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I I LTOX CO. THIIH NE, WAVSKOX, TIH USD VY, JULY '! Baker Esfef e 00,000,000 rfira w -f:f r I A J 3 LTHOUGH some may scoff at the authenticity of the rapid ly-growing claims of the Baker family upon the $800,000,000 heart of Philadelphia, there Is no doubt In the mind of Myron C. Baker, 900 Bel mont avenue, Chicago, as to hlg rieht to benefit should the claims prove valid. He contends he Is the true and legal great-grandson of the man who. It Is alleged, owned the $800,000,000 tract of real es tate in the Quaker city. However, Mr. Baker Is In no hnrry. "Now, if you will look on page 516 of this book," he said, taking down a copy of the "Bio- ; graphical and Genealogical History of Indiana," '"you. will discover my father's name. It shows that my father's grandfather was Jacob Baker and that he was born in Ludwigsburg, Baden. Germany. He came to America and settled In ' Pennsylvania. "It was this Jacob Baker who acquired all that property in Philadelphia. I have many papers and records and documents to prove It. There will be no trouble about connecting up my rela tionship. There are 17 true great-grandchildren. We will prove our heirship." , Mr. Baker said' that his family . several years ago collected a fund and had the entire history, of Jacob Baker traced, even to his parents' es tate In Germany. "A cousin of mine has all of those records," said Mr. Baker. "They will be produced." "If you get the money, what then?" "Well, I have a . long time to live, you know," he said. "I'll take my daughter, Emma, and hef husband, and we'll have a little trip. But there's ' no use worrying about that now. There Is no hurry." . . Some of the Baker heirs are' more Impatient about it than Chicago's Mr. Baker. This is but nat ural, inasmuch as Colonel Baker appears to have been the family head from whom sprang a mul titudinous progeny. His heirs seem to be scat i tered through every state in the Union and every province of Canada. One day, recently the bureau of legal aid, de partment of public welfare of Philadelphia, ac cording to the chief of that bureau, Romain Hass ric!:, received eight Inquiries relative to the Baker estate. In all correspondence It is represented as an estate worth more than $800,000,000, con sisting of 650 acres in the business center of Phil adelphia. Some add all the land occupied by the city of Chilllcothe, p. i The eight Inquiries cited as having been re vived ori a single recent day came, respectively, from Kansas City Mo.; Afton, la.; Dubuque, la.; Salt Lake City, Utah ; Okainogan, Wash. ; Los Angelest Cal.j Lebanon, . Pa., and Tacoma, Wash. The inquiries were --penned, some of them on embossed paper, others on mere scraps of paper. "The great majority of persons who write to the mayor of Philadelphia or to the director of the department of public welfare relative to Colonel Baker's holdings," said Mr. Hassrlck, 'have visions of easy wealth, "Some are more credulous than others. Re cently there came to me from Portland, Ore., an Inquiry accompanied by a newspaper clipping which told of the marvelous good luck of a citi zen, of that town. The article spoke of his hav ing founded an automobile school ' on a capital of $7.50 five years ago and added, 'Today he Is heir to millions.' This alleged fortunate descend ant of the now famous Colonel Baker did not seem to know exactly how large a slice he was to get out of this estate. But, with hope burn ing In his breast; he settled up his affairs in Port land and started for Philadelphia to claim the gold that he thought there awaited him. "From Afton, Ia came an Inquiry from a per- ton who wants to get in touch with the at torney, or attorneys,, handling the 'billion-dollar Baker estate.' This ,1s ) one of the highest ap- 1 praisements of the value of this estate that has reached the office of the bureau.' "A western newspaper printed a general state ment about this "?aker estate' which was trans mitted from the East and immediately there' sprang . up' a retinue of claimants, with names ranging from Shroades to Anderson, and all ap parently evincing an earnest interest in the ea tate of Colonel Baker. ' "Only the other day there came to the city a lawyer from Kansas City bent on getting the true facts relative to Colonel . Baker and his vast wealth. This attorney Insisted upon digging through