The Storyteller.

Gisborne Times, Volume XXV, Issue 2221, 26 October 1907, Page 3 (Supplement)

The Storyteller.

*!>»(*£ I i«U. .; A >&yt<£ s Jr% pNDERFOOT’S fSwOOING.

-■:m« KY s.o’^r ,iye i’Hrluvs-woo 1.1 .ky. S*>t- Of ‘Hwld, HoM hi Cariboo,” , The Chicunvn Stone," etc. ijw (All rights reserved.)

SYNOPSIS OF FORMER CHAPTERS.

Jim Combe, the cowboy foreman of the Kisky Kauche and young Anstruther, a tenderfoot Englishman, mo both in love with Kittv Clifford, ihe party, in charge or Airs. KoU, the wife of the owner of the Risky, have met with bml weather, whilst on a holiday trip. The rivalry ibotneen the two men is acute, though ,Miu. knowing the ways of the country, lias all the best of it. Wet through and overtaken bv the darkness they cam]) in an old hut, making themselves astonishingly comfortable by a roaring camp fire.' Thanks again to Combe s deft management, the ladies spend a comfoTtable* night in the o.d cabin, the men sleeping by the fire outside, under a fly. Aloviug on the next day tihov encountered a party of Clulcot Indians who are most unwilling that the whites should camp in their neighbourhood. Combe, however, has an idea that- they have beenstealing cattle, and wishes to -investigate. Anstruther in trying to photograph the Indian camp, manages to arouse the bitter hostility o-l the .bucks, adding a finishing touch to their grievance by roaring with laughter at thg.ni. After a restless night Combo extricates the party from a position which has become not only novel hilt dangerous, owing to the fierce .resentment felt by the Indians at Anatrut.her's ill- id vised behaviour. For the moment Kitty .thinks that she loves him, and makes an advance which is, however, generously met by Combo with pretended disregard. Arrived safely a.t home the party meet in the drawing-room of the rancho, where Anstruther has it all his own way with his singing and playing'. 'She following day all the ranelit* hands leave ,to investigate the matter ofthe cattle stealing. During their absence A listruther gets bis ribs broken, and oil his return Jim starts off do ride for -the doctor. CHAPTER IX. A RIDE FOR LIFE. “Where arc you going to, Jim?” asked the Ross who had followed Combe out of the sick room. Jim came back from his dream with a start and turned a very white and haggard f:ee to his old friend. “To Soda Creek to fetch Protheroe if you can snare me.” “But you can’t go yet. You haven’t had a bite of food to-day, and after all, Auatnither’s injuries do not appear to be so very serious.” “Can’t tell. She might lose him.” There wis something strangely pitiful in the way :in which all Jiui’s -mind turned upon what she might suffer, the woman who had just dealt him the hardest blow of his life.

“Oil/ nonsense, man, she has got to take tier chance like the rest. I insist on your having something before you go.” “Well if you insist Boss,” replied Jim with a queer laugh, “you can put some grub ami a little whisky in a cartridge bag for .me. I can cat when the ■horse plays out.” “Whalt I do you imean to ride? We've ridden the tails off the best of the stock. WiJil you take that big hunter? Anstrutlier’s?” “No. I’ll take the young roan. He’s the only horse that could make it.” “That -devil! He isn’t broken and never will he.” Jim grinned. “iMay be,” he said, “this will break him. It’ll break him ot me,” and he went over to tlio stables calling the men to help him saddle a beast which no one els? had attempted to handle, a young stallion as beautiful as Lucifer and as tractable. When Holt hurried out to him with the cartridge case and the flask, four men were trying to liohl as lieifect a demon as ever wore hide. Tire wind shrieked round them, the loose litter of the yard rattled about the frightened horse’s feet, and the rain 1 ishetT his blood red flanks. Within a radius of twenty or thirty feet from his flying heels it was unsafe for any living thing ■to come, hilt- the men held on to the ropes, hoping that in time lie might quiet down a little. “Cinch the hag on for me good and tight Boss. It might get shook off.” Ilo.lt obeyed, and Jim shook himself. to try the fastenings. “Nothing loose is there? Now, steady you devil,” and he went to the horse’s head, which hired its teeth, laid its ears down, and hacked away (from him across the corral, dragging the four men with it.

Tor a quarter of an hour Jim tried in vain to approach near enough to mount the roan, hut by striking, biting taiul kicking, the savage brute frustrated every effort.

“Guess' we’ll have to tbro-.v Mm after all, but it’s a pity to take anything out of him that way,” and then suddenly Jim’s Voice came from a higher level. “Jee whiz I Let him go.”

The chance had come whilst he Vis speaking, and with a tiger-like spring the cowboy had taken it, dodging the flying heels like a miracle.

It was done to quickly that no one had time to see how J?ai scrambled or sprang into the saddle, and after that there va- not enough true for the spectators to seek shelter in the first doorway that ofir:—:l. But it wis a magnificent sight for those who were cafe from the mad beast’s heels.

