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Wheeling Sunday register. [volume] (Wheeling, W. Va.) 1882-1934, July 25, 1897, Image 9

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Copyright 1897 By Longmans, Or«3D, * Co.
Turning we beheld L»e Vitry at the |
open door, the suiail and narrow figure l
oi Pautin at his elbow, and close b<r j
hind the stern features of the grand
master, the anxiety on whose face |
cleared as he saw the king
He was about to speak, but Henry .
burst in rapidly: , _ . I
"1 know all, duke. It is ,timhe !
not talk. Arnidieu! But 1 sha»l long j
remember this frolic.” j
"it would seem that God has giv
us a great deliverance, sire. Ail is
ready. 1 came but to see that yo r
majesty was safe and unharmed and .
to leate Du Prasliu with a sufficient
guaru for your person whilst we took
our prisoneis.” .. . . ;
As Sully spoke the king threw h
roquelaure over his arm aud answered .
coldly: "Monsieur, you are very good. ;
When I want a guard 1 shall ask for ■
one. I have yet to learn that Henri de
Bourbon is to lurk in a corner whilst
bl&ws are going, and l shall lead the
asfeault myself.”
T-And the first shot from a window,
fHcd by some croquemort, might
ldhve France at the feet of Spain, I
cjt in bluntly, whilst De Vitry stamp
<£ his foot with vexation, and the •
Arehead of the grand master wrinkled ;
/ud furrowed, though he gave me an
Approving look from under his shaggy
i or a moment it was as if my words
would have stayed the king. He look
ed at me fixedly and stabbed at the
ta.v-fct with the point of his blade, re
a- to himself, “At the feet of
u-Spain! Never!!” he added, re
covering himself and looking highly
around "Never—messieurs, we shall
ah vet see the lilies haunting over the
Escutial.” , ..
"Amen!” excalimed a voice from the
darkness of the stairway, and 1 heard
the grinding of a spurred heel on the
woodwork of the floor.
"Come,” said the king, "we have no
time to lose, and if we delay longer
that hothead De Belin will strike the
first blow.”
••With'your majesty's permission, i
will make an assault on the rear,” l
said. “On the rear!” exclaimed De
Vitry, whilst the grand master said:
“It is impossible.”
"But I only pointed to the window,
and Henry laughed.
"Ventrebleu! I understand—a great
idea! But, monsieur, take care how
you give away a secret, i shall have
no peace if monsiegneur the grand
master hears what has happened."
I was young enough still to feel my
face grow hot at the approval in the
king's voice, and then without an
other word they passed out, tramp,
tramp, down the stairs, all except Sul
ly, who stayed behind for a moment.
“Monsieur,” he asked, “what has
happened between you and the king?”
• His majesty has pardoned nte."
A child might see that. What
else? Be quick."
^ "And he has given me orders to meet
tafcgiiBAu enter the Toison d’Or.” __m
Make your attack when you
e petard.” Then he, too, turn
road shoulders on me and fol
e rest.
sound of the heavy footfalls
gave a last took at ray pistols,
ray sword belt by a hole, and,
i as l was. essayed the ladder
The practice 1 had with it
> ascent easy now, and per
as this that rendered me care
as 1 was climbing my foot
ind as I stopped for a moment
B leg over the parapet and the
railing over the drop behind, i
quic<\ “What is that?” through
n aUvIivhl The vniee iv,i< the
PKhal s, auu 1 almost felt 1 could see
s nervous start and rapid upward
glance as the scrabbling noise reached
his ears. Then came Lahn’s answer
In those cool tones that can penetrate
so far.
“A cat—ouly a cat, monseigneur.
AM was still again, and 1 crept softly
tc the opening. I did not dare look in, {
but crouched beneath the skylight
waiting for the signal. 1 already ob- j
served that the skylight was but a
light wooden framework, with a glaz- j
ing between, and would need no great j
eflort to break down—one strong push !
and the way was ciear before me. So i
1 stayed for a minute of breathless :
silence, then far below came a sharp, j
shrill whistle, hurried exclamations .