the court records and ascertaining what are the real facts." If the Baker estate idea Is sound, Philadelphia's famed city hall, with its massive stone tower, town clock and bronze statue of ye esteemed William Penn. belongs to a thousand or more farmers of the Northwest and Canada. Such a trifle as Scottish Rite Cathedral, one of the most famous homes of Free Masonry in the United States, Is to provide spending money ' for folks out along the Pacific coast. Broad Street Station, home terminal of the Pennsylvania railroad, la to be split "ap among the agriculturists of the middle West The Quaker city's skyscraper belt, the modern steel and concrete canydns that mark the boun daries of Broad and Chestnut streets, are In re- ' Cif f I III I H ti 1 wnSSiEiffl? ''ItW'M 'rs s T-1 , 57 N'.l HI I lI IB" 1 -A 'J 'U' trU-tM m 1, i I "SIT7! The Clan Call. By Hapsburg Liebe Copyright by Donbleday, Page Co. "I'LL STICK." Synopsis. Young Carlyle Wilbur ton Dale, or "Bill Dale." as he elects to be known, son of a wealthy coal operator, John K. Dale, ar rives at the Halfway Switch. In eastern Tennessee, abandoning a !lfe of idle ease and Incidentally a bride, Patricia Clavering, at the al tar determined to make his own way in life. He meets "Babe" Lit tleford, typical mountaineer girl. "By" Heck, a character of the hills, takes hira to John More Jand's home. Moreland is chief of his "clan," which has an old feud with the Littlefords. He tells Dale of the killing of his brother, David Moreland, years ago. owner of rich coal deposits, by a man named Carlyle. Moreland's description of "Carlyle" causes Dale to believe the man was his father. Dale ar ranges to make his home with the Moreland family, for whom he en tertains a deep respect. Talking with "Babe" Littleford next day. Dale is ordered by "Black Adam" Ball, bully of the district, to leave "his girl" alone. Dale replies spir itedly, and they fight. Dale whips the bully, though badly used up. ality the property not of the few, but of the many. The very heart of the third city of the U. S. A. belongs to the "hoi pollol." There is no Bolshe vism about it no fifty-fifty division of property. , The only stipulation is that your name is Baker or that you can prove your connection with the family tree of a supposed "Colonel Jacob Baker," who roamed these parts ln Revolutionary war days. ' Just Imagine this! Some morning soon com muters stepping off trains at Broad street station or swarming up out of the Market street subways ln ye citye of Brotherly Love may find lock and chain on the whole of Philadelphia's busy center. There will be "Hands Off" and "No Trespass" signs everywhere. Pretty soon thi sheriff will? appear. Upon a stated day he will auction off all this property at a sheriff's sale. ' . The proceeds are to pay off the claims of the heirs of "Colonel Jacob Baker's" estate. , A for tune valued at something like an even billion of dollars, lftng withheld from Its rightful owners. Is at last to come into legitimate ownership. Ever hear , of the "Baker estate" before? A quarter of a century ago sojneone started the ball rolling. 'According to the story, Colonel Baker, an 'officer ln the army of George Washington, leased a tract of land in the heart of Philadelphia upon which now stand city hall, the big depart ment stores, the skyscrapers and what-not of the central city. The lease was to run for a period of , 99 years. It appears that the lease was either lost sight of or willfully destroyed and the prop erty passed on to others. At first the claims took ln nearly all the terri tory between the Delaware and the Schuylkill rivers and from Poplar to South street the very heart of the city. As the years rolled on, the claims were considerably modified. Lawyers pointed out how, for a "slight consideration," they could restore the ground to its "rightful owners" and bring half the banks and trust companies of Philadelphia to their knees. As the story developed, it seemed that the fam lly of "Colonel Baker" removed to somewhere up , ln Canada, after his death in Philadelphia intes v tate. Then the squatters lived on the land in accordance with the famous 99-year lease made during the Revolution. Forty years ago the first talk of a "claim" was aired. There was a lapse of some 15 years and then the bubble was. brought forth again to glisten in all Its rainbow colors. Now