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THE STARKVILLE NEWS.
VOLUME 111. SUNSHINE. X <f.o not know what skies there were. Nor if the wind was high or low; 1 think I hoard the branches stir A little when we turned to go; 3 think I saw' the grasses sway As If they tried to kiss your feet— And yet It seemed like yesterday. That dav together, sweet! 1 1 think it must have been In May; I think the sunlight must have shone; I know a scent of springtime lay Across the fields; we were alone. We went together, you and I; How could I look beyond your eyes? If you were only standing by 1 did not miss the skies! I could not tell if evening glowed. Or noonday heat lay white' and still Beyond the shadows of the road; I only watched your face, until 3 knew it was the gladdest day, The sweetest day that summer knew— The time when we two stole away And I saw .only you! —Aubrey Newton, in Pearson's. . The Reclaiming of Nick Bentley By A. C. CALDWELL (Copyright, 10H, by Daily Story Pub.Co.) W IT ICK” BENTLEY stalked into the j\l “XLCR” saloon and slammed the door behind him. The “barkeep” looked over at him and grinned a grin that was intended/to pass for a bland smile. “Hello, Nick,” said he, “what’ll ye have this evenin’?” Nick neither turned his head nor looked up. His hat was jammed down over his eyes, and the visible part of his face wore a dark frown. He w'alked to the stove, ran his hands deep into the pockets of his riding overalls and stood looking at the floor. Three or four men were gathered at a card table near by. One of them glanced up at Nick. “Hello, Nick,” said he; “sit into the game?” “Can’t.” s*id Nick, sourly; “Pm broke.” “Broke!” echoed the crowd, and there was a laugh. “Come, Nick,” said one, banteringly; “that’s a pretty good joke. Won’t you tell the boys w’hat you did with that hundred or so you raked in here night before last ?” “Or the little stack you lifted a week ago down to Barber’s?” put in an other. “I see.” said Nick, in mock compas sion. “You fellers set there with your noses over them greasy, caliker-backs all day long, an’ don’t get to hear no news; so I reckon I’ll have to tell ye. First place, then, old Mortenson got a notion ’twas mo that took them horses he’s been lookin’ for: second place, he told the court so; third place, the lamed jury said I’d have to stay ’round pretty close till court met next summer, an’ that it was a case of put up or be shut up. an’ as I don’t care to board at the little hotel with the high winders, I had to drop my wad. • See?” “You don’t say!” said one. “What a shame-” said another; and a third said: “Well, sit in anyhow, Nick; I’ll stake you” “No,” said Nick; “don’t want to play. I’m tired. Was up all last night. I’ll rest a bit, an’ then go home.” and he threw down his coat for a pillow', and curled up on the floor behind the stove. He did not know how' long afterward It w r as that he opened his eyes and stared around. His friends had left the card table, and two others sat there. They were talking in low tones, and the voices were strange to him. ’One lamp still- burned on the other side of the room, but as he lay in the shadow of the stove, the strangers were prob ably unaware of his presence, “Yes,” said one; “he’s got the money on him, all right. You know, he’s treas urer for this Stockman’sjconcern. Well, they turned over some funds to him to put in the bank, an’ the bank bein’ closed, he just took the w'ad home with him. ’Twould be safe enough, he said; nobody knew he had it.' He’d bank it to morrer.” The other man bit the end off of a cigar. “Yes,” said he; “it’ll be safe enough. Ha, ha, ha. He'll never get past them willows on Waterhole creek it, though. Them fellers down there will see to that.” He reached over and struck a match on the stove, and as it flickered up he caught sight of Nick’s boots. “Hello,” said he, in a startled ▼oice, “whafs this?’” The other made a hurried investiga tion, but as Nick remained silent, breathing heavily, hf was apparently reassured. “A drunk,” was hi& com ment. “Guess he’s safe.” “We can’t take no chances, though,” was the answer. “He might wake up. Let’s go down to Barber’s,” and the itrangers got up and walked out. STARKVILLE, MISS., FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 23, 1904. For some time Nick lay there in si lence. “Luck’s turned my way," was his first thought. “They’ll slug old Mortenson, an’ then they’ll be no pros ecution. an’ my case’ll be dropped. If them’s the feller’s that’s been doin’ all the holdin* up ’round here lately they’ll be no tales told when they get through with him. All I’ve got to do is to keep still-’’ But keeping still did not prove so easy, and in a very short time he got up and walked out. There was a light in the store where Mortenson was in the habit of trading, and thither he went. There he learned that Mortenson had driven out about a quarter of an hour previous. “Plenty of time to head him off.’’ thought Nick; th£n he stood a moment irresolute. His grievance against Mortenson rose up in his mind, and with it, others. On.