In spite of Jim, the horse bid got its head down. Its hack was arched so that there seemed nothing in-front of the saddle except space, and even that receded as roon as the brute shot up into the air, coming down ag iin stiff legged and sudden a.t every point of the compass in turn. But this was not good enough -to shake off Jim Combe. “Them’s baby tricks,” he muttered and as if the roan heard him, it reared until those at the window saw nothing in the driving rain, but the vast figure of a horse rampart, like the supporter of an heraldic shield.

The. man was invisible until the great beast, jerked backwards by its rider, crashed heavily to earth. Then for a ■moment they saw Jam on his feet; his cigarette, one only

sign of his horseman’s vanity, still between his teeth, the next he was again astride of the rising beast. 'Then he vanished from the corral with a cra b. As the roan rose again on its hind legs. Combe drove the long rowels home with all the cruel force that there was in him, and the panic stricken beast ruaiied blindly i’m'ii the> con a!. There was a tenee at the lar cud of it, luckily only of light poles, set up to keep in young calves. it never seems to occur to a prairie horse to rise at a fence. Certainty U never oeeurred lo that maddened roan. With a rendering crash he went through the young pine , poles, shattering them like match stalks, and so was gone, the rtinhshed ocean of don prairie swnllow- ! ing up horse and man. i In winder upon the northern | ranches, evening comes early, and ! on this day of storm it seemed to i come upon the heels of midday, so ! that as Jim Combe dashed out of the corral it- was already dark, j’ For the first half hour of his ride I ho had no time to think. Nature provided him with that panacea of ■man's pain, action.

The storm swallowed horn up; so drove against him that lie sat bo-wed low in -his saddle, so drenched him that it seemed to flow through him. Yet lie had no time to feel the misery of it all. 'Ho was riding it seemed in -a great void, out of which from time to time huge boasts loomed uncertainly, lie knew them lor the Herefords which moved hirnherir.glv and unwillingly out of lie: way, and alongside him, though lie could barely see it as ho raced past it, ran three and twenty miles of the fencing of the winter pasture.

Twice lie grazed it, so dark hid the day become, and each time lie left a fragment of his clothing behind him to mark his course. On the second occasion he struck hard against a projecting bar and liis left leg seemed to lose consciousness. Rut he sat down and rode as steadily as ever. He could not afford to worry about trifles,. and as it grew darker every minute he realized that there were no precautions that he could take to minimise liis risk. Ho had to stop or chance everything.

He could not see where he was going, peril ips the roan could, and even if he could not, Jim was not going to take a pull at him yet. As long as the horse stood up and kept going, the miles were eaten under his feet. That was all that mattered. Time was of the essenco of Jim’s contract.

. His partner. Fate, w.is playing liis hand now for him, and lie refused to interfere in the game. As long as it lasted, it was excellent to fly through the dark stinging sleet, and as to the end ho eared nothing. VYlicn the roan first bolted, the wildness or the storm, all the splendid energy of the crazy beast between hi,3 knees got into Jim’s blood, and •he became intoxicated with the madness of Ids ride.

He cannoned into the flank of one of the great Hereford bulls, half seen for a moment in the gloom, so that ■ his horse reeled and slithered, and almost lost his feet, but the man only laughed as they staggered and went on. It was absolutely immaterial whether he broke his neck or not at first, but- as the pace and distance began to tell uiioii the horse, the beast's :tamed mood began to communicate itself to the man, so that instead of , the glory of the strife, the misery of .those infinite waste places through which he rode impressed itself upon him. The homelessness of the prairie .was revealed to him and almost frightened him. Ho had known the prairies ial.l his life, but this aspect of them hid never struck him before. He had committed suicide and lie knew it, not an unjustifiable cowardly act, but the voluntary killing none the less of Jim Combe. Henceforth the world as he now ■saw it, would be typical of his own ■grey and barren life, without rest, .without warmth, without the light of hope. But he had taken tho plunge and since it was too late to reconsider it, he made im his mind at any rate he would not be-robbed of his reward. She would be liappy even if her happiness was bound up in that of .another man, and therefore at last he took a pull at his horse and began to ride more cautiously. It was then that he felt how much his own strength had waned. That day he had so far eaten nothing, he had done work enough to lull an ordinary man, and unless he was mu ah mistaken, the boot on his left leg was slowly filling with his own •blood.

He could ride the roan with one hand now. AVitlh the other he contrived to extract the sandwiches and flask from the cartridge hag, which still rode securely on-his back, and reducing his pace to a lepe, he aite and drank as he rode.

Ho supposed that the night must have commenced, though tliero were uione of the ordinary signs of time to guide him, and he marvelled at the endurance of his horse.