there Is an old-fashioned renaissance of the Baker bubble on a scale not heretofore at tained. All over the country there are expectant people just aching for the money with which to doll themselves out with limousines, trick clothes and flashing diamonds. And there's plenty of wherewithal, so far as the value of the district ln question Is concerned. The map given herewith gives a hint of the values. i i The city hall cost $26,000,000; the Adelphla hotel (1) Is valued at $2,300,000; the RItz Carlton (9) at $2,200,000, and the Bellevue Stratford close by, at $5,000,000. There are scores of buildings with more than a million each, such as the Real Estate Trust, $3,750,000; Wldener, $6300,000; Lincoln, $2,350,000; Liberty. $2,850,000; Union League, $3,100,000; Land Title, $7,300,000; Morris, $2,700,000, and Finance, $2,300,000. Independence hall () Is In the district; so Is' Franklin square and Franklin's grave (49), Oth er noteworthy structures ln the district are : 2. Vendlg. ' . 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 10. 1L 12. 13. 14. 15. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30. 31. S3. 34. 35. 37. 38. 39. 41. 42. 43. 46. 47. 48. 50. 51. 52. X SF" Vrxta-Prvod Aldipe. New Bingham. Colonnade. ' Green's. Walton. Rittenhouse. . St. James. Academy of Music. Walnut ' theater Adelphla and Lyric theaters. Keith's theater. Garrlck theater. Reading terminal. Broad Street station (Penna.) Baltimore and Ohio terminal. Historical society. John Harrison Laboratory of Chemistry. -Academy of Natural Sciences. University of Penna. museum. United States mint Baldwin Locomotive works. Academy of Fine Arts. - Central post office. Odd Fellows hall. Masonic temple. Franklin institute. Betsy Ross house. Christ church. The Bourse. Custom house. ' Carpenter's hall. Central high school. Philadelphia Textile schooL Drexel institute. Scottish Rites hall. Wanamaker's theater. Shubert's theater. Philadelphia College of Pharmacy. Philadelphia Art Alliance. t Chestnut street wharf. Subway-Elevated stations. So you see, the Baker heirs will' draw down considerable, if But the Philadelphia officials say of the Baket estate that "there ain't no slch anlmile." The mayor of Philadelphia asked John S. Broadway, chief counsel of the bureau of legal aid, for a report. Here Is his report: "It appears that there was an estate of Jacob Baker, a Revolutionary veteran, handled ln the Orphans' Court of Philadelphia county. The rec ords there show that It was disposed of about 1847. The' estate consisted of about $6,000 oi $7,000, as shown by the account which is among the papers. Through some means extensive in formation has been spread around to the effect that a portion of this estate consists of a 99-year lease of certain real estate in the city of Phil adelphia, a part of which is occupied by the pres ent city hall, and some additional real estate on which the city of Chilllcothe Is situated. "The Information further is given that the real estate in Philadelphia was held under a 99-yeat lease, which has just expired, and that, therefore, the real estate Is available for distribution among the various heirs of Jacob Baker. In consequence of this, the newspapers in various parts of the country have printed articles on the subject, stat ing that the estate is valued at some $800,000,000 and that there are about 300 heirs. Consequently many people with the name of Baker are Inter ested In obtaining a share of this estate, and we are receiving a great many letters and Inquiries with reference to It "A search of the records falls to disclose any such lease, or any such property right at least so far as the law in , Philadelphia Is concerned. The Orphans' court reports to me that they con slder the whole matter a fraud and the Register of Wills' office says the same." MONTEVIDEO CITY OF ROSES Display Unrivaled In Any Other Part of the World, According to Veteran Traveler. , . But the gardens I And the flowers! Never have I seen In any part of the world such marvelous exhibitions of flowering plants and shrubs, native and exotic, as are found about the homes and qulntas of the Montevldeans. They surpass In profusion and exuberance even those of Rio de Janeiro, and that is saying very much Indeed. California Is justly famed as a fiowerland. So is the French Riviera. But I have never seen ln either of these favored re gions of