you?" Duane sat stock still, stunned. Slowly, more persuasively, with show of earnest agitation, Captain MacNelly reiterated his startling query. "My God ! "What's this? MacNelly, you can't be earnest!" "Never more so In my life, deep game. What do you say?" He rose to his feet. Duane, as if Impelled, rose with him. Banger and outlaw then locked eyes that searched In MacNelly's Duane read truth, strong, fiery pur pose, hope, even gladness, and a fugi tive mounting assurance of victory. Twice Duane endeavored to speak, failed of all save a hoarse, Incoherent sound, until, forcing back a flood of speech, he found a voice. "Any service? Every service ! Mac Nelly, I give my word," said Duane. A light played over MacNelly's face, warming out all the grim darkness. held out his hand. Duane met It with his in a clasp that men uncon sciously give In moments of stress. When they unclasped and Duane stepped back to drop into a chair MacNelly fumbled for a cigar and, lighting It, turned to his visitor, now calm and cool. He had the look a man who had justly won thing at considerable cost. His next move was to take a long leather case from his pocket and extract from it several folded papers. Here's your pardon from the Gover nor," he said, quietly. "You'll see, when you look it over, that it's condi tional. When you sign this paper 1 have here the condition will be met" He smoothed out tfie paper, handed Duane a pen, ran his forefinger along dotted line. Duane's hand was shaky, passed since he had held a pen. was with difficulty that he achieved signature. Buckley Duane—how strange the name looked 1 "Right here ends the career of Buck Duane, outlaw and gun-fighter," said MacNelly; and, seating himself, he the pen from Duane's fingers and wrote several lines In several places the paper. Then with a smile handed It t© Duane. "That makes you a member of Com A, Texas Rangers." burst from Duane. I've a rm playing it square. each other's souls. some 41 eyes day. as It to Years -round hands secret that'll Mind So that's it!" burst out Duane, light breaking in upon hi« bewilder ment. "You want me for ranger serv a to ice? M he Sure. That's It," replied the Captain dryly. "Now to hear, what that service is to be. I've been a busy man since I took this job, and, as you may have heard, I've done a few things. I don't mind telling you that political Influence put me in here and that up Austin way there's a good deal of friction In the Department of State In regard to whether or not the ranger service is any good—whether It should be discontinued or not I'm on the party who's defending the ranger serv-; ice. I contend that it's made Texas habitable. Well, it's been up to me to produce results. So far I have been successful. My great ambition is to break up the outlaw gangs along the river. I have never ventured in there yet because Fve been waiting ^o get the lléutenant I needed. You, - of course, are the man X. had in mind. It's my Idea to start way up the Bio Grande and begin with Cheseldine. He's the strongest, the worst outlaw bf the times. He's more than rustler. It's Cheseldine and his gang who are operating on the banks. No one seems to have seen him—to know what he looks like. a is 44 I assume, of course, that you are a stranger to the country he dominates. It's five hundred miles west of your ground. There's a little town over there called Falrdale. It's the nest of a rusüer gang. They rustle and murder at will. Nobody knows who the leader is. I want you to find out. Well, whatever way you decide is best you will proceed to act upon. You are your own boss. You must find some way to lqt me know when I and my rangers are needed. The plan is to break up Cheseldine's gang. It's the toughest job on the border. We want to kill or jail this choice selection of robbers and break up the rest of the gang. To find them, to get among them somehow, to learn their move ments, to lay your trap for us rangers to spring—that, Duane, is your service to me, and God knows it's a great one 1" a a to in he of in "I have accepted it," replied Duane. "Your work will be secret. You are now a ranger in my service. But no one except the few I choose to tell will know of it until we pull off the job. You will simply be Buck Duane till it suits our purpose to acquaint Texas with the fact that you're a ranger. You'll see there's no date on that paper. - No one will ever know just when you entered the servie® Perhaps we can make it appear that all or most of your outlawry has really been good service to the state. At that, I'll