Fortunately the savage wind had not suffered the sleet to lie sufficiently upon the pi i.teau over which he •rode to seriously deteriorate tlie going. The ground rang hard as iron, and as the- fever of excitement died out Jim realized that the night had turned bitterly cold. For half of that night Conibehftrd!y knew that he was riding. A man eat in the subtle in the heart of a great darkness, swaying in time to bis horse's stride, and at the proper time leading such assistance as the rider can to the ridden, but that was not Jim Combe. Jim himself was away sometimes

in one place sometimes in another. New be was holding a yellow haired child tip on his shoulder so that she could see r . v f corral and watch old AI la -i'ru' ■ wild cow; now he was back i" /'"'/nod in places of

purely imaginary m ignilicenec. where a young queen (with that child’s features was holding count ■amongst innumerable Anst-ruitiliers, who moved slowly and spoke inßookEniglish with a low-pitched drawl; or again he was back in that sickroom looking into tike heart of the girl lie had loved since she had grown grass high and reading in it the name of smother.

Twice the roan “pecked” badly ■and the third time so nearly came

down on bis bead that Combe came back from his montil wanderings, pulled up and dismounted. If he would ride fiin'.Qter he realized that he must give the horse rest even il he needed none himself. Tlhc fence of the pasture had long since been lett behind; it was too dark to look for a stake; there was nothing bigger than a clump of sage ■brush to tie to, amt tired as therein was he dared not leave him loose as he would have done with any ordinarv cow pony.

Taking out his jack knife, lie dug a deep hole in the hard earth. Lied a knot in the loose end ol liis tie irape, put the knot at the bottom of the hole he hid dug, replaced the soil he had taken out and stamped it in linn and hard with his heel. Then lie lay down on the frozen ground to rest. Euless it lie roan could pull the world with him, Jim had ii(> fear of losing his horse so fastened. CHARTER X. •

CLOSE QUARTERN

For over an hour Combo lay where lie was, watching tho horse and thinking, whilst the blackness of tho night paled and grow oven moro weird and ghastly from the grey .that had crept into it.

Then it seemed to him that something heavier than a coycoto moved .amongst the sage hvusli on the ridge to his left. Ho listened but the noise was not repeated. Jim was too good a pliinsman to persuade himself that liis oars had played him false because he could not understand their message, and beside the red roan had heard it too. The horse was standing with his ears pricked, watching as he would never have watched for coyotes. In spite of the cowboys’ constant attention those vagabond thieves were far too numerous on the home rancho for the roan to pay much attention to them. Still watching tho ridge, which was as yet but a vague lino in the fog,’ Jim saw at last what lie took to ho two eoveotes moving slowly along it. A longer scrutiny showed liiill four, no, five indistinct objects passing just above the line, and at last ho knew them for the heads of riders passing as they believed unseen on the further side of .the ridge. He could see now lion the heads rose and fell with the movements of the horses beneath thorn, and then for a moment the riders came plainly into sight where a dip occurred in the ridge. In the mist and darkness lie might never have noticed them a.t the distance at which they passed, so vague and so silent were they, if,his ears had not warned him of their coming. hut they saw him, of that he felt sure, though he had not stirred in his liir of wet sago brush, and curiously enough his liorso lrad not whinnied.

For a moment lie thought of calling to them, but- men do not hail every passer by on the prairie, and he changed his mind. He did not want anything of them so lie lay still, whilst they, without a pause or turn of the head, rode silently past him and disappeared in the mist.

“Indians of course,” lie muttered, “they must have seen the horse.” And then lie fell wondering why,they had made, no sign and why they were riding at that hour in the morning towards the Risky .Rancho.

In the ordinary course of things though they would have passed by in silence, and near enough to sitisfy their own curiosity. •Ho did not feel easy about it. The expedition of tlio posse liad accomplished nothing unless it were to prove that the Chilcotens had broken ug their camp and. left tlie country, probably for an early winter hunt towards Tatlo Lake, and in all the years that he bad lived on tlie plains and in B.C. Jim had never had any serious trouble with Indians.

He had become so used to them indeed as peaceful neighbors, that he had almost forgotten the red stories of willieli the plains used to he full, legends of burnt ranches, of moil and women murdered across theii own thresholds, and brutally mutilated in order that their long hair might trim a chief’s robe Rut those stories were of Sioux and Apaches. He doubted whether the Indians of •B.C. had ever taken scalps until he remembered a hideous dancing •mask which hung in the Boss’s library. That had tufts of long soft hair round it, as to the origin of which lie had never hitherto troubled. Now everything seemed changed. There was a terror abroad on the raiiche lauds not so much seen as felt, and though lie scoffed at presentiment he was conscious of it ill himself.