Flora such gorgeous bisplays of bloom as I have witnessed In and around Uruguay's magnificent capital. With backgrounds of palm, orange, myrtle, magnolia, bamboo, mimosa, alternating with the native ' paralso and umbu trees and the Australian eucalyptus, one finds beds of pansies. carnations, marguerites and .Hies, to gether with hfdges of llluc and guef derroe and cineraria, while walls and houses are covered with multi-colored draperies of wistaria, honey-suckle, Bougalnvillea and numerous other creepers of every form and hue. It Is, however, in their roses that the Montevldeans take their greatest pride, j They are found everywhere, in private ' gardens and In public parks. In clump? j and hedges, trained to trellises and col umns, or falling In showers over walls and railings. But nowhere are they seen to such advantage as in the Parque Urbano and ln Paseo del Prado those exquisite pleasure grounds of the national capital. Here there are no less tliun 800 varieties of roses col lected from every clime. The rose bushes themselves number many thou sands. The casual observer would say there are myriads of them. From 'Through South Americans South land," by Dr. J. A. Zahra. Forceful Evidence. A lawyer was once, at short notice, called upon to defend a horse thief. He did not know that the thief had pleaded guilty and made an Impas loned speech In the man's defense. He believed he had made an Impres nion and the man would be acquitted. Jiut the judge's summing up disil lusioned him. "Gentlemen," said the judge, "you have heard his counseL Only, remember thls the prisoner was there when the horse was stolen and the learned counsel was not" WAS HANDICAPPED FOR LIFE Circumstance Oyer Which He Had No Control Certainly Had Made Life Hard for Boy. The youngster was sitting on a pile of bricks at the edge of a vacant lot. At the other end of the lot was a group of boys playing as only a lot of healthy boys can. "What's the matter, sonny?" a pass erby asked the lad who was sitting all alone. "Why don't you play with the rest of the boys?" "They don't want me to play with 'em," he replied bitterly. "Are you sure of that?" he was asked. He nodded his head despairingly. "What's the trouble that the other boys don't want to play with you?" the stranger persisted. "They found out sumpthln bout me," the lad answered, trying hard to keep back the tears. "Was It something bad?" "They think so. But but I can't help It!" the boy defended himself, "Come on, tell me all about it," he was urged. "Maybe I can help you. "Naw, you enn't help me none." "Well, tell ine about It, anyway. The boy hesitated for a moment, but decided to confide. "Well, mister, these fellows say I'm a sissy 'cause I'm," and ne gulped hard, "I'm twins with a girn CHAPTER III Continued. When Dale came back to a state of consciousness, he was lying under cover in the carved black walnut bed. Beside nim stood John Moreland, who held ln one hand a bowl containing a hot herb brew that his wife had pre pared. Granny Heck, her son By, and Mrs. Moreland stood not far away. "Ttiis here'II be, pood fo' ye, I think," said Moreland. , nodding 'oward the bowl in his hand. He went over and put an arm around Dale's shoulders and helped him to sit up. Dale drank the stuff with 'difficulty. "Much obliged." he muttered thickly. "I let's see. did I whip how did It end? He didn't lick me, did he that fellow Ball?" '"He shore didn't" smiled Moreland. "Not by a big sight. He fell out fust. His own pap won't hardly know him, Bill!" . , News travels rapidly In the big hills. The Morelands began to gather at the home of their, chief to see the man who had whipped Black Adam Ball ; every Moreland able to walk came to see Bill Dale. For three hours he was lionized, but he didn't enjoy it; the water had left many pains in. his chest, and his head ached dully, and his hands still felt as though the bones were shattered in them. Came a thundershower that after noon, and the mountain evening fell with a chill. A tire was made in the wide stone fireplace in the guest's room, and when supper was over the family gathered here with Dale, who refused to be kept in bed. After a few minutes of silently watching grotesque shadows flit "across the log walls. Dale said to John More- land : "If your brother David could know, don't you think he'd want you to get the value out of the coal?" John Moreland bent forward to rest his chin in his hands. His sober grey eyes stared thoughtfully toward the fire. 