1 from the plotters, and now the explo
sion of the petard, that made the house
rock to and fro like a tree in the
I had no need to force open the sky
light. The effect of the explosion did
that most effectually for me, and blew
out the lamps in the rooms below as
well, reducing It on a sudden to abso
lute darkness. There was a yell of ter
ror from the room, and without a mo- j
ment’s hesitation I swung through the i
window and dropped down among the
1 conspirators. They were to a man
crowding to the door, and not one took
any note of my entrance, so great was
their confusion. I followed the rush j
. of hurrying figudes as thep passed
through the door into a passage in dim
light from a fire that burned in a small j
grate. One end of the passage was full ;
of smoke, against which the bright ,
flashes of drawn swords were ns darts
of lightning. Beyond the smoke, and J
below, we could hear the clash of steel, !
cries of pain and savage oaths, where 1
men were fighting and dying hard. As
I dashed down the passage, sword in
bapd, my only thought to reach the
prisoner’s room, one of the retreating j
figures turned and called out: “Quick. ,
monseigneur — follow me —the secret I
It was Lafln. In the confusion and i
#emi-gloom he had mistaken me for his [
chief. I made no answer; but as I i
rushed forward, struck him on the face
with the hilt of my sword, and he rolled
over like a log. .
Thrre T was. right in amongst the
scared plotters, cheek by jowl, with
M de Savoye’s envoy, and I could have
dropped him then and there, but that
my whole heart was in madame’s
room, and I knew that there were oth
ers who could, and would deal with
As I elbowed my way through the
press, vainly endeavoring to find the
. way to my dear’s prison we reached a
' landing from which a long stair led
straight un. and here I heard th* mar.
kk i.i l
Bhal’s voice, cracked with rage and
f%*r. . ,
"Lafln! De Gomeron! To me—here.
^“Ladies first, marshal—I must look
to my bride.
Then through the smoke I saw De
Gomeron’s tail figure mounting the
stair, and I rushed forward to follow
him. .,
It was at this juncture that a portion
of our own party forced their way to
the landing, and one of them, whose
sword was broken, flung himself upon
me dagger in hand, shouting Death
to traitors!” I had just time to seire
his wrist. He tripped Sideways over
something that lay very quiet at our
feet, and dragging me down we rolled
over and over with the clash of blades
over us. “It is I—fool—I, d Auriac
let go!” I shouted, as he tried to stab
me. ....
“Let go, you,” sputtered d Aubusscn s
voice, and we loosed each other. I had
no time for another word, and, grasp
ing my sword, which was hanging to
my wTist by the knot, I sprang up, and
the next moment was hot foot after
De Gomeron.
I managed somehow to force my way
through the crowd, but the stairway
was half full of men. and at the head of
it stood the free lance with a red sword
in his hand, and two or three huddled
objects that lay in shapeless masses
ai ouuu uuu.
Some one.with a reckless in difference .
to his own lite— if was> l afterward ,
found out. Pantin—held np a torch, and
as the flare of it shot up the stairway
I>e Gomeron threw back his head and
laughed at us.
-Twenty to one—come, gentlemen—
or must I come to you?” He took a
couple of steps down the stairs, and
the crowd that had made as if it would |
rush him. wavered and fell back, bear
ing me. hoarse with shouting for way,
with them to the landing.
For the moment, penned up and ut
terly unable to get forward. I was a
nere spectator of what followed.
The free lance took one more down
ward step, and then a slight figure,
with one arm in a sling, slid out from
the press and flew at him.
It was d’Ayen. and 1 felt a suoden
warming of the heart to the man w bo
was going to his death.
“You- you traitor.” he gasped, as
using his sword with his left hand his
sword ripped the free lance’s ruff.