believe It'll turn out so." MacNelly paused a moment in his rapid talk, chewed his cigar, drew his brows together in a dark frown, and went on. "No man on the border knows so well as you the deadly nature of this service. It's a long, long chance against your ever coming back. "That's not the point," said Dnane. "But in case I get killed out there— what— Leave that to me," Interrupted Captain MacNelly. "If you lose your life out there I'll see your name clear ed—the service you render known. You can rest assured of that" "I am satisfied," replied Duane. "That's so much more than Fve dared to hope." "Well, It's settled, then. Til give you money for expenses. You'll start as soon as you like—the sooner the better. I hope to think of other sug gestions especially about communi cating with me. Long after the lights were out and the low hum of voices had ceased round the camp-fire Duane lay awake, »» 14 I» â JU W A > <r>. g <5 m r 'AJ?, h 0 o' & « "Any Business Hers?" eyes staring into the blackness, mar veling over the strange events of the day. And as he lay there, with the approach of sleep finally dimming the vividness of his thought so full of mystery, shadowy faces floated In the blackness around him, haunting him as he had always been haunted. It was broad daylight when he awakened. MacNelly was calling him to breakfast The rangers were eating in a circle -round a tarpaulin spread upon the groAd. "Fellow®" said MacNelly, "shake hands with Bu iqk Duane. He's on secret ranger service for me. Service that'll likely make, you all hump soon ! Mind you, keep mum about it" The rangers surprised Duane with a ; bewilder serv roaring greeting, the wurmth of which he soon divined was divided between pride of his acquisition to their ranks and eagerness to meet that violent service of which their captain hinted. They were Jolly, wild fellows, with just enough gravity In their welcome to show Duane their respect and ap preciation, while not forgetting Ms lone-wolf record. When he had seated himself in that circle, now one of them, a feeling subtle and uplifting pervaded him. After the meal Captain MacNelly drew Duane aside. "Here's the money. Make it go »8 far as you can. Write me care of the adjutant at Austin. I don't have to warn you to be careful where you mail letters. Bide a hundred, two hundred miles, if necessary, or go clear to El Paso." MacNeliy stopped with- an air of finality, and then Duane slowly rose. "I'll start at once," he said, extend ing his hand to the Captain. "I wish— I'd like to thank you!" "Hell, man! Don't thank me!" re plied MacNelly, crushing the proffered hand. "I've sent a lot of good men to their deaths, and maybe you're an other. But, as I've said, you've one chance In a thousand. And, by Heaven V I'd hate to be Cheseldine or any other man you were Ärailing. No, not good-by—adlos, Duane! May we meet again!" a the what busy you few that and deal State ranger should the serv-; Texas me to been is to the there get - of mind. Bio outlaw rustler. are seems he are a your over nest and who out. best are some my to the want of the among move great CHAPTER XV. West of the Pecos Biver Texas ex tended a vast wild region, barren in the north where the Llano Estacado spread Its shifting sands, fertile in the south along the Bio Grande. A rail road marked an undeviating course across five hundred miles of this country, and the only villages and towns lay on or near this line of steel. Unsettled as was thl® western Texas, and despite the acknowledged domi nance of the outlaw bands, the pioneers pushed steadily into it The Bio Grande flowed almost due south along the western boundary for a thousand miles, and then, weary of Its course, turned abruptly north, to make what was called the Big Bend. The railroad, running west cut across this bend, and all that country bound ed on the north by the railroad and on the south by the river was as wild as the Staked Plains. Across the face of this Big Bend, as If to isolate it stretched the Ord mountain range. In the valleys of the foothills and out across the plain* were ranches, and farther north, villages, and the towns of Alpine and Marfa. i. s Like other parts of the great Lone Star State, this section of Texas was a world in itself—a world where the riches of the rancher were ever en riching the outlaw. The village closest to the gateway of this outlaw-infested region was a little place called Ord, named after the dark peak that loomed some miles to the south. Toward the close of a day in Sep tember a stranger rode into Ord, and in a