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Northwest Mexico a (ctgiußnnw wtraicEQKZxar roggsoKßCEg. l A W6HAJ) BA Wr!£ t-AVF-DMLbfb Tn/tlt otHStoitm corn *i Much Interest has been excited by the announcement that an extensive area of Northwest Mexico Is to be exploited by Britlsh-Canadtan enter prise, with, however, American and Mexican co-operation, which is rained for ltr Intimate acquaintance with the country. Northwest Mexico’s attractiveness as a promising field for enterprise lias long been manifest, Inasmuch as it borders the United States and is unown to iKMsess great natural re sources as well as a fertile soil and a perfect climate. It has certainly been traversed—at wide intervals— by American lines running southward to the Mexican capital or westward to the Pacific coast, but those lines have been moro concerned with their ter minals than with the development of the country’s resources. Indeed, the best areas are off the beaten tracks and lie westward of Chihuahua, the capital of the state so named and the chief city of North ern Mexico. In that region—which has been sparsely served hitherto— are magnificent pastures and arable lands unsurpassed for. fertility in North America. Bnt still more impor tant are the immense forests of white pine and the great abundance of min erals which has made the Bierra Mad re region famr'is even in the primitive times of male transport. Local lines operating west and north of Chihuahua have disclosed the great possibilities that lie beyond. These lines are now the germ of a far-reaching system. Having taken over the existing lines, extensions will be built which will not only give a great impetus to local development but connect wKh the American and Mexican trunk lines running north and south, east and west, from the great cities of America’s middle states to the Mexican capital In the former direction, from the gulf ports to the Pacific coast on the other. The ex tended system will form connections at various points. It would be difficult to convey by mere verbal recital what those vari ous extensions and connections im ply; bet a system so advantageously sltuafSd, and working from the inter ior of a far-reaching network of rail ways—one which will have <OO miles of its own by the beginning of 1911, of which 200 are in actual operation now—can scarcely be* a negligible quantity as principal or auxiliary. It seems, Indeed, to supply the key to great problems in transpotation, and, among other possibilities of the fu ture, to assure that there shall be ef fective northern competition with the Panama canal. Considerable timber traffic and milling profits are assured to the new railroad by its ownership of magnificent forest lands and saw mills. It will convey the immigrants who are already streaming to the in terior, and it will carry their produce and their cattle to the markets of America or for shipment to Burope. It will create new industries for the good of the country and its own profit —bring new centers of activity into being, and stimulate towns that have languished for lack of communica tions. Mining has hitherto been carried on under difficulties, which would have been Insuperable were it not that ores rich enough to bear the cost of mule transport to the smelters were available. Inferior ores which, had there been a railway, might have been profitably shipped, were thrown os -the dumps as useless, and mines ware peglectsd >which, under more reasonable conditions, would have been excellent propositions. A trans formation in that respect will be wrought when the railway is ready to serve the highly mineralised areas and development begins in earnest on modern lines. Cattle-raising is already assuming Importance In view of the rapid alien ation of the cattle lands in the United States for agricultural requirements iad the consequent southern migra tion of the ranchers to Mexico, where ths find ideal conditions for the suc cessful prosecution of their industry. Ths one drawback to Its rapid devel ogSMßt has been the lack of trsns ps>t faculties In rsssnnsbls nnatlgMt/ which will disappear when the rail way gets to work. Much the same may be said of agricultural settle ment. It is true that American farm ers have been trekking south, but they could not penetrate far, though tantalised by the knowledge that lands of high fertility must for the time being remain unoccupied. METHODS OF CATCHING HIPPO Grown Animals Are Harpooned While Asleep, and the Young Ones Captured in Pits. There Is a vast difference between the hunter who kills for pleasure and the hunter whose business it is to cap ture his quarry alive. Carl Hagenbeck. the famous animal dealer, has reduced his method of capturing wild beasts to a science. The method of securing live hippopotami is particularly interesting. The so-called Hawatl, or water hunt ters, of the Sudan, all of whom are ex cellent and daring swimmers, harpoon their victims at the noon hour, when they are sunk in deep slumber. Then, according to the Wide World Mags sine, they pull them to the bank by means of a cord attached to the bar poon and make them fast. The hunters use for this a special kind of harpoon, made In suck away that it does not make a deep wound. Fully three-quarters of the hippopota mi exhibited In Europe have been cap tured in this way. Hippopotamus hunts are also con ducted on land. There advantage is taken of the fact that the female hippo potamus makes her young walk la front of her. The reason for this Is that the beast, being well protected in the rear by her abnormally thick skin, prefers to have her offspring In front, where sne can guard them better against danger. In spite of her affection for her chil dren, the hippo has no particular de sire to meet danger when It comes. So the hunters dig large pits in tha forest, cover them over nntll they are fully concealed, and then lie in wait near by. Presently a female hippopotamus comes along with her child trotting before her. Suddenly, without warn ing, the young hippo dl appears before its mother’s eyes. This la too much for the old animal. She dashes away, leaving the little fellow at the mercy of its enemies. France Honors Gen. Wood. MaJ.