'I ain't never looked at it that- away, ne saia. "That's the right way to look at it," declared Dale. "But you shouldn't sell the property as it Is." The mountaineer turned an Inquir ing face toward his guest "How ln thunder could I handle it et I didn't?" , "Why not let me develop it for you?" Dale said earnestly, eagerly. "I won't charge you anything above ex penses, and I won't be extravagant' "It'd take consid'able money to start things a-movin'. Have you got it?" asked Moreland. "No, but 1 can get it. Almost any body would be willing to lend money on so good a thing as this, y'know." For a little while Moreland sat there and looked squarely at Dale, who re turned his gaze without a sign of flinching. The hillman . was trying to find a motive. "How comes It 'at you, who ain't knowed us but two days," he de manded, -can be so much Int'rested in us?" The question demanded a straight forward answer. . Dale realized that there was but one way in which he could give a satisfactory explanation, and that that was by telling the truth but not the whole truth, as he surmised it, for then his efforts would go for naught. Moreland was speaking again, and his eyes were brighter now. "I agree 'at David would want us to develop the coal, ef he could know. It's like a light a-breakin to me. But that coal is sacred to us, Bill Dale, and afore ye go any fu'ther I'll haf to ax ye totell me r.ll about yeself. A city man up here in .he wilderness it don't look s'picious. Bill, mebbe, but well, I hopes ye can pardon me fo' axin' it I shore got to be keer ful about Brother David's coal. Addle and the boys'll go out and leave jest ns two in here ; and when ye're a-talk-ln' to me it's the same as talkln' to a tombstone so fer as teilin is. con snrned. Addle, honey; Luke, you and Cale " Mrs. Moreland and her sons nrose and left the room, closing the door be hind them. Bill Dale paced the floor, arms folded, brows drawn. Finally he lalted before the Moreland chief. "There's nothing I'm ashamed of, I piess," he said. "I don't lfke to tell It simply because I don't like to tell It. But I'M do it." He sat down In his sheepskin-lined tocker, lay back and closed his eyes ns tlioush to visualize the story, to live it over. "Maybe It's not very much in my favor, John Moreland," he began. "I never -.'ould get along with my parents, or with the set I was born into. Some how. I wns different. Father and mother wanted me to be a dandy; they even wanted nie to let a servant dress me. The climax came when they tried to marry me to a young woman who didn't want me any more than I want ed her." He opened his eyes, looked straight at Moreland, and went on : "You see, they wanted to marry us In order to unite old Claverlng's for uia sxd my dad's; Patricia, like me, was an only child. It had been all cut and dried for us, for years. They put It up to me like this : they said I owed it to them, that it was my duty ; that I had always been a severe trial to them; that my savagery had put gray into my mother's hair, and a lot of things of that kind. I fell for it at last; it was sort of a matter of self-defense. With Patricia, it was a case of well, a case of simple obedience. Pat Is a good girl. . . ." A minute of silence; then: "I'll hurry along with it, John More Jand. I had one fine friend back there. It was Robert McLaurin, a reporter on the city's leading newspaper. -.My parents didn't take to him. because he was a worker, and not a fop. Mother wanted Pat's cousin, 'poor dear Har ry' Clavering, for my best man. 'Poor dear Harry' and I had a fight, once upou a time, and I I had whipped him ; and I didn't like him. I chose Bobby McLaurin for my best man, and I wouldn't give him up. "It was only when we met before the chancel in a big crowded church that I fully realized the tragedy of it for Pat. I saw that her face was a clean white, and that her eyes held the shadow of something that was very terrible. I turned my head and saw the same shadow In the eyes of my greatest friend, Bobby McLaurin. I knew then. Bobby and Patricia loved each . other, John Moreland ! Bobby didn't have any money to speak of, and that had held them apart It had been the finest thing in the world, McLaurin's acting as best man for me. There was friendship for