The cattle had been disappearing as they li id never disappeared before : there had been no friendly visits from the Ch-ilcotens as there used to he. Whenever he had met any of them, even before the quarrel in- their camp, they had been sullen and silent, and then there had been the reappearaiiceofD.ivies’ murderer and that unlucky quarrel. Jim would have liked it better if the Indians had visited the ranehe to demand compensation for those broken rifles, and woidd almost have been inclined to listen to their claims, but they had made no sign. .Just, then the red roan .snortedand Jim turned bis head in the nick of time. Tilie five figures which had passed him ten minutes earlier like shadows, stood almost on bis back, ■arrested in their approach by hi.s sudden movement. He could see though they bad paused, how the leading figure gripped a short buldge.on which lie earned, and he knew Davies’ murderer and understoodhhc look in that sullen animal face, but though Ms heart seemed to give a jump and then stand still. Combe did not attempt to rise or show any sign of surprise. Me understood why these five had crept, up behind him, through the misty dawn in this featureless waste, but his band only closed over the revolve-" which was sheltered in the breast of his coat, ami he rolled leisurely over so as to J'aee the live and bring his left elbow across the rifle mliie.l l lie had taken from his saddle before picket-ting his horse. “Oh, -Jim, Jim! You dear old Jim ! Come quickly we want you so badly,” was what he seemed to hear though as the five squatted silently round him they uttered no word. Exice-pt for that bludgeon they were none of them armed, a curious thing, Jim thought, for Indians who carry rifles as townsmen carry walking canes, nor was he much less puzzled when he realised tlliat these were the five whose weapons he had smashed against- the pine trees.

Rifles ware not as common then as they aro to-day amongst tilio Indians, hint ns ono o-f these was Kliolowna tho chief, ho at any rate should have been able to replace his broken weapon.

For what scorned like an hour tho five savage figures' crouched upon their hams round Combe, like wolves round a. kill, their mouths shut, their limbs motionless, only their eyes alive,, but those bo. vigilant, that they seemed to follow his very thoughts. It is his vigilance andiliis eternal patieneo which enables tho Indian to win in liis life long battle with, tho wild. tilings around him. The beasts’ senses are keener than ■those of bis pursuer and ho loves life, but the tireless patience of tho hunter wears down the patience of the bunted. Jim felt tho power of this watching silence. It was as if ho was being mesmerized. At last ho broke it. “Well,” lie said. “‘Wihat do you want Khelowna?” The chief shifted his seat a little. “What you doing here?” he asked. “Taking a cultus coolie.” (stroll). “Too much cold wind. Cultus coolie no good.” “Then why are you out?” “Indians got no grub. Cot no guns now. Indians very hungry. You got any .grub?” and lie readied out his band like a cat that steals from tire table, bis eye all the time upon Jim, and drew away the cartridge case which had contained tho sandwiches. That was the first move in the game. . Until that day no Indians on the Risky lands would bave dared openly to take a white man’s property from under bis very nose without leave, and Jim when lie saw th© chief take his cartridge case and search it, understood that the old restraint was breaking down and that a change was in tho air. All the food had been eaten, hut tho flask remained in tho bag, and tliis.KHrelowna opened, unscrewing the top with clumsy fingers and sniffing at the month of it like a beast. “No more fire water?” lie asked. “No there wouldn’t have been any for you anyway. Think I’m going to he run in for giving Indians whiskey?” Khelowna laughed, and his laugh was like a wolf’s snarl. “Whiskey very good for Indians. Any water here?” “Plenty. Nothing but water in’ this cursed hole.” “You get some,” and the chief held out the flask to Jim, buttUiough’ the blood rose to his face at the insolence of the bidding, Jim neither stirred nor held out his hand for the desk. , “You go I say, liyak (quickly),” and the chief, who misinterpreted Combe’s silence, pushed the flask almost into his face. “Cio to hell and get it yourself,” tho cowboy replied, and his steady eves met Khelowna’s without flinching. For a moment the chief hesitated. Then lie threw down the flask with a laugh, and tho murderer under the pretext of picking it up, edged a thought nearer to Jim. As, even so, tho Indian was not near enough to strike or grip him, the watched man never moved, and again the silent game of cat and mouse went on. “You got good rifle, Jim?” asked tho murderer, and he writhed forward and laid his hand on the stock of Jim’s Winchester, pulling at it

gently. “Take your hands off,” snapped the white man, and certain now that tho Indians had not pluck enough to rush him altogether, ho whipped out his six shooter, and covered his man. Instantly tho Indian’s hand was withdrawn and a change came over tlio five faces. The Chilcotens had only calculated upon the riflo which they could see*

“What for you so mad, Jim?” asked the Khelowna. “Indians all time good friends. He not want to take you gun.” “I know I have plenty very good friends. • Six here,. the- very best,” and he glanced at the revolver in his hand.