-Gen. Leonard Wood has been added to the already long list of offi cers and officials who have had deco rations and honors given them by for eign governments, but have had no authorisation from congress to permit them to receive and wear them. France has given General Wood the cross of the Legion of Honor for his interest in the grand maneuvers of the French army last summer. The various decorations that have been given to American officers and offi cials are deposited in the state de partment. where the recipients may see them and show them to their friends, but may not take them awpy or use them as having possession. Saxon Silver Mines. Until the vast stores of silver began to flow into Europe from South Amer ica and Mexico the Saxon silver mines were a factor of prime Importance to all the metal-working and woolen and leather Indus tries of Germany which maintained selling agencies in the low countries, England, France, Italy and Bpain. From first to last the Saxon 'wine* are estimated to have produced silver to the value of $1,600,000,000. The mines have long been operated at a loss. The owners have tried in vain every resource of science end all types of mining apparatus. 8o they wil! close them. Strong Chain for the Canal. In the government test af Wash ington samples of the chain to be used on the gear of the Panama canal locks withstood tensile testa of 152,- 000 pounds to the aquas* inch before the metal parted. Meter Cars lit Bombay. There are 1,000 motor care regia tend in Bombay, and not one of them is ef Amerteoa make. LAVENDER By LIZETTE WOODWORTH REESE (Copyright, by J. B. Lippincott Co.) Old John Davis came along Southern Lane in the early dusk and stopped in front of the house nearest the church yard. He stood a moment and stared across at it. "I can smell them bushes out here,’* he said. “My, ain’t they- sweet!" He crossed to the gate and entered. A long, straight path led up to the lit tle sloping-roofed, shutterleas house. It faced the rich yellow west, and its windows were the color of those of a cathedral. “Is that you, Mr. Davis?" He came to a halt; “Yes, It's me, Mis’ Field." A slender old woman came around the corner of the house and eyed him distantly for a moment. Her face was Wmall and dark; her eyes were dark. A certain breathlessness, as though that of expectancy, hung about hef. “I seen you coming," she said briefly; "I gueps you come for the lavender.” “Yes, Mis’ Field, that’s what I want." He followed her back to a grassy space hedged in on two sides by tall lavender bushes, brimming with their June spears of exquisite bloom. “Here’s your lavender,” said Mrs. Field, as she put the blossoms Into his outstretched hands. “You ask five cents a bunch for them stalks—you hear?” “We always do," said the old man. “Lord, ain’t they sweet!" He thrust his withered face down Into them. Mrs. Field looked at him with a curious hesitancy. "What kind—what kind of market did you have yester day, Mr. Davis?” There was a secret and faltering eagerness In her voice. “Oh, middling, middling. Folks want stuff for nothing these days. They want you to grow it, and dig it up, and cart it to town, and then just throw It at ’em when you get there. M You Helped to Drive Her to It, John Flo Id.” And if you ain’t willing, they’re ready to sass you. Them hucksters get all the profit." The woman’s face grew wistful In the waning light. “Nobody could sell better’n me when I wanted to," she said. “That’s so, Mis’ Field. Susanna and me were tyist talking about It. We all thought it was a better chance for the rest of us when you give up your stall. How long ago was that. Mis’ Field?" “Ten year and more, Mr. Davis.” “It was that year we had them three hard frosts handrunning," said he; “It was when —when—” “You mean when my Jean went away," said Mrs. Field. The old man was abashed. “I didn’t mean to bring up any of your troubles. Mis’ Field.” he blundered on. She stood silent. The crickets seemed to grow louder and louder. “Well.” He rose and moved slowly away out of the sweet-smelling space. “Mis’ Field!" —he had halted and was looking hack, —"Mis’ Field, why don’t you sell us one of them lavender roots?” A flash like that of fire passed over her dark, tense face. And yet it seemed long before she spoke. "It’s Jean," she said at last. “Jean!” he said haxily. “Yes, Jean, Jean!" Bhe was fierce and remote and appealing all in one. Then she Beemed to falter beneath his wondering eyes. “And when she comes back —when she comes back, Mr. Davis, I want things to look like they did when she went." “Yes, yes, ma’am.” he said. “I feel sure she’s coming back, Mr. Davis." “Yes, ma’am, maybe she will.” That flash came again. “She’ll come back alive, or she’ll come back dead, John Davis. I know she will!" He lumbered away through the dusk without another word. She returned to her little table, and, taking up the loosened lavender, handful by handful, began tying it into bundles of uniform length and thickness. She worked mechanically, her fingers trembling a little. The half light, the strict odor, the memory-throbbing hour, were filled with the daughter that had faded out of her meager life like the morning smoke. What mattered the rumor regarding her that still floated about among the narrow country folk after these long years? To her she was virgin