you ! couldn't take from them their one chance of happiness. ... I couldn't see anything else to do, so 1 ran. i went nome, punea on my wedding rig and put on the clothes I'm weaving now, threw some things into a bag and hurried down to the union station. I found that I could have my choice between a flier for Atlanta and the the train that brought me here. I bought passage to Atlanta, but I never meant to use it; meant to take the other train and nnv a cash tare, in uomg tnat, i hoped to lose myself from them. ; wanted to go unhindered to some country where I wouldn't be consid ered a a savage, y'know. "I went out to, the train-shed, and hadn't been there a minute when Bobby McLaurin came. I asked him how he knew where to find me. He said : " 'I thought you wouldn't care to stay here after doing what you did. and I wanted to say good-by, Bill.' He always called me that, and it made me feel like a man. Then I put my bag down and took him by both shoul ders and told him this: Look here, Bobby, I m going to give you some advice, ana you tatte It. You steal Pat and marry her. Steal Pat and mrry her if you have to live ln a hole in a hillside. You're as good. as any of them, and lots better than most of them. You can work your way to a better salary. You see,' I told him, 'we get about what we deserve in this world. Most of- us dont deserve much.' "I asked him if mother was badly cut up. He said she was ; that she had fainted. Dad swore aloud, he said, there in church. I told Bobby good-by and got aboard the train without say ing anything about where I was go ing but I didn't know myself where I was going, at the time. "Now you've heard it Every word was truth. If you'll trust me with the "You See, They Wanted to Marry U in Order to Unite Old Clavering Fortune and My Dad's." coal, I'll make this land my land, your people my people. I'll suffer with you when you suffer, and be happy with you when you'r- happy; and when you fight, I'll fight with you." The Moreland chief arose, and Bill Dale arose. The hillman put out his hand, and Dale gripped it. "I believe n ye. Bill," said John Moreland. "Fo another thing, I've seed ye fight You can work the coal. He looked toward the closed inner door and culled. "Oh, Addie; you and the hoys can come back now." Out of the night a face appeared at one of the small windows. It was feminine face and ' handsome rather than pretty. Two slender, sunburned hands gripped the window-ledge nerv ously. The face pressed closer to the glass, then disappeared. Soon after ward the outer door of the guest's room opened, and Ben LIttleford's daughter entered. Her skirts were dripping wet Mrs. Moreland arose and went to ward the young woman. She knew that only something of great impor tance could bring a Littleford into her home in this fashion. "What's the matter. Babe?" Babe Littleford gave no attention "Black Adam is a-goin' to kill you tonight. Bill Dale." "That so?" Dale's smile was rather grim. "How did you find that out Miss Littleford?" "I found it out, all right As he went off from the river this mornin', I made fun of him ; and he patted the stock of his rifle and said he'd git you through a window ! He Was at our house this evenin' to help fix pap's gun, and when he left he started this way, a-goin' by the blowed-down syca more. I waded the river at Blue Cat shoals to beat him here. I thought you might want to know about it so's ye could mebbe save other folks the trou ble o' makin' a funeral fo' ye." She backed toward the door, her eyes never leaving Dale's face. Another second, and she was gone. They were all on their feet now. John Moreland gripped Dale's arm. "Over thur aside o' the chimbley. Bill !" he ordered, his native drawl for the moment absent. "Out Addie, honey ! Luke, bring my rifle and hat ump keen ! Cale, bring water and drowud this here fire!" It was done. Moreland took his hat and the repeater and went alone into the night. When some fifteen minutes had passed, there came to Dale's ears the sound of shooting. There were ten shots in such rapid succession that they made almost a continuous roar. Then came echoes and reverberations, and then silence. Soon John Moreland let himself into the dark room. His wife's voice was low and filled with anxiety: ' "What happened, John?" A dull thud came through the dark ness as her husband's rifle-butt struck the floor. This Is