*e he had been an honest cowboy, now he was a gambler and roustabout, picking up a living as best he might, and what had brought him to it? This same Stockman’s union, of which Mor tenson was a leading member, and whose money even then he (Nick) was plan ning to save. They had made him what he was. and brought similar troubles to others that he knew', by their infamous system of “black-listing.” which made it impossible for a cowboy to get em ployment again when discharged by one of their number, for any offense, however slight. This all came back to him, and he smiled bitterly. Then he threw up his head, settled his big hat firmly upon it, and strode dowm the street. “Can’t help it,” he said to himself. “I’ll play a square game, if they haven’t. I w on’t see a man dowmed without a fair shake if he has played me low.” He went to the shed where he had left his horse, and led him out. He tightened his cinches, carefully examined his big Colts six-shooters, then mounted and galloped away, leaving the trail and taking a shorter course across the prai rie. About an hour later he struck the trail again on the crest of a little hill, and reined in his panting hots' Before him the ground sloped aw r ay to the gully or “draw” known as Waterhole creek, and just where the trail crossed the ra vine stood a thick bunch of willows. Be neath these, as Nick well knew', were hiding tw o or more desperate men—men who would hesitate at nothing, well armed and bent on robbery.’ And these men he had come to capture, single handed, to save an enemy! Nick dismounted and hung his reins on his saddle horn. “Hate to run you into danger, old boy,” he said, patting the horse’s neck, “but I've got to keep ’em lookin’ this way. Go home, old fel low. Steady, now'.” and the horse walked off down the trail. Nick loosened his big, jingling spurs, and threw them by the roadside. Then he slipped away down a small ravine which joined the creek just beyond the clump of wil lows. Half an hour later Mr. Mortenson reined in his team near fhe crossing and stared in surprise at the sight before him. Two masked men stood beside the road, with their hands held high above their heads and their eyes fixed on a pair of huge Revolvers, which gleamed brightly in the moonlight in the hands of a third man. “Nick Bentley!” ejaculated Morten son. as his eyes fell upon the latter. “At yer service, ’squire,” w r as the cool reply. “Jest step down and fasten the gents’ hands, will ye? They’re tired of boldin’ ’em up.” Mortenson did as he was bid. “Now you better load ’em onto your buckboard an’ trot ’em back to town, an’ thank yer lucky stars that I found ’em afore you did. Their guns is under the trees thar, some’ers, where they dropped ’em. You’ll find a couple of their pals bangin’ out at Barber’s, if ye go keerful an’ don’t skeer ’em.” Mortenson climbed to his seat and took up the lines. “Nick,” said he, in a husky voice, “come into Willetts’ about two o’clock to-morrow. We’ve got something to settle with you.” There was a plenty of gossip stirring in Plainfield the following morning. ’Squire Mortenson had come near be ing robbed and murdered, and Nick Bentley, a man he had accused of “rustling” had saved him. Four des perate men, w'hose liberty had been a menace to the stockmen, had been ar rested, and this, too, w*as due to Nick. Now, rumor said, the delegates to the local Stockman’s union were to meet the hero of the hour that afternoon at Willetts’ store, ready to reward him, generously, in true western style, in whatever way he might choose, and there was much speculation as to what he would accept. Some thought he would take land; others, cattle, and still others that he would prefer a cash re ward. At half-past one the delegates arrived, and elbowed their way through the gath ering crow din front of Willetts’. A lit tle later Nick Bentley dismounted from his powerful gray, and threw his reins on the ground, and th® crowd fell back respectfully as he stalked into the store. Then the president of the urion arose and made a little speech, in -which he briefly stated the facts, and announced that inasmuch as the union felt under deep obligations to Nick, they were de sirous of publicly rewarding him in whatever w r ay