still. “Oh Lord!” said Mrs. Field. It was half a cry, half a groan. She looked up. A glimmer of white struck her eye. “Who’s that cousing down through the graves?” she asked. “Mrs. Field! Mrs. Field!” called a voice across the palings. The old woman came slowly for ward. "I’ve just slipped down to smell your lavender," said the minister’s wife. "How I love it!” Bhe held her girlish face towards the delicate lilac bloom. “I wonder if you won’t sell me Just one little root, Mrs. Field. I’d like to try It In my garden.” * “I ain’t going to part with one of them roots. Mis’ Bowden. But I’ll give you some cuttlngß, if you want me." "Oh. thank you. I’m Just wild to do something with that garden. We’ve been here a month, and we haven’t seen a flower in It yet. ‘How long haa that hedge been growing, Mrs. Field.” *Toine of It’s twenty year-old, maffce more. The last I planted was eleven year ago." Mrs. Bowden drew a long breath. “How dear and old-timey and strag gly it is! Now If my cuttings grow,— and you must show me how to manage them, Mrs. Field, —I’ll be the proudest woman in the world. And when you alt In church and smell the blossoms, they’ll be so sweet you’ll think It your own lavender, and not mine at all?” “I don’t go to church,” said Mrs. Field. On one side of the fence rose the graves, very distinct in the clear yel low of the west, and beyond them the church, distinct and dark. On the other stood the narrow ohl house, a side window one sheet of quiet ra diance. The hedge looked dim and cloud-like, and seemed to float away into the softened space. Beyond the hedge stretched acre after acre of market-garden, whose already fur rbwed levels were Ailing with phan tom mist, and ouf of this ghostliness was blown a primeval aroma that could be subtly detected under that of the lavender. "I don’t go to church," repeated Mrs. Field. “I got tired of hearing preach ers talk about Mary Magdalenes and the thief on the cross. You’d think there was only two kinds of com mr.ndments that ever got broke.” Mrs. Bowden looked rather vague. “I guess everybody gets tired of preaching sometime," she said. Then she laughed. It seemed easy for her to do SO. Her neighbor gone, Mrs. Field stood a moment gmslng out Into the church yard. If she had put her hand over the sunken palings, she could have touched her. husband’s tombstone. He had been a hard man. A certain rig idity of conduct had brought him an enviable reputation, which, after his death, had ripened and mellowed into that of the saint. Some fleeting recol lections of their early youth, when they had both lived away from the neighborhood, came Into his wife’s mind. Then some later and keener ones that roused and stung her. All at once she spoke out sharply. “You helped to drive her to it, John Field, and then, just like a man, you had to go and die, and leave me to bear It.” Her voice rang out, pelting the air as though with stones. “Sin ner, sinner, sinner!" She went back to her humble task of tying the lavender stalks, but the light grew dimmer, the yard began to melt away into the gathering dark ness, and presently she flung her apron over the unfinished heap on the little table and looked around and about her. "I wonder if she’ll come,’’ she said. An added breathlessness took possession of her. Her body ap peared to strain forward in an atti tude of almost painful watchfulness. “I wonder if she’ll come to-night," she repeated, as she went Into the house. Out In the lane each tree was a soft, blurred black, behind wlhich stretched the distant add exquisite west. The road Itself was a half-blotted track. There were the old, shrill noises in the hidden grass. Mrs. Field came out to her front door. "Jean," she called aoftly. It seemed to her, so sharp was her longing, that the girl must rise up be fore her out of the brooding dark. All hopes, her desires, her schemes, her ambitions, bad resolved them selves into that one cry of her forlorn heart. She had given up church, mar ket, friends, all the petty but absorb ing threats of a country life, and lived eleven lonely years in a lonely house that she might be at home whenever Jean returned. Against that hour the chamber had been kept ready, the garden pruned and tended in the old fashion. There should be nothing new, nothing accusing and strange. “Jean," and her voice struck Into the dusk with s passion that was like a flame, "If you’re dead, come back!" A step came faltering along the lans outside. "Jean!” There was no answer. Old Mrs. Field went swiftly down the gravel path. The step began to draw nearer. “I knew you’d come back, Jean, I’ve been waiting. There’s only you and me now. Your father’s dead." The guests came and rocked against the far golden aky. “Jean! Jean!" There waa no answer. Mrs. Field ran out Into the road, groping Mindly before her with out stretched hands. A halting figure came out of the pal# darkness and swayed towards tha gar dan gate. “Jean!" cried old Mm Field. I THE I Rifle, Meeker, Craig | STAGE AND EXPRESS LINE % Connections at Meeker for Rsngely, the new oil and asphaltum B field*, and all points in Rio Blanco and Routt counties. | General Passenger, Express and Fralght Easiness | Livery Stable at Rifle S For Information and Rates, address 1 A* Ei REES Se SON, Proprietor* B MEEKER, COLORADO. - - - - ■ a H. A. WIL.DHACK | Notary Public and Conveyancer | Attend to Pre-Emption and Desert Land filings, take naff an- H knowledge annual or final proofs on Desert claims as wall an Fre- II emptlons. Institute contests, etc. Necessary blanks on hand. H MEEKER, COLO. H &/ie MEEKER HERALD JAMES LYTTLE, ani m Pioneer Newspeper in Rio Blenco Count* Best Advertising Me dium in Northwest ern Colorado Up-to-Date Equipment Fine Job Plant ADDRESS: THE HERALD Meeker, Colorado