what happened, Addie: As I passed the cawner o' the house, I got down that thar old oxwhip to take along. I went acrost the road nd into the meadow, and thar I seen Adam Ball a-comin'. I hid. and when Adam was about to pass me, I jumped up and jerked -his rifle from him and busted it ag'ln a rock. Then i lights in and thrashes him with the oxwhip ontel he broke and run. And 'en this here happened, Addie: I was a-watchin' to see ef Adam had reely went off, when I seed a man a-comin' toward me fast. ' I thought it was Ball, o' course. So I up and tells him to show me how fast he can run and commences a-shootln over his head to skeer him. But It didn't happen to be Adam Ball it was Ben Littleford ! He was a-fo!lerin' Babe to-see what she was up to, o' course." How do ye know It was Ben, pap?" Caleb asked. How do I know?" growled John Moreland. "When I got through a shootin', he hollers at me and says: "Tomorrow, John Moreland, he says. we'll have a little Gettysburg o' our John Moreland culled Dale aniue " and said to htm: "You're high on the good side o' them thar trlflin' Heck3, and. so fer as they know, you ain't Int'rested In the feud. I wisht you'd go down thar and see By and his mother, and see ef ye can find out whar our rifles went." When Dale had gone off down the dusty oxwagoii road. Caleb Moreland climbed a ' tall ash that grew behine his father's cr.bin and kept a watch toward the Littleford side of the river. He saw a group of men standing la Ben LIttleford's cabin yard, and noth ing else. A little more than a quarter of ar hou? after Dale left John Morelana he entered by the gateless gateway at tie cabin of the Hecks." It was a di lhpidated place, and it stood not fa from the river. By sat in the front doorway; he was lazily cutting a new midday sun mark ln the place of tlK worn old one. Behind him aat his mother, who was busily knitting h gray yarn stocking. The moonshiner looked up and start ed quickly to his feet "Hi, thar, Bill, old boy!" he greeted cordially. "My gosh, but ye've come at the right time, shore. We're a-goln' to have young squirrels fo dinner, and n b'iled hamshank with string beans, and cawnbread made with the yeller , o' hen aigs. Live whilst ye do live, says 1. Come right in, Bill, old boy." "La, la, la!" cried Granny Heck, looking over the brass rims of her spectacles. "How glad I am to see ye. Mr. Bill ! Come right ln and tell us the news." Bill Dale crossed the threshold and accepted a creaking chair. His eyes . took in at a sweeping glance the home- own !' And I might mind ye, Cale, "at he keeps his word the same as I do, 'And Littleford meant a " began Dale. "That the'll be a big fight tomor row," said aioreiana. "tsui Dale, in a-makln' this land yore land and these people yore people, Tm a-feard ye're a-goin' to git more'n ye expected, meb be more'n ye can handle. Do ye want to back out of It and let the coal go, or are ye one o' these fellers who chaws what they bites off ef it's a boss's head?" "I'll stick." Dale's voice, came firm ly In the darkness. "I'll stick." Moreland's Eyes Were Cold. Steady and to Mrs. Moreland. She went on to Bill Dale, walking softly on bare feet during the night' CHAPTER IV The Mystery of the Rifles. An hour after John Moreland had sent his ten rifle bullets whining over the head of Ben Littleford, every Moreland and every Littleford ln the valley knew of the declaration of war. And each man of them oiled his weap ons and put them in better working order. ' When Dale went to bed, there was too much on his mind to render sleep ing easy for him. Tomorrow he would have to help ln the fight against the Lit tlefords, kinsmen of the young woman who had saved him, without doubt, from death by the ' murderous rifle of the mountaineer Goliath or break his word flatly. It was a poor return for such a favor! The longer be thought over the dilemma, the' more perplexed he became. He thought, too, of the everlasting wonder, the tail of John Moreland's bedtime prayer. How a man could go down on his knees and ask the bless ings of the Almighty upon men whom he meant to fight the next day was a thing that Bill Dale could not under stand. It was after midnight before he slept He woke at the break of day, arose and dressed himself, and went out. Going toward the flower-filled front yird. he found himself facing a very angry John Moreland. "Whiu's the