“Stand back, old fool—stank back
or—there! Take it.” and with a sharp
scream d’Ayen fell backward, the crowd
splitting for a moment, so that he rolled
to the foot of the stairs and came up
at my feet. God rest his soul! He
died at the last like a gaUant man.
They were backing confusion now,
and above the din I could hear the
mocking of Pe Gomeron.
' “Come. gcntlemen, do not delay;
time presses.”
One rush through at that time might
have saved him, but he stood there
playing with death. With an effort 1
pushed d’Ayen, who was still breath
ing. against the side of the wall, to let
the poor wretch die in such comfort
as coaid be, and. seeing my chance at
last, made my way to the front. ^
' met, he did not for the moment recog
nize me. But at the second pass he
realized, and^ the torchlight showed
him pale to ».ue forehead.
“You!” he said, between his teeth.
“Yes. I, from under the Seine;” and
I had run him through the throat but
for our position where the advantage
was all his and my reach too short.
He had backed a step up as I spoke.
Whether it was my sudden appearance,
or what, I know not; but from this
moment his bravado left him, and he
now fought doggedly, and 'for dear
There was a hush behind me, and the
light became brighter as more torches
were brought, and I could now see the
Camarguer, white as a sheet, with two
| red spots on his cheeks.
“Do you like fighting a dead man,
monsieur?” I asked, as I parried a
thrust in tierce.
He half groaned, and the red spot on
his cheek grew bigger, but he made no j
answer, and step by step I forced him ,
upn ai u.
He had been touched more than
once, and there was a stain on his !
white satin doublet, that was broad- j
eniug each moment, whilst thrust and 1
parry grew weaker, and something, I
know not what, told me he was my j
Hessieurs. you who may read this,
those at least of you who have stood
sword in hand and face to face with a :
bitter foe, where the fight is to the last,
will know that there are moments
when It is as if God himself nerves the
arm and steels the wrist. And so it
their was with me. I swear It that I
forestalled each movement of the
twinkling blade before me, that each
artifice and trick that the skilful
swordsman who was fighting for his
life, was felt by something that guided
my sword, now high, now low, and
ever and again wet its point against
the broad breast of the Camarguer.
So. too, with him—he was lost, and
he knew it. But he was a brave man
if ever there was one. and he pulled
himself together as we reached the
upper landing for one last turn with
the death that dogged him. So fierce
was the attack he now made, that had
he done so but a moment before when
the advantage of position was his, I
know not what had happened. But
now—it was different. He was my
man. I was carried away by the fire
within me. or else in pity I might have
spared him—but there is no need to
speak of this more. He thrust too
high. I parried and returned, so that
the cross hilt of my rapier struck dully
over his heart, and he died where he
But one word escaped him, some
long-lost memory, some secret of that
iron heart came up at the last.
"Denise!" he gasped, and was gone.
I stood over him for a moment, a
drumming in my ears, and then I heard
the ringing of cheers and the rush c
feet. Then a half dozen strong shou
ders were at the door beferre me,
as it fell back with a crash I spr
in and took a tall, slim, white-ro
figure in my arms and kissed her
face again and again.
One by one those in the room
ped out and left us together,
ance a brave heart gave way
sobbed like a child on my sh
I said nothing but held
ind so we might have been
lour, when I heard De Belin
eba broken (tear. "d’Aiiri
i i
In! The king waits, and bring your
fisoner.” There was a laugh in his
■rice and a light oh his ,face as he
p>oke, and my dear lifted her swlm
nifig eyes to my face and I kissed her
igln* saying:
"Come, my prisoner.
AS we piped out I kept between Claude
md the grim figure still lying stark on the
andlng, and held her to me. so that she
:ould not se*. So with LIsois before us we
passed down the passage, filled now with
men-at-arms, and halted before a room,
:he door of which was closed.
"We must wait here a moment,” said de
Belin, and merely to say something I ask
»dt “i suppose we have the whole nest?
"All who are not killed—stay! One es
caped—that rascal Ravaillac. I could have
run him through, but did not care to soil
my sword with such canaille, so his skin
is safe.” !