Then he reached forward in his turn and took hack tire empty cartridge bag from between the chief’s knees, and the silver flask from tho ground, whore the murderer’ had dropped it. For a moment ho looked at tire flask and then a, grim smile flickered round liis mouth, and looking Khelowna squarely in the eyes he said, “I think you go and get some waiter,” and as the chief hesitated, ho tossed up ■ tho blade muzzleof his revolver and added “Get.” At that moment the roan snorted, and Jim’s quick eye noticed that there .were- four -Indians round him. Whilst, lie .had been .playing his game with the chief, Ivineeshaw had slijiped from the circle. In a flash tho white, man was on his feet, and his revolver shot was edioed by. a sharp cry of pain. “Colne back,” lie roared. “Kineeshaw; leave tho knife there,” and then dropping the muzzle so that it- looked straight between the eyes, he added, “You next if you move.” “Now get,” ho eaid-as Kineeshaw came back, “I want that horse and I want you out of tliis blankedquick. Hump it. March,” aiul for the second time ill a week lie drove the five redskins before that deadly little weapon which-has done so much ill the states towards the equality of man. (To be Continued.)

“THE QUEEREST THING IN AMERICA.”

(By Ernest Poolo, in tho “Saturday Evening-Post.”} This is,the story told, by Ludwig, the little German cobbler: The queerest tiling in America is law. I broke tho law already soon after I came from Bavaria fo New York. But I did not mean it all. And, this is how: In my clean : little basement-shop, plenty big enough, for just mo. and my shoes, I sat one morning sowing my own shoo hard—to look busy. Right above my, face I could sCo thousands of busy legs of people and horses, and all of babies and cats. And this was fine I I was trying to whistle a tune that a hurdy-gurdy was qdaying; it was not half so rich and soft as our Waldtourfel waltzes; hut fast, excited and new—the samo as I, felt. I felt proud of my shop, my three cool rooms five flights up, my splendid wife, my two girls, and that laughing boy Karl. So I sat whistling over my soft old Gorman leather apron. Down my six steep stops came a tall, thin gentleman, with a grey frock coat, a soft grey hat, a long, smooth white face, and a very big happy smile. “Hello 1” he said, cheerfully, putting in his head; “‘God’s in His Heaven —all’s right with the world.’ Hello!” he said-this in German. “Well,” I said laughing, “ my merry good sir, you seem to know all there is!” “Yes,” he replied, with a yawn, “I am getting tho money.” But in a flash ho grew sad, looking down at his shining shoes. “How,” he asked, “shall we fix these cracks and holes?” I bent down and looked them over and felt them. “Eighty cents,” I decided at last. “Good!” he cried; “I will bring them to-night.” But now I was thinking.. I had very few jobs yet, so I was hard to tell him. “It won’t do,” I said. “These are patent-leather shoes, and I could not fix them right.” “Ha—hal” ho cried, “an honest man! Or more likely a green man.” “A*green man?” X asked. What is he?” Ho gave mo a long, queer stare. Then his face. became . solemn and busy. . . “My friend,” he said at last, this is a splendid free country. In other words—be industrious, frugal and very honest —and you will bo happy. But remember this—never stop pushing out your chest! For if you don’t push, you will be nobody, and your son will smile at you. Ha—ha! I see by your face that you have a son, and ho does smile a little—eh? ; Then, I say, he as good as your ■ neighbours. Now, what do you see all your neighbours shopkeepers wearing? Big gold watches! Why? Because a gold watch shows business is • fine. Fine! Fine 1” He clapped nay shoulder. “Your business is fine!” For a minute I almost thought it . was. “How much,” I asked, making my voice very careless, “might such a , watch cost?” “Well,” he said, “mine cost me forty-four.- dollars.” I laughed at such a price, and felt poor. “But look here I” His voice became full of soft pity. “If you are not doing well, don’t buy a watch. If you have only fifty dollars left—don’t ” “Ninety!” I cried. “Ah! Ninety! Well—but still—you have a family, and your trade is only beginning. Watches are only for your neighbours, whose business is fine.” “My business is not so bad,” I growled. I hated. this, l>ity. “No?” His smile was again big and happy. “Well—l am glad. But now about these shoes.” He talked till lie, made me take the job. And then he. pulled out, his watch—a fat, gold fellow. “Is that the forty-four dollar one? I asked. ... “Yes,” lie said, “but I got it easy through avriclr friend. -Wo worked a trick. I only paid four dollars a month; for eleven.months, and ho let me use the watch all the time. I hardly know I-was buying anything! . . . But look here! Whose picture is that?” He.pointed to the big blue .one that coveied my wall. “That is my hoy Karl,” I said, feeling suddenly good. At once lie began asking all-, about Karl and I told him; and,soon ho was happily telling me about his hoy Bill; and I had a story for every one of liis. To tell tho truth, I oven lied a. little. “Well,” ho said at last, smiling at his watch, “this watch is not really mine. I bought it for Bn-. Y r ou see, Bill is a nico gentlemanly lad, and in school lie feels ashamed because all tho other lads liav--watches. So I’m just giving him this as a little surprise. When a lall is doing well, encourage him, give him a-prize—and lie-will be all the more, sure to make you proud of him later.” “That is.right!” I cried, leaning over aikl looking at it. “Now,” ho said, “I must go. will come for my shoes to-morrow.” “Wait!” I cried. “Four —dollars —a month,” I said to myself. “Look hero,” lie said, with that soft pity. “Don’t be foolish. You are poor. Lot your boy feel a little ashamed—it will do him good.” “No!” I cried, angrily. “I will get him one!” “Well,” lie said, starting to go up, “remember tho shoes.” “Wait!” I cried again. He turned back. “Why?” he asked, impatiently. I was a little ashamed, but I begged him to show me his four-ilollar trick. Ho did not want to, but I made him. So ho took me to the store of his friend—a dark, fat man. And there, after asking many careful questions, I paid four dollars, and slowly signed a big law paper—and got a beauty of a watch! I wanted to have Karl’s liamp curved oil the back,. hut ho said wo-had better , liot. “By. the way,” he said, very cheerfully, when I was going, “you asked mo what a green man was. Some day, when I have time, I will show you.” On the fifth day of the eleventh month, the fat, dark man jumped down into my shop. “My watch!” ho cried, angrily. “Why did you not pay the last instalment ?” “Because,” I said, “you did not come for it. Here is the money.” I held it out. “Now I have paid you all.” “You grafter!’ lie shouted. “You