community where all men were remarkable for one reason ► or. another he excited interest. His horse, per haps, received the first and most en gaging attention—horses in that region being apparently more important than men. This particular horse at first glance seemed ugly. But he was a giant, black as coal, huge in every way. A bystander remarked that he had a grand head. His face was solid black, except In the middle of his fore head, where there was a round spot of white. The rider, like his horse, was a giant in stature, but rangier, not so heavily built. Otherwise the only striking thing about him was his somber face with its piercing eyes, and hair white over the temples. He packed two guns, both low down—but that was too common a thing to attract notice in the Big Bend. A close observer, however, would have noted a singular fact—this ritfbr's right hand was more bronzed, more weather-beaten than his left He never wore a glove on that right hand ! He had dismounted before a ram shackle structure that bore upon its wide, high-boarded front the sign, "Hotel." The hotel had a wide plat form in front, and this did duty as porch and sidewalk. Upon it, and leaning against a hltching-rail, were men of varying ages, most of them slovenly in old jeans and slouched sombrero® Some were booted, belted, and spurred. No man there wore a coat, but ail wore vests. The guns in that group would have outnumbered the men. It was a crowd seemingly too lazy to be curious. These men were Idlers ; what else, perhaps, was easy to con jecture. Certainly to this arriving stranger, who flashed a keen eye over them, they wore an atmosphere never associated with work. Presently a tall man, with a flroop ing, sandy mustache, leisurely detach ed himself from the crowd. "Howdy, stranger," he said. The stranger had bent over to loosen the cinches ; he straightened up and nodded. Then: 'Tm thirsty!" That broujht a broad smile to faces. It was characteristic greeting. One and all trooped after the stranger into the hotel. It was a dark, ill-smelling barn of a place, with a bar as high as a short man's head. A bartender with a scarred face was serving drink® "Line up, gents," said the stranger. They piled over one another to get to the bar, with coarse Jests and oaths and laughter. None of them noted that the stranger did not appear, so thirsty as he claimed to be. In fact, though he went through the motions, he did not drink at all. "My name's Jim Fletcher," said the tall man with the drooping, sandy mustache. He spoke laconically, never theless there was a tone that showed he expected to be known, are no tell the a on know that has state. so." his drew your give the sug and __ . r, of an' til! his in now ril line the of he find, fitted ly, the habit, of cathe knew not and out* grove night double the of clined ! with ap Ms of »8 the to of re by Something went with that name. The stranger did not appear to be im pressed. "My name might be Blazes, but it ain't," he replied. "What do you call this burg?" "Stranger, this heab ' me-tropoles bears the handle Ord. Is thet new to you?" He leaned back against the bar, and now his -little yellow eyes, dear as crystal, flawless as a hawk's, fixed on the stranger. Other men crowded close, forming a cirrie, curious, ready to be friendly or otherwise, according to how the tall interrogator marked the newcomer. "Sure, Ord's a little strange to me. Off the railroad some, ain't it? Funny trails hereabouts." "How fur was you goln'7" "I reckon I was goin' as far as I could," replied the stranger, with a hard laugh. His reply had subtle reaction on that listening circle. Some of the men ex changed glances. Fletcher stroked his drooping mustache, seemed thoughtful, but lost something of that piercing scrutiny. Wal, Ord's the jumpin'-off place," he said, presently. "Sure you've heerd of the Big Bend country?" "I sure have, an' was makln' tracks fer It," replied the stranger. Fletcher turned toward a man in the outer edge of the group. "Knell, come in heah." (i This individual elbowed his way in and was seen to be scarcely more than a bo/, almost pale beside those bronz ed men, with a long, expressionless face, thin and sharp. "Knell, this heah's—" wheeled to the stranger. "What'd you call yourself?" "I'd hate to mention what I've been callin' myself lately. This sally fetched another laugh. The stranger appeared cool, careless, indifferent Knell stepped up, and it was easy to see, from the way Fletcher relin quished his part in the situation, that a. man greater than he had appeared upon