"And Babette?”
He gave me an expressive look and mut
tered something about Montfamcon. Then,
the door was flung open and a stream of
light poured forth. We entered and saw
the king surrounded by his friends, and a
little on one side was the dejected group
of conspirators.
lhe marshal, now abject, mean and
cringing, was kneeling before Henry, who
raised him as we entered, saying:
"Biron, and you Tremouille. and you all
who called yourselves my friends; and lay
in wait to destroy me, and destroy your
country, I cannot forget that we were old
comrades, and for oid friendships sake, I
have already told you that 1 forgive, and
God give you all as clean a conscience as
I have over the blood that has been spilt
He run his eye over the ground, and
they stood before him abashed and asham
ed, and yet overcome with joy at escape
when death turned so certain, and he,
their leader, the man who hoped to see his I
head on a crown-piece, broke into unman
ly sobbing and was led away vowing re- |
pentance—vows that he broke again to
ti.:d then that the mercy of the king was
already strained to breaking point.
As Latin, with a white and bleeding face
led his master away, Henry’s eye fell on
me, and he beckoned me to advance. I did
so, leuding Claude by the hand.
"Chevalier,” he said, “it is saying little
when I say that It Is through you that
these misguided gentlemen have realized
their wrongdoing. There is one recom
jtense that you would not let me make
you for the wrongs you have suffered.
There is. however, a reward for your ser
vices. which p rhaps you will accept from
me. I see before me a royal ward who has
defied her guardian—Ventre St. Gris! My
beard is getting over gray to look aftq£
such dainties. I surrender my ward to
your cart . ' and as he said this he took
[ Claude’s hand and placed it In mine. “I
see, madame," he added, “that this time
you have no objection to the king’s choice.
Tht re—quite right—kiss her man.’
It is all oven at last, that golden summer
| that was so long, and yet seems but a day.
i It is ten years ago that those shining
I eyes that never met mine, but with the
; lovelight in them, were closed forever; and
i the gift that God gave me, that did he take
I am old and gray and worn. My son,
I the Vicompte de Bidaehe, is in Paris with
| the cardinal, whilst I wait at Auriac for
j the message that will call me to her.
When she went. Bidaehe, where we lived,
; became unbearable to me. and I came back
j here to wait till I, too. am called. To wait
i and watch the uneasy sea to hear the
i scream of the gulls and feel the keen salt
i lM\e come to the la«* < f tl e fair white
sheets of paper the cure brought for me
from Havre this autumn, anu it grows
strangely dark even for my eyes. I will
write no more, but sit out on the terrace
and wait for tha sunsut P*rho.^ -Kr
viuaA .
(The end)
A business errand took me to one of
the \Y est Side streets of New York
City, in the Tenderloin district. It
was just after sunset and I was walk
ing westward. Two or three rods
i ahead of me Was a sprucely dressed
.colored man. I noticed that he slow
ed up alittle in his walk and was
evidently searching for something in
his various pockets. I heard his grunt
; of satisfaction as he found the object
of his search. Then his arm was ex
tended and slightly raised, and I saw
that he held a silver quarter between
his thumb and forefinger. That gave
me a clew and I glanced at the sky
ahead of me. There hung the “silver
sickle” of the new* moon.
As I overtook the man I caught his
eye hy a turn of my head. I smiled
and he grinned.
“Hello, old Virginia,” said I.