have failed to pay on time! Give me my watch 1”

“What do you mean"?” I criei jumping up.

•- “I mean this.” and ho read some law nonsense, from that paper I had signed! I had got too liot to talk. I punched my long, needle into his log.

“Got out of here!” I shouted. And I tell you that fat man went up my six stejis in jumps.

The next day, down again into my shop jumped the hot-hearted idiot with a great policeman. “Give me my watch!” he-cried. And now, to tell the truth, I was scared. When 1 rose from my cobbler’s bench my knees shook under my leather apron, but I laughed, to show that I was all right. “No more of your tricks—you graftorl” he shouted, with liis faco all red. “I want my watch.” The great policeman grinned. “Your watch ” I asked very quick and low with surprise. “Yes!” he cried. “By the law now it is mine. By keeping it you are a thief!”

I made a jump at him—l could not help! But the next minute that big policeman was pulling mo .off to gaol. There he pushed me into dark little cage in a big, low room, and I grew angrier till I boiled. There then gave me bread and soup. “I can earn honest .bread!”l cried. “I want nothing from this law place.” When a tall gentleman with a smooth face came looking sadly through tho barred window of mj door—l jumped up. “What crime havo I done?” 1 asked.

“My friend,” he said in a whisper, “you aro really in a very dangerous position. That man has taken out a _body execution.” “Execution?” I whispered. “Not death.” His whole voice shivered. “But you may linger many years in prison. You have broken the law of the country.” “Law!” I cried. “What is this thing called law?” .

“Don’t!” he whispered. “Not so loud. This is contempt. Now look here—l can get you out. I have seeii him and he will let you go —if you pay. damages.” “I will not!” I cried. “I had no time to damage him!” . But that evening he saw my good wife. And slid came to my cell frightened and shaking. She said this “body execution” was the most horrible tiling she had ever heard of. She sobbed and begged me. And the end of it was that we did pay —fifteen dollars for court expenses, and fifty dollars more just because I had run my long needle a very little way into the leg of the hot-liearted idiot-! And besides, we had to give hack the watch. “Now,” said that long, "smooth face cheerfully, “I don’t even ask you to take my word. This is a free country. You have a perfect right to see a good lawyer.” And he left me at a German lawyer’s office. But this young lawyer laughed when lie heard my story. “My opinion is,’.’ he said, “that it is all over.” I turned angrily to go. “Hold on!” he cried. “Two dollars for my opinion.” And he made me give it! “Now!” I said to him, “if you ever think you need a thrashing come to me!” I had paid a hundred and seven dollars for nothing. And so for days in my shop I ran needles through my fingers—by mistake—and I pounded my thumbs. Tho worst of it was this. In the middle of his soul my boy Karl was smiling at mo for being stupid. He hept asking his friends about that watch and these American laws. Soon he told mo how people lost diamond rings and stoves and beds in the same way we had lost the watch. -He called -this"'“the instalment graft;” he talked about many other “grafts” and “political pullings ;” and these bad, - dishonest things he told me as though they were jokes! When I talked seriously and angrily about them, be laughed, and said I was not “wise.” “Look here 1” I said, “I can talk already a little English. Bring your chums to supper.” An ho did. He brought most often one called Jim—a tall, thin, newsboy older than Karl; a nico lad, but his mind was too sharp, and he gave a queer, hard smile to everything. This smile I began to see on Karl’s face, and I was worried. By this time Karl had learned all the Independence Declaration, to say it for a speech in school. I worked to help him; I made him say-it for my wife and me every night. “Karl!” I cried, “this is the finest speech that any boy can learn from America!” But lie smiled—Jim’s queer, smile. ‘.‘Why are you laughing?” I asked.