he saw’ fit, and requested him to name his choice. Nick’s reply was something of a sur prise. “Well, gents,” said he, “you might begin by givin’ me back what you’d no right to take away-my charac ter.” “The charge against you shall be with drawn, of course,” said Mortenson, quickly. “That ain’t all.” said Nick. “Il was you fellers that mad? me wiiat I am. a gambler, by your infernal black-listin', an’ not only me, but others. Thar’s Jack McGuire, an’ Bill Sykes, an’ Terry Sloane. A1 hands, all of ’em. an’ you know it, workin’ ’round at odd jobs at starvation wages, because you black listed ’em, an’ that fer next to nothin' an’ ye know that, too. Take their names off your black-list, or don’t talk about reward to me.” It was a scathing rebuke, and the dele gates winced under it. One of them, a Mr. Kirby, a dapper little man with a peppery temper, was the first to speak. “That,” said he, “is aside from the question. That is not a matter for an outsider to meddle with; the union has settled that for itself.” “Then.” said Nick, “jest drop the sub ject. A square deal all ’round or I ain’t in your game.” A murmur arose, a murmur of approv al. for the man who had uttered the urn selfifish sentiment, and of resentment tow ard the one w’ho could not appreciate it. It rose alike from cqwboys and stock men. Then the president spoke: “Mr. Kirby,” he said, “you do not voice the kentiments of the union as they today. Gentlemen,” raising his voice and addressing the crowd, “this man w’ho stands before you, endangered his life to protect one of our members, and to save the funds of an association that had ill-used him. When w’e have of fered him a reward he has asked for nothing but justice, and that only if it could be shared by others. I take off my hat in the presence of such a character, and acknowiedge that I, for one, have learned a much-needed and wholesome lesson. Mr. Bentley, it shall be as you wish.” FROM ALASKA TO~ BRAZIL. Golden Plover Traverses 16,000 Mile* in Order to Spend Ten Weeks on Arctic Coast. Some of our shore birds appear tc make traveling their chief occupation. The American golden plover arrives in the first w’eek of June in the bleak, wind-swept “barren grounds” of Alaska, above the arctic circle and far beyond the tree line, and while the lakes are still icebound hurriedly fashions a shabby little nest in the moss. says the Saturday Evening Post. By August it is in Labrador, where it stuffs itself with such quantities of “crowberries” that its flesh is actually stained by the dark purple juice. From Nova Scotia it strikes out to sea and takes a direct course for the West Indies. 1,600 miles away, finally reaching southern Brazil and the prairies of Argentina. Sixteen thousand miles does it traverse in order to spend ten weeks on the arctic coast! BERNHARDT LIVES IN FORT. Great French Actress Spends Strenu ous Vacation on Bare and Rocky Brittany Isle. Sarah Bernhardt has taken her vaca tion at her fort on Belle Isle, in Brit tany. She went to this island on a little excursion with a friend ten years ago, and before she left had made terms with the proprietor to buy the old cas tle there, now called Ponlains. Nothing could be barer and rockier than the surroundings of the fort then, but Bernhardt’s magic will has made fruit trees and flowers grow, though her friends and the inhabitants said she never would. She also has cultivated melons and vegetables, all under her supervision. Her days are spent in the open air and hunting, fishing and ath letic games. ■■■ ■■ 1 - ■- ■ * Even the wise man who thinks he knows it all doesn’t know why the stren uous old hen lays an egg instead of standing it on end.— -Chicago Da!U New* THE MODERN GULLIVER. , SOME POPULAR MAYORS. Men Invincible in Their Home Cities, But Unable to Rise to Higher Office. The late Samuel Jones, the Golden Rule mayor of Toledo, was regarded as politically invincible in his home :ity. and he carried Toledo whenever ae was a candidate in it; but w’hen nominated for governor in 1899 he was defeated, says the New York Sun. William C. Maybury, of Detroit, the most popular democratic mayor of that £iiv, was elected for several terms, but when a candidate for governor ol Michigan in 1900 he w r as defeated. David S. Rose, of Milwaukee, was repeatedly elected mayor, but when nominated for governor of Wisconsin [n 1902 on the democratic ticket he was defeated by the present governor. La Foliette. Carter H. Harrison, father of the present mayor of Chicago, was generally regarded among politicians as invincible at the polls, and it has even been said of him that ?f bis last term had not been shortened by assas sination