“You’re a shoutin’, boss,” was tis
That was a good straight New York
answer, but we understood each other
fully. Had either of us been asked
for an explanation, the same reply
would have been given, by quoting an
adage well known to the old darkies of
the State of Virginia. “Show your
money to the new moon and it will in
crease. All the same, I have no
doubt that this chap lost his quarter in
a game of craps within an hour of our
meeting, in spite of the glimpse which
the new moon had of it—New York
One of the latest noveltiPs in the
field metal working is noticed in the
“Metal Worker.” and produced by a
firm in St. Louis—name not given—is
that of steel sheets coated with alumi
num. tqese, it is claimed, being super- |
ior to ani more durable than galvanized 1
iron, tinV plate or planished iron for '
many pumpses for which these materi- j
als are no% generally used. The spe- '
cial advanwes of such aluminum-coat-■
ed sheets al stated to be that they can
be worked ®nd seamed without peel
ing; the cMting. adhering absolutely 1
to the sheetBan be easily soldered.wiil 1
resist the Sen of sulphurous gases, j
and can bej|®ated to a red heat with
out destroying the coating. Moreover,
such she .t* can, when desired, be poi-1
ished to a®stre equal to burnished sil- j
ver or ^ckel. Absolutely smooth and
evenbJ^pcred surface is presented.free I
from J^^erfeetions of any kind. Alum- !
inu J^K>ated sheets plated with copper ,
ar< Mtso produced, and these also take
a^fh polish.
^Wrrden McLaurin. of the Mississip
pi penitentiary, told the New Orleans
picayune that the experiment of the |
State of Mississippi in using her con- |
vicLs on State farms is proving a sue- :
cess now and is beyond doubt the j
most humane solution of the great |
problem of the age. He says that the 1
Sate runs eleven farms, and though j
most of these were in the districts |
submrged by the recent overflows, and j
considerable damage was done, the J
farms will pay expenses this year.
Crops are all looking well now and
the people are recovering from the
damage sustaind by the overflow.
So Mrs. Flightly Said of the New
Mrs. Flightly could hardly contain
herself while her husband discarded
his hat, coat and shoes, and ensconced
himself before the fire in all the com
fort of a smoking jacket, sad in its
frazzles but bright in its hue, a pair of
carpet slippers made from the bag car
ried to the metropolis fifty years before
by his father, and the evening paper.
“O, John!” she burst out ecstatically,
“it’s just lovely!”
“What’s lovely?” rather unenthu
siastically growled Mr. Flightly.
“Why, the book.”
“What book, Mrs. Flightly? What
book? You must remember that in
this enlightened age we cannot refer
to a ‘book’ and expect our listeners to
seize with ready comprehension upon
the very' one we mean. This is an age
of books, madam, and only a few peo
ple are mind readers, and—”
“For heaven’s sake, John,” inter- j
rupted Mrs. Flightly, “don’t get start- i
ed on a tirade, but let me tell you
about—about—O, I can’t think of the
name—you know I was always poor
on names, and besides you ought to
know it yourself, for I’m sure it must
be one of the popular books of the day.
My, but it’s just grand; sad enough to
make you cry, you know, but not
enough to get your nose red, and so
original. There’s a girl named—well,
it was foreign, I know, and I’m sure I
couldn’t pronounce it if I remembered
it, and she’s just head over heels in
love with young what’s-his-name—”
“Ugh!” grunted Flightly.
“He’s such a dear, with flashing
black eyes, ahd such a romantic his
tory—really so many things happened
to him I don’t for the life of me see
how he remembered them to tell, and
a brazen creature—now, it doesn’t
matter about her name, for it was as
sumed and she had a husband in—I
forget whether it was in exile or Chi
cago, and then crafty—craft—why it
was right on the tip of my tongue
well, crafty Lord Somebody crosses
their path, and old Mr. Thingama
doo—’ ’
“Stop, madam, stop!” roared Flight
ly'. “May I ask the remarkable name
of that last personage?”
“It’s really very impolite of you to
interrupt me when I’m good enough
to tell you a story, and. besides, the
names don’t cut a bit of figure if you’ll
only follow me. Now, to resume, after
a lot of dilly-dallying, they meet in a
uarK gicru—
j “Who meets?” queried Flightly, with
a desperate intonation.
“Why, the conspirators, of course.
You see, they meet in a dark, loath
some glen and fix up a horrible plot,
and just, as he walks out on the little
bridge spanning the river there’s an
awful shriek, just like ten thousand
damned souls—that’s what the book
says—and everybody’s killed and not
a soul left to tell the tale.”