“Well,” he said, “the speech isn’t true. In New YoTk the only free and equal men are the millionaires and grafters. Jim’s father says all workingmen .ought to bate law, and smash it.”

Then he told mo Jim’s story:'Once about midnight his father was working in the dark bottom of a ship. Tho big ship must bo unloaded fast, because it was worth a million dollars ; so, of course, its time could not bo wasted. So the gang of three hundred had worked twenty-three hours without any stop, but for food and coffee—and the men were cross: and swearing. Now, this, Mike was wrapping a chain round a square mahogany log, forty feet long and three fet thick. Alhxot twenty feet away from him there stood another man at the bottom of the shaft, to wave liis hand up to the derrick-en-gineer on the deck when the chain was fastened. This man was sleepy. Ho waved liis hand too quick! And the big log swung—and smashed Mike’s leg.

When ho opened his .eyes ho was on a hospital-bad, very sick from tho ether. Then « young lawyer came with a satchel, and told Mike his leg had been lost by “contributory negligence.” This means that the man who waved his hand was careless, and so Mike was to blame for working near such a careless man. At this Mike quickly swore, and the swearing made made him faint-away from pain. But when he opened his eyes again there was the lawyer still leaning close, and he said that as a friend he would advise Mike not to go to court, because there were so many of these cases piled up that Mike’s case could not be tried for a year. But the lawyer opened a satchel, and out of the satchel- tumbled a pile of paper money that covered half the lied. The lawyer said that Mike could have at all if lie-

■would sottlo at ouco by signing a paper. Miko signed, and then got a nurse to count it. Only eighty dollars—in ono-dollar bills I So Mike hated the laws of his country. I loaned him a littlo money. To my boy Karl I said nothing. I was thinking.

Any fair man could seo that the law had let tho big ship company do a mean thing, and I found they do this every week to somo fellow. And whilo they use “negligence' ’ law to save money, they break another law to rnnko money. I mean the law against bringing contract labourers -to America. Kvorv one of us immigrants grins about this. In my Bavarian valley they had always two agents promising jobs in American coal-mines and on railroads. They do this to fill their ships. Now, I think it good to let all tho immigrants in ; I think tho contract laboui law is bad. But if the law is bore, wbv should they break it? And they do—thousands of times a month. So these big companies break tlio law and get millions of dollars; they use the law—and Jim’s father is left to try to live without tho leg or tho money. I was all mixed up about America. The time camo when Karl told me he was going to bo a lawyer. And I was glad of this. I believed that even a lawyer could be honest, and ■aVjyway lio was not so sure to be cheated, because ho would know about law, and, if some police-protected grafter hit him, he could be more free and equal. Soon a thing happened to show mo this was true. Karl worked in lawyer’s office at ten dollars a week, going to a law-school at night. Six weeks ho had worked—but not a dollar of wages; tho cross old lawyer kept putting him oft"; till at last Karl got angry and said he must have it. And then tho old lawyer turned and kicked him from the office out.

But soon ho got work wtih two young lawyers, and they were good, happv fellows. "When ho told them how ho had been cheated and then kicked, they laughed. You see, they know the cross old grafter.

“There is a law on tho books,” said one of them, “a sick old law, half dead and already buried, but we will dig it up for you.” They seemed to think it great joke; they went to tho old lawyer and told him—and at ouco ho leant back laughing. “Why,” lie said, “that old law can’t be used 1 I toll you I can t bo touched!”

But ho was touched splendidly by a great policeman, who took him to gaol. Still ho kept shouting: “I can’t be arrested! I know. I am a lawyer!”

But you see lie was arrested. Still, even in his cell he shouted this, and he went nearly crazy. But the two young lawyers came looking in and laughing; and then came many police and court people to look, all laughing to see a real lawyer caught by just one old sick law. And quite soon he paid the sixty dollars—and for . kicking Karl a hundred and twenty more! So Karl got twice as much by a trick as by six weeks of hard working. This made me think more and more about the law. At night I talked with Karl; in the day I thought it out while I worked on my shoes; and in tho papers I read about cases in court. Soon I could tell the smart tricks from the stupid ones.

And so I got to know a good deal about America.

The next year I even did a trick myself. A very young woman hiul been many times already coming to me with shoes to ho mended, her own shoes and three much littler sizes down to tho baby. This woman had such a merry young smile that I liked her. But often I can tell more by shoes than by smiles. And in two years I bad patched and patched thes very little shoes, till now they were really all mine. But the smile kept being so bravo that I kept doing my best patching—until ono day oven the smile got unsteady and hard to mako. “This time I can’t pay you quite yet,” she said. Then the smilo stopped. I put my hand on her shoulder; something had made mo all at once a fool.