he might still be mayor of Chicago. But on the only occasion when he ran for a state office —for gov ernor of Illinois against “Dick” Ogles by—he was defeated, and he did not aspire to any state office afterward. Mayor Seymour, of Newark, had very much the-same experience when a can didate for governor of New Jersey on the democratic state ticket. Two other mayors are in the same category, Thomas E. Krnney, of Utica, and Charles R. Parsons, of Rochester. Mr. Parsons was six times elected to that □ffice and served consecutively for 14 years. The list of popular mayors in vincible at home, but unable to go higher politically, is a long one. The mention of these names recalls to mind rhe notable fact that some constitu encies gel the habit of constantly elect ing a candidate for mayor who dis plays no great popularity when a can didate for state office. William S. Stokley, of Philadelphia, and Hugh O’Brien, of Boston, are two other instances of the same partiality of localities for popular mayors. Not Quick Enough. “Did you succeed in getting those darkies to pose for you, with the big slices of watermelon held • to their mouths?” asked the friend of the ama teur photographer. ) “Yes; but I had poor success with the picture. The photo simply shows a blur where the heads should be.” “If you wanted to get a picture of darkies eating watermelon you should have used a moving picture camera.” — Judge. Prosperous Times. The old gentleman had been reading the daily paper, when-someone asked: “What’s the news?” Deliberately fold ing up the sheet Uncle Jim replied, without the slightest change in his habitually sober countenance: “No news, whatever. There’s nothing in the newspapers now but advertisements on one side, and on the other side no tices referring to them.” —Lewiston Journal. Sewing Machines in Germany. More than a million sewing machines are made in Germany every year. NUMBER 29 LURE COUNTRY BACHELORS Novel and Insidious Device Employed to CaptureyMen for Mat rimony. % ■ The young women of Ecaussines, a little town in Flanders, live in great dread of dying oldnaids, says the Brus sels correspondent of the London Ex press. And owing to the retiring charactei of the swains of the countryside they employ once a year a novel and insidious device w'hich never falls to bring about a marriage proposal. „ Whit Monday is the day chosen, and elaborate preparations are made for the occasion. All bachelors are invited to a feast, then a dance follow’s, and finally comes the inevitable proposal. Glorious weather favored the gather* ing on that day. The young women wearing the most bewitching costumes gathered on Ecaussines place to wel come their timid guests. As they ar rived. one of the hostesses present stepped forward and gave them a welcome that was charming. Long tables spread with appetizing viands —all prepared by the fair hos tesses —were ready for the feasters. But the time for eating had not ye* come. The young men had to listen tc a lecture by Miss Dassys on “Women’s Emancipation.” Miss Dassys apparently not only con vinced the bachelors of the propriety ol the entire proceedings, but also convert ed them to other views of matrimony, for they unmistakably applauded hei words. The dinner followed, the hostesses taking their places first. Their guests ■were expected to make their selection by sitting beside them, a feat they per formed with surprising alacrity. The scene was most animated and a great crowd of amused and interested relatives and friends looked on. Aftei the dinner came the dance, when it 1= said that many captives were again made. ' Asa result of the-gathering 12 months ago 21 couples were married on the same day in the month of August, and they are all said to be very happy. This time the young maids of Ecaussines hope tc establish a record. Higher Education. Silas —So you sent your two daughters to different colleges? Cyrus —Yeas. I sent Mabel to a college that had a cooking school attached an’ I sent Molly to one that was famous for its gymnasium. When Mabel comes home on vacation she can go in the kitchen an* Molly can turn the grind stone an’ beat the carpets.—Chicago Daily N *ws. Undoubtedly. “I guess that’s all right,” remarked the man who occasionally thinks aloud. “What is right?” queried his friend* who was afflicted with the rubber habit. “That if some people were to think before they speak it would be diffifflcult for them to carry on an animated con versation,” explained the other—Cin cinnati Enquirer. . ... , Not the Same. Binks —Did the manager raise your salary last week? Jinks —No, but my wife lifted it as soon as 1 got home. —Cincinnati Tribune