“How did it get out, then. Mrs.
■ Flightly? How did it get out?” asked
Mr. Flightly with a demoniacal gleam
in his eyes.
“Such a poor attempt at humor.
John.” quavered his better half, “and
so heartless of you after such a pitiful
tale, but then”—brightening up—“they
married and lived happily ever after
“Who married?” howled Flighty
springing from his chair ?ud execut
ing a frenzied jig step, “who married?
Thingamadoo or Thinamadoodlc, some
body or somebody else, what’s-his
name or who-the-devil. who, and ii
they were all killed how did they
marry?” , ,
“John,” coldly asserted Mrs. Flighty
la^Vinof ’iIxd.fg'1 Y"(jrf
Boss Complimented Him in One Breath
for His Cleverness—In the Next He
Cursed Him for Stupidity and Dis
charged Him.
The proprietor of the grocery had
barely got inside of the store the other
morning when the clerk called out ex
“Say, Mr. Jones, you know that crock
of old butter we were going to throw
out yesterday?”
“Yes, certainly,” replied Mr. Jones.
“Well, sir,” went on the clerk exult
i antly, “I sold the whole of it not ten
j minutes ago and got full price for it,
“Good boy, John!” chuckled the gro
cer as he patted the young man on the
back and shook hands with him.
“And say,” continued John w'ith a
pleasant smile, “you know that big can
of so-called coffee we got stuck on and
couldn’t sell—that awful stuff we
bought at auction last summer?”
“Well, I sold that too—every pound
of it—and got the money in the cash
“My dear boy,” said Mr. Jones as he
looked at his clerk affectionately, “you
are indeed a treasure—a jewel of the
first water.”
"But that’s not half of what I’ve done
this morning. I also got rid of that old
cheese that's been lying down in the
cellar all winter.”
“What! That cheese I told you to
throw out some time ago?”
“Yes sir; and it brought a good price,
“Well, well, well. Yrour salary shall
be raised immediately, and I’ve a good
notion to take you into partnership
with me! Got rid of that moldy old
cheese, eh?”
“I did!” proudly replied the clerk
with the wisest kind of a look on his
face. “Just let me tell you, also, that I
talked the same party into buying those
six dozen spoiled eggs, all of that stale
bread the baker refused to take back,
and ten pounds of that brown sugar
that no one would look at! Mrs. Smith,
who keeps a boarding house around the
corner, took the lot. and—”
“You ass of asses!” suddenly broke
in the grocer as his jaw- fell and he
f,rtppcu iv/i ui caiu.
“You fool of fools!”
“But—but. I—I—”
“You awful apology of a human be
“W—why, I—I don’t quite under
“You idiotic idiot!” shouted Mr.
Jones, as he caught his clerk by the
collar and gave him a shake that made
his teeth rattle. "Only yesterday I
paid that same Mrs. Smith a year’s
board in advance, and now I’ll have to
help eat all that old moldy stuff you
sold her or starve to death! Hustle out
of here before I tear you limb from
Wanted—Grocery clerk. Inquire of
P. Jones.—S. B Lewis in New York
. _ - ^ „
He Is Famous Big Feet, of the Idaho Reservation
___. «
They Gather in Fear at Custer’s Dearn Anniversary.
Near Boise, Idaho, July 19.—It is ex
actly twenty-one years since the news
of the massacre of Custer went travel
ing across the country. Custer prob
ably fell in June, 1S76, but it took four
weeks before the tidings of the awful
fate of the Seventh could be verified
and authoritative word sent to the
War Department.