“My girl,” I said, “don’t be foolish—about nothing! Look her, I have a present,” And I showed her a little pair of blue shoes I had made, juest for fun, with whito shoestrings. “That baby of yours,” I said, “has such a - fine little foot that I just wanted to try it.”

Down went her head in her hands —all shaking. I hate this, so I just took, her up to my splendid old wife, and left them alone, and my wife learned her trouble.

AVhon I heard, it mado the inside of my soul like a fire. On Saturday night I' went to the cigar-store that she showed mo. The big fat man there tried to 'stop me, but I quickly ran to tho back room and saw a dozen men playing a card game, which I knew by what Karl had told mo. It was faro.

Just then the big man jerked me back and was angry. But so was

“This young woman’s husband,” I said, trying to make my voice reasonable and quiet, "bas lost most of his wages lierO every Saturday night. You are a thief and a grafter! Now you give her back twenty dollars of his money, or I will tell tho police what you do. It is against tlie Jaw!”

The man laughed. “Go ahead,” he said, with his slow, thick voico. 1 went out and found Karl. “No use, Dad,” he said. “That man has paid cash for police protection.” ' i ‘Police protection!” I shouted, getting red in my face. “What arc policemen for? To protect women ■and babies —or big, strong grafters t And then I showed him the littlcst pair of those shoes, that were only two bundles of patches. And quickly Karl grow as angry as I. - UK lie showed me a trick. I went back to the cigar man, and told him that my lawyer son would at once tell this story to the biggest paper in New York, and would give a picture of those littlo shoes. “Now,” said the big f»t gvaiter, “you have me. Here is the twenty dollars.” Ho gavo mo tlie money, and also a tremendous wink. ' How ™,-ch ” ho asked, “do you peel oit I p-ill not write down what I told him he was! But he only smoked his ,” ho said, “I am always •dad to help a poor woman. You may -think I am had, but I am just like our greatest Americans—tlio men uho .gamplo on Wall Street. They gamble

for millions instead of tons; they have tho most expensive protection —from tho cops way up to Senators; and they givo monoy to charity—money by millions. . I am the same. So hero is tho cash. Clod bless tho poor woman, and if sho is ever up against it again—lot me know.” I could only stare at him. Thou quickly I told him what faro had done to this woman; I took out of my pocket those littlost shoes. And you ought to have soon his big face. “Look here,” lie said, and now inside bis thick voico you could hear some quite real feelings; “I’ll never lot tho man play hero again 1 And hero is another twenty 1 And now you make for each of those poor young kids a pair of shoes—a fino pair! Go as far as you liko! And send me tho billl”

“Well,” I said at last, “some of you is not so bad as all of you. Anyway you arc better than this policeprotected law 1”

“You’re a good follow,” ho said. ‘Soon you will learn to look at these kings in a practical way.”

But I could not learn.l heard now about faro and pool-rooms from Karl, and I told him all these men and places ought to bo unprotected from men like mo. “Dad,’ be said, “I dent seo it. Wliy should you stop this, if you let the race-tracks run?”

And then ho told mo what was happening to Jim. Jim had begun to bet on t.hoso horseback races. Ho got already a good lot of money; ho threw away his offico job; he stayed from home, and just went from one track to a next one. Soon he began to loso every penny—and now he had stopped sending any to his father. In ono day he made three big bets, and won all. Ho mado bigger bets and lost. He mixed his cashier accounts, and took out a little monoy. He lost more —and took moro! And this lie lost—and took much more! And then he mado a big, splendid, very sure bet —and lost 1 And tho next day his boss found out and had him arrested.

The worst of it was tho trial. Karl said if we could manage to get a fine enough lawyer wo could have Jim sent to prison for only one year. But wo had only a little money. Our lawyer had a cheap face—you could seo that at once—but the other man had a strong face; ho had made a tremendous record for sending criminals to prison or having them executed. This time he did so splendidly that Jim was sent to prison for three years So Jim got ono year foi stealing, and also two years for the cheapness of his lawyer. Just a few months' after, Karl told mo this same strong-faco attorney had left his position, and was lawyer for one of those big racetracks. You seo, a raco-track needs a very fino lawyer, for Karl says that all over the grandstand walls and the fences you seo splendid notices telling you it is a terrible crime to bet. And yet that is the only reason why twenty thousand people come. They have a tremendous building only for betting, and oven in there the big black notices are all over, saying that this betting is an awful crime. But, by having lawyers liko that attorney, they do some little trick that makes it all right. This is what America taught Karl and Mike and me. To be free and equal you must have a fine, expensive lawyer. And then you can bo a very honest, prominent citizen. But if you have a cheap lawyer, you can bo very unhappy. By law you can steal from a man and then you can have him arrested; this is just wliat That long, smooth, cheerful face diet tor me. But anyway—New Yoik fine place to live ml