the scene. Any business here?" he queried, curtly. When he spoke his expression less face was In strange contrast with the ring, the quality, the cruelty of his voice. This voice betrayed an ab sence^ of humor,' of friendliness, of heart in Fletcher ■ "Nope," replied the stranger. "Know anybody hereabouts?" "Nary one." "Jest Tidin' throngh?" "Yep." "Slopin' fer back country, eh?" There came a pause. The stranger appeared to grow a little resentful and drew himself up disdainfully. "Wal, considerin' you-ail seem so damn friendly an' oncurlous down here In this Big Bend country, I don't mind sçyin' yes—I am in on the dodge," he replied, with deliberate sarcasm. "From west of Ord—out El Paso way, mebbet" __ "Sure." "A-huhl Thet so?" Kneil's words cut the air, stilled the room. "You're from way down the river. Thet's what they s»y down there—'on the dodge.' . . Stranger, you're a liar!" r, -vWUh swift clink of spur and thnmp of boot the crowd split, leav ing Knell and the stranger in the center. The stranger suddenly be came bronze. The situation seemed familiar to him. His eyes held a singular piercing light that danced like a compass-needle. "Sure I lVafc^he said, "so I ain't takin' offense -at the way you called me. I'm lookin' to make friends, not enemies. You don't strike me as one of them four-flushes, achin' to kill somebody. But if you are—go ahead an' open the ball. . . . You see, I never throw a gun on them fellers til! they go fer theirs." a set to In one the ters, the was soon that had ner, ward The as made other to had one even "And want have Long since Duane had fought oat / Knell coolly eyed his antagonist, his strange face not changing in the least. Yet somehow it yvas evident in his look that here was metal which rang differently from what he had expected. Invited to start a fight or withdraw, as he chose, Knell proved himself big in the manner character istic of only the genuine gunman. "Stranger, I pass," he said, and, turning to the bar, he ordered liquor. The tension relaxed, the silence broke, the men filled up the gap; the Incident seemed closed. Jim Fletcher attached himself to the stranger, and now both respect and friendliness tempered his asperity. "Wal, fer want of a better handle ril call you Dodge," he said. Dodge's as good as any. . . Gents, line up again—an' if you can't be friendly, be careful!" Such was Buck Duane's debut in the little outlaw hamlet of Ord. a Duane had been three months ont of the Nueces country. At El Paso he bought the finest horse he could find, and, armed and otherwise out fitted to suit him, he had taken to unknown trails. He passed on leisure ly, because he wanted to learn the way of the country, the work, habit, gossip, pleasures, and fears of the people with whom he cathe In contact. When he heard Fletcher's name and faced Knell he knew he had reached the place he sought. Duane made himself agreeable, yet not too much so, to Fletcher and several other men disposed to talk and drink, and eat; and then, after having a care for his horse, he rode out* of town a couple of miles to a grove he had marked, and there, well hidden he prepared to spend the night , This proceeding served a double purpose—he was safer, and the habit would look Well in the eyes of outlaws, who would be more In clined to see In him the lone-wolf fugitive. The im it call to and as on me. I a that ex that in a battle with himself, won a hard earned victory. He had assumed a task impossible for any man save one like him, he had felt the meaning of it grow strangely and wonderfully, and through that flourished up con sciousness of how passionately he now dung to this thing which would blot out his former infamy. He never forgot that he was free. Strangely, too, along with this feeling of new manhood there gathered the force of imperious desire to run these chief outlaws to their dooms. He never called them outlaws— trat rustlers, thieves, robbers, murderers, criminals. He sensed the growth of a relentless driving* passion, and sometimes he feared that, more than the newly acquired zeal and pride in this ranger service, it was the old, terrible In herited killing instinct lifting its hydra-head in new guise. This night a wonderful afterglow lingered long in the west, and against the golden-red of clear sky the bold, bUck bead of Mount Ord reared itself aljft, beautiful but aloof, sinister yet celling. Small wonder that Duane * ICT Or L i* in of of o o o ® o <1 & \ \ \ \ w Here Colonel Webb Exploded. gazed in fascination upon the peak! Somewhere deep in its corrugated