Every year, since that event, begin
ning in June and lasting two months,
there has been trouble among the In
dians. Not always deep enough to be
called an “outbreak,” but such as to
cause uneasiness among the troops that
have charge of the Bannocks and the
Shoshones, who now cause the prin
1 ciple disagreements. The Indian trou
ble can be counted on every summer,
not only among those who slew Cus
i ter, but among all tribes,
i This year the following dispatch was
sent to the War Office:
“Three hundred Indians, mostly Ban
! nocks, are holding h ghost dance in the^
wigwams is a piece of land which the
squaws work. Many of these land
pieces are twenty acres in size ana
yield enough green food for the Ban
nock warrior to subsist upon as deli
cacies all the year around. There ia
a great deal said about the beauty of
the new wigwams, but I found them
precisely as they were in the pictures
in the school histories of twenty years
ago. . ..
"There,” said the courier, assisting
me out of the big traveling wagon and
pointing toward one of the groups o.
wigwams, “there sits Big Feet, one of
the richest bucks of the Bannocks. He
is the king, as near as they know one,
and leads in all things. Big Feet is re
sponsible for the Ghost Dance. In fact,
he is the dancing teacher of the Ban
It was not far from twilight, and Big
Feet sat in the foreground, bathing in
the rich light of the setting sun. while
his squaws behind him prepared for
"Twn J
s m
away he called 'ee ffiuch ot
the world?”
“I have been ^ replied.
“In six months the sun set
in every quarter^® globe.”
As I climbed b^® lnt0 the wagon my
guide said: fellow is respon
sible for it all.”^®
"For the pres* alarm?”
“Yes .and fot*uch trouble as thi
Bannocks make.®
Every year at®this time the buck!
“centre.” Probanwy because they know
that the anniv^sary .of the Custer
slaughter is neaif and tc protect them
selves in case of attack: for they still
fear a tardy revftige of the white man,
and, while tog/ther, they go through
with their Indian ceremonies, going
back to the days of the utmost savage
ry. Big Feet is the leader of the
[ dances. He' knows them all anA
teaches them to the younger onesJ
“Will thede be serious trouble? ,
“No on^anows. They are dancing
now, but uen. Coppinger, of Nebraska,
has oilers to send troops to stand
guard, and Fort Douglass Is sending j
up its men to watch."
“Can nothing be done now?” (
“Yes and no. The Indians are dane*
ing, not upon their <fvn reservation,
but on government land. If thchj^et
! tiers complain of them they can ba
! scattered by the troops on the ground
that they are disturbing the peace.”
“But what harm can their dancei
I do?”
“An Indian dance.” said my courier
officer, paling a little as he spoke*
means unspeakable horror. It meani
bloodshed always.
“When an Indian goes to war hi
gives the war whoop and does the wat
dance. That is his form of flghtins
j lte does it by exciting his sensea
When he worships he does it by I
1 hideous dancing and whooping. Wheg
1 ”
■ Camas prairie. Gov. Steuenberg has
wired to the Bannock agent and has
1 asked the Interior Department for as
This means that the awful annual
ceremony of the Ghost Dance has be
gun and that until it dies down in the
! cold weather there will be anxiety in
; Idaho, Wyoming, Utah, and all along
! the lines of the reservation.
The Bannocks are a peculiar tribe of
Indians. Before they became wards of
, the government they were imprisoned
| upon their Idaho and Nevada reserva
! tions, they were the richest Indians in
: the world. The Apaches were poor |
wild men compared to the fat, smooth,
: long-legged Bannccks, and the Sho
i shones were "workingmen” to them,
i The Bannocks were the hardest of
| all to subdue. They fought right to
the death and died fighting. And that
is the reason there is so many of them
The Bannocks number not over 600
bucks, and these live quietly upon the
I reservation, drawing their pensions
I and leading the lives of "gentlemen.
They do not till the soil, for no Ban
: nock was ever known to work. But
1 when the government money is ex
hausted they go out and shoot. They
throw away the carcasses of the game, (
but skin them and sell the hides for
i "good money” at Fort Hall, the head
quarters of the reservation.