matter?" he asked. "Matter enough," clipped the moun taineer. "Bill Dale, I'm a-goin' to ax you a question, and I want the truth. Will I git it?" "You'll get the truth if you get any thing. Shoot the question." "All right. What do you know about my gun?" "'About as much as you know of the left bind wheel of Ben Hur's chariot What's wrong with it?" Moreland's eyes were steady , arid cold. He thrust his hands Into the pockets of his corduroy trousers. Then his face softened a trilie. "I reckon I ought to ax yore par don," he said In a low voice. "Ye see, my gun's plumb gone!" "You had it only last night," Dale said. "Did it disappear " "Whilst I slept," cut in the hillman. "Both o' my guns is gone. And Luke's repeater is gone, and so Is Cale's, and we hain't got nothin' at all to fight them d d Littlefords with!" "Gone !" Dale exclaimed wonderlng ly and It seemed to him aslninely. "It must ha' been the Littlefords, I guess," frowned Moreland. "'Fo' be cause who else would ha' done It? But to save the life o' me 1 cain't see how they got in and took my rifle without wakln' me up. Bill Dale, i slept twlcet as light as a sick mouse." . Within ten more minutes, every man of the Morelands was gathered there at the house of their chief and every man of them had lost their weapons made dining table with its cover of red oilcloth, the broken cast-iron stove, the strings of dried peppers hanging oil the log walls, the broken stillworni lying in the corner. "The Littlefords," said Dale, "have declared war." "Sakes !" laughed the old woman. "We knowed that last night when we heered them ten shots." "And all the Moreland rifles are missing." Dale watched the effect of his words. - "What!" the Hecks cried in one voice. Their surprise seemed genuine. Dale pressed the subject further and learned only that If they knew any thing concerning the disappearance of the rifles they were not going to tell. Then he started homeward by way of the pool above the blown-down syc amore. There was a chance that Ben Little ford's daughter would be there fishing, Dale told himself, and it was barely -possible that she could throw some light on the mystery of the rifles. He crossed, the river by means ot the prostrate tree. Babe was there; she sat on the stone on which she had been sitting the morning before; her back was" to. him, and her bare feet were in the water to her ankles. Dale went up close, stopped and gathered a handful of violjts and dropped them over her shoulder and Into her lap. Babe looked around and smiled. "What luck. Miss Littleford?" "Nothin". 1 don't much want to ketch anything," she said slowly, a spirit of sadness in her musical voice. "1 1 Jest come off down herevto be whar it's quiet Xou ought to hear the noise 'at pap and the rest of 'em la a-makin!" Dale narrowed his eyes. "Are they er, making a noise? And what about?" "My'goodness gracious alive I You'd think so ef ye could hear 'em I Y'ought to hear pap cuss John Moreland!" She shrugged her pretty shoulders, lifted the small end of her rod to Its proper place, and went on, "1 never did see pap half as mad' as he was when he got home last night from a-follerin me." "Mad atyou?" asked Dale. "No; but he would ha' been ef he hadn't ha had all his madness turned' ag'in them Morelands. You knowed about pap's trouble on yan side o' the river last night?" "Yes, 1 knew about that" Dale an swered slowly. "'But John Moreland thought your father was my antago nist of yesteray." "An antagonist?" Babe muttered Inquiringly. "What's that?" "1 mean Adam Ball, y'know." "Oh. That's what I told pap. But pap he wouldn't believe It and ho won't never believe It 'cause he don't want to believe It 1 told hlro 'at John Moreland wasn't a-shootln' to hit, and he wouldn't believe that, neither, l'ap's as hard-headed as a brlndle cow, when he gits a fool notion on hl:n. What what did them Morelands say about their guns a-beln' gone?" Dale straightened. "How did you find that out?" "Don't matter how!" She smiled almost saucily. "1 knowed about It afore you did, Mr. BUI Dale. Don't you think whoever done it done a kind thing?" "I I might' nigh wisht I wu dead." (TO BE CONTINUED.) The Cheviot Hllie. The Cheviot hills, celebrated ln his tory and romance, are In Northumber land, England, and In Roxburghshire, Scotland. The range la 35 miles long. The highest peak it Cheviot hill, 2,876 rr-V - y-M