sides or lost in a rugged canyon was hidden the secret stronghold of the master outlaw Cheseldine. All down along the ride from El Paso Duane had heard of Cheseldine, of his band, his fearful deeds, his cunning, his widely separate raids of his,flitting here and there like a Jack-o'-lantern; but never a word of his den, never a word of his appearance. Next morning Duane did not return to Ord. He struck off to the north, riding down a rough, Slow-descending road that appeared to have been used occasionally for cattle-driving. As he had ridden In from the west, this northern direction led him Into totally unfamiliar country. While be passed on, however, he exercised such keen observation that in the future he would know whatever might be of service to him If he chanced that way again. After a couple of hours' riding he entered a town which be soen dis covered to be Bradford. It was the largest town he had visited since Marfa, and he calculated must have a thousand or fifteen hundred In habitants, not Including Mexicans. He decided this would be a good place for him to hold up for a while, being the nearest tow-n to Ord, only forty miles away. So he hitched his horse in front of a store and leisurely set about studying Bradford. It was after dark, however, that Duane verified his suspicions con cerning Bradford. The town was awake after dark, and there was one long row of saloon® dance-halls, gambling-resorts In full blast. Duane visited them all, and was surprised to see wildness and license equal to that of the old river camp of Bland's In its palmiest day® Here It was forced upon him that the farther west one traveled along the river the sparser the respectable settlement® the more numerous the hard charac ters, and in consequence the greater the element of lawlessness. Duane returned to his lodging-house with the conviction that MacNelly's task of cleaning up the Big Bend country was a stupendous one. Yet, he re flected, a company of intrepid and quick-shoo ting rangers conld have soon cleaned up this Bradford. The innkeeper bad one other guest that night, a long-coated and wide sombreroed Texan pfho reminded Duane of his grandfather. This man had penetrating eyes, a courtly man ner, and an unmistakable leaning to ward companionship and mintjulep® The gentleman introduced himself as Golonel Webb, of Marfa, and took it as a matter of course that Duane made no comment about himself. Duane, as always,» was a good listener. Colonel Webb told, among other things, that he had come out to the Big Bend to look over the affairs of a deceased brother who had been a rancher and a sheriff of one of the towns, Falrdale by name. "Found no affairs, no ranch, not even >his grave," said Colonel Webb. "And I tell you, sir, if hell's any tougher than this Falrdale I don't want to expiate my sins there," "Falrdale. ... I imagine sheriffs have a hard row to hoe out here," replied Duane, trying not to curiou® The Colonel swore lustily, / F the and ing and way by ture tion. I a a val the after in as and gold but tage her was «< ern soaked see metal that heat tress, life music appear hard a one of con now blot never new of chief never he newly In its bold, itself yet "What this frontier needs, sir, is about six companies of Texas Bang era. ▲ fine body of men, air, end the salvation of Texas." "Governor Stone doesn't entertain that opinion," said Duane. Here Colonel Webb exploded. Mani festly the governor was not his choice for a chief executive of the great state. He talked polities for a while, and of the vast territory west of the Pecos that seemed never to get a benefit from Austin. Dnane exerted himself to be agreeable and interests ing; and be saw presently that here was an opportunity to make a valu able acquainted "I'm a stran if sot t friend. in these parts," said Duane, finally. "What is this outlaw situation you speak of?" "It's damnable, sir, and unbeliev able. Just wholesale herd-stealing, in which some big cattlemen, supposed to be honest, are eqnaily guilty with the outlaws. On this bord«:, you know, the rustler has always been able to steal cattle in any numbers. But to get rid of big bunches—that's the hard Job. tween here and Valentine evidently, have not this trouble. Nobody knows where the stolen stock goes. ButTm not alone in my opinion that most of it goes to several big stockmen. They ship to San Antonio, Austin, New Orleans, also to El Paso." "Wholesale business, eh?" remarked Dnane. Not rustling any more, but The gang operating bp it Who are these— er —big stock-buyers?" Colonel