As a general thing the Bannocks
are quiet. Their principal trouble is
with the whites of Idaho and Utah. ;
One of the clauses in their contract
with the government is that they
“shall be allowed to hunt game for
sustenance upon the unoccupied lands
and forests, provided there is no trou
ble with the whites.”
This virtually gives the Big Indian
the privilege of hunting all, the year
round, without regard to the game !
laws. And this the whites bitterly i
resent. They see the choicest elk and
moose being picked off by the I tdians,
while they dare not lift as much as a
shotgun until the right season arrives.
Thus there is always “Bannock trou
ble” in Idaho.
The trouble which now threatens
and which has caused the government
to send out troops is the annual
Ghost Dance. During the day it is the
Dance of the Sun. But at night it be
comes the Dance of the Ghosts.
Under the escort of one of the offi
cers stationed near the reservation I .
made a trip into the heart of the Ban- :
nock country. They live upon the big !
reservation in wigwams that are lo
cated together In little groups or
dumps. Surrounding each group of
“I am a traveler,” I said, “who wish
ed to talk with a great Indian chief.
Will the chief listen?”
Big Feet nodded .
“You are a Bannock?" I asked, hesi
tating for a minute, not knowing Jii3t
what to say.
A grunt of assent. From the back
ground the squaws watched slyly.
“Tell me,” I said, growing bolder,
“if fh« Bannock Indian is a good In
“Verr goot Indian,said Big Feet,
in clear, though thick English.
“Does he dance?” I asked cautious
With one hand Big Feet pointed to
wards the sun and with the other
touched his heart. I knew this to
mean in sign language that he danced
in his worship of the sun.
“And you—do you dance?”
For a minute Big F*et hesitated.
Then his pride triumphed.
' Me teach them to dar.ca,” he half
whispered in his thick tones. “Me
finest dancer of all the Indians."
As I turned to go. for Big Feet would
talk no more about the dance, the old
chief roused himself to his first show
of interest in me.
"You from East?" he asked.
"I am further East than you," I re
"You from Washington?" asked, he,
with a quick, searching glance.
"No,” said L
. , « * ^
In dep earnest he silts his chest an4
the blood pours out.”
I “And the danger?”
' “The danger is that in his excitement
! he may get the taste of blood In hi*
heart and rush out, unrestrained, to
one of the massacres that blot the fair
name of the country every few years.
“And are you actively preventing
I “Yes. The Bannock agent at Pass
Fort Is recalling his permissions to
leave the reservation, and the troopt
are standing out days In the sun pol*
ishlng their weapons to let the Indlanf
see the glint of the steel and hear thi
i click of the muskets.” j
•-o—- .
Imagine a clerk trying to sell an ar
ticle to his own “boss” and actually ac
complishing It and winning an Increase
of salary as a reward! That la what
happened recently In one of the braoch
stores of Llpton, the great English gro
cer and provision dealer. He has so
many clerks that som* of them do not
know him by sight. It was one of the**
latter that called Mr. Lipton’s attention
to a fine specimen of poultry as he waa
walking through one, of his stores. an«*
the clerk was so earnest and adroit »»
extolling his wares that finally the cus
tomer ordered It to be sent to hi* real*
When the address was given the ener
getic clerk, and he found that he ha<I
been pressing the goods upon bis own
employer, nearly had a fit, but soon
recovered upon being Informed that bitf
assiduity bau ranied him an Increase of
pay.—Merchants’ Review.
----o ”” "i
The general passenger agent of one
of the Chicago trunk lines received a
i letter from a Kansas man the othea
kday requesting a pass for himself to
•Chicago and return, says the Chicago
Times - Herald. There was nothing
Bxrat the letter to indicate that the
1 vViter bad any claim whatsoever
thycourtesy he requested, hut the
way man thought that perhaps
Kaisan had some connection with
rca<i in some way, possibly a
freight agent. So he wrote back:
“Plegse state explicitly on what
count you request transportation
By rArn mail came this reply
“I’ve got to go to Chicago
and I doa’t want to walk.

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