Webb seemed a little startled at the abrupt query, bent his penetrating gaze upon Duane and thoughtfully stroked his pointed beard. He "Names, of course, Til not mention. Opinions are one thing, direct accusa tion another. This is not a healthy country for the informer." When it came to the outlaws them selves Colonel Webb was disposed to talk freely, the river was Cheseldine, but It seem ed to be a name detached from an individual, known to Colonel Webb had ever seen Cheseldine. Strange to say of an outlaw leader, as there was no one who could Identify him, so there was no one who could prove he had actu ally killed a man. (TO BE CONTINUED.) The great name along No person of veracity AN ENGLISH TRIBUTE TO POE De Maupassant and Kipling Owe Some thing to American Writer, Say« Englishman. the a The detective story and the murder mystery are not forms of any great literary vftlue, but I must confess to predilection for stories about crime, and there is some authority for the view that "murder is the most gentle manly crime that anybody can com mit" a At ly all of Those who share my taste for homi cide In fiction—and I find it fairly wide* spread—have reason to be grateful to Poe. His Lupin is a prince of detee* tives and the father of an illustrious progeny ; while such contemners of the law of the land as Baffles and Arsene Lupin are Poe's illegitimate children. Indeed, Poe's Influence 1 b F rance has been greater than among the English-speaking people. Every student of fVench literature knows that but tor Poe, Baudelaire, Mallarmé and Villiers de l'lsle-Adam would have been something very different from what they were, and M. Bemy de Gourmont says In one of his penetrat ing essays that "Eugene Sue, Gaboriatt and Dostoevsky, in 'Crime and Pun ishment,' have all taken lessons from Poe. It would be interesting to study the way In "which his technique of the short story was adopted ami modified by Guy de Maupassant, anahow, after having filtered through. Maupassant'« mind, it has returned to English litera ture through the medium of Mr, KipUng—"Penguin," in the London Na* tion. < try is the ly, very lar, able to are Great Problem Solved. A street carnival now touring the I South is seemingly the repository of a most perplexing military secret On a recent visit by this particular carni val to a Tennessee city a part of the attending throng heard a barker extol the clairvoyant powers of Madam—. This goddess of wisdom, while thor oughly blindfolded, gave instant an swers to any question® The seeker after truth merely wrote on a slip of paper the question nearest his heart, which, being read out by the barker in the hearing of all the crowd, was as publicly answered. V' Whether Minnie still loved Tom and where the old hermit buried the gold were questions legitimate enough, but that somebody had taken advan tage of a lady's trustful disposition her answer revealed when Marinm — was confronted with the quer/: "Where is Villa ?" Her reply was: Her real name Is not Villa. It is Margaret, and she is now in Atlanta, Ga."—Saturday Evening Post badly well in in more their make sion «< „ Testing Steel Car® The testing department of one east ern railroad ignited 200 pounds of oil soaked rags, shavings and wood, to see the effect of the flames upon the metal framework of a car. While the furnishings Of the car were slightly damaged, the testing department found that the frame of the car resisted the heat crete jthell pliable solid with in at -nay In Murder Triai® "It's bound to come." "What is?" "The time when the beautiful ac tress, instead of telling the jury her life story, will have it shown to slow music as a film. " A, Ifi.i'SSÂ . DRAWN FROM LIFE WASHINGTON IRVING USECÇ FRIEND A8 MODEL. Ï Jesse Merwin, Companion of Famou# Writer, Was the Original "Ichabod Crane" in the "Legend of Sleepy Hollow." . Few people who have read WaslH ington Irving'® "Sketch Book" arej aware of the fact that Ichabod Crane really existed, writes George N. Mae-j Donald in the Atlanta Journal. Few-* er still know that the granddaughter! of that classical figure in American lit erature is a resident of Waycross, G a. Washington Irving, sorrowing over! the death of Matilda Hoffman, his first 1 and only love, sought and found a coar, genial retreat at Lindenwald, the home of Judge William S. Van Ness, twa miles south of Kinderhook, N. Y, In' the mansion which afterward became the home of President Martin Van Buren. Irving wrote "The Legend of Sleepy Hollow" and most of hie Knickerbocker's History of New York" while engaged in filling the po sition of private tutor to the nieces of Judge Van Ness. Near Lindenwaid stood a small log schoolhouse, where Jesse Merwin, the village schoolmaster, trained the bud ding intellects of the youth of Kla derhook. According to the prevailing custom, he sojourned among the farm ers of the neighborhood, staying at each house successively a week at a: time. Eventually he arrived at the home of Judge Van Ness, and there be came acquainted with the author of the "Sketch Book," a close intimacy springing up between them which last ed through life. They spent many hours together fishing in Kinderhook creek or in the nearby ponds. At night they read and studied together,, sometimes passing a merry hour or so at the genial fireside of Katrina Van Tassel or Brom Bones, who, like Ich abod Crane, were people in actual life.. Among the letters of Washington Irving, found after his death, is one; written to him by Jesse Merwin, on, the back of which, in Irving's own. handwriting, is penned: "From Jesse Merwin, the original! Ichabod Crane." Harold Van Santoord, a trustworthy, literary critic, has in his possession an: autograph letter written by Irving to* his friend Merwin, recalling the days! spent together at Lindenwald. A part; reads as follows: "Do you remember our fishing expe-l ditlon, in company with Congressman. Van Allen, to the little lake a few. miles from Kinderhook, and John Moore, the vagabond admiral of the lake? "By the way, that same John Moore and the anecdote you told me of him gave me the idee of the vagabond character, Dirck Schuyler, in my 'Knickerbocker History of New York,*' which I then was writing. "You tell me the old schoolhouse is torn down and a new one built in its place. I am sorry for it. I should, have liked to see the old schoolhouse is the the a be to to of once more, where, after my morning's literary task was over, I used to come and wait for you occasionally until' school Was dismissed. »♦ An Intellect Twister. Macklin was once lecturing on "Lit* era tu re and the Stage," and In discuss ing the education of memory, boasted that he could repeat any formula after hearing it Samuel Foote, the sardonic come dian, who was one of Macklin's audit-» ors, wrote out and sent to the plat form the rigmarole that has ever since been famous : "So she went into the garden to cut: a cabbage leaf to make an apple pie. At the same time a great she-bear, coming up the street, pops its head into the shop." " 'What ! No soap?' "So he died, and she very imprudent ly married the Pickaninnies, the Jo bililies aqd the Gayrulies, and thej Grand Panjandrum himself, with the little round button at the tip ; and they all fell to playing the game of catcb as-catch-ean till the gunpowder ran out of the heels of their boots." Macklin failed, and so does every body that tries orally to repeat the confusing arrangement of words.—De troit Free Press. Rope Tire® < An emergency tire, which is said t.x have proved successful in Australia la helping a ear to get over roadless coun try when one or other tires have failed, is made of coconut fiber woven in the form of rope, and is strapped on to the rim. . In appearance it is ungain ly, but is said to have considerable cushioning effect, and is, moreover, very cheap. It would be hardly popu lar, as yet, in this country, remarks a motoring paper, though it is conceiv able that In the future the dictates of , strict economy may compel some of us to adopt rope tires, just as now we are compelled to use the once-despised paraffin.—London Mall. Low Salaries in Greece. No doubt Greek officers, who are very badly paid as compared with our own standard, console themselves with the knowledge that they are probably as well off In the army as they would be in any other profession. For salaries in Greece are ridiculously low as gauged by our own. The highest judges, for example, do not get much more than £200 a year, while many of their less exalted brothers have to make ends meet on about half that sum—with the prospect of a full pen sion after 35 years' service!—London Chronicle. FFlfing Tree Cavitie® If trees have very large hollows within, so that the shell is thereby weakened, to fill this cavity with con crete is not always sufficient, for if the jthell be thin and weak it may be so pliable that it will not remaid close and solid to the concrete core. Disease and insects may enter or the tree break with wind during a heavy storm. Braces in the shape of bolts, with big washers at each end, and tightly